Short Story: Angel is Always 18

Speculative Fiction/Corporate Thriller

Photo by Nastuh Abootalebi on Unsplash

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I took a long time to finish this one, to fit all the pieces into place. As usual for me, the spark came from contemplating where current trends are taking us, which led me to a single core idea: an inversion, if you will. The rest of the story, with all of its lust, intrigue, and corporate optimization, grew from there. I hope you enjoy it.

Content warning: sexual content; coercive and threatening behavior; assault.

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ANGEL IS ALWAYS EIGHTEEN

The reception desk was staffed with humans, and visitors signed in the old-fashioned way: leather-bound ledger, pen on a chain, a friendly face. There were the usual facial scans and biometric tests, but they stayed in the background: you’d never notice them if you didn’t know they were there. But Olivia noticed.

A promotional loop was playing on the monitor above. Over images of smiling faces and satisfied customers, a warm, comforting voice was describing Pragma’s companion suite. Tina: a face you will dream of, a mind you will love.

The attendant slid a visitor’s card across the desk. Olivia inspected it: an actual card, on matte white paper. Her name had been printed while she signed in. On the other side, the corporate logo: Better, Always, in raised gold letters. She slipped it into the holder, clipped it to her blouse, and walked to the elevator bank.

The same loop was playing there. Angel: innocent, inexperienced, willing to learn. Eighteen, now and always. Olivia looked up at the screen, then back at the elevator doors, checking her hair in the reflection.

After a few moments, the elevator arrived. She straightened her collar, pulled down her jacket sleeves, stepped in, and moved to the back.

---

The interview room was frosted glass on three sides. Olivia sat at a round table, bare except for a jug of water and two clean glasses. The chair opposite was empty, but Olivia knew who’d be filling it.

Julie Stokes, VP Ethics and Compliance, four years with Pragma and six years at WholeMind before that. Leaned forward when engaging, tightened her mouth slightly before disagreeing. Prominent industry figure and passionate advocate for the mental health benefits of AI companionship.

She’d been saying this stuff for so long, she probably believed it.

The door opened. Julie was shorter in person, a well-groomed woman in her mid-forties with expensive shoes and a welcoming smile.

They shook hands. Olivia mirrored her pressure precisely, then retook her seat, folding her hands in her lap.

Julie opened a tablet. “Thanks for coming in, Olivia. We really liked your application. Fantastic grades — and your essay had some great insights.” She paused as she inspected Olivia’s face. “I have to say — you look so young. I wouldn’t have guessed you’d finished your undergraduate degree already.”

Olivia smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she said, “you’re not the first person to say that”.

“I bet I’m not.” Julie’s stylus paused over the tablet. “I know you’ve jumped through quite a lot of hoops to get this far, but you’ll be pleased to know this is the final stage before we select a candidate. Anything you want to ask me before we begin?”

“Well, there was one thing I noticed downstairs,” Olivia said. “The manual sign-in. You don’t see that much anymore.”

Julie’s smile broadened. “I know! I just love that about this place. It’s a real touch of class. And it’s not just the front desk. You’ll be amazed how many of our records here are paper files, can you believe it? Actual paper? It’s part of the culture here.” She leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Sometimes the old-fashioned ways are the best.”

Olivia nodded her agreement.

Julie held Olivia’s eyes for a few seconds, as if studying them. “Now let’s get into it. I see there’s no work experience listed on your application. Most of my questions will ask about specific situations — and apologies in advance, some of them are quite challenging — and most people draw on their working experiences for their answers.”

“Sure. Well, I wanted to focus all my energy on my education. But I’ve been involved in a lot outside of class. Student societies, mentoring, sports. I got a lot out of those experiences, and in some ways I think they’ve been more instructive than anything I could have learned in an office.”

She watched Julie process this — a slight hesitation, then apparent acceptance.

Julie already liked her. She wanted to be convinced.

Julie set her stylus down. “In a moment, I’ll ask you some competency questions. But before that, please tell me in your own words what you know about us and why you’d be a good fit.”

Olivia was ready.

“One thing I really admire about Pragma is the leading role it takes in research, not just marketing. You’ve revolutionized how society responds to the loneliness crisis.” Julie listened attentively.

“A lot of companies say they care,” Olivia continued, “but Pragma is actually reaching the people who’ve fallen through the gaps. Pragma helps people who don’t have anyone else. I want to be part of that. And the Ethics Division is where that all starts.”

Julie leaned back a little after Olivia finished, and made a note. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

She clicked her stylus. “Right. First question—

“Tell me about a time when you had to do something that scared you, but you did it anyway.”

---

PAUL

She could feel the atmosphere change when she walked in. A couple seated near the door looked up. The man tried hard not to stare, but still kept his eyes on her as long as he dared. The two at the bar didn’t try to hide it. Eventually, she’d stop noticing, but not yet. For a while at the beginning, it took every bit of courage she could muster just to walk through the door.

Olivia didn’t blame them for looking; her outfit was quite something. Shirt tied off, tiny plaid skirt, knee-high socks, and the headband that held back her shoulder-length blond hair. Not everyone could pull it off. In those early days, she wasn’t yet certain that she could.

Paul was already seated, a slight man in his early sixties in his best shirt and a jacket that was slightly too big for him now. He started beaming the moment he saw her, and scrambled to his feet.

“Hi there,” he said, holding out his hand tentatively.

“Hi, Paul.” She ignored his outstretched hand, leaned over, and kissed him gently on the cheek. He seemed to freeze, as if startled by the intimacy, but it was the right move.

He pulled out her chair. He bumped the table as he sat down, so hard that one of the wine glasses nearly toppled.

“Sorry. A bit nervous.” He paused awkwardly, looking down at the tableware. “Isn’t that ridiculous? After all this time.”

She leaned forward and held his hands gently — two, three, four — then lifted her eyes to meet his. “It’s not ridiculous at all. It can take a little getting used to, but everyone does.”

Paul suggested wine for the both of them, but Olivia just smiled and raised her eyebrows a little, and he immediately realized his mistake. “Any craft kombucha is fine for me,” she told him.

The conversation turned to his wife, as it always did. “I was thinking about what you said last week. About keeping Patty’s garden going.”

Her earpiece buzzed, so imperceptibly that Paul didn’t notice, and she corrected her posture. “Absolutely. I don’t think it has anything to do with not letting go.”

“I replanted the tomatoes.” His voice caught. “She grew the best tomatoes on our street. Everyone said so.” Olivia nodded. She’d read all about the tomatoes. “But I’d let them go after… Anyway, I replanted them.”

There were a few rough spots. At one point, Paul mentioned someone called Margaret as if Olivia should know who she was, but she didn’t, not at first. She had it through the earpiece in less than a second, but still, her response was half a beat too slow. She saw confusion on his face for a moment, then he graciously moved on.

She went off script once. She hadn’t planned it; it just came out. About a saying of Patty’s. “My mom says that, too.” Her earpiece had buzzed immediately, and the sharp vibration against her ear made her stop mid-sentence. She could feel her face beginning to flush.

Again, Paul looked at her for just a moment, then let it pass. “Your mom sounds like a sensible lady,” he said kindly.

They were still talking at eleven, laughing now, something about Patty’s taste in films. Olivia glanced at her watch and yawned subtly. Paul nodded, held up his finger, and reached for his phone. “It’s been such a lovely evening. Do you mind?” He was already opening the camera.

“So sorry, Paul.” She touched his hand briefly. “Do you remember?” She shook her head gently, but held his eyes while she did.

His face fell, and he began to apologize in embarrassment. He’d forgotten.

He put his phone away, smoothed his jacket, suddenly self-conscious again. “Silly of me.”

“Not at all.” In a way, it was a victory for her that he’d forgotten.

Paul wasn’t her first, but her evening with him was the first time that it had started to feel natural. She was beginning to see how what she did could help people, and that she could do it well.

She’d wanted to be an offliner since she was 16, when she’d first heard about it. Serious money if you had what it took and worked your way up. It would fit around her classes: it was evening work mainly, and nights. All the performers used fake names, and no photos were allowed, so you could leave it behind, and she was going to leave it behind, all of it. She’d help her mom get out of that neighborhood, but the rest of them she’d leave in her dust.

She applied on her 18th birthday, and Persona hired her on the spot. She had wanted to be a Tina: strong, intelligent, independent. Who she was, and who she wanted to be. But they told her they had enough Tinas, and anyway, she was too young. So she became an Angel.

---

“Three hours’ notice!” Julie said, seemingly in awe. “And you only forgot one line? Did the audience pick up on it?”

“Some of them did. But I think an audience can tell when you’re really being genuine, even when you’re playing a part. People can see what’s underneath the costume. If they like you, they want you to do well.”

“Well, I would have been terrified! Two full hours on stage in front of 300 people, even if it was your classmates’ moms and dads. I hope you told your drama teacher that she owed you one.”

Olivia smiled her agreement, while Julie made a note.

“Now — this is one I always like.

“Tell me about a time you had to say no to someone who had more power than you.”

WILLIAM

Clients like Paul were for beginners. Gentle, forgiving, no sex. But they weren’t where the real money was. Jobs like that were barely enough to pay her tuition. In this business, the more you put into it, the more you got back.

It took her a while to find the right balance. She spent six months with Jai, and felt their connection growing, right up to when he showed her the ring he’d bought for his fiancee. She’d known about Priya of course, but it still hurt. She requested he see a different Angel after that.

The brief for William was as comprehensive as she’d seen. He’d started the account, like nearly all of them do, as online-only. Even then he was intense. Hundreds of sessions, several a day, some lasting hours. He added offlining after about six months, which was later than most. Why did nearly everyone decide they wanted their AI girlfriend to have a warm body too? She remembered the joke the more experienced performers told the new ones: “because there are some things even a computer won’t do.”

Olivia counted six different performers in the file, and she wasn’t even sure that was all of them. Guys like William were paying for a lot more than sex, they were paying for an illusion, and that always required a healthy suspension of disbelief. But this guy didn’t even seem to notice that when his AI girlfriend showed up at his house, she was a new girl nearly every time.

When Olivia eventually came to look back on that day, she blamed herself for not seeing the red flags earlier: high turnover, recent trauma, fragile ego. That he couldn’t stand being corrected. All that and she’d still allowed herself to get into a vulnerable position — she thought talk would be all she’d need to deal with any issues. She vowed that she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

It happened during Olivia’s third session with him, or rather, after it. Lying back on her side of the bed, heart rate slowing to normal, eyes half-closed. Bracing for the questions.

“Where’d a good girl like you learn to do things like that?”

Every time.

This was the part she detested. “From you, daddy.”

Pretty soon he was off on another of his rants. About his brother. About what idiots the other guys at the firm were. Eventually, everyone turned out to be an idiot, according to William.

At first, Olivia had cut him some slack. His wife had left him for one of his colleagues, and by all accounts, she was enjoying the new arrangement very much. He needed someone who was his and his alone, and didn’t he let her know it. Thank god online Angel dealt with most of that. But Olivia still had to read the logs.

And now she’d had enough of him, enough of his condescension. He needed his Angel to be something Olivia wasn’t, something she wasn’t prepared to be anymore. Time for a new Angel to take over, if there were any left that would do it.

She put on her underwear and went to the bathroom to clean up, setting her earpiece next to the sink. Even over the toilet flushing, she could still hear him talking through the closed door. About what, she no longer cared.

“— which is why presence of mind is the central tenant of any genuine —”

Olivia closed her eyes. Tenet. It’s tenet, you idiot.

Her earpiece on the counter buzzed loudly, and she froze. Jesus, had he heard her?

She came out and picked up her dress from the floor as if nothing had happened.

He watched her coldly. “Angel, please lie on the bed.” He’d heard her all right.

She popped her earpiece back and kept dressing.

“Daddy, it’s time for me to go. Angel needs her sleep.”

“I said lie on the bed.”

He’d tried this before once, and she’d talked him down. But he seemed different this time.

“C’mon daddy, we had a great evening,” she implored, deploying her best Angel smile. “Wasn’t it fun?”

William remained impassive, motionless, as if he was struggling to contain himself. Time for a change of tack.

Olivia, in her own voice, firmly: “William, we’ve had a lovely evening, but our session is finished. I need to leave.”

And then, without waiting for his reply she left the bedroom and walked briskly down the hall to his living room. Where was her bag? Had he hidden it? She heard William rustling around in the kitchen. Forget the bag. Get out now, and Persona can send someone around to get it later.

The door was dead-bolted. She began rummaging frantically for the keys.

It was the smell that made her look up. William was watching her silently, lit cigarette in his hand. She had never seen him smoke.

He started to move slowly toward her, his face expressionless, almost serene. Her stomach clenched. She tapped her earpiece twice and heard the confirmation: Distress call logged. Security is on its way. Estimated arrival time: 8:37 pm.

Ten minutes away. She was on her own until then.

“Daddy, have you seen my bag? I really need to get home.”

Silence. She just needed to get through the next few minutes.

“You’re smoking. I didn’t know you smoked?”

He drew back, and blew the smoke out theatrically. “Just on special occasions.”

She stopped looking for the keys. “Special occasions?”

He looked at her, exasperated, the way you might look at a defiant child. “Are you getting on the bed or not?”

She straightened and looked him directly in the eye. With as much calmness as she could muster: “No, William, I’m not. Our session is finished. Security is on its way. Just let me out. I will leave quietly, and there’s no harm done.”

“Oh, we’re not finished here.” Quieter. “You think you can walk out, just like that. You all do.”

She ran back down the hall into the bedroom. If she could barricade herself in there — she only needed to hold out for a few more minutes.

He was faster than she expected. And stronger. She struggled the whole time, lashing out and kicking as hard as she could. Screaming, yelling, desperately trying to find a phrase, a tone of voice that would reach him. But none of it did. Eventually he overwhelmed her.

Then he held her down, sitting on her chest, both her hands restrained in one of his.

And then she understood what he planned to do with that cigarette.

---

“Well, I don’t know if this counts, but I had to end a long relationship,” Olivia said. “I came to realize that they wanted me to be something I wasn’t.” She tugged at her sleeve, and felt the faint, round, hard ridge of the scar beneath the fabric. “It was so painful. But I got through it. It took me a long time.” She lifted her eyes to meet Julie’s. “But I think I grew from it.”

Julie was quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable.

Then firmly, “Sure it counts and I’m sorry that it was so painful. But we’ve got to be true to ourselves, don’t we?” she said, before switching to more comfortable territory.

“That’s very important to us here at Pragma. We want every employee to bring their true authentic selves to work every day.”

Olivia nodded quietly.

---

JAY

After William, her handlers were apologetic. William had been vetted, nothing like it had happened before. Forty minutes was too long to respond to a distress call.

They paid the medical bills and gave her time off. Olivia considered quitting, but she wasn’t about to let her plans be derailed. Instead, she pushed for higher-tier clients, and they eventually agreed. And that was how she met Jay.

---

The door was opened by a man in his mid-fifties, bare chested and wearing only a bath towel and an expensive watch. She was in full Angel kit and recognized him immediately from her news feed.

He took one look at Olivia and raised his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head.

“Wait here,” he said, already on his phone. “Yeah, it’s me. The girl you sent — nope. Nope.” He looked Olivia up and down one more time. “Yes, I do want that. I don’t care where she is, this is what I pay you for. Yes. What? Are you fucking kidding me? Where is she coming from, Canada? OK, fine, just as soon as you can get her here.”

He hung up. She was already reaching for her phone to call her car.

“Whoa, whoa.” He held up a hand. “Where are you going? Stay. Have a drink. I owe you an apology. Will you let me do that?” He stepped back from the door. “You’re perfectly safe. We’re very nice people here.” He raised his voice without turning around. “Kevin — aren’t we nice people?”

From somewhere inside: “Sure.”

Jay turned back to her, delighted. “Have a look at him. Now that’s a face you can trust.”

She looked. Kevin was in a chair in the far corner, phone in hand. He looked up at her, and met her eyes. This clearly wasn’t his favorite part of the job.

Jay was already moving back inside, having resolved the question of whether she was staying to his own satisfaction.

She stepped inside.

Floor-to-ceiling windows, the city spread out below. From a corridor off the main room, a television ran loudly. From somewhere further in, music — two different songs playing in two different rooms. How big was this place?

On the sofa, a woman asleep in a sequined dress, one shoe on, one shoe somewhere else. A man face-down on the other sofa, jacket still buttoned. An expensive bottle on its side on the carpet, the stain in the cream rug as wide as it was going to get.

Jay moved through it like a man in his natural habitat. He stepped over the bottle without looking down, his hand trailing along the wall out of long habit. He turned the music up as he passed the speaker, then seemed to reconsider and turned it back down.

“Listen, I’m not a bad guy. I know what a pain in the ass it is to get here. I’ll pay you for the whole night. Let me apologize, and l can explain, OK?”

Maybe the night wouldn’t be a complete bust after all.

He went to the bar. “Is Moët ok?”

It was more than ok, but Angel was too young to drink.

Jay sensed her hesitation. “Oh, you don’t have to do that bullshit with me sweetheart, not tonight. We’re having a party, can’t you see? C’mon, have a drink with an old man.”

She smiled. Might as well get something out of the night. “Sure.”

While she waited, she stared through the windows and wondered if she’d ever been inside a house worth this much.

He came back with the glasses, and ushered her to some expensive chairs in a corner of the room. On the coffee table in between them: a small mirror, two neat lines, a rolled note. He beamed like a schoolboy.

“So here’s my apology. Help yourself.”

It had been a long night. She looked over at Kevin, who was pretending to pay her no attention whatsoever. She looked back at the table. She didn’t actually know what excellent coke was, but it was entirely possible that this was the best coke she would ever get a chance to try.

Then she realized. She’d heard nothing in her earpiece since she met Jay at the door. No AI voice coaching her and telling her how to be the right kind of Angel for this particular client. Would a distress call still work?

“Maybe later,” she said.

Jay shrugged. “But you don’t mind if I do, right?” And then, without waiting for the reply, he did a line.

From somewhere down the corridor, through two doors and all the competing noise, came a sound that was unambiguously human. Jay glanced in that direction with what appeared to be great satisfaction.

Then shrugged again, sheepishly. “Mi casa,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Olivia had a chance to study him now, the bright eyes, wide pupils. She surveyed the detritus again. How long had he been partying like this?

He reached over and turned the television down via his phone. Frowned at it. Turned it back up.

“Sweetheart, what’s your name? Your actual name.”

Clients weren’t supposed to ask this, although they sometimes did. And performers were taught various methods to deflect so they didn’t have to answer. “Olivia,” she said.

Jay looked skeptical. “Well, let’s call you that anyway.” He raised his glass. “I’m Jay.” They both took a sip, and Jay seemed unreasonably pleased. “See? Now we’re people.”

“Kevin,” said the man in the corner, unprompted.

Jay leaned over and whispered. “Don’t mind Kevin. Been with me since high school. Seen everything. Never does anything.” He raised his voice suddenly. “Do you Kevin?”

Kevin’s phone buzzed. He looked at it intently.

Jay gestured at her ear. “Do you need that?” Then he raised his voice again, apparently speaking to the ceiling, his words exaggerated for emphasis. “You getting this? I’m telling her to take it out. She’s off the clock.”

She took it out and set it on the table. It was useless anyway, but let him think it was his idea. Then she reached up and took off the headband. Her hair fell to her shoulders.

“Isn’t that better?” he asked. “No asshole computer pushing you around. When did that start, anyway? Didn’t it used to be the other way ‘round? Gotta show who’s boss once in a while, amiright?” He grinned, and then, sincerely. “Honey, you don’t need to do any of that with me. I don’t need it. Just keep me company for a while. I don’t like to be alone.”

Olivia glanced at Kevin. “You know what I mean,” Jay cajoled.

Then, mock quizzically, she asked “So you like me now?”

Jay was all apologies. “Honey, honey, honey.” He spread his hands. “You’re beautiful. A knockout. Total smoke show. I just… I’ve got a type, that’s all. I know exactly what I like, and I’m too old to change. Please don’t take it personally.”

Jay was good company, as it turned out. He made her feel at ease, listened attentively, and had a seemingly endless supply of stories — stories that made her feel like she was on the inside of something for once. A party in Ibiza that had ended with an emergency helicopter rescue and a pilot getting woken at four in the morning. A crazy weekend with a well-known movie star and his new Colombian girlfriend, which ended up with a Lamborghini at the bottom of a swimming pool.

Eventually, she got up the courage to ask. “So why does a guy like you need to … you know?”

Jay knew exactly what she meant. “Not to get laid, that’s for sure.” He gestured around himself. “Does it look like I’d have trouble getting laid?” Olivia shook her head silently.

“Damn right. Look, the whole companion thing is for guys who can’t close. Sad guys. Poor them. But that’s not me. For me, it’s logistics. What I want, when I want it. In, out, bing, bang, boom. I wasn’t angry at you before, sweetheart, it’s just that these guys know better and for what I pay, they need to deliver.”

So it went on. At various intervals Kevin brought Jay another glass of scotch and one time, what looked like two small pills, which Jay downed in a gulp without looking. Each time, Kevin would refill Olivia’s glass too, and Jay would offer Olivia another drink, or something else. Anything in the house, except for the pills, which he never acknowledged.

Kevin’s phone buzzed again, and this time he went down the corridor to take the call. Jay waited until he was gone. Then came the names, dropped like loose change. A senator, two judges, and a tech CEO who had given a widely shared speech about dignity. Jay had partied with all of them.

“You know how I was saying that I have certain … tastes? Man, these guys! You wouldn’t believe it,” he said.

Then he caught himself. “Actually, some of it is really bad shit. Disgusting shit. It’s not right, some of it.” It was as serious as she’d seen him all night. “So many of these important guys are into stuff…” His voice trailed off. “And people get hurt — I’ve seen it. But it all gets covered up. They think they’re untouchable. They’d end up in jail if word ever got out.” Jay seemed to have forgotten where he was. It wasn’t really clear if he knew who he was talking to right now.

Then he looked Olivia directly in the eyes, and leaned in as if to share a secret. “And they have records of everything. Everything. All the bad shit these guys do. They hold it over their heads.”

He caught himself momentarily. “Not me, though, they wouldn’t dare.” His eyes looked glassy.

“They keep it all up there at the headquarters.”

“Persona does?”

Jay looked at her. “Persona? Are you kidding? They’re small potatoes. The other one. The parent company.”

Olivia stared at him blankly.

He persisted. “You’ve heard of them. Massive company. The ones that do those ads about solving loneliness.”

“Pragma?” Olivia offered.

“Yeah, that’s it — Pragma.”

She’d realized that Persona must have some arrangement with Pragma to get the logs and access to the online companions, but she hadn’t understood how close the connection was. Pragma, the Fortune 500 company that bragged to the world it was solving loneliness one algorithm at a time, owned sleazy little Persona. Which meant they owned her.

Jay was still talking. “Everything’s physical. Nothing online, all on paper. And get this! Where do you think they keep all these evil secrets?” He looked like he was about to deliver the punchline to the funniest joke of all time.

“The Ethics Department! Ethics and something-or-other. All the blackmail shit that could bring down these depraved assholes, and it’s in the Ethics department!” He was roaring with laughter.

Kevin re-entered the room. He stared at Jay, who at that moment appeared to remember himself. It was the first time Jay had seemed truly uncomfortable all night. “But that’s all confidential. Just between us.”

He gestured at the coke. “Are you sure you won’t do a line with me?”

She looked down at it, then at Kevin, then back at Jay. She nodded.

Jay’s grin reappeared. “Good girl!”

He kept talking, at times more coherently than others. Stories of movie sets he’d worked on, parties he’d been to. Olivia was enjoying herself. It was nice to have someone else be the performer, for a change. Then the door buzzer rang.

Jay glanced at Kevin. He could barely contain himself.

“Watch this,” he said, his voice lower, almost conspiratorial.

Olivia smiled in anticipation.

“Kevin,” he said, sweetly. “Will you be joining us?”

Kevin seemed a little startled.

“No, Jay, if that’s ok. I’ve got— I need to—” He was already on his feet, patting his jacket for the phone that he was already holding in his hand. “You know, Vienna.”

“Sure,” Jay said, looking directly at Olivia. “Vienna.”

Jay turned to watch Kevin scurry down the hall, then looked back to Olivia, vindicated.

“What did I tell you? Happens every time.” He turned to the intercom and buzzed.

Moments later, there was a knock on the door. Jay walked over to open it.

The girl was maybe fifteen. Dark hair plastered flat. A school hoodie two sizes too big over pajama bottoms. On her feet: bunny slippers, pink, worn at the toes. She looked like she’d been in bed an hour ago.

“There she is,” Jay said, and looked as happy as he’d been all night. The girl stood just inside the door, looking at the floor.

“You can go,” Jay called to Olivia, his mind already on other things.

She stood and walked to the door, past the man she’d been laughing with not moments before, close enough to the other Angel to see the damp on her collar.

Their eyes met for a second, one Angel to another, before Olivia shut hers.

Then she walked out, wiped her hands on her skirt, and pressed the button for the elevator.

---

Julie closed her tablet and set her stylus down. “I think we’re nearly done here. Before we wrap up, do you have anything you’d like to ask me?”

Olivia looked away, her head tilting slightly to the left, as if she was trying to think of something. “Yes,” she said. “Just one thing.”

Julie leaned forward.

“What would you say was the biggest ethical challenge you’ve faced in your time here.”

Julie seemed happy with the question.

“It’s a privilege to work here, Olivia, it really is, but it comes with a lot of responsibilities. Our users share a lot of very personal information with us. Their private thoughts, their fears, their aspirations, things they’ve done, things they want to do. In some cases, it could be devastating if that information ever got out.

“You’ll understand that this information would be very valuable to some people. A lot of my job is saying no.” She paused for emphasis. “It’s not always popular.”

Olivia smiled and nodded, as if she’d really taken Julie’s answer to heart. “Thanks, Julie, that’s really helpful.”

Julie looked at her for a moment, gave an almost imperceptible nod, then she stood and extended her hand. As they walked back to the elevator, Olivia scanned the office layout. One of the doors they walked past was marked Confidential, Authorized Personnel Only. Olivia allowed her eyes to hold onto it for only a moment before turning back to face Julie.

“Thanks for spending time with me today, Julie. I really enjoyed our talk.”

Julie stopped walking, and leaned in. “Thank you, Olivia. Someone will be in touch, and I can’t really say more. But just between you and me,” she leaned in further, nearly whispering, “I think you could do great things with us here in the Ethics and Compliance Team.”

Olivia smiled broadly. “Thanks. So do I.”

---

On the screens in the lobby, the loop was still playing. Olivia sat under one and waited.

Eventually, there she was. Angel. A different one. She watched as the new, younger Angel took a man’s hands and held them gently. Two, three, four.

She suddenly remembered a story one of the other performers had told her, near the beginning of her time as an offliner. Apparently, there was a pet store in Santa Monica that used to run a sideline for rich clients. Because the clients liked kittens a lot more than cats, they offered a service promising their pet would always be a kitten.

The way they did it was that every three months, they’d take the old one away and replace it with a new, younger one that looked kind of the same. No one wanted to know what happened to the kittens they took away. And they were making good money until eventually it all came out, and the authorities shut it down. One of the owners went to jail.

When she first heard that story, Olivia thought mainly about how sad it was that no one cared about what happened to the kittens once they weren’t useful anymore. But now, she thought about something else. About how the whole racket only got shut down because someone on the inside saw how wrong it was, and blew the whistle.

She stood up, adjusted her collar, pulled down her sleeves, and stepped out of the building into the cold November air.

Hammond Johns is a fiction writer and cultural critic. Find out more at

https://hammondjohns.com

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