They said it began with Dr Haruto Kessler, the man who turned dreams into a product. His invention, the Neural Immersion Pod, mapped the human brain so precisely that a person could step into a constructed world and live it as if it were their own. At first it was a laboratory curiosity, a glossy news segment with grainy footage and cautious experts. Now it sat at the centre of the global market like a lighthouse. Holidays, therapy, education, games, novels. Everything migrated to pods.
People did not simply read any more. They booked packages. They chose a story, selected a role, and paid for as many lives as their account could carry. Gold meant three lives and generous safety nets. Silver meant two. Bronze meant one life only. No resets. No refunds. The adverts were everywhere, from bus stops to hospital lifts, from school assemblies to the side of the motorway.
> "DreamDive — don't read the story. Be the story."
I had watched that slogan on the cardiology ward television until it felt like part of the handover routine. Not that the people on those screens looked anything like me. They were always flawless, always freshly rested. No dark circles. No creasing scrub tops.
I am thirty, a registered nurse on cardiac, and I had been saving for years.
Not to be a heroine. Not to chase some bright wedding on a castle terrace.
I want to be the villainess.
The sea duchess with a crown set too low, with a smile that could cut a rumour in half. Red hair, eyes like rubies, silk outfits that moved like tide. Hated by the crowds, unforgettable to everyone else. Lady Nerissa of The Siren's Crown, my favourite Otome novel, now sold as a full immersion fantasy.
That was the role I had promised myself.
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The night shift wrapped with the usual chorus of pings in the background and the tired shuffle of staff changing out. I scanned a monitor one last time, checked a drip, and tucked Mr Asher's blanket around his feet. He looked past me at nothing in particular, the quiet kind of anxious that sits inside the ribs and refuses to shift.
"Any pain?" I asked.
"Only when I think," he said, managing a thin smile.
"Try not to do too much of that tonight." I adjusted the pillow, then scribbled a note in the chart for morning rounds. He patted my wrist before I left. The ward smelled of antiseptic and weak coffee. The clock by the station showed 23:48. I felt every minute of it in my calves.
At the staff room sink I rinsed a mug, stared at the instant coffee pot, and then put the mug back. Coffee meant a trip to the shop on the way home, which meant spending a few extra pounds, which meant the goal would blink just out of reach yet again. I pulled my ID lanyard off, folded it into my pocket, and pushed through the doors with my bag on my shoulder.
A cluster of interns had colonised the vending machines. Someone had their phone out; three faces glowed around it.
"My mum upgraded me to Gold," one said, biting a chocolate bar as if he had earned it. "Three lives, full mod. I'm doing Sky Citadel this time."
"Lucky," another said. "I messed up my romance flags and reset straight away. Honestly, how do Bronze users cope. Imagine losing everything for one mistake."
They saw me for half a heartbeat. Then they saw through me. I kept walking. It was easier that way.
Bronze was all I could afford. One life, no extra protections. I had known that the day I started saving and every day afterwards, when I chose rice over takeaway and stitched the same old trainers one more time. One life was better than none. It meant a decision would matter. There was a kind of dignity in that.
The lift jolted down like it always did, as if surprised to be asked to work. In the lobby, a wall screen ran a looping DreamDive advert. A couple in evening wear danced through a forest full of fireflies. A knight caught a crown on the point of a sword. A girl with silver hair opened her eyes underwater and smiled. The caption promised safe immersion, medically supervised, class-leading nutritional support for long sessions. I looked away before the part where they listed the tiers.
Outside, the autumn air held that thin, clean chill that wakes you more reliably than coffee ever does. I took the later train, the one with more adverts than passengers. The carriage walls carried a full-length hologram of a pod showroom. Sales assistants in white moved between gleaming machines while captions floated above them.
BRONZE — One Life. Base Role. Limited Cosmetic Options.
SILVER — Two Lives. Standard Role Choices. Route Assist.
GOLD — Three Lives. Priority Roles. Safety Reset. Concierge Support.
On the opposite bench, a school boy nudged his friend and mimed a sword. His friend laughed and promised to "visit a dragon world" for his birthday. I watched their trainers, pristine and probably expensive. I glanced down at mine and tucked my feet further underneath the seat.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I didn't look at it straight away. I let the train lurch through three more stations. Then I opened my banking app, thumb hovering as if the number might jump if I stared too hard.
The hospital payment had landed. Overtime, unsocial hours, the lot.
The sum in my savings matched the Bronze package price down to the last pound.
I let out a sound that was almost a laugh and almost a sob, and then I snapped the screen off and slid the phone away as if I had done something criminal. A woman two seats down glanced up from her book. I pretended to be fascinated by the emergency hammer in its little plastic cradle. The train slid into my stop. I stood too fast and had to grip the pole until my head caught up with my legs.
The pavement outside my building had a crack shaped like a lightning fork. I stepped over it, as I always did, then climbed the stairs because the lift worked only when it felt like it. At my door, the lock stuck twice before agreeing to turn. Inside, the flat offered me its usual: a small sighing fridge, a table with one wobbly leg, a single window with a view of the wall next door.
I set my bag on the bed and pulled the flyer from the front pocket. It had travelled with me for months, folded and unfolded until the paper felt like fabric. The Siren's Crown. A coral palace in the background, a silver crown front and centre, a line of copy beneath:
> Live the court beneath the waves. Choose your route. Every choice shapes your fate.
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