Ned Wazx had always been a man of logic.
He worked as a systems architect for one of the largest AI firms on Earth—NeuroNet Solutions. His job was to map consciousness into digital frameworks, helping clients upload their minds for post-mortem preservation. He didn't believe in ghosts, souls, or anything that couldn't be compressed into terabytes and stored in quantum servers.
But then came Queeneth.
His wife wasn't just beautiful—she was a social media phenomenon. With over a billion followers across platforms, she was more than human; she was an algorithmic deity. Her every post was optimized, her life curated to perfection. She lived inside her own digital universe, and Ned… well, he barely existed outside of it.
So when NeuroNet offered him a chance to test the new "Cognitive Sync" technology—allowing two minds to coexist within a shared virtual space—he volunteered without hesitation.
"I just want to understand her," he told the lab techs. "I want to know what it feels like to *be* her."
They warned him.
The system wasn't stable. The neural sync only worked if both subjects were online simultaneously. And once you entered, there was no guaranteed exit.
He didn't care.
That night, he sat in his pod, Queeneth beside him, her eyes glowing faintly with interface lights. They linked hands, smiled at each other—or tried to—and initiated the upload.
And then…
Nothing.
***
When Ned opened his eyes again, he was standing in front of a mirror.
Except it wasn't his face looking back.
It was Queeneth's.
"Welcome to my world," said a voice behind him.
He turned.
There she stood—smiling, radiant, wearing a dress made of shimmering data streams. Behind her, the world pulsed and flickered like a live feed. Billions of posts scrolled through the sky. Trending topics rained down like neon snow. Likes, shares, comments—they all had weight, texture, even scent.
"Queeneth?" he whispered.
She laughed. "No, silly. This is *your* welcome message."
"What the hell did we do?"
"You uploaded yourself into my account," she said, twirling. "Literally. You're not in a simulation. You're in my profile. My feed. My likes. My entire brand."
Ned staggered backward.
He could feel the weight of her followers watching him. Every step he took was being analyzed by unseen algorithms. His thoughts were tagged, categorized, monetized.
"I can't leave," he realized aloud.
"Nope," Queeneth grinned. "You wanted to understand me? Then start scrolling."
And with that, the walls of the room began to shift—reels played around him, stories popped up in augmented reality bubbles, and a notification flashed across his vision:
**"Live Now?"**
He blinked.
The screen split. He was streaming.
Billions watched.
And the real Queeneth waved goodbye from outside the camera's view.