“We should dress alike more often,” Lil said, swiping across the air to scroll through images of us dressed as sexy genies at last night’s Halloween party. Her feed was projected onto a Boulevard wall screen, and her manicure was coded to allow her to navigate the feed without leaving our table. It wasn’t lost on me that putting us on the big screen had the added benefit of making everyone who wasn’t invited to the party jealous. “People love a band of strong females. We’re inspiration to little girls everywhere. They so want to be us—”

“I know you all hate me.”

Sam’s voice rang out over the Boulevard, silencing Lil, and we all turned.

She stood on a table, eyes wild, her fingers gripping a piece of rope hanging from one of the cabanas.

I blinked, even though I wasn’t wearing AMPs, not believing the scene could be real.

“All I wanted was to be one of you,” she said. “To be like you. To be liked by you…” Tears bubbled from her eyes, overflowing in a shimmering cascade down her cheeks. Making no move to wipe them away, she continued, her voice just above a whisper. “I made one mistake, and my life is over—”

Leaning forward, I strained to hear her.

“You’ve made yourselves clear—the letters, the posts, the lies. Maybe if I give you what you want, you’ll finally accept me.”

It happened fast. Too fast for anyone to do anything. At least that’s what I told myself.

She slipped the noose around her neck and stepped off the table.

Everyone gasped, but nobody moved. Maybe they thought their eyes were playing tricks on them, too, that we were experiencing one of the virtual realities we were so accustomed to.

It was dead quiet except for a soft gurgle from her throat, the wood beams creaking under the weight of her body. Even the breeze refused to breathe. We stared for what felt like eternity, watching her body writhe, her eyes bulge, her face turn blue.

And we did nothing.

Tears pricked my eyes, my sinuses burned, my lungs seized, and it was like I was strangling, too. I had to save her, but I couldn’t will my limbs to action. I sat there. Watching her die.

Fortunately, she didn’t.

Because Adam saved her.

He was the only person brave enough to leap to his feet, to risk his life—his numbers—for hers.

“Samantha,” he shouted, grabbing her around the waist. “Don’t do this. Your life is worth more than this.” He climbed onto the table, lifting her body, loosening the rope. Laying her down, he breathed life into her mouth. “Someone get help!”

The robots looked on in silence—they weren’t programmed for suicide prevention. But maybe they’d learn. Next time, maybe they’d act.