Two months into writing Project Mirror and I’m finally ready to share a piece of this world with you.
This excerpt comes from early in the book, when my protagonist still believes in what she’s doing. She works for Aesthetic Dynamics Corp as a Senior Aesthetic Technician, fixing glitches in people’s neural beauty systems. Think tech support for faces.
The scene shows her during a routine service call. A client’s smile algorithm has malfunctioned during a video conference, leaving her expression frozen mid-laugh. Simple fix, standard procedure. But these small glitches reveal something deeper about our subscription-based beauty future.
Chapter Three
The smile was definitely broken.
I adjusted my diagnostic tablet and watched Vera Chen’s expression flicker between states – half-laugh, quarter-smirk, full beam – like a glitching hologram. Her Architecture Layer was compensating badly, pulling her left cheek into an unnatural arch whilst her right side remained frozen at forty-seven percent happiness.
‘How long has it been stuck like this?’ I asked, running a surface scan.
‘Twenty-three minutes,’ Vera whispered without moving her lips. Smart girl. The fewer facial movements during diagnostics, the better. ‘I was presenting quarterly projections to the Singapore office when it happened. Had to blame a connection issue and switch to audio-only.’
Standard corporate excuse. Everyone did it now.
I pulled up her subscription details. Premium Aesthetic Plus with the Executive Enhancement package. Her smile algorithm should have been bulletproof – military-grade happiness protocols with enterprise-level redundancy. But even the best systems crashed sometimes.
‘Any recent updates to your Core Layer?’ I scrolled through her modification history. ‘Confidence boost? Sincerity adjustment?’
‘Minor charisma calibration last week. Nothing major.’
There it was. The new charisma update conflicted with her existing smile architecture. Her happiness subroutines were trying to display genuine joy whilst the charisma enhancement kept inserting micro-calculations about viewer reception. The result? Cognitive dissonance manifesting as facial paralysis.
‘I can fix this,’ I said, opening my repair toolkit. ‘But you’ll need to downgrade your charisma settings until we release the compatibility patch.’
‘How long?’
‘Two weeks. Maybe three.’
Vera’s good eye widened. ‘I have the Morrison presentation on Friday. The whole board will be watching.’
I understood. Important presentations required perfect facial harmony. Why should she have to worry about whether her natural expressions might betray nervousness or uncertainty? Everyone deserved to feel confident during crucial moments.
‘I can install a temporary smile bridge,’ I offered. ‘Basic happiness protocols, nothing fancy. But it’ll cost extra.’
She nodded immediately. ‘Do it.’
My fingers moved across the tablet, uploading the emergency smile patch directly into her neural processor. Vera’s face relaxed as the new code took hold, settling into a professional-grade expression of mild contentment.
‘Better?’
She tested it carefully – small movements first, then a broader smile. Perfect symmetry, appropriate warmth, exactly the confident presence she needed for Friday’s presentation.
‘Much better. Thank you.’
I packed away my equipment, satisfied with another successful repair. Helping people feel confident, beautiful, socially acceptable – this was why I loved my job. Everyone deserved to put their best face forward, especially when so much depended on making the right impression.
Another client helped. Another problem solved. Another life improved.
This excerpt shows her technical competence and genuine belief that she’s helping people. She hasn’t yet questioned whether what she’s doing might be more complicated than simple problem-solving.
Posted from London, where sharing first drafts still feels like opening a window into unfinished worlds.
— Writer Julia Zolotova
