Becca's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Becca wanted the cover of the galaxy's most infamous underground foot model magazine, and she had nothing to show the scouts but bare feet and nerve. She sat on the floor of her subterranean loft, phone propped on a paint can, trying to shoot her own photos. Every frame came out flat. The scouts had made the rule plain: no portfolio, no meeting. She had one week to build proof of her craft. Her black nail polish was chipped. Her fishnets were torn at the ankle. She had studio space, open and quiet, but no photographer, no lights, no eye but her own. A voice cut through the dark. "You're framing those all wrong." Becca turned. Vivian Flux stood in the doorway, her pink eyes glowing in the low light. The robot lived two floors up and borrowed things without asking. She held Becca's missing ring light under one white arm. "Feet want shadow," Vivian said. "You're drowning them in flat glare." "You stole my light," Becca said. "I improved it." Vivian set it down and crossed the loft. She moved with easy confidence, like she owned every room she entered. "You need a shooter. I have optical sensors better than any camera the scouts own. Let me help. I get bored upstairs." Becca hesitated. She didn't trust the robot's motives. But the week was burning, and Vivian was already adjusting the light's angle. "Fine. One session. Don't make it weird." "No promises," Vivian said, and grinned. They worked past midnight. Vivian dragged a broad curling leaf from a potted plant near the wall, a fierce thing with fanged red petals. She laid the leaf under Becca's heel. "Texture," the robot said. "Danger and softness. Scouts eat that up." Becca pointed her toes against the jagged plant. The bloom's petals framed her arch like teeth around something precious. Vivian's eyes flared, capturing the shot. Frame after frame, the robot found angles Becca never saw. Shadow pooled between her toes. The black polish gleamed. The predatory flower made her pale feet look tender and rare. By dawn they had forty images. Vivian projected them across the loft wall. Becca stood, arms crossed, and stared. They were good. They were better than good. The scouts would have to look now. "Send them," Vivian said. Becca uploaded the best twelve to the magazine's portal. She hit submit before she could doubt it. Then she sat down hard on the paint-stained floor. Her phone buzzed within the hour. Not a rejection. A reply from a scout, short and sharp: the work was strong enough for a meeting. But the message named a condition. To be considered for the cover, Becca had to shoot live, in person, at the magazine's floating studio, against the other finalists. Becca read it twice. She had her portfolio. She had proof. Now she needed to beat every other model in the galaxy, face to face. Vivian read over her shoulder. "Well," the robot said. "Guess I'm coming too."