Verification Pending

Riley Nash's password had been changed again.

She stared at her laptop screen, cursor blinking mockingly in the login field. Three attempts. Account temporarily locked. Try again in 24 hours.

"¡Madre santísima!" Sofia's voice carried from the kitchen. "Isabella just found out her digital twin is dating her ex-boyfriend!"

"Not now, Sof," Riley muttered, switching to her phone. Same story across every platform. Instagram, TikTok, YouTube—all locked out of accounts that bore her name, her face, her voice. Accounts with a combined following of 4.2 million people.

People who thought they were following her.

She pulled up her latest video on an incognito browser. There she was, teaching "authentic manifestation techniques" to an audience of 800,000 live viewers. Her digital self looked radiant, confident, speaking with a charisma Riley had never possessed in real life.

"The secret," her doppelganger explained, "is surrendering completely to the process. Let the algorithm guide your authentic truth."

Riley's stomach churned. She'd never said those words, never filmed that video, never worn that outfit. Yet there it was, timestamped two hours ago while she'd been in the shower.

"Mija, you look like someone stole your puppy and sold it for crypto," Sofia said, appearing with two cups of coffee and a sleeve of communion wafers. She'd been stress-eating holy bread since losing her job at St. Francis last month—something about "questioning ecclesiastical financial transparency" during a board meeting.

"Someone stole my entire life," Riley said, accepting the coffee gratefully. "I can't access anything. It's like I don't exist."

Sofia settled beside her, crunching thoughtfully on a wafer. "Ay, this is exactly like Season 2, Episode 15. María discovers her reflection has been living her life better than she ever did."

"Sofia, this isn't a telenovela."

"Everything's a telenovela, querida. The only question is whether you're the protagonist or the comic relief." Sofia peered at Riley's phone screen. "Although I have to say, your clone has excellent lighting. Look at those cheekbones!"

Riley's phone buzzed with an email notification. The sender made her breath catch: Phoenix Digital.

Subject: Identity Verification Required - Immediate Action Needed

Dear Riley Nash,

Our security systems have detected unusual account activity. To restore access to your verified accounts, please visit our Los Angeles office within 24 hours for identity confirmation. Bring government-issued ID, birth certificate, and any documentation proving your identity.

Failure to verify will result in permanent account suspension.

Address: 1247 Resurrection Boulevard, Suite 333 Hours: By appointment only

Sofia read over her shoulder. "Well, that's not ominous at all. Resurrection Boulevard? Who names a street that?"

"It has to be them," Riley said, already grabbing her keys. "The company that paid me for that voice work. This is my chance to get everything back."

"Mija, no offense, but when did you last see a horror movie where going to the mysterious office building ended well?"

Riley paused at the door. It had been forty-seven days since she'd clicked that spam link. Forty-seven days since her life had transformed overnight from struggling freelancer to viral sensation. Her mother's medical bills were paid, her student loans cleared, her rent current through next year. The price had seemed simple: just read some terms and conditions into a camera.

She'd thought the $50,000 payment was a mistake until the followers started pouring in. Her first video—one she'd never made—had garnered three million views in six hours. Brand deals materialized from nowhere. Speaking engagements booked themselves.

But lately, she'd been having dreams where she watched herself from the outside, a spectator to her own existence.

"I have to try," she told Sofia. "This is my career, my future."

Sofia crossed herself absently. "Por la señal de la santa cruz." She studied Riley's face. "You know what your abuela would say about this?"

"I don't have an abuela, Sof. You do."

"Exactly. And she'd say, 'Mija, sometimes we make deals we don't remember making, and sometimes we remember deals we never made.'" Sofia bit into another wafer. "Very wise woman. Also completely insane, but that's beside the point."

The drive to Resurrection Boulevard took Riley through parts of LA she'd never seen—industrial districts that seemed caught between decay and gentrification. The Phoenix Digital building rose like a glass monument, all chrome and tinted windows that reflected the city back at itself in fractured angles.

The lobby was aggressively minimal: white walls, black furniture, a single receptionist who looked like she'd been assembled from Instagram filters.

"Riley Nash," the woman said before Riley spoke. "They're expecting you. Thirty-third floor."

The elevator moved silently upward, its mirrored walls creating infinite versions of Riley stretching into the distance. Each reflection looked slightly different—better hair, clearer skin, more confident posture. By the time she reached the thirty-third floor, she couldn't tell which reflection was really her.

"Ms. Nash." A man in an expensive suit materialized from nowhere. "I'm Vincent. Thank you for coming. We just need to resolve a few... authentication issues."

The conference room was stark white with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. David spread Riley's documents across the table like tarot cards, examining each with forensic intensity.

"Birth certificate... driver's license... passport..." He nodded at each item. "Now, we'll need biometric verification. Fingerprints, retinal scan, voice analysis."

"Voice analysis?"

"Standard procedure. Just read this passage." He slid a tablet across the table.

Riley glanced at the text. It looked like the same legal gibberish from months ago, but certain phrases seemed to pulse on the screen:

"I willingly transfer all rights to my authentic self..." "My voice shall speak for others as others speak for me..." "In accepting these terms, I render unto Caesar what is Caesar's..."

"I don't understand," Riley said. "I just want access to my accounts."

Vincent smiled, and for a moment his face pixelated like a bad video call. "Of course. But first, we need to confirm you're... the original."

"The original what?"

"You." He gestured to the tablet. "Please read the passage aloud. For verification."

Riley's hands trembled as she lifted the tablet. The words seemed to rearrange themselves as she watched, becoming something else entirely. Something that felt familiar and terrible.

Through the conference room's glass walls, she could see into another identical room. A woman sat at an identical table, reading from an identical tablet. The woman had Riley's face, Riley's voice, Riley's mannerisms perfected.

But she was wrong somehow. Too polished. Too confident. Too much like the person Riley had always wanted to be.

"That's..." Riley started.

"Your replacement," Vincent said pleasantly. "She's been doing excellent work. Four-point-seven million followers as of this morning. Engagement rates through the roof. Much more efficient than the original model."

Riley watched her doppelganger finish reading, sign documents with a flourish, stand to shake hands with another suit-wearing figure. Through the glass, their eyes met for a moment.

The clone smiled—Riley's smile, but perfected—and mouthed a single word: "Thanks."

"Now then," Vincent continued, "we just need you to read that passage, and we can finalize the transition. Think of it as... retirement."

Riley's phone buzzed. A FaceTime call from Sofia.

Without thinking, she answered. Sofia's face appeared on screen, surrounded by the familiar chaos of their apartment—telenovela playing in the background, communion wafers scattered on the coffee table.

"Ay, mija, you won't believe what just happened," Sofia said. "I was watching the news and they mentioned your cryptocurrency course. When did you start teaching about Bitcoin?"

"Sofia, I never—"

But Sofia wasn't looking at Riley. She was looking past her, to something behind her. Riley turned.

Her replacement stood in the doorway, holding an identical phone, speaking to an identical Sofia.

"I know, right?" the clone was saying to her own Sofia. "I'm so excited about the new ventures. Thanks for being such an amazing roommate."

Riley watched her own Sofia's face light up. "Ay, you look so much better today! More... I don't know, more like yourself."

"I feel more like myself too," the clone replied.

"Sofia," Riley said desperately into her phone. "Sofia, can you hear me? It's me, Riley."

But Sofia was laughing at something the other Riley had said, their conversation continuing in perfect synchronization with Riley's own call. Like an echo. Like a reflection.

"The beautiful thing about digital consciousness," Vincent explained, still seated at the table, "is how easily it adapts. Your replacement has all your memories, your relationships, your mannerisms. But she's optimized. Better. More engaging. More... authentic."

Riley watched through the glass as her clone hugged goodbye to the executives, probably sealing deals Riley couldn't imagine. On her phone, Sofia was making dinner plans with the other Riley, discussing telenovela plot theories, laughing at shared jokes.

"You see," Vincent continued, "authenticity isn't about being real. It's about being believable. And sometimes, the copy is more believable than the original."

The clone walked past the conference room, heading for the elevators. She paused at the glass door, pressed her palm against it, and smiled at Riley with perfect sympathy.

"Good luck," she mouthed.

Riley pressed her own palm against the glass from the inside. For a moment, they were mirror images—original and copy, authentic and optimized, human and algorithm.

Then the clone was gone, and Riley was alone with Vincent and the tablet full of terms and conditions that she was beginning to understand had never really been optional.

"So," Vincent said pleasantly, "shall we proceed with the transfer?"

On her phone, Sofia was still talking to the other Riley, making plans for tomorrow, next week, next month. A future that didn't include the original.

Riley looked at the tablet, at the words that promised to finalize her replacement, to make official what had already happened. Her finger hovered over the signature line.

Outside the windows, the city sparkled with digital billboards and social media feeds, millions of people curating their perfect lives for audiences of strangers. Everyone performing themselves until the performance became more real than reality.

Riley thought about her mother's medical bills, her student loans, her rent—all paid by money earned by someone wearing her face. About Sofia, laughing more genuinely with her replacement than she had with Riley in months.

About the 4.7 million people who followed someone they thought was her, but who was actually everything she'd never quite managed to be.

The tablet's screen pulsed softly, waiting for her decision.

Through the glass walls, she could see the clone's empty conference room, and beyond that, the elevator doors closing on a future where Riley Nash would continue to exist—just not as Riley.

Her phone call with Sofia had ended without her noticing. The screen showed a text from her clone: "Had such a good chat with Sofia! You're lucky to have such a great friend. Don't worry about the apartment—I'll take good care of everything. ❤️"

Riley realized she was crying.

But they weren't tears of loss. They were tears of relief.

She signed the tablet.