Author's note: This story is ongoing and not finished yet. Check back for updates every few days! Neural Log 001: Startup Sequence The phone alarm buzzed angrily on Elena’s nightstand, jolting her awake. She groaned, slapping at the device until it fell silent. The faint glow of the holographic clock projected above her bed told her she was already running late. Again. She flung off the tangled sheets, her bare feet hitting the cold floor next to her bed-alcove. She stood up, scratching the back of her thigh, numbly noticing a cockroach scurry away from the mug that was still about a quarter full of MonkeyShine and melted ice on the floor by her alcove. Gross.Her head hurt. She sighed, picking up her forgotten cup and running a hand through her messy hair as she shuffled toward her rack of clothes in the 'living room'. It wasn't really a living room, because it was the only room, aside from her son Jommy's tiny bedroom and the bathroom.She put down her mug (a branded promotional mug she'd stolen from work half a decade ago), pulled off her t-shirt and flung it onto her bed. She glanced down quickly at her mismatched bra and underwear, trying to remember when she’d last changed them. Yesterday? No, wait—the day before. Clean enough. She patted her belly absentmindedly as she glared at her clothes rack, trying to decide which of her outdated outfits she'd be able to tolerate wearing today. She settled on a pair of cyan tights and a neon yellow tunic-style shirt with a belt, dressing quickly in the dim light of morning. She cinched the belt, smoothing out the wrinkles as best she could, then ran her fingers through her short blonde hair in an attempt to tame the mess.It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. She lifted her arm and smelled herself, making a mental note to put on some deodorant when she got to her locker at work. There wasn't enough time for a shower before her train arrived. She glanced at the clock again, cursing under her breath as she grabbed her "I &lt;8 Sho Kushu Biomedical" mug and headed to the 'kitchen'—a counter with a microwave and a cupboard next to a tiny fridge on the far wall.The apartment was a disaster—clothes piled on the couch, empty takeout containers scattered across the counter, and a flashing screen over the front door reminding her that rent was due yesterday. Elena ignored it all, dumping out the watered down banana schnapps in the sink and grabbing the half-empty pot of coffee. She sniffed it. It smelled okay. She poured some into her mug without bothering to heat it up. Time was a luxury she didn’t have this morning. She gulped cold coffee quickly and threw a couple of pills in her mouth, hoping they'd make her headache go away.“Jommy!” she called out, her voice still hoarse from sleep. “Get up! You’re gonna be late for school again!”From behind the closed door of his tiny bedroom, Jommy’s voice drifted out, muffled but clear. “Are you dressed yet?”Elena rolled her eyes, glancing down at herself just to be sure. “Yes, I’m dressed,” she replied with a hint of exasperation. “It’s safe to come out, you big baby.”The sound of rustling sheets came from the tiny room next to her sleep alcove. Jommy’s bedroom—if you could even call it that—was more like a glorified closet. The door slid open, and her son stumbled out, his dark brown hair sticking up in every direction. He was shirtless, his lean frame showing signs of the man he was becoming. Elena blinked, realizing with a pang that he was now at least three inches taller than her. Her little baby was somehow eighteen. How is that even possible? she wondered wistfully.“Morning,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he shuffled past her toward the bathroom.“Morning, sweetie,” she said, trying to inject some cheer into her voice. "Come here and give Mommy kisses." She reached out to hug him, but he sidestepped her effortlessly, muttering, “Mom, stop. Come on…”He paused, scratching the back of his neck, and added, “And stop calling me Jommy. I keep telling you. Just Jom.”Elena’s hand dropped to her side, her smile faltering. Jom. She hated that name. It felt like a rejection of everything she’d given him. She thought back to when she had him—sixteen, stupid, naive, and obsessed with Reno Numbers Channel, the biggest Skagaetton band of the 2040s. She’d named him after the lead singer, Jommy S, thinking it was the coolest name in the world. Back then, she’d imagined her son growing up to be just as bold and charismatic as her idol. Now, here he was, butchering the name she'd given him, leaving nothing but a single syllable that felt meaningless to her.She forced a laugh, though it sounded more strained than she intended. “Well… okay, Jom. Just… don’t forget you’re meeting your dad for dinner this weekend. He called last night to talk to you but I told him you were asleep already.”He nodded half-heartedly, already turning away. “Yeah, whatever. I know.”She wasn’t sure if Jommy’s indifference was worse than his father’s absence, but it certainly felt like it some days. Elena stared at his retreating back, a lump forming in her throat. Where had her little boy gone, the one who used to run to her and throw his tiny arms around her every time she came home from work? She missed him. She missed him so much it hurt. Now, he barely acknowledged her presence. He'd turned into this man that she barely knew, living just inches away from her, but miles away at the same time. She would give anything to go back to those days when it was just the two of them against the world. Just a wannabe Skagaetton punkette and her baby, fighting the system and raging against mediocracy.She stepped into her wedge-heeled sneakers and busied herself with gathering her things for work: her purse, her phone, her tablet. The roar of the mono-metro train pulling into the station outside rattled the apartment's only window, and she glanced at the clock. She was cutting it close. Again.She grabbed her coat and headed for the door, pausing briefly to glance at herself in the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her—tired eyes, faint lines around her mouth, hair that hadn’t seen a brush in days. She looked older than she felt. Or maybe she just felt older than she looked. 34 isn't old. You're not even middle-aged yet, she reminded herself.She heard the shower in the bathroom turn on. "Bye, Jom!" she shouted, even though she was pretty sure he couldn't hear her over the water. The mono-metro was already at the platform when she stepped outside, the oddly humid morning air clammy on her skin. She jogged down the hall to the station platform, heels tapping rapidly against the pavement. The train doors hissed open, and she slipped inside just as they began to close.The car was packed, bodies pressed together in a way that made her skin crawl. She found a spot near the window, grabbing the overhead bar and clutching her purse and tablet bag tightly to her chest as the train lurched forward. The city skyline blurred past, a mix of towering skyscrapers and crumbling low-income buildings like hers. Elena stared out the window, her mind wandering.Someone behind her was subtly brushing their hand across her ass, with a frequency that made it obvious it was intentional. Elena froze for a moment, her grip on the overhead bar tightening. She tried to make herself care, but she couldn’t. It had happened so many times before that it was almost routine. Letting them have their fun was so much easier than going through the hassle of pulling up the Mono-Metro app on her phone to report her molestation. She was getting off at the next stop anyway.Elena thought about her day ahead at work. She hated her job. She wished she could just quit, and become an artist or a musician or something meaningful, something where she could make a difference. But she couldn't. Jommy... Jom needed her. All her money went to paying for his school so that when he graduated he'd have a degree that could open doors for him—doors that would lead to a better life than she could give him right now.Ugh, work, she thought. The schedule for this week was more pointless OctoMate v3 testing. These things are never going to be ready to go to market. R&amp;D knows it, management knows it, and the regional presidents know it, she thought. Despite the fact that these creatures needed to be completely re-engineered, some idiot higher-up kept pushing for the current genome to only be tweaked slightly then re-tested. The absolute stupidity and short-sightedness of her bosses was more annoying than the hand that was still gently brushing against her ass.*Jommy Verne slouched in his desk. He fidgeted with a button that was starting to come loose on his black uniform jacket. Calculus was the most boring thing ever, even more boring than quantum computing. The robo-teacher was going on about arrays or something he didn't care about, and he just wanted the class to be over. His mind wandered to Haruko Santos, the most beautiful girl in school. She was half Japanese, half Brazilian, short and slender, with long dark hair that shimmered like silk, and skin the color of a caramel latte. Jommy had gone to school with her for over two years, but he’d only ever spoken to her a handful of times.She was kind, smart, and universally liked—everyone at school adored her, yet she’d never had a boyfriend. Jommy suspected the reason was because her family was so rich. Her dad probably expected her to marry someone from a family just as rich, and while there were other wealthy kids at their school, no one was as filthy rich as her family. Her father was a bigwig CEO or something at Neon-Genesin Agra. She was dropped off every day by her own private drone, her uniform was always immaculately pressed, and she always smelled so good, like candy fruit flavors. She seemed so perfect, so out of reach. He’d often daydreamed about what it would be like to be close to her, to make her laugh, to hold her hand.Calculus class mercifully ended and he headed straight for the next class of the morning, his favorite class—biology. Not because he particularly liked the subject, but because Haruko sat right next to him in biology. He entered the classroom and saw she was already there, sitting patiently at her desk. She looked as beautiful as ever, her smooth, light tan skin and glossy hair glowing in the morning light. As he slid into his desk next to hers, the Robo-teacher, Mr. Bio-5, powered up to begin the lesson. Haruko raised her hand, and the teacher’s deep male voice with a subtle British accent responded, “Yes, Miss Santos? What is it?”“My tablet isn’t turning on,” Haruko said, a little shyly.Mr. Bio-5 nodded. “Move your desk next to Mr. Verne so you can watch the lesson on his tablet.”Jommy’s heart skipped a beat as Haruko scooted her desk over to sit beside him. She flashed him a warm smile, and his face flushed with heat. “Hey there,” she said casually, her voice like butterscotch pudding. Is this really happening? he wondered.“Hey,” Jommy managed to reply, trying to seem cool and aloof. He held his tablet closer to her so she could see the screen, ignoring the way his hands trembled slightly. Her closeness was overwhelming, but in the best possible way. He could smell her hair—it smelled like strawberry NicoTweaks, the nicotine candy that kids who weren't 18 yet paid him to buy for them at the corner market. A perfect metaphor, he thought. Sweet, irresistible and forbidden... just like her. Or no... is that a simile? What is even the difference between a metaphor and simile?As the lesson continued, Jommy found it impossible to focus. All he could think about was Haruko sitting next to him, her presence making his chest tighten with a mix of excitement and nerves. He hoped she didn’t notice how red his face was or how he kept fumbling with his tablet. The excercise portion of the lesson began, and she laughed with him as they jostled fingers on his tablet playing a game about aerobic respiration, taking turns guiding a glucose molecule through glycolysis and the Krebs cycle.For Jommy, this moment was perfect—just being near her, sharing the same space, even if it was only for a class. He wondered if she felt the same spark he did, or if she was just being polite. Each time their fingers touched it became more and more obvious that she was piloting her glucose molecule into his side of the mitochondria on purpose. Her finger bumped into his again, and he looked at her, smiling. She was smiling back at him, her lips parted slightly, with a tiny bit of her pink tongue sticking out, teasing him. He pushed his finger against hers, turning glucose into pyruvate faster than she could collect it all."No, Jommy! Slow down! I can't handle this much pyruvate!" she laughed, trying to guide the molecules into the Krebs cycle as quickly as she could. She'd called him Jommy instead of Jom, but he didn't correct her. His full name sounded right coming from her. She leaned in, her shoulder rubbing against his, and he felt both exhilaration and panic rising in his chest. Was she flirting, or just being competitive? Maybe both.Suddenly, the bell rang.Haruko quickly pushed her desk back to its normal spot and got up to go. “Bye, Jommy,” she said, giving him a little wave. Her smile lingered for a moment, and Jommy felt his heart skip a beat. She joined one of her friends at the door, her long dark hair swaying as she walked away, chatting with her friend. Jommy sat there, slightly dazed, his mind replaying every moment of their interaction.Eventually, he gathered his things and got up to leave. As he stepped into the hallway, he spotted Haruko with a group of her friends gathered around her. She was showing them something. As he passed by, Jommy realized that she was showing off photos on her tablet—the same tablet that she’d told Mr. Bio-5 wouldn’t turn on. Her tablet wasn't broken at all.She saw him looking and waved. "Hi Jommy!" she called in her sing-song voice. The heads of her friends all turned to look at him. He waved back, not sure what else to do. He felt his face heating up under the intense stares of the group of girls. He turned away, trying to remain casual, but the sound of the girls giggling together behind him as he continued down the hall left him with single thought:Is this really happening?

Elena woke up late, rushed to get ready, and struggled to connect with her son Jommy, who now prefers to be called Jom. She rode the crowded mono-metro to work, feeling discontent with her job and life. Jommy, meanwhile, had a close encounter with Haruko Santos in biology class, leading to a confusing and exciting interaction.

Author's note: This story is ongoing and not finished yet. Check back for updates every few days!

Neural Log 001: Startup Sequence 

The phone alarm buzzed angrily on Elena’s nightstand, jolting her awake. She groaned, slapping at the device until it fell silent. The faint glow of the holographic clock projected above her bed told her she was already running late. Again. She flung off the tangled sheets, her bare feet hitting the cold floor next to her bed-alcove. She stood up, scratching the back of her thigh, numbly noticing a cockroach scurry away from the mug that was still about a quarter full of MonkeyShine and melted ice on the floor by her alcove. Gross.

Her head hurt. She sighed, picking up her forgotten cup and running a hand through her messy hair as she shuffled toward her rack of clothes in the 'living room'. It wasn't really a living room, because it was the only room, aside from her son Jommy's tiny bedroom and the bathroom.

She put down her mug (a branded promotional mug she'd stolen from work half a decade ago), pulled off her t-shirt and flung it onto her bed. She glanced down quickly at her mismatched bra and underwear, trying to remember when she’d last changed them. Yesterday? No, wait—the day before. Clean enough. She patted her belly absentmindedly as she glared at her clothes rack, trying to decide which of her outdated outfits she'd be able to tolerate wearing today. She settled on a pair of cyan tights and a neon yellow tunic-style shirt with a belt, dressing quickly in the dim light of morning. She cinched the belt, smoothing out the wrinkles as best she could, then ran her fingers through her short blonde hair in an attempt to tame the mess.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. She lifted her arm and smelled herself, making a mental note to put on some deodorant when she got to her locker at work. There wasn't enough time for a shower before her train arrived. She glanced at the clock again, cursing under her breath as she grabbed her "I <8 Sho Kushu Biomedical" mug and headed to the 'kitchen'—a counter with a microwave and a cupboard next to a tiny fridge on the far wall.

The apartment was a disaster—clothes piled on the couch, empty takeout containers scattered across the counter, and a flashing screen over the front door reminding her that rent was due yesterday. Elena ignored it all, dumping out the watered down banana schnapps in the sink and grabbing the half-empty pot of coffee. She sniffed it. It smelled okay. She poured some into her mug without bothering to heat it up. Time was a luxury she didn’t have this morning. She gulped cold coffee quickly and threw a couple of pills in her mouth, hoping they'd make her headache go away.

“Jommy!” she called out, her voice still hoarse from sleep. “Get up! You’re gonna be late for school again!”

From behind the closed door of his tiny bedroom, Jommy’s voice drifted out, muffled but clear. “Are you dressed yet?”

Elena rolled her eyes, glancing down at herself just to be sure. “Yes, I’m dressed,” she replied with a hint of exasperation. “It’s safe to come out, you big baby.”

The sound of rustling sheets came from the tiny room next to her sleep alcove. Jommy’s bedroom—if you could even call it that—was more like a glorified closet. The door slid open, and her son stumbled out, his dark brown hair sticking up in every direction. He was shirtless, his lean frame showing signs of the man he was becoming. Elena blinked, realizing with a pang that he was now at least three inches taller than her. Her little baby was somehow eighteen. How is that even possible? she wondered wistfully.

“Morning,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he shuffled past her toward the bathroom.

“Morning, sweetie,” she said, trying to inject some cheer into her voice. "Come here and give Mommy kisses." She reached out to hug him, but he sidestepped her effortlessly, muttering, “Mom, stop. Come on…”

He paused, scratching the back of his neck, and added, “And stop calling me Jommy. I keep telling you. Just Jom.”

Elena’s hand dropped to her side, her smile faltering. Jom. She hated that name. It felt like a rejection of everything she’d given him. She thought back to when she had him—sixteen, stupid, naive, and obsessed with Reno Numbers Channel, the biggest Skagaetton band of the 2040s. She’d named him after the lead singer, Jommy S, thinking it was the coolest name in the world. Back then, she’d imagined her son growing up to be just as bold and charismatic as her idol. Now, here he was, butchering the name she'd given him, leaving nothing but a single syllable that felt meaningless to her.

She forced a laugh, though it sounded more strained than she intended. “Well… okay, Jom. Just… don’t forget you’re meeting your dad for dinner this weekend. He called last night to talk to you but I told him you were asleep already.”

He nodded half-heartedly, already turning away. “Yeah, whatever. I know.”

She wasn’t sure if Jommy’s indifference was worse than his father’s absence, but it certainly felt like it some days. Elena stared at his retreating back, a lump forming in her throat. Where had her little boy gone, the one who used to run to her and throw his tiny arms around her every time she came home from work? She missed him. She missed him so much it hurt. Now, he barely acknowledged her presence. He'd turned into this man that she barely knew, living just inches away from her, but miles away at the same time. She would give anything to go back to those days when it was just the two of them against the world. Just a wannabe Skagaetton punkette and her baby, fighting the system and raging against mediocracy.

She stepped into her wedge-heeled sneakers and busied herself with gathering her things for work: her purse, her phone, her tablet. The roar of the mono-metro train pulling into the station outside rattled the apartment's only window, and she glanced at the clock. She was cutting it close. Again.

She grabbed her coat and headed for the door, pausing briefly to glance at herself in the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her—tired eyes, faint lines around her mouth, hair that hadn’t seen a brush in days. She looked older than she felt. Or maybe she just felt older than she looked. 34 isn't old. You're not even middle-aged yet, she reminded herself.

She heard the shower in the bathroom turn on. "Bye, Jom!" she shouted, even though she was pretty sure he couldn't hear her over the water. The mono-metro was already at the platform when she stepped outside, the oddly humid morning air clammy on her skin. She jogged down the hall to the station platform, heels tapping rapidly against the pavement. The train doors hissed open, and she slipped inside just as they began to close.

The car was packed, bodies pressed together in a way that made her skin crawl. She found a spot near the window, grabbing the overhead bar and clutching her purse and tablet bag tightly to her chest as the train lurched forward. The city skyline blurred past, a mix of towering skyscrapers and crumbling low-income buildings like hers. Elena stared out the window, her mind wandering.

Someone behind her was subtly brushing their hand across her ass, with a frequency that made it obvious it was intentional. Elena froze for a moment, her grip on the overhead bar tightening. She tried to make herself care, but she couldn’t. It had happened so many times before that it was almost routine. Letting them have their fun was so much easier than going through the hassle of pulling up the Mono-Metro app on her phone to report her molestation. She was getting off at the next stop anyway.

Elena thought about her day ahead at work. She hated her job. She wished she could just quit, and become an artist or a musician or something meaningful, something where she could make a difference. But she couldn't. Jommy... Jom needed her. All her money went to paying for his school so that when he graduated he'd have a degree that could open doors for him—doors that would lead to a better life than she could give him right now.

Ugh, work, she thought. The schedule for this week was more pointless OctoMate v3 testing. These things are never going to be ready to go to market. R&D knows it, management knows it, and the regional presidents know it, she thought. Despite the fact that these creatures needed to be completely re-engineered, some idiot higher-up kept pushing for the current genome to only be tweaked slightly then re-tested. The absolute stupidity and short-sightedness of her bosses was more annoying than the hand that was still gently brushing against her ass.

*

Jommy Verne slouched in his desk. He fidgeted with a button that was starting to come loose on his black uniform jacket. Calculus was the most boring thing ever, even more boring than quantum computing. The robo-teacher was going on about arrays or something he didn't care about, and he just wanted the class to be over. His mind wandered to Haruko Santos, the most beautiful girl in school. She was half Japanese, half Brazilian, short and slender, with long dark hair that shimmered like silk, and skin the color of a caramel latte. Jommy had gone to school with her for over two years, but he’d only ever spoken to her a handful of times.

She was kind, smart, and universally liked—everyone at school adored her, yet she’d never had a boyfriend. Jommy suspected the reason was because her family was so rich. Her dad probably expected her to marry someone from a family just as rich, and while there were other wealthy kids at their school, no one was as filthy rich as her family. Her father was a bigwig CEO or something at Neon-Genesin Agra. She was dropped off every day by her own private drone, her uniform was always immaculately pressed, and she always smelled so good, like candy fruit flavors. She seemed so perfect, so out of reach. He’d often daydreamed about what it would be like to be close to her, to make her laugh, to hold her hand.

Calculus class mercifully ended and he headed straight for the next class of the morning, his favorite class—biology. Not because he particularly liked the subject, but because Haruko sat right next to him in biology. He entered the classroom and saw she was already there, sitting patiently at her desk. She looked as beautiful as ever, her smooth, light tan skin and glossy hair glowing in the morning light. As he slid into his desk next to hers, the Robo-teacher, Mr. Bio-5, powered up to begin the lesson. Haruko raised her hand, and the teacher’s deep male voice with a subtle British accent responded, “Yes, Miss Santos? What is it?”

“My tablet isn’t turning on,” Haruko said, a little shyly.

Mr. Bio-5 nodded. “Move your desk next to Mr. Verne so you can watch the lesson on his tablet.”

Jommy’s heart skipped a beat as Haruko scooted her desk over to sit beside him. She flashed him a warm smile, and his face flushed with heat. “Hey there,” she said casually, her voice like butterscotch pudding. Is this really happening? he wondered.

“Hey,” Jommy managed to reply, trying to seem cool and aloof. He held his tablet closer to her so she could see the screen, ignoring the way his hands trembled slightly. Her closeness was overwhelming, but in the best possible way. He could smell her hair—it smelled like strawberry NicoTweaks, the nicotine candy that kids who weren't 18 yet paid him to buy for them at the corner market. A perfect metaphor, he thought. Sweet, irresistible and forbidden... just like her. Or no... is that a simile? What is even the difference between a metaphor and simile?

As the lesson continued, Jommy found it impossible to focus. All he could think about was Haruko sitting next to him, her presence making his chest tighten with a mix of excitement and nerves. He hoped she didn’t notice how red his face was or how he kept fumbling with his tablet. The excercise portion of the lesson began, and she laughed with him as they jostled fingers on his tablet playing a game about aerobic respiration, taking turns guiding a glucose molecule through glycolysis and the Krebs cycle.

For Jommy, this moment was perfect—just being near her, sharing the same space, even if it was only for a class. He wondered if she felt the same spark he did, or if she was just being polite. Each time their fingers touched it became more and more obvious that she was piloting her glucose molecule into his side of the mitochondria on purpose. Her finger bumped into his again, and he looked at her, smiling. She was smiling back at him, her lips parted slightly, with a tiny bit of her pink tongue sticking out, teasing him. He pushed his finger against hers, turning glucose into pyruvate faster than she could collect it all.

"No, Jommy! Slow down! I can't handle this much pyruvate!" she laughed, trying to guide the molecules into the Krebs cycle as quickly as she could. She'd called him Jommy instead of Jom, but he didn't correct her. His full name sounded right coming from her. She leaned in, her shoulder rubbing against his, and he felt both exhilaration and panic rising in his chest. Was she flirting, or just being competitive? Maybe both.

Suddenly, the bell rang.

Haruko quickly pushed her desk back to its normal spot and got up to go. “Bye, Jommy,” she said, giving him a little wave. Her smile lingered for a moment, and Jommy felt his heart skip a beat. She joined one of her friends at the door, her long dark hair swaying as she walked away, chatting with her friend. Jommy sat there, slightly dazed, his mind replaying every moment of their interaction.

Eventually, he gathered his things and got up to leave. As he stepped into the hallway, he spotted Haruko with a group of her friends gathered around her. She was showing them something. As he passed by, Jommy realized that she was showing off photos on her tablet—the same tablet that she’d told Mr. Bio-5 wouldn’t turn on. Her tablet wasn't broken at all.

She saw him looking and waved. "Hi Jommy!" she called in her sing-song voice. The heads of her friends all turned to look at him. He waved back, not sure what else to do. He felt his face heating up under the intense stares of the group of girls. He turned away, trying to remain casual, but the sound of the girls giggling together behind him as he continued down the hall left him with single thought:

Is this really happening?

In the year 2069, a harried single mother named Elena, struggles to make ends meet and relate to her teenage son, Jommy, who is growing distant and independent. A tragic accident shatters their lives and changes everything, including the way they feel about each other.

Bae Runner 2069: The MILF Transplant

0 words