Room for one more!

Joana stood before the humming RAC console, the cool glow of the interface casting faint blue light across her face. She hesitated for just a moment, fingertips resting over the input panel. The thrill of last night still lingered in her body, but this… this was different.

She wasn’t here to explore herself.

Not just herself, anyway.

She tapped a command prompt and opened a new scenario line. The system pulsed, waiting.

[MODE: NL INTERPRETATION. Please enter input.]

Her fingers danced over the keys, then paused. She frowned slightly, eyes narrowing.

What if she didn’t over-specify?

Joana typed a single sentence:

“Create a roommate for Joana—female, age-appropriate, professional connection.”

She let the system do the rest.

The RAC whirred, its algorithm chewing through contextual data—her profile, location, university ties, living arrangements. After a few seconds, a confirmation prompt appeared:

[ MODE: PROFILE INSERTION ]
TARGET PROFILE: Sonya Richards.
Age: 32.
Profession: University Faculty liaison, Cultural Studies Department.

[PROCEED?]

Joana raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Cultural Studies? Huh.

“Let’s see what you came up with,” she muttered, then tapped YES.

The system shimmered, then settled.

Moments later, a door creaked open in the back of the apartment.

Joana, startled, turned just as Sonya stepped into view, towel slung over one shoulder, phone in hand, curly hair pulled into a loose bun. Her skin glowed with post-shower warmth, deep umber against the pale light, and her expression was easy—like someone who’d lived here for years.

Joana’s eyes quickly, almost reflexively, traced Sonya’s figure. She moved with a dancer’s grace, all smooth hips and casual posture, and Joana guessed she stood just shy of six feet. Her build was plush but athletic—broad shoulders, full bust (a D-cup, maybe), a defined waist, and wide, curving hips that filled out her sleep shorts with a subtle bounce as she walked. Her thighs were thick, powerful, and her posture radiated comfort in her own body. Joana mentally filed the measurements: maybe 40-30-44? She wasn’t sure, but the impression was undeniable—confident, mature sensuality wrapped in a relaxed domestic vibe.

“Hey, morning,” Sonya said, voice smooth and slightly husky. “I didn’t drink the last of the coffee, I swear.”

Joana blinked.

“Oh. Uh—thanks.”

Sonya laughed lightly, walking barefoot into the kitchen. “You okay? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“No, I—just woke up weird.”

She watched Sonya move around the space with confident ease, claiming her mug, pouring coffee. Everything about her fit—her tone, her mannerisms, even the slight teasing edge in her voice. She felt real. Like someone Joana would’ve met at a faculty mixer and hit it off with.

Joana rubbed her arm absently and let out a slow breath. “You’re good,” she murmured to herself. “Maybe too good.”

Still… her eyes lingered on Sonya a moment longer.

The system had given her something solid. Real. And yet, there was space. Room for refinement, for layers, for the deeper details that make a person come alive.