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The butler walked into the dining room with a tray, upon which sat a mobile phone. He walked along the length of the large table, decorated for Christmas and laden with the finest food, past the laughing guests, to the man at the head. "Excuse me Lord Mattel, you asked to be told immediately should this phone ever ring," he said. Lord Mattel's face went from joyous to stern. "Thank you, Basil," he said, taking the phone and leaving the dining room. When he was alone, he lifted the phone to his ear. "This is Mattel." "Lord Mattel, sorry to disturb you on Christmas day. I have instructions to call you no matter the time should the Doll Protocol be activated," said a worried voice on the line. "That's fine. Situation report please." "Yes sir. We have an instance of the Barbie VR title being illegally downloaded to a compatible VR device. We've checked the communications records and the user has a request from his niece for...

Another audition blown, you slammed the the door of the rehearsal room and plonked down in one of the chairs. You were seething. You were in great shape, your body would be the envy of even a Marvel leading man. You were handsome. So why couldn't you book a job? The casting director, Toni, emerged from the room and sat next to you. "You don't do yourself any favours going off like that." "This whole thing is bullshit," you complained. "If I were woman, and my body was the equivalent of this... Well, I'd have my own TV show by now at least." "I'll level with you," she said. "You absolutely have the looks but you just can't act. You can learn, and I've got a shortcut if you want it. In an hour I can make a total difference to your performances." What did you have to lose? Toni drove you to a warehouse, and inside the warehouse was a laboratory. "This is a nanofilter," she said, holding up a small electron...

You'd had no illusions about how risky life on a North Atlantic trawler would be, but this was the only job left where you could entirely leave your old life behind. Working hard, the cold, the separation from the modern world - it suited you. You were returning to Newfoundland with almost full stocks of cod when the squall started. In almost zero visibility your boat hit an iceberg and capsized. You'd managed to get most of the crew into lifeboats when the deck was torn away from under your feet and you plunged into the icy water. Your lungs filled with freezing ocean and death seemed to claim you. Your final thoughts were that you'd tried hard, and that at least this would be quick. In a small, warm room, you awoke under a pile of blankets. Somehow you'd been rescued! Groggily you tried to get a sense of where you were, and you could hear high-pitched voices just beyond a door. The door opened and three people walked in and approached the bed. Your vision cleared and ...

Sunday Marco placed the bags on his dining table and turned on the kettle. His hunt through the bric-a-brac stores of a small nearby town had turned up a few good finds and a couple of possibilities. He sat with his tea and checked everything over. A painting by a semi-renowned local artist - he could probably make $200 on that; a few old coins that he'd maybe earn $30 by selling on eBay; a strange ceramic bell that had cost pennies and could be trash but could be something, maybe; and a cigarette case inscribed for a notable early 20th century opera singer. If that turned out to be legit, Marco could be looking at a few thousand. He started trying to match the bell to others online, but couldn't turn up anything quite like it.  It was small and pretty, overly fussy perhaps, but intricately decorated. If it was as old as the rest of the stuff in the shop then the craftsmanship was impressive and the condition was exquisite. If it was modern, factory produced crap then hey, he...