The Mobility Strain

"We're live in 3... 2... 1..." You cue Leslie Lux, the self-proclaimed Teen Luxury Queen of the World, as she bounces into frame. "Hi, Luxers! It's your girl, Leslie, coming at you from the top of the world – the Regent Paradise!" Leslie's voice hits that perfect pitch of vapid excitement. "Thirty-nine floors of nothing but ambitious young professionals living their best lives – and naturally, we're in the penthouse!" You keep the camera trained on Leslie as she flounces through her planned itinerary, pointing out luxury fixtures in a stream of bubbly inanity. "As you can see, this is the suite's second rooftop infinity pool. Because why have just one edge when you can have, like, infinity edges?" She giggles at her own non-joke. "And this view of the city? I can practically taste the smog... I mean, success!" Leslie sprawls dramatically on a floating chaise lounge. "Thirty thousand people all reaching for the stars... or at least the top floor! Talk about #VerticalGoals, am I right?" She winks and blows a kiss. "Stay luxurious, my lovelies!" "And we're clear," you say, lowering the camera. Leslie's entire demeanor shifts in an instant. She sits up, eyes sharp and voice dropping an octave. "Please tell me you got that nauseating display of idiocy." You nod, already pulling up the footage for editing. "Fantastic. Let's get this lobotomized drivel uploaded before my last brain cell commits seppuku." She massages her temples. "I swear, playing this airhead is going to give me early-onset dementia." Your phone buzzes with a notification. It's a public service announcement from the local authorities. You've been through so many countries over the last few days, you're not even sure what language it's in. "What's that?" Leslie asks, peering over your shoulder. "No clue. Let me run it through a translator." You tap away, then frown at the results. "Uh... 'Attention noble sky dwellers. Happy quarantine now begins. Please enjoy indoor living experience until notification of great joy.'" Leslie blinks. "That's either the world's worst translation or we're in deep sh—" Your phone dies. So does Leslie's. And your camera. An the lights. And every other electronic device in the penthouse. "Okay, what the actual f—" Leslie's cut off by a frantic knocking at the door. "Help! Please, is anyone there? You have to let us in!" You and Leslie exchange looks. The ditzy screen persona is long gone, replaced by concern and fear. "Well," Leslie says, "I guess the Luxers are in for one hell of a plot twist."