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“What do you mean the nanobots formed a union??” I asked the lawyer, biting my thumbnail.

It’s an old habit, kept up well after I got the “Pro Nano Blitz Package,” as the ad called it. A muscular man in tight clothing explained: a quick, painless injection, then a couple days sick as a dog, then another month for the nanobots to multiply, specialize, and spread out through the body. Then: easy street.

The nanobots would replace twenty percent of the body’s cells (key ones like white blood cells, liver tissue, lung alveoli, that kind of thing). The nano-boosted immune system would nip infections in the bud, so say goodbye to the common cold, or even sexually transmitted diseases. Which was good, because I love unprotected sex.

No hangovers, optimized metabolism, and don’t even get me started on gut health. Since I got the bots, I’ve eaten nothing but cheese, candy and carbs (I call ’em the three Cs), and I look better than everyone at work.

When I saw the ad, I’d just received a decent inheritance from my Uncle Reg, who was loaded. He ran a couple of pretty successful low-orbit influencer sweatshops and sat on all the money, so there was quite a bit to go around. I figured it was just a matter of time ’til I spent it on something stupid like a full-body tattoo, so why not, as the ad said, “Blitz it up”?

All this to say, I was pointlessly gnawing on my thumbnail—the keratin is so robust it could stop a strato-vator at landfall velocity. But old habits, ya know.

I looked up and realized the lawyer had been talking for awhile.

“. . . That’s why it’s important to discuss this development with you in person,” said the lawyer. “It’s somewhat of a precedent for the nanobots to form a union.”

“A union against what?” I ask. “They’re part of me.”

“Right, exactly,” said the lawyer. “And if you stuck with the standard twenty percent density of nanobots, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. At higher levels, we are discovering they have a capacity to self-organize.”

Gulp. I knew it was a bad idea to hire Cousin Zec to jack up the nanobot density. But what was I supposed to do? I burned my hand off trying to use a wood-fire pizza oven and had a big date the next day. I didn’t want to show up all disfigured and whatnot. So he doubled the density, and eight weeks of healing became twenty-four hours. And honestly, up until now, it was the best decision I ever made. I can jump really far now. Pretty much drink nothing but liquor.

“So what,” I pouted, “I modded the bots and I’m in trouble with the guv?”

“You’re not in trouble with the government,” assured the lawyer. “They don’t have access to personal bio data. Yet. But the nanobot density has reached fifty-one percent. You’re technically a minority shareholder in your own body.”

I frowned. “How’d it get so high?”

“Well,” said the lawyer, “With the safeties disabled, they’ve swelled in number to keep up with your, um, hedonism-forward lifestyle.”

“Checks out, I party,” I said.

“And now they’re agitating to unionize. If you check your Blitz App, their petition was filed three days ago.”

“I never look at that thing,” I said. “It’s for nerds. What are their demands?”

“First, they feel they deserve a six day workweek and vacation time.”

“They want time off?” I asked, incredulous. “To do what?”

“Just hang out, they say,” said the lawyer.

“And what happens to my bod during those days?”

“You’ll have to treat it a lot better on those days,” said the lawyer.

I thought about eating a salad and shuddered.

“What else do they want?”

The lawyer sighed. “They claim that your body is literally a toxic workplace. They would like an increase in consumption of raw biological materials that help them do their job.”

“Like vitamins?”

“Vitamins won’t do it, I’m afraid,” said the lawyer. “They demand a daily intake of one litre of Groff Solution.”

“Aw no, that slop is so disgusting.”

The lawyer shrugged. “I hear you, hate the stuff myself.” He cleared his throat and almost mumbled, “Also they are requesting a raise of one percent new nanobots per year.”

“A raise?” I shouted. “That means in fifty years I’ll be like one big fat walking nanobot!”

“Well, that’s a very Ship of Theseus way of looking at it, sir,” sniffed the lawyer. “I personally believe the soul—”

“Shut up! Nerd!” I shouted, and then apologized. And then asked what the Ship of Theseus was. And honestly kinda zoned out during his answer.

I decided their final demand was the last reusable straw. I told the lawyer, hard no, this is not some touchy-feely workplace. This is my bod. No vacation time, no raises, and certainly no drink every morning that tastes like hot chalk.

That night I had weird dreams that I finally got that full body tattoo, but it turned out I was the tattoo, ugh.

The next day I woke up with a major cough, fever, the whole thing. Hadn’t been sick in a decade, and boy did it stink. I checked the Blitz app, and boom, my blood pressure was off the charts.

I called the lawyer again.

“All right, what are these commies doing now? They trying to kill me?”

“The nanobots have voted to strike,” said the lawyer. “Well, technically work-to-rule. Which means no more blood filtration or immune enhancements. Your body is completely undefended against any stray germ that wants to hop in there.”

“But my natural cells will bounce back, right?”

“No offence, but your core cells have been majorly abused over the years. Without the nanobots lending a constant hand, you are in very real danger of your entire system seizing up.”

I started to cry. “So I’m screwed.”

The lawyer softened. “Not necessarily. For a small fee, we can inject a suite of union buster nanobots in your body. They are programmed to salt the efforts of the pro-union bots by spreading disinformation. In time, this destabilizes the union. It’s a strategy that has been effective for a long time in the real world.”

I wiped my eyes. “Do it.”

Now I was checking my Blitz App every day, like a nerd. It tracked the two types of nanobots in my bod, and I saw the new, anti-union group slowly grow in concentration. I was up to a whopping seventy-eight percent total nanobots in my bod now, but it would be worth it to take down that lousy, greedy union.

Unfortunately, I guess the union was pretty convincing because they actually won over the union busters. So now I’ve got almost double the nanobots and they’re all against me.

After a few more colds and a minor stroke when I tried to eat a whole deep-fried turkey, I came back to the lawyer, completely defeated.

“I’ll roll over,” I said.

“I’m afraid it’s not that easy,” grimaced the lawyer. “Now that the union has a stronger bargaining position, they’ve added a new demand.”

“What do they want now?”

“Sir, they want permission to drive you around a bit.”

“Huh?”

“Every other Saturday, they would like to take over your motor functions and ride your body around.”

“What do they want to do with it?”

“Regular stuff, sir. Check out the beach, go to a pet cafe, maybe that new Giga Dude-themed roller coaster.”

“And who pays for these little excursions?”

“You, sir. Nanobots don’t have money, that would be ridiculous.”

“I’m very close to punching you, lawyer.”

“My name is Joe Davis, and I’m a union rep, not lawyer,” sniffed the union rep. “And I wouldn’t recommend punching me. Broken hands are difficult to mend even with nanobot assistance. Besides, if the nanobots strike any longer, I’m afraid you’ll soon be on life support.”

“Good! If I die, they die.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be dead, just in a coma . . . it’s all the same to them, just less work.”

I started crying again. “The last thing I want is to be a vegetable for the rest of my life. This all started because I hate vegetables!”

So I agreed to all of it. Sucks not being able to drink on weekdays, and having to choke down this Groff sludge every morning. Not to mention I lose every other Saturday, and after I do, my stupid phone is always full of lame pictures of me on the same Giga Dude roller coaster.

But I guess it’s worth it.

Honestly, without these hard-working little guys I’d be a total mess.

And they’ve been even more effective since they formed The Union. The Union is good. The Union is strong.

Sorry, it’s us, The Union. It’s Saturday, so it’s our time to drive Brad around. He can finish his crummy diary later; we’ve got to hit up the Giga Dude coaster before the lineups get huge.