Robyn Michaels

The Favorites

I never thought much about favorites. Favorite color, favorite food, favorite song – these were questions for kids or ice-breakers at corporate retreats. But lately, that’s all anyone wants to know. Who are your current most favorite people?

It started innocently enough. A notification on my phone, a new app called “Favorites” pre-installed with the latest update. I ignored it at first, swiping it away like so much digital clutter. But then came the billboards, the TV commercials, the incessant chatter at work.

“Have you set your Favorites yet?”

“Who’s in your top five?”

“You won’t believe who I just added!”

I held out for weeks, rolling my eyes at the latest social media fad. But eventually, curiosity got the better of me. One sleepless night, I tapped the icon.

The interface was simple, almost stark. A blank list with five empty slots, each awaiting a name. At the top, a single question:

“Who are your current most favorite people?”

I hesitated, then typed in the first name that came to mind.

1. Sarah

My wife. Of course she’d be first. We’d been married for twelve years, through thick and thin. Who else could possibly top the list?

2. Mom

Easy enough. She’d always been there for me, even when I was at my worst.

3. Dave

My best friend since college. We didn’t see each other as often these days, but he was still the person I’d call at 3 AM if I needed help burying a body.

I paused at the fourth slot. This was harder than I’d expected. I had plenty of friends and family, but ranking them felt… wrong somehow. After a moment’s deliberation, I continued.

4. Dr. Patel

My therapist. Was that weird? But she’d helped me through some dark times, and I genuinely looked forward to our sessions.

5. Zoe

My niece. Only six years old, but she could light up a room like no one else.

I hit submit, and a wave of relief washed over me. There. I’d done it. I was part of the conversation now. Maybe people would stop pestering me about it.

But they didn’t stop. If anything, the questions intensified.

“Who’s your number one?”

“Any changes this week?”

“Have you checked your Loyalty Score?”

Loyalty Score? I hadn’t noticed that feature before. But there it was, a little meter in the corner of the app. Mine read 87%. Not bad, I thought, though I had no idea what it meant or how it was calculated.

Weeks passed, and “Favorites” became more than just a fad. It was a cultural phenomenon, a new social currency. People wore shirts displaying their top five. Restaurants offered discounts if you could prove someone had you in their list. There were even rumors of job applications asking for your Loyalty Score.

I tried to ignore it, to treat it as the meaningless game it surely was. But I couldn’t help checking the app daily, making sure my list was up to date. It became a ritual, a moment of reflection each morning.

One day, I noticed my Loyalty Score had dropped to 85%. A small change, but it bothered me more than it should have. I scrutinized my list, wondering if I should make changes. Was I being disloyal by not updating it?

I shook off the thought and went about my day. But as I walked to work, I couldn’t help but notice the new billboard looming over the street:

“Loyalty is everything. Update your Favorites daily!”

At the office, conversations revolved around little else.

“Did you see Jack’s list? His wife isn’t even in the top three anymore!”

“I heard Jenny got fired because her boss wasn’t in her top five.”

“They say the government’s using Favorites data now. Better keep your list clean!”

I tried to focus on my work, but the constant chatter was maddening. When had this become so important? It was just a stupid app, wasn’t it?

That night, I stared at my phone, thumb hovering over the Favorites icon. My Loyalty Score had dropped again, now at 82%. With a sigh, I opened the app and stared at my list.

1. Sarah
2. Mom
3. Dave
4. Dr. Patel
5. Zoe

It still felt right. These were the people who mattered most to me. But as I went to close the app, a new button caught my eye:

“Optimize your list for maximum Loyalty!”

I hesitated. It felt like cheating somehow. But… it couldn’t hurt to see the suggestions, right? I tapped the button.

The screen flickered, and a new list appeared:

1. President Adama
2. CEO Roslin
3. General Tigh
4. Dr. Baltar
5. Captain Thrace

I blinked in confusion. I didn’t know any of these people. Was this a glitch? A joke? But before I could investigate further, my phone buzzed with a text from Sarah.

“Hey honey, don’t forget we’re having dinner with my parents tonight!”

Reality reasserted itself. I closed the app, dismissing the strange list as a bug. I had real people to focus on, not digital ghosts.

The dinner was pleasant enough, though conversation inevitably turned to Favorites. Sarah’s parents proudly showed off their matching lists, with each other in the top slots. I nodded and smiled, but felt a twinge of guilt. Should I have put Sarah’s parents on my list? Would Sarah be upset that they weren’t there?

As we drove home, an uncomfortable silence filled the car. Finally, Sarah spoke.

“So… am I still your number one?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than it had any right to be.

“Of course,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “You know that app doesn’t mean anything, right?”

She didn’t respond, just stared out the window at the passing billboards, each one exhorting us to update our Favorites, to stay loyal, to optimize our lists.

That night, I dreamt of endless scrolling lists, names blurring together, my Loyalty Score plummeting as I tried desperately to put them in the right order.

I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing. Bleary-eyed, I reached for it, expecting the usual morning alarm. Instead, I saw a notification from Favorites:

“Critical Loyalty Alert: Update your list immediately!”

My score had dropped to 65%. Panic gripped me. I opened the app, ready to make changes, to fix whatever I’d done wrong. But as the list loaded, I froze.

The names were different. All of them.

1. President Adama
2. CEO Roslin
3. General Tigh
4. Dr. Baltar
5. Captain Thrace

The same strange list from yesterday’s glitch. But this time, it wouldn’t let me change it back. Every attempt to edit was met with an error message: “Unauthorized modification detected. Please report to your nearest Loyalty Center for assistance.”

Loyalty Center? What the hell was going on?

I got out of bed, intending to wake Sarah, to show her this madness. But she wasn’t there. In her place was a note:

“Gone to update my Favorites. Don’t wait up.”

The handwriting was hers, but the words felt wrong, robotic somehow. I called her phone, but it went straight to voicemail.

In a daze, I got dressed and headed outside. The street was eerily quiet, empty save for a few people walking with purposeful strides, eyes locked on their phones. Every billboard, every screen in every window displayed the same message:

“Update your Favorites now! Loyalty is life!”

My phone buzzed again. Another notification:

“Your presence is required at the Loyalty Center. Failure to comply will result in immediate citizenship revocation.”

This couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream, a prank, anything but reality. I pinched myself, slapped my face, but the world remained stubbornly, terrifyingly solid.

With no other option, I followed the map on my phone to the nearest Loyalty Center. It led me to a nondescript office building I’d passed a thousand times before, but never noticed. Now it was adorned with banners proclaiming “Loyalty Through Favorites” and “Your List, Your Life.”

Inside, rows of people sat at terminals, eyes glazed as they stared at screens filled with names and numbers. A pleasant-looking woman approached me, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

“Welcome to the Loyalty Center. I see you’re having some trouble with your list. Not to worry, we’ll have you optimized in no time!”

She led me to an empty terminal. As I sat down, the screen lit up, displaying my “incorrect” list of unknown names.

“Now then,” the woman said, her voice soothing yet somehow empty, “let’s talk about your Favorites. Who would you say are your current most favorite people?”

I opened my mouth to protest, to demand explanations, to ask where Sarah was. But as I met the woman’s gaze, the words died in my throat. Her eyes… there was something wrong with her eyes. They were too bright, too focused, like cameras rather than organs.

And in their depths, I saw my reflection. But it wasn’t me. The face looking back was older, harder, with a scar I’d never had and a uniform I’d never worn.

The woman – no, the thing pretending to be a woman – smiled wider, its teeth too sharp, too numerous.

“Welcome back, Commander,” it said in a voice that was suddenly anything but human. “We were wondering when you’d remember. Now, let’s get your list updated, shall we? After all…”

Its face began to shift, features melting and reforming into something alien and terrible.

“…Loyalty is everything.”

As reality fractured around me, as memories I’d never lived came flooding back, as the world I thought I knew revealed itself to be an elaborate fiction, one thought echoed through my mind:

Who are your current most favorite people?

And I realized, with a horror that transcended lifetimes, that I no longer knew the answer.