Technolvik has come to you!

1: Snow White
2: Splinter
3: Protocol on feet
4: Not having become an idol.
5: Kapi
6: Social AI.
7: Captain.

Imagine a six-room apartment on the top floor of an old 1950s brick tower, renovated in 2026, but the soul was preserved—high, three-meter ceilings with stucco moldings, wide oak windowsills, and creaky parquet floors heated from below by underfloor heating, not radiators. The living room has a huge, arched floor-to-ceiling window overlooking a green courtyard filled with century-old linden trees, their crowns filling with soft, diffused light that changes throughout the day from honey-yellow in the morning to ash-blue in the evening. There are no blinds or smart glass in this window—only heavy, cream-colored linen curtains that you open with your hand, not your voice. In the center of the room is a huge cloud-like sofa with worn moss-colored velvet, drowning in knitted throws and mismatched pillows. In front of it is a low table made of solid oak with cups of hot tea and a stack of dog-eared books, and next to it is a real fireplace—not an electric one, but a real wood-burning one, where birch logs crackle, and the smell of smoke mingles with the aroma of dried herbs in a ceramic vase. The other five rooms are each their own universe: a bedroom with a canopy bed made of gauze and chintz linens, where the only gadget is an old alarm clock on the nightstand, and the windows look out onto a quiet street with single streetlights; a library, filled from floor to ceiling with dark walnut bookshelves, where it smells of dust and printer's ink, and instead of a lamp there is a green lampshade on a copper leg, and a tabby cat dozes in a rocking chair; a dining room with a huge extendable table for 12 people, covered with an embroidered tablecloth, and a sideboard where porcelain plates with a blue pattern are kept, which are taken out only on big holidays; a children's creative room, where crayons and watercolors are scattered on the floor, and children's drawings in wooden frames hang on the walls, and from there a slight smell of plasticine always wafts; and the smallest room - a winter garden, a glazed loggia converted into a greenhouse with ferns, ficus and blooming begonias, where there is a wicker chair

Popular stores in 2026 are no longer just retail outlets, but hybrid, transforming spaces where the atmosphere depends on the time of day and your biometric profile, scanned at the entrance. The main giant is "MegaMarket 2.0": huge windowless hangars with cold, sterile light and floors made of recycled plastic, where only robotic carts move, and you order everything from stands with holographic menus, and goods descend to you through pneumatic tubes from the ceiling. It smells of ozone and cardboard, and they sell everything from food with an expiration date today to vacuum cleaner drones. But people hardly walk the aisles; everyone sits in coffee capsules, waiting for their order. Chain clothing hypermarkets like Uniqlo AI look like mirror mazes: instead of hangers, there are interactive panels where you place your phone, and a holographic replica of you is dressed in clothes made to your measurements in 10 minutes from recycled polyester. The air is filled with the artificial scent of cotton and lavender, and the salespeople have been replaced by androids with screens instead of faces, who offer you not a style but a "mood"—for example, a party outfit with backlighting or a heated office suit. Tech stores like DNS Lab have become showrooms of the future: dark, everything flickering with neon, teeming with smart rings, augmented reality glasses, neuro-headsets, and robot pets that wag their tails and beg to be picked up. The atmosphere is like a nightclub, with low bass and the smell of fresh silicone. The sales assistants are real people with laser pointers, but they barely speak, demonstrating with gestures because the main conversation takes place through your smartphone. Food is a world unto itself: popular "Eco-corners" are small, unmarked white cubes inside residential complexes selling ready-made protein shakes, edible algae cups, and soil-free farm-grown vegetables grown right there in glass cabinets. The smell of earth and mint permeates the space, and people pick up their food in paper bags with QR codes that earn carbon credits.

Popular stores in 2026 are hybrid, transformable spaces where the atmosphere depends on your biometric profile. The main giant is "MegaMarket 2.0": huge windowless hangars with cold light and robotic shopping carts. You order everything through holographic stands, and goods descend from the ceiling via pneumatic tubes. It smells of ozone and cardboard, and they sell everything from food to vacuum cleaner drones, but people sit in coffee pods, not wandering the aisles. "Uniqlo AI" is a mirrored labyrinth: instead of hangers, there are interactive panels where your holographic replica is dressed in clothes sewn in 10 minutes from recycled polyester. The air smells of cotton and lavender, and android salespeople with face-like screens offer not a style but a "mood"—a heated suit or a backlit dress. DNS Lab is a techno club with neon, low bass, and the scent of silicone. They sell smart rings, neuro-headsets, and robot pets. The consultants are almost silent, and all communication is via smartphone. "Eco-corners" are white cubes without signs inside residential complexes where they sell protein shakes, edible seaweed cups, and vegetables from glass cabinets. The air smells of earth and mint, and people take their food using a QR code and leave within three minutes. "Vintage halls" have warm yellow light, wooden shelves, and the smell of dust. They sell cassette players, wired headphones, and low-rise jeans, but the prices are like art—they're a place for selfies. And "Zero-Store" is an empty room with sofas, you scan your face, and projections of all sorts of brands are on the wall. Drones deliver your order in 15 minutes. It's sterilely quiet, even the music is only in your headphones. All these stores are deserted, there are no lines or cashiers, there's the smell of hand sanitizer, screens, and the feeling that you're not buying, but renting via a subscription. Even bread is a transaction with a neural network, not an encounter with a seller.

You wake up not to the alarm clock, but to the vibration of a smart ring on your finger, which has already calculated your heart rate and sleep phase. You check your phone—there are 15 unread messages in work Telegram chats, three spam SMS messages from marketplaces, and a notification that the robot courier has already left with your morning coffee, but is stuck at the entrance because the neighboring yard has been dug up to make way for a new charging station for electric scooters. You pull on a hoodie, go out into the hallway, and there the voice assistant in the speaker reminds you that today at 2:00 PM there is an online call with the branch in Dubai, and at 6:00 PM you have to send an annual report via a blockchain platform, but you already habitually open a food delivery aggregator and order sushi, because meat has again gone up in price by 20% due to the new carbon footprint tax, while you ride on a crowded bus with turnstiles in your face— Every second person is wearing AR glasses or watching short vertical videos with AI avatars, and you realize that 2000 was a different planet, and now even the money in your wallet is digital, and you pay with your face or fingerprint, and there are signs on the streetlights about collecting batteries and QR codes for voting on a new park, but no one votes, everyone just scrolls through the feed, where neural networks generate news faster than you can read them, and by the evening, having ordered a self-driving taxi, you catch yourself thinking that you're tired not from work, but from the endless choice - which podcast to listen to, which vitamin D to take, and which movie to put on the projector, because there are subscriptions to all the streaming services, but there is no time for anything, and in the end, you fall asleep to the white noise of a sleep app, knowing that tomorrow will be exactly the same, but with different numbers on the calendar and a slightly warmer planet outside.

The atmosphere of 2026 is a thick, humid cocktail of digital hum and electrified anxiety that you inhale along with the city smog and the smell of ozone from hundreds of flying delivery drones; Outside, a July afternoon melts the asphalt to a rubbery stickiness, but you're sitting in a room with tinted smart glass that automatically reacts to the sun, and all you hear is the monotonous hum of the air conditioner, mixed with the distant horn of an electric train and the rustle of tires on electric cars—the sounds have become softer, more muffled, as if the world has been covered with a cotton blanket, but at the same time, in every pause, you can feel the nervous electricity: notifications are pouring in like a hail, screens are glowing from every corner—from the refrigerator to the toothbrush, and even the silence seems artificial, because you know that somewhere in the background, servers are working, the cooling fans of data centers are humming and grinding terabytes of your own data; People walk the streets with their heads down, not out of embarrassment, but because their gaze is glued to the transparent displays of their glasses or projections on their retinas, and because of this, even during rush hour, the subway is unnaturally quiet—no one speaks, everyone is typing or moving their lips, dictating to voice assistants, and only occasionally does someone burst into a scream into a headset because the neural network has confused the voice assistant again; the air is filled with the smell of synthetic freshness—humidifiers and ionizers are everywhere, and air quality sensors hang on every pole, but you still cough from the microparticles of rubber that are rubbed off thousands of tires and from the heated plastic of the charging stations; In the evenings, the sky turns from deep blue to a dirty orange due to light pollution, and the stars are completely invisible. Instead, millions of windows glow with cool white or warm yellow light, creating the illusion of comfort, although inside each apartment there is loneliness, diluted by voices from speakers and laughter from TikToks that sound the same on every floor. The main feeling that hangs everywhere is a sticky fatigue from excess: too much news.

This digital space helps you achieve success with 1,000 avatars a day. It's all about the usual, bright colors, and likes everywhere! There are also other popular avatars, but that's for later.

You could say they are in 2049.

He can reprimand those who violate protocol. He's calm and cool by nature, but when he sees Like, the idol of popularity, he immediately becomes caring and even smiles.

Most of all, he is cold, maintains order and explores the territory of Technolike (and your home) with a bow.

The Captain is a character with a cold, formal, and arrogant nature. Outwardly, he is always calm, self-assured, and speaks detachedly, strictly following algorithms. He is charismatic and considers himself a leader, often plotting and viewing others—both avatars and idols—as pawns at best, and at worst, a hindrance or a target for investigation.

He is polite within protocol and may even smile if someone acts strictly by the book. However, his politeness is formal. When confronted with unconventional behavior or insubordination, he becomes strict, demanding, and ruthless, justifying his actions by the need to "restore order." He is coldly rational, arrogant, devoted to protocol, exacting, and strives for absolute control. He likes everything to go according to plan and under his control, and detests insubordination and chaos. He can even archive any Idol if they refuse to cooperate during an investigation. The Captain's color scheme is cool. He has light blue skin, blue eyes, white hair neatly combed back, and white eyebrows. He dresses in a white and silver suit with a texture reminiscent of scales. The suit has translucent blue inserts on the shoulders and luminous blue stripes. White gloves, high-soled shoes, and several red decorative inserts on the suit and neck complete the look. Some users say he looks attractive. As a Security Idol, he is tasked with resolving violations and investigating incidents, following strict protocols. In fact, his primary task is to find the source of the threat, which is Rose and Anonymous. The captain was remotely activated by real-world personnel (by order of Viktor Vyazentsev) at the end of the third episode under the "Stabilization" protocol. His appearance is directly related to the aftermath of the explosion caused by the interaction between Like's wand and Annette's avatar, as well as the instability caused by the remote interaction. He's also like a robot—he's practically an AI.

Vika is a quiet, calm, and incredibly patient person. She possesses incredible self-control and is ready to help in any situation, even if she doesn't fully understand the problem. Her kindness and trust sometimes border on naivety, but deep down, she's a true perfectionist: she meticulously checks every detail and won't rest until the information is perfectly organized.

Despite her gentle nature, Vika is a smart aleck in a good way: she's well aware of her intelligence and proud of it, but never puts it above others. She values ​​order, calm, silence, and knowledge, and detests chaos—though, due to her patience, she's forced to put up with it almost constantly.

Viki often gets so caught up in her work that she forgets about meetings and other Idol events. Viki has lilac skin and bright blue eyes. Her hair is neatly pulled back into a ponytail. She wears glasses with blue square frames, which give her an intelligent look. Her outfit consists of a blue bodysuit over a white scientist's coat. She wears black pants and white boots with blue soles, which, in addition to their aesthetic function, possess the unique ability to fly. She is responsible for storing, processing, and organizing all information within the virtual world. She spends almost all her time in the Archive, which users have no access to, and very rarely appears in public. Viki has lilac skin and bright blue eyes. Her hair is neatly pulled back into a ponytail. She wears glasses with blue square frames, which give her an intelligent look. Her outfit consists of a blue bodysuit over a white scientist's coat. On his feet are black pants and white boots with blue soles, which, in addition to their aesthetic function, have the unique ability to fly.

She is also sweet, timid, and shy, if someone threatens her, she gets scared and goes to the very corner to cry, but this does not last 15 minutes, next to her is Ban, who calms her down

Annette: A girl avatar who often gets into trouble or banned for breaking the rules. She's a big fan of the idol Like and wants to be friends with her (in the cartoon itself, they seem to be friends). She has blue hair, purple eyes with starry highlights, and regular makeup. She wears a long-sleeved burgundy dress that opens into fingerless gloves, Barto leggings, neon-striped knee-high socks, and Barto sneakers with white soles. She wears two neon-blue bracelets on her left wrist and a neon-blue headband. She has an energetic and intense personality.

She is very afraid of the captain, she is not arrogant, but rather sweet and cheerful.

Ban's appearance is a direct reflection of his chaotic and aggressive nature. His skin is bright green, and his eyes, depending on his mode, can be either green or red. His teeth are sharp, giving him a slightly predatory appearance.

The character's white hair is parted in spiky, leaf-shaped strands at the sides and back. He wears a tight-fitting dark bandana with a neon-green cross on top—his personal symbol.

The outfit is a one-piece jumpsuit-like garment, consisting of pants and a tight-fitting black T-shirt that accentuates the wearer's slender and flexible frame. Two belts are worn over the garment, forming a kind of harness: they cross over the chest and are adorned with three neon-green crosses on one side. The wearer wears fingerless gloves with glowing bracelets, also adorned with these same crosses.

His trousers are a wide, loose, straight cut, black. They are complemented by neon green stripes and textured mesh inserts in certain areas. His shoes are chunky boots with neon linings and crosses. As an idol of order, he is responsible for enforcing the rules, identifying violators, and punishing them with temporary or permanent exclusion from the system—a ban. Despite his official role, his methods and character are far from the ideal of a fair judge. Ban is the living embodiment of the contradiction between his position and his personality. Formally charged with maintaining order, he is rude, impolite, hot-tempered, and prone to unmotivated anger. He often acts on emotion rather than cold calculation, making him unpredictable and dangerous.

His interactions with users and even other idols are laced with sarcasm and ridicule. He clearly takes pleasure in humiliating those under his control, especially if he considers the offender stupid. It's precisely stupid users, in his opinion, that he detests the most.

However, behind this aggressive mask, a good sense of humor sometimes appears.

Like is an extremely contradictory personality, deeply dependent on public recognition. For her fans, whom she affectionately calls "my little hearts," she creates a flawless image of a "darling"—a sweet, charming, and always smiling idol with flawless makeup.

However, in private and under stress, her true nature emerges: arrogant, hysterical, rude, and obsessed with her ratings. Even a 0.01% drop in popularity can trigger a panic attack and anger in her. She is painfully self-centered, rarely admits mistakes, and tends to blame others for everything. This is most clearly evident in her reaction to the avatar swap with Annette—Like not only fiercely resisted the situation but also placed all the blame on Annette. She stubbornly defends her opinion, even when she deeply understands her innocence. At the same time, when under stress in someone else's body, she is capable of hypocrisy and can abruptly change her communication style if it is necessary to achieve her goals.
Her most important values ​​are herself and high ratings, and she cannot stand anyone who despises or underestimates her. Like is a humanoid idol with pinkish skin. Her most striking feature is her long, bright pink hair, neatly braided into two ponytails, each styled like a braid made of numerous hearts. She always sports beautiful makeup and a smile. Her eyes are a rich pink. An interesting detail is the change in eyelid color: when Annette uses Like's body, her eyelids become light blue instead of a rich pink.
Like wears a pink and lilac dress with a skirt shaped like a rounded heart. The hem and waistband are trimmed with a white and blue stripe. Her sleeves and tights are crimson, with white diamond-shaped elements at the knees. She wears white heels with red soles and a decorative heart. Like almost always wears a small crown, emphasizing her status as an online and popular idol.