As much as I love San Junipero, I felt like it could have used a bit more run time, and a few extra scenes to flesh some things out a bit. So I decided to write those scenes myself. This story delves into Yorkie's backstory, as well as providing a little more context for the ending. It will also be the launching point for a series of stories about Kelly and Yorkie's life and afterlives.

Note, the present for this story is sometime during the early 2030s, which will hopefully become more specific in later stories.

Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital, Present Day

Yorkie had just been transferred from Stanford Hospital, which was a little over two hours away. No one had told her why. They didn't tell her much of anything nowadays. She felt like a piece of furniture being carted around. That was until her new nurse walked into the room. He was middle aged, had a goatee, and five o'clock shadow running up his jaw, he was holding a tablet, which Yorkie guessed contained her patient chart, and he was smiling. At her. Which hadn't happened in a long time. If she wasn't gay…

"Hi there, I'm Greg" he said, in a charming and upbeat voice.

"Miss York, is it? Can I call you Sarah, or Yorkie, lovely nickname by the way. You're probably wondering what you're doing here. Well, the truth is, I have a thing for older women."

After a brief pause, he said "Wow, tough crowd" with faux disappointment

"But seriously, I'm here today to give you a present, that I'm sure you're going to love"

Please say a quick painless death, Yorkie thought to herself, not really expecting it.

"You see, I'm here today to give you the gift of speech. You see, that little doodad we glued to the back of your neck earlier today, side note, doodad is actually the technical name for it..."

"Really, nothing. Trust me, you're laughing on the inside" Which Yorkie absolutely was. She wasn't sure why, but she immediately liked this nurse.

"Anyway, because you can't use your mouth, or larynx to speak, we've got you the next best thing. So, that little doodad, sends signals from your brain, to this little box here" he said, tapping on the device, which to Yorkie, just looked like a speaker.

"Which then converts your thoughts into sound. Thus giving you the ability to speak. Wanna get started?"

After a brief pause, he said "I'll take that as a yes"

I want you to imaging yourself sitting behind a desk, and on that desk is a typewriter, or computer. Whatever floats your boat. I see that you've been like this for, oh, a while, so you might not have ever used a computer before. But just picture whatever comes naturally, and just kind of, dictate your thoughts, and hopefully, it should start working.

Yorkie imagined she was in a dark room, filled only with a desk and a chair, which she was sitting at. On top of that desk was an old computer, from the 1980s, with only a command line interface, and the cursor was flashing. Eventually she began typing.

AAAAAAAAAAA

QWERTYZXCV13597865

OOOOOOOOOOH my god. This is amassing, incredible, oh wooooow

"I knew you'd like it" Greg said

I can speak, I can actually speak. I can't tell you how much this means to me Greg.

But why does it sum times make miss takes?

"Oh that? That's just auto correct. Its a little thing that was invented during your, er, nap. It guesses what your next word is going to be, but sometimes its a bit, off"

Oh, I see. By the way, your jokes are very funny, and no offence, but you're not my type

"Its the age thing, isn't it? I swear, I'm very mature for my age" Greg said, jokingly

No, I just don't play for your team, if you know what I mean.

"huh?" Greg was confused, and way too young to know that expression

Its kind of how I ended up in this situation in the first place. But I'm sure you don't want to hear about that

Greg looked at the clock on his tablet, and realised he didn't need to be anywhere for a while.

"Sure I do"

Well, it all started a very long time ago. An eternity, really. Possibly before you were even born...