《2090 Untamed: Synthetic Spy Series》 Chapter 1: Vipers Utop¡¯s territory, Los Angeles Realm of North America Thursday, March 16, 2090 I dangled upside-down, arms roped to my sides, my skull six feet above the grimy concrete floor of the Vipers¡¯ drug factory. The blood rushing to my head and the burned plastic fumes had me wheezing and delirious. Chaos was everywhere. Hundreds of rusty barrels hauled chemicals in lines like ants, towed by screeching AI-powered wheels. A horde of Vipers roamed the factory in black hazmat suits and skull-shaped gas masks. Some dumped buckets of white powder into industrial mixing drums. Their mask¡¯s red eyes and connected dual hoses made them look like grim reapers orchestrating the destruction of humanity. Sweat drenched my blouse and dripped down my throat and face, so much I had to shut my eyes to avoid perspiration from burning them. Unlike Dad whose knees got busted by the Vipers, mine were above batting distance. But not my face. My weird photographic memory pushed a vivid replay of the night the Vipers crushed Dad¡¯s knees, his quavering chin and shriek as the bat connected. Him wincing after each step for the past twelve years. His easy laughter dulled by his lost pride as Mom and I took over his workload. I could never scheme the Vipers into granting me an extension on my debt, certainly not when dazed by the pain of being strung up by my ankles. Something screeched like a fork on a plate, and I flinched. Through my blinking, sweat-burned eyes, I caught a blurry silhouette closing in on me: a lanky, green-skinned henchman. Zee. Forked tongue flapping, Zee scraped the ground with a barbed baseball bat (the same one that crippled Dad in 2078). His slit eye contact lenses and full-body tattooed snake scales signaled his lieutenant rank. ¡°Mayron isn¡¯t a patient man, Ella.¡± Maybe Zee could be fooled into believing I needed more time to sell the pills. It was my first deal after all. I willed an impish grin. ¡°Thanks for the pep talk, but I can sell H faster when I¡¯m not tied up.¡± The factory¡¯s fumes sandpapered my vocal cords, chain-smoker style. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Zee remained aloof as he snatched a gutting knife from the steel table and stepped closer. At his height, his slit pupils almost reached my upside-down face. ¡°Such a 3D star look¡ªsmooth skin ¡­ cute nose ¡­ blowjob lips. Sucks if something bad messed that up.¡± The razor-sharp point traced my cheek as I stilled to avoid swinging on the rope and slashing myself. ¡°Lighten up, man. I¡¯ll have the money next week. No need to turn psycho on me.¡± A sneer twisted Zee¡¯s thin lips as the blade brushed across my jugular vein. ¡°How about you get me down and buy me a drink? You never know¡±¡ªI bit my bottom lip¡ª¡°you might get lucky this time.¡± The blade punctured the skin at my jaw, and I winced as a drop of blood trickled into my left eye. Zee walked back and snatched the barbed bat from the ground. He held a batting stance right in front of me. I writhed, and the wire strangling my ankles dug deeper into my skin. Heart thrashing, I braced for impact. Air whirled my loose hair as Zee swung the bat under me. He crept closer until his breath warmed my ear. ¡°Last chance, Ella.¡± I exhaled to regain my composure. ¡°Remember Tyron¡¯s parties playing shot roulette? We were what, sixteen? Eight years you¡¯ve known me. Did I ever try to stiff you?¡± Zee grabbed something from the table¡ªa gun? The barrel was too thin and long for that to be a firearm. Realizing his intention, I stiffened. He wasn¡¯t buying my act, or someone told him what happened with the money. Either way, I was done. I fought to steady my breath. ¡°Listen, Zee. A bastard swiped my account after I sold the pills, but I found out who, and I¡¯ll get the money back.¡± Yes, my crypto account had been robbed, but I was lying about catching the ass who did it. Zee shoved the odd gun against my temple. ¡°Wait! I can get ten k tomorrow. I swear to God,¡± I bluffed. Our family repair shop barely netted ten thousand U-coins yearly; no way I could pull that much in one day, and he knew it. Zee wandered behind me while I wrestled against the wire binding my arms and ankles. He rammed the pointy barrel into the back of my neck. Stabbing pain hit right below my skull, and I screamed. Zee shot me, but not with a bullet. He had inserted in me the worst possible thing. Zee¡¯s thumb swept across my closed lips. ¡°Ten thousand by midnight tomorrow, or we¡¯ll pimp it out of ya, and I get first dibs. You displease us again and there¡¯ll be no more Ella. Got it?¡± I nodded, which pulled at the open wound in my neck where Zee implanted the chip. Removing it wasn¡¯t an option¡ªone of our crew members learned that the hard way. Carved forever into my photographic memory was the explosion and ensuing bits of brain mush sprayed on the wall. As much as brain splatter seemed more appealing than working at one of the Vipers¡¯ clubs, our shop would go bankrupt without me. My family could never pay the Vipers¡¯ so-called protection fee if I wasn¡¯t there to commit the sins required to keep the business afloat. The first missing payment twelve years ago got Dad¡¯s knees broken. The second one would make us lose the business and the house. I simply couldn¡¯t die. Chapter 2: Wrong Side Dangling upside down awarded me a splitting headache and bloody rope burns. Miraculously, I managed to drag myself along an alley crusted with cigarette butts and needles. Even more impressive was finding the courage to humiliate myself by asking for a ride home from the person least suited for this place. Sunset Boulevard sloshed with sex. A myriad of Vipers¡¯ sex workers heckled clients, while the lineup of full-service strip clubs projected life-sized X-rated, 3D holograms. Each club aired its flavor, from babes in private school uniforms petting private parts to a dominatrix whipping a wolf-costumed fella. ¡°Sunset and the one hundred and ten?¡± Mom¡¯s voice on the phone cut through the muffled bass pounding from nearby clubs. ¡°What are you doing on the Vipers¡¯ strip?¡± ¡°Can you just come, now? Please?¡± I shivered while a lady in red latex lit up a spoon, the window cleaner scent of Blue mingling with the street¡¯s beer and piss stench. ¡°I¡¯m on my way, sweetie.¡± Mom¡¯s tone softened. ¡°You know you can talk to me about anything.¡± Yeah, right. Mom would pass out if she knew there was a bomb in my neck. ¡°Focus on the road so you don¡¯t have an accident.¡± ¡°My driving¡¯s fine,¡± she snapped. ¡°Tell me what¡¯s going on. You¡¯re worrying me.¡± ¡°Everything¡¯s great. Got to go.¡± I hung up and made the mistake of using my phone¡¯s camera to look at my clammy, disheveled self. My red blouse neckline was deepened by a rip created by the Vipers¡¯ manhandling. A dude shuffled toward me, gray clumps of hair plastered to his forehead. His gas mask gleamed with silver teeth, and when he spoke, its transmitter gave off reverb as if he stood in a large, echoing room. ¡°How much?¡± Bloody hell. Arms folded, I glared and deadpanned, ¡°Ten k.¡± ¡°Ten k! Is your pussy made of gold?¡± He huffed and plodded away, shaking his head. Overhead, a red beam flashed while a buzzing akin to a trunk-sized bee deafened me. Another drone carrying a shipment container. One more load of luxury goods being delivered to the lucky Utop employees living their best life inside their walled off fairy-tale kingdom. I bet those pompous pigs loved inundating every 3D show with their mouth-watering meals and swanky homes equipped with tech seemingly able to perform magic. Meanwhile, within spitting distance from their closed paradise, everyone else fought each other for scraps, eating our rehydrated meals, driving our thirty-plus-year-old cars, clinging to life with no hope of ever setting foot inside the wall. Why? Because we committed the crime of being born on the wrong side. After biting my nails raw for fifteen minutes, our rusty orange pickup truck pulled up. The sun-bleached sticker on our truck¡¯s door sadly announced Locke 3D Repairs - Electronics and Automotives. From the truck¡¯s open window, Mom scanned the crowd, eyes bulging. ¡°Good Lord. Get in.¡± Mom, with her face shield bonnet and beige cloak crested with the Universalist emblem, looked like a monk lost in hell. I hurried to the passenger seat. The wheels spun in the gravel as I shut the door. Mom, who normally got honked at for driving too slowly, hit the gas so hard I bounced in my seat. Mom glared at my ripped blouse. ¡°Tell me you¡¯re not selling your virtue.¡± ¡°Of course not.¡± Though that was likely to change soon. ¡°I ¡­ I need ¡­¡± My throat tightened, and I coughed. ¡°Ten k.¡± Mom snickered, then her gaze latched onto me, and her grin dissolved into a scowl. ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been working for our shop after school since I was seven, pulling seventy-hour weeks since graduating, and I¡¯ve never asked to be paid.¡± I burned to admit I¡¯d fronted the business twenty times that number, but then she would ask how I¡¯d made the money. ¡°And zero hours since you moved out last month,¡± she said, stressing on zero and waving her O-shaped hand in my face. ¡°You¡¯re working for the Vipers. You¡¯ve been staying at Gia¡¯s to hide it from us.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll explain everything later, I promise.¡± She wagged her raised index finger at me. ¡°You¡¯re not getting one single U-coin until you tell me what happened.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t you just trust me for once?¡± She snorted. Further down Sunset Boulevard, vendors were closing shop, pulling down eroded metal garage doors. A handful of hooded forms, their face blurred by a plastic shield, trudged to the parking lot head down. One walked a German Shepherd on a chain, lugging along a likely-stolen commercial coffee maker he¡¯d failed to sell. Mom fixated on the road, her skin mottled. I would¡¯ve preferred to hang on the rope again than admit to her that I dealt drugs. Even knowing it was only once, and that I did it for Dad, she¡¯d believed I was heading to Hell. It was already too late for me, but she didn¡¯t have to know that. She should continue to hold the belief that we would reunite in the afterlife. Although, I wouldn¡¯t have to tell Mom if we robbed Electronix Empire tonight. But then, Rio, one of our crew, had almost died on our last job; I wouldn¡¯t be able to live with myself knowing that rushing into this one got someone killed. No. I had to ask Mom to open the business¡¯ crypto wallet, even though my gut was screaming that this would become my biggest mistake. I exhaled. ¡°Years I¡¯ve waited for a notification from an auction site for bionic legs.¡± She sighed, her expression pained. ¡°You know your dad always refuses help.¡± ¡°Maybe if he believed the prosthesis had been donated to the temple ¡­¡± ¡°Still. Go on.¡± ¡°I would have lost the bionic legs if I didn¡¯t raise my bid in the next forty-eight hours. So, the Vipers lent me the money and¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t insult my intelligence, Ella!¡± Her nostrils flared. ¡°Fine, I sold pills¡ª¡± ¡°Good Lord ¡­¡± She waved her index finger before her face and kissed her Universalist pendant. ¡°The only way to get the money in time was to ask the Vipers for pills on consignment, no money upfront¡ª¡± Mom opened her mouth to speak. ¡°¡ªwhich I know was reckless, but I thought it might be Dad¡¯s only chance to walk again. There might never be another set of bionic legs on the market. When I tried to increase my bid, my crypto account had been robbed.¡± Right after selling out the pills at my rave party, I passed out with my crypto session logged in¡ªnot my proudest feat. I awoke with a hangover and my savings gone. ¡°The Vipers own me if I don¡¯t cough up their inflated share of the profit by tomorrow.¡± Street after street, the only sound coming from Mom was her ragged breathing. I couldn¡¯t take her silence anymore. ¡°Say something. Tell me I¡¯m stupid. Yell at me, please!¡± ¡°We¡¯re not telling your dad,¡± she said finally, voice brittle, as if she was on the verge of tears. ¡°He¡¯ll blame himself. And he can¡¯t see you dressed like this. You stay at the workshop while I bring your cloak.¡± I exhaled and tears spilled. ¡°Can you loan me the money now ¡­ please ¡­?¡± ¡°Our savings are gone.¡± The words burst out of her flushed face. ¡°We didn¡¯t want to worry you, but the Vipers increased their protection fee again, and we¡¯ve had almost no online sales since you left.¡± Of course there weren¡¯t any sales: I had stopped purchasing our stuff. ¡°Sorry,¡± I said weakly. Eight years of robbing warehouses to buy our shop¡¯s used electronics to pay the Vipers monthly protection fees, and I still didn¡¯t have enough saved up to pay for my father¡¯s prosthesis. If Rio wasn¡¯t recovering from his gunshot wound, my crew had the experience to pull off a heist before the auction ended. Making that deal with the Vipers was the only way to win the bidding war. Because of my stupidity, I lost the bionic legs and my entire life savings. If only I could go back to stop myself. Mom parked inside our workshop, two blocks from our house. Only a faint scent of grease and welding reached me; no new car repair since I left ¡­ This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Time to move to Plan B. I texted my best friend. Me: We need to hit Electronix Empire tonight. Gia: Why? Is something wrong? Me: Everything is fine. I¡¯ll be right over. I hoped Gia believed me¡ªI couldn¡¯t stand worrying her, too. I only had twenty-eight hours to carry out the heist and fence the electronics. Driving to Gia¡¯s place to prep the job ASAP would be best. But if I didn¡¯t shower first, Gia would find out the Vipers snatched me after one glance at my I¡¯ve-been-through-hell look. Besides, I could get killed during tonight¡¯s heist. I had to talk to my dad and sister one last time. Mom returned to the workshop and remained silent as she handed me my beige cloak. With the cloak on, I could be confused for a ¡®good Universalist¡¯ if you missed the dash of dirt, dried blood, and the bird¡¯s nest hairdo. I left the workshop and began my nauseating trek to our house. Two blocks of once-paved roads turned into an undrivable landfill after four decades of no garbage disposal or road repairs. Most of Los Angeles realm¡¯s streets were now a rotten cadaver¡¯s belly studded with concrete chunks poking up like jagged bones on a mission to shank tires. The decomposing leftover food and human feces smelled so bad, it seemed they squirted tendrils that clawed into my lungs. And I had to keep my eyes on the filth to avoid stepping on a maggot feast. The upbeat jingle announcing Utop¡¯s eight o¡¯clock newscast startled me. The grating tune played on my phone and inside the houses nearby. Nothing shy of breaking every piece of tech with speakers in Los Angeles could stop Utop¡¯s imposed livestream. My curved phone, coiled around my forearm, projected our megacorp master¡¯s propaganda of the day. A foot-high 3D hologram of Chief Manipulator¡ªI mean, Chief Marketing Officer¡ªOlivier Rousseau announced a new Red Plague outbreak in the Northern United Territory. As expected, he used that as an excuse to raise Los Angeles¡¯s water barrel prices. I could no longer focus on his speech, only on his roguish face ¡­ playful smirk ¡­ and body built for gladiator fights. Being forced to stare at him daily and listen to his sultry, commanding voice was torture. Sweet, sweet torture. I climbed the steps to our house and heard the door¡¯s deadbolts unlock automatically; my parents hadn¡¯t removed access to their drug dealer daughter. Yet. The showroom¡¯s air tickled my nose, the musty funk foreign after a month of being away. As I removed my boots in the vestibule, Mom frantically sprayed and wiped the tubes of an unsold, used food rehydrator in the showroom. Thickness grew in my throat. Dad, his unkempt gray hair reaching his shoulders, hobbled over. He leaned more weight on his cane than usual, probably because of the humid weather. ¡°Honey, what¡¯s going on? Where¡¯s Ella?¡± ¡°She¡¯s coming.¡± Mom frowned at the coffee stain on Dad¡¯s flannel shirt, but said nothing. ¡°You¡¯ve been on your feet since five in the morning.¡± He gently retrieved the rag and cleaner from her hands and set them on the front desk. ¡°Come here.¡± He opened his arms, and Mom nuzzled into his shoulder, his arms wrapping around her. ¡°There¡¯s nothing we can¡¯t solve together.¡± She stepped back, wiped her tears, and stared up into Dad¡¯s eyes. ¡°Not this time. Her soul ¡­ what she did ¡­¡± ¡°She has plenty of time to redeem herself.¡± I dabbed tears with my sleeve and shuffled in, staring at the floor. Mom stormed away and shoved the string curtain door leading to the kitchen. Dad clasped my shoulders, steadying himself. ¡°You¡¯re staying home, right?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I said softly. He pinched the bridge of his nose, gazing down. Silence stretched as we stood listlessly. Then, he straightened and stared at me with resolve that reminded me of his expression before constant knee pain started clouding his focus. ¡°Whatever you did, Monkey, we¡¯ll fix it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°You have this gift from God. One day, you¡¯ll achieve something incredible. I know it.¡± I sighed. ¡°No, really. I believe in you.¡± The bloody AI were doing everything; there weren¡¯t any jobs left for people born on the wrong side of the wall. On our side, to cash in, you sold drugs or yourself. My photographic memory was about as useful here as giving a phone to a caveman. If I got shot during tonight¡¯s heist, this would be our last goodbye. I hugged him, clinging to the moment. ¡°Love you, Dad.¡± ¡°Love you too, Monkey.¡± He kissed my forehead, his calloused hands cradling my face. Leaving Dad brewed an ache in my chest. I traversed the faded bamboo string curtain, longing for its once vibrant palm tree art that brightened my day as a kid. Mom didn¡¯t lift her eyes from the cast-iron skillet she punishingly scrubbed when I passed her to go outside. In the backyard bathroom shed, I turned on the faucet connected to a reservoir on the shelf above the tub. The lukewarm rainwater washed away the dirt but left the shame unscathed. With no time to waste, I rushed to my make-do studio apartment in our detached garage, the leaky roof patched with blue tarps. I yanked Gia¡¯s camo crop top from a ¡®clean-enough¡¯ pile of clothes and slapped some auto-drying gel into my hair. The moisture from my hair dripped onto the dirty clothes scattered across the floor as I put on my black, knee-slit leggings. I climbed to my sister¡¯s room in the house¡¯s attic, ushered in by the squeaking sound of Buttercup running on her wheel in her ten-foot-wide cage. Kira played Lethalbot Legend cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by a 3D holographic pirate ship. Curly red hair framed her freckled pout as she lifted her arm to make her avatar open a treasure chest. ¡°Hey, Pumpkin,¡± I said. She smiled, showing her chipped tooth, but without the lines around her eyes drawn by true joy. ¡°You¡¯re home for good?¡± She turned off her phone projecting the 3D game and pushed a lock of hair behind her right ear, revealing the burn mark on her cheek. I bit my lip. No child should be marred with a scar that ran deeper than flesh. ¡°I¡¯ve got something urgent to do, but I¡¯ll bring you to Sailor Moon Caf¨¦ on Saturday, and you can have all the Tiger¡¯s Blood shaved ice you want.¡± Her green eyes lit up, her face glowing. ¡°You promise?¡± ¡°Sure. Close the game¡ªyou should already be asleep.¡± ¡°Can you read a story with me?¡± I loved how she hissed every S. ¡°Not tonight. I have this tight deadline ¡­¡± Literally, with twenty-eight hours left to rack up ten k. Kira¡¯s smile dropped. This couldn¡¯t be her last memory of me. ¡°Okay, one story.¡± ¡°Awesome. Read Ursa the Sassy Spy.¡± ¡°But you know the series by heart.¡± ¡°I found a new one online.¡± Eight years old and already pirating books. We might not share blood, but she was definitely my sister. I lounged beside her, and we took turns every page. She stumbled on a few words; otherwise, her reading was fluid. ¡°You¡¯re doing great,¡± I said. She snorted. ¡°Kids still giggle each time I mess up.¡± ¡°Sorry, that must hurt.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡± Wetness in her eyes betrayed her. ¡°Really? ¡®Cause I cried when kids teased me.¡± Her eyebrows crumpled. ¡°But you read impossibly fast.¡± ¡°Which is also a reason to get mocked.¡± I kissed her forehead and tucked her in. I climbed down the ladder, then wiggled inside my combat boots, pulled down my face-shield hoodie, and checked the time¡ª9:14 p.m. Jeez. It¡¯s late. I snuck outside, closed the door quietly behind me, and headed to the workshop. ¡°Come back inside!¡± Mom called. I turned to her. ¡°I can¡¯t. I have to see some friends.¡± Mom approached, avoiding my gaze, pulling the lapels of her bathrobe tighter around her neck. ¡°There¡¯s something I¡¯ve been meaning to tell you for a while.¡± Dad exited the house and descended the steps, holding the railing and his cane. Mom leaned in. ¡°Decades ago, your father and I¡ª¡± ¡°Susan, don¡¯t!¡± he said, his tone unusually harsh. Mom gazed at him. ¡°If anything happens, she has to know the truth.¡± ¡°Enough!¡± He reached for her, lost balance on a flattened cardboard box, and fell to his knees. Mom and I rushed to him. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me!¡± He pushed himself up with his cane. His pride had kept him under house arrest for the past twelve years, too vain to let anyone help him negotiate the nasty streets. I watched my parents in silence. Part of me wanted Mom to finish what she was about to reveal. She had to be referring to my supposed staircase fall at seven. I¡¯d never questioned how one hit on the head could erase all my childhood memories because I couldn¡¯t consider the alternative explanation. Every family ignored shadows to imagine a sunny home. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I really have to go,¡± I told my parents and ran away. ¡°Wait,¡± Mom called after me. Beelining toward the workshop distanced me from the orange glow of the Locke¡¯s Repair Shop sign. In total darkness, I switched on my phone¡¯s flashlight. The wind pricked at the wound in my neck where the bomb lay, and I shivered. Plastic cracked underfoot behind me. I reached for my Beretta but found my thigh empty. Damn. I had left it at my boyfriend¡¯s place. I spun toward the footsteps. One of the head monk¡¯s sycophants marched, clasping everyone¡¯s worst nightmare: a red spray can and plague doctor stencil. He stopped in front of the Wilsons¡¯ house. ¡°No, no, no, not them,¡± I muttered. With his plague doctor gas mask, complete with a beak and globular eyes, this abomination tagged their front door. Through the Wilsons¡¯ living room window, I watched Malik stroking Aaliyah¡¯s back as she sobbed into his arms. Her stomach was huge now¡ªshe had to be in her third trimester. I never bought the Universalist¡¯s stance that the Red Plague virus only infected sinners. No way the Wilsons deserved to lose their home and be exiled from our community. I traced a circle in the air in front of my face to bless their family and kissed my Universalist pendant, the silver ring cold against my lips as I ran my thumb along the vertical rod bisecting it. Detecting my phone¡¯s signal, the workshop door groaned as it rolled open before me. I hopped onto my motorcycle. I¡¯d spent more time fixing the forty-year-old gruff beast than riding it, but it hurled me from point A to B in one piece, at least most of the time. I drove into an alley swamped by Viper tags and graffiti¡ªthe bulk of it being different creative versions of FU Utop. My headlight uncloaked nothing but a dirt path as I sliced through the skin-biting wind. The full moon¡¯s stillness lulled me into a sanctuary where no past could jumble my thoughts, no future could press on my chest. No sound other than the soothing rumble of the motor. Peace at last. Then a drone carrying more goodies to ritzy Utop employees buzzed ahead and shattered my delusion. Chapter 3: Slimy Soul I climbed down the ladder into the underground warehouse that had become Gia and Mac¡¯s home. A caramelized brown sugar flavor hung in the air; I had set Gia off on another angst-fueled baking frenzy. Since she was seven, making desserts had been her main form of self-care. My feet hit the pink and blue epoxy floor. Gia¡¯s girlfriend, Mac, had painted a cherry blossom tree on it as a gift. Each side of the two-story open space warehouse couldn¡¯t be more different. Gia used white wood furniture and a teal and peach color palette to decorate the airy living space on the right side. To the left, she had shoved the mushrooming cardboard boxes and computers. That side was the only place Mac was allowed to spray paint her signature beautifully sad women. Leaking mascara marred Gia¡¯s cheeks. I¡¯d caused those tears when I¡¯d left this afternoon. She didn¡¯t want me to see my boyfriend in the Vipers¡¯ territory, but at least she didn¡¯t know the Vipers found me there. At five-foot-two and barely a hundred pounds, distressed Gia looked and sounded like a frazzled squirrel. Albeit, a squirrel with a knack for fashion. Tonight, she rocked a high-waisted miniskirt and leather garter belt with a heart-shaped buckle. Gia slammed her wet cheek against my chest and squeezed me so tight I couldn¡¯t breathe. ¡°I was sure the Vipers caught you.¡± I headed off to the butcher block kitchen island, lifted the ceramic lid of Gia¡¯s cupcake-shaped jewelry box, picked three heaven pills, and swallowed them. My skin hummed as an all-consuming wave of pleasure washed over me. The world was beautiful, and everything would be okay. I laid face-up on the teal velvet sectional that had become my bed for the past month, captivated by the ceiling¡¯s maze of pipes. Mac meandered around in her black sleeveless Insiders Slayer tunic with a flaming skull¡ªloved that band. She flung her titanium yo-yo up and down, flexing her beefy bicep. The tattooed metal gears and pistons were so masterfully inked on her, you¡¯d swear Mac had robotic arms. I desperately wanted to sleep but forced myself to sit up on the couch. ¡°We need to brainstorm new ideas for the Electronix Empire job. Hacking it is taking too long.¡± Gia¡¯s ringlets bounced as she perched on the cushion next to me. ¡°I had to find a store employee and make a copy of his face and phone signal all by myself because you were too busy whining about losing your savings and passing out doped on the couch every night for a month. But now, out of nowhere, you can¡¯t wait to finish the job?¡± I rolled my eyes in mock outrage. ¡°You¡¯re the one who keeps telling me to stop obsessing about the sixty-six thousand U-coins I¡¯ve lost and do something productive for a change. And if you keep stress-baking, we¡¯ll run out of water and food. So, can you still reach the guy who works at Electronix Empire?¡± Mac tsked. ¡°You want us to start kidnapping and torturing dudes for passwords?¡± I winced. ¡°I can¡¯t rough someone up when just seeing it in 3D makes my skin crawl.¡± But was there a line I wouldn¡¯t cross to protect my family? Gia leaned into me, squinted, and scrunched up her nose as if smelling something foul. ¡°How did you get that scratch on your jaw?¡± ¡°Just a welding accident when patching the Millennium Falcon,¡± I joked, imitating Han Solo¡¯s smug smirk and husky tone. Gia glared, not one bit amused at me referencing our favorite 2D. ¡°I told you the Vipers would have thought of stalking your boyfriend¡¯s place. They caught you¡ªadmit it!¡± This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. I relaxed my posture. ¡°Like I said, I was questioning a guy¡ª¡± Gia shot up from the couch, clenching her fist with walnut-cracking might. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me, Ella! I swear to God.¡± I avoided her gaze by checking out Mac¡¯s rock-the-baby trick as she built a tent with the string and swung the yo-yo inside. I needed their help to pull off the job tonight and get the tech sold tomorrow before Zee got lucky. Yet there was no way they¡¯d rush into it without knowing the truth. I sighed. ¡°Vipers tagged me.¡± Mac¡¯s yo-yo crashed on the floor. Gia stopped blinking. ¡°How long you got?¡± I checked the time on my phone. ¡°Twenty-six hours.¡± Gia¡¯s chest heaved. Not another panic attack. I shouldn¡¯t have said anything. Mac pulled the tiny Gia against her muscular chest. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, babe. We can get two k for our ride¡ª¡± ¡°Then what? No one wants the outdated crap Ella bought from her parents¡¯ shop.¡± Gia turned to me. ¡°Have you asked your folks?¡± ¡°Blown through their savings on Viper protection fees.¡± Gia scurried to the butcher Island and took a heaven pill from her cupcake-shaped jewelry box, its bottom shelves stacked with labeled Mason jars. How many uppers had she taken because of me? ¡°Can you bring me your makeup kit?¡± I asked. Gia raised one eyebrow. ¡°Sure ¡­?¡± Her platform shoes thudded against the industrial staircase as she ran upstairs to their bedroom. Mac snapped the string from her finger and slammed the yo-yo onto her computer desk. ¡°What¡¯s your big plan? Charm the Electronix Empire dude into giving you the warehouse¡¯s password? Forget it. Chain store¡¯s employees are trained to give a false password that triggers a secret alarm, and if caught selling the real thing, they get killed. You¡¯re not that hot.¡± I hoisted a satisfied smile. ¡°I¡¯m not planning on asking him.¡± Gia floated down the stairs, eyes glazed. Heavens usually calmed her, although she kept needing more for the same relief. She handed me her black-and-white checkered makeup bag and followed me to the bathroom wallpapered with ridiculously cute kawaii cartoon animals that Mac despised. I brought the eyeliner to my eyelid, but my hands were shaking. Gia offered her palm, and I yielded the eyeliner. She drew a line on my eyelid. ¡°You don¡¯t have to play the tough girl with me.¡± I tilted my head up to avoid crying, but tears fell anyway. She dabbed a tissue on my cheeks. ¡°You¡¯re not dying tomorrow.¡± To no longer live with the constant pressure of being a missed payment away from losing our business, our home. If only ¡­ ¡°I know,¡± I said instead, not to worry Gia with my sick death wish. ¡°If I fail, Zee will force me to work in one of their strip clubs¡ªor worse, their escort services¡ªand he wants first dibs.¡± She brushed mascara over my eyelashes. ¡°I fully trust you¡¯ll get the money in time.¡± She smiled wryly. ¡°You¡¯re the gift from God, after all.¡± ¡°You mean alien.¡± ¡°But then you made the wacky alien explanation for your special ability cool. See? No matter what life throws at you, you always land on your feet.¡± I wished. Unfortunately, I wasn¡¯t stoned enough to trust that my plan would work. Growing up, kids had cast me out for being the weirdo who showed up at seven with no memory of my childhood and an uncanny learning ability that allowed me to memorize the entire Third Testament word for word in a week. Denying the alien theory only convinced them more. Eventually, I embraced it and started telling stories about my imaginary home planet, and suddenly everyone wanted to be my friend. Lying kept getting me favors and over time, I had mastered the art of attuning to people and transforming into whatever the situation required to the point that I lost track of who I was and who I should be, my soul decaying into slime. One thing was for sure: I could never redeem myself. Chapter 4: Wolf in Sheep鈥檚 Clothing Soaked in the red and purple neon lights of Santa Monica Boulevard, I checked my phone¡ª Friday, March 17, 2090, 12:05 a.m. Only twenty-four hours to get Gavryn¡¯s password from, steal the electronics, and fence them: no room for do-overs. A hubbub of techno music pounded me as I darted between patrons, hungry for preacher-forbidden thrills. Utop¡¯s ten-story high wall and its AI-operated sentry guns breathed soul-crushing gloom unto my neck. xxI passed Giant Panda, an outdoor greasy spoon selling illegal real chicken and dope strong enough to make you fly above your grim existence for hours. A dude suckled on deep-fried chicken feet at a tabletop, cramming bird bits into his bare, bulbous belly. To his right, a girl wrapped in a tulle tutu walked a middle-aged man on a leash on all fours along the slimy, bloody, chicken-bones-and-needle-infested street. The harsher the life, the wilder the sin. I spotted Untamed. Its signage read TAMED; the UN had gone dark two years ago. How poetic ¡­ The megacorp¡¯s shills had vouched that taking down corrupt governments would lead to more freedom. Every master in history took power dressed up as a savior. Megacorps tamed us without sticks. Simply by controlling every life necessity, they had us wag our tails as we jumped, sat, and pawed for them. The king is dead; long live the con. I waited in line for the watering hole¡¯s virus-detection boot, shifting my weight from left to right as if preparing to enter a boxing ring. The buff guy in front of me, who wasn¡¯t wearing a face shield, coughed into the crook of his arm¡ªtwice. My plastic hoodie was not foolproof, so I stopped breathing and stepped to the side. No traces of blood on his face or arm. I slouched, feeling relieved. A metallic din approached. A troop must be tramping up the street behind me. My shoulders tensed. Pulse racing, I stepped back in line and stared down. I didn¡¯t dare check, but knew Utop¡¯s troop never circulated without at least six guards in combat exoskeletons and machine guns. Last time I was coming so close to the border wall. They turned the corner, but my hands were still shaking. Great ¡­ Gavryn would never trust me if I looked nervous; I needed a distraction to calm my jitters. I slid my index onto the screen of my cell phone coiled around my forearm. The dodgy screen remained black and stuck on ¡®cuff mode.¡¯ I frenetically repeated the motion until the bloody junk finally straightened to tablet mode, one tick at a time, like the second hand of an antique clock in 2D movies. I searched my feed and found a video of Olivier Rousseau that had gone viral. The chief marketing officer had been caught making out in the swanky VIP section of LA Star Club with his new flavor of the month¡ªno other than Wylo, whose pop songs had been crooned by every teenager worldwide. Her ice-blond hair cascaded onto the sofa as Rousseau nipped at her neck with his teeth and burrowed one hand under her sequin skirt, aware they were being filmed from every possible angle by their fans. Each replay pushed more heat into me. Upper management in his early thirties and the body of a gladiator, no wonder Rousseau had been Utop¡¯s most eligible bachelor six years in a row. He was every girl¡¯s wet dream and had inspired most of my solo sessions. I inched to the front of the line, lifted my face-shield hoodie, and blew a long breath into a metal tube sticking out of a booth defiled by graffiti. A green light completed a circle. ¡°No virus detected. Utop thanks you for your cooperation,¡± the virus breath monitor¡¯s speaker claimed. ¡°Utop, where dreams begin.¡± Dreams, sure ¡­ Untamed was considered a dive bar, even by Outsider standards. Watching a video of LA Star Club, with its posh leather furniture and shimmering crystals, made clear both establishments couldn¡¯t belong to the same category. Untamed had more in common with a dumpster sogging in a stew of tobacco, beer, and piss. Strings of blue and green Liberation Day lights (most of the bulbs dead) hung on the stained yellow walls year-round among posters of local rock bands. A vape cloud loomed above a group of five men. One of them locked eyes with me and huffed a smoking kiss. I spotted a bearded guy at the bar with a red Dragon Watchers t-shirt clinging to his back rolls and a golden fringe covering his left eye¡ªGavryn. I held my phone to my mouth. ¡°Manny.¡± From my phone popped the foot-high hologram of Manny, my AI¡¯s avatar. He slouched wearing a sweatshirt with Chillax University printed in bubble font the color of mac and cheese. Not even his cotton shorts and sock-sandal combo could taint his hotness¡ªthat was how bonkers his bone structure and physique were. Manny yawned and said, ¡°What?¡± ¡°Tell Gia to text Gavryn about being late to their date,¡± I shouted to cover the five-foot high column speakers blasting the place with dubstep. ¡°And stay deactivated for the next hour.¡± ¡°Nuh-uh. You won¡¯t receive urgent notices.¡± ¡°You need to appear dead for my plan to work.¡± Manny raked his fingers through his shoulder-length messy hair. ¡°Fine but don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you.¡± I circled my head with a finger, kissed my pendant, and sauntered toward the seat next to Gavryn. As I dragged the stool toward me, the metal legs whined against the cracked tiles. Gavryn held onto one of the legs. ¡°Sorry, this seat is taken. My friend should be here any minute.¡± ¡°Your friend isn¡¯t here now, is he?¡± I yanked the stool, forcing him to let go, then removed my leather jacket and threw it on the bar. I slumped on the cushion, both palms holding my chin, and pouted to appear defeated, which, given the circumstances, didn¡¯t require too much acting. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I promise I¡¯m not normally that rude.¡± Gavryn checked his phone. Gia¡¯s running-late text message, I hoped. ¡°Sorry, what did you say?¡± Gavryn asked, his gaze going straight to my cleavage. Male ape in seed-planting mode¡ªcheck. I leaned closer to his ear so he could hear through the techno music. ¡°I said I¡¯m sorry for being rude. I¡¯m having a bad day.¡± I exhaled loudly. ¡°Let me buy you a drink, and you can tell me what happened. What do you like?¡± After watching Rousseau and Wylo¡¯s sizzling tryst dozens of times, I yearned for two heavens, to finally finish my booty call with my boyfriend, and a good night¡¯s sleep. But a tramp would scare him off. A nerd like him wouldn¡¯t make a move on a girl unless she was giving him a born-yesterday, softy vibe. I gazed up and twisted my lips. ¡°Hmm?¡± I bent toward him. ¡°I don¡¯t usually drink. I¡¯ll try what you¡¯re having.¡± ¡°Oh, that¡¯s their in-house IPA. It¡¯s decent. Excalibur, order an Untamed IPA for the nice lady.¡± A foot-high hologram of a knight cartoon hovered next to his phone. ¡°It is always a pleasure to serve you, Sir Knight,¡± Excalibur said, overpronouncing every syllable. Gavryn skedaddled to the distributing machine stamped by Vipers graffiti tags and pried the beer from its pick-up box. He bent into a half bow and bestowed the cylindrical plastic bottle pearling with condensation in a grandiose arm stretch. ¡°My lady.¡± ¡°You¡¯re so sweet.¡± I sipped some as if I were tasting beer for the first time and grinned. ¡°Mmm.¡± A Viper restrained a guy with a swollen eye and bloodied nose while another pummeled his gut. ¡°Please, I swear I won¡¯t sell anymore,¡± the manhandled dude shouted. ¡°Tell me what¡¯s going on,¡± Gavryn shouted through the ruckus. ¡°I got fired,¡± I yelled. His eyes and mouth took a genuine downturn. ¡°Oh no ¡­ Let¡¯s talk somewhere quieter.¡± We strolled past the squabble with our beers. I slumped into a booth at the back of the bar. ¡°So, yeah, Feast Fast fired me because I wrote their password on my phone. How else was I supposed to remember a twelve-digit code? Ridiculous.¡± I drank more beer, praying he¡¯d take the bait. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Electronix Empire has the same policy, but I never had a problem memorizing the password.¡± Krut. How would I get his password if he hadn¡¯t written it somewhere? Don¡¯t panic. There must be another way. ¡°You, too? But how do you remember it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s easy. They use silly sentences instead of random digits.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°Last week was mosquito dance on a mushroom.¡± I laughed, the outburst genuine. ¡°And the week before?¡± ¡°I love big butts and pink zebras.¡± I laughed even louder. ¡°You¡¯re kidding me, right?¡± Gavryn drew an X shape on his chest. ¡°Cross my heart.¡± I gulped more beer. ¡°It¡¯s late. I should tell my folks not to wait for me. Manny, call home.¡± I drummed my finger on the screen. ¡°Darn it. My phone died. It¡¯s like everything¡¯s going wrong today.¡± He detached his phone from his forearm. ¡°Here, use mine.¡± I grinned. ¡°Thanks, that¡¯s really nice of you.¡± The wolf in sheep¡¯s clothing had lured its lamb. ¡°Nah, don¡¯t thank me. What am I if I can¡¯t help a damsel in distress?¡± He winked. ¡°So, you picked the lead from Chillax University as avatar, huh.¡± While chit-chating with Gavryn about that 3D show, I scrolled through hundreds of contacts in one fast swipe. Thanks to my speed-reading ability, I immediately spotted the name Nycos, a ¡°buddy from work¡± according to Gavryn¡¯s Twinksy posts. I texted him. Me: What¡¯s the password again??? Me: I love big butt and pink zebra Me: Or mosquito dance on a mushroom????? Come on, Nycos, reply to your texts. I sent an urgent notice. Gavryn squinted at his phone, then at me. He opened his mouth as if he was about to ask for it back. ¡°Is it okay if I keep it until my parents answer?¡± I asked. ¡°They get mad each time I make them wait for my reply. They¡¯re crazy strict.¡± ¡°I get it. I had to sneak out while mine were asleep.¡± A real bad boy, huh? I giggled, my hand in front of my mouth, and held his gaze with a shy yet cheeky smile. Gavryn gulped down his beer, his gaze dipping to my chest once more. Still no text. What if Nycos¡¯ phone was dead, or he wouldn¡¯t bother replying? What other option did I have? I wiped the sweat from my forehead and clenched the phone so tight I might crack the screen. I waited and waited and waited. Any longer and Gavryn would become suspicious, so I sent another urgent notice. Cian, one of the Vipers¡¯ girls, leaned on Gavryn¡¯s boot, her eyes half-closed. ¡°Hey, handsome, looking for a date?¡± I used to see her at the temple on Sunday, dressed in a floor-length skirt and a cardigan. Now, the track marks on her arms and on the webbing between her fingers told me she¡¯d run out of places to shoot meth. ¡°I¡¯m good, thanks,¡± Gavryn said. Cian lurched to the next booth housing two couples and repeated the exact words to a guy who was clearly with his girlfriend, only to get rejected and do it all over again to the next one. If Nycos didn¡¯t reply now, I¡¯d become Cian. A heat wave washed down my back. Gavryn reached for his phone. ¡°Can I¡ª¡± ¡°Why has Sinopax never considered battery life a priority?¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s been their flagship product for fifty years, but I¡¯ll probably die before I see my phone last a full day.¡± ¡°Right, but can¡ª¡± ¡°I mean insane 10K 3D resolution is great, but what¡¯s the point if your phone¡¯s dead and you can¡¯t even text?¡± ¡°The point is to sell more battery packs.¡± I laughed. ¡°True, true.¡± ¡°Can I just check my phone quickly?¡± ¡°Of course. Let me check if they¡¯ve replied.¡± I perused the blank screen. ¡°Oh, they¡¯re typing right now,¡± I lied. Nycos was a bust. I had to find someone else fast. I clicked on Gavryn¡¯s contact list and scrolled. Spotted another work buddy¡ªLivie. Began typing. Me: Something¡¯s wrong with the keypad Me: I keep entering this week¡¯s password and it¡¯s not working I sent an urgent notice. Gavryn extended his arm. ¡°Now, can I¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m Rane, by the way.¡± ¡°I¡¯m Gav.¡± ¡°Nice to meet you, Gav. How about I give you my number? I¡¯m new here and could use a friend like you.¡± His face lit up. ¡°Sure,¡± he said nonchalantly, but his cheeks spelled out heat in bold red. Typing a fake phone number into his contact list pinched my gullet. He¡¯d been nothing but nice, yet after we¡¯d ransacked Electronix Empire with his face and phone ID, he would get fired and realize both Gia and I had used him. ¡°Sorry for hogging your phone like that. Here.¡± I reached forward, dropped the phone in a beer-swamped ashtray, and snatched it out, pushing aside buoyed cigarette butts. ¡°I¡¯m so clumsy. I¡¯ll clean it up.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°Your phone will be good as new.¡± I hurried to the bathroom. ¡°Rane, wait.¡± I heard footsteps pursuing me as I entered the only bathroom and closed the door behind me. The toilet bowl was so filled with shit that the pungent green chemicals had spilled over the side. I dry heaved. ¡°I said it¡¯s fine¡ªyou don¡¯t need to clean it,¡± Gavryn said from behind the door. ¡°Oh, I thought you meant fine as in go ahead. Sorry ¡­ I¡¯m such a klutz. Hang on a sec. I ¡­ I need to finish doing what people do in bathrooms, you know?¡± ¡°Got it.¡± I checked the text message feed. Come on, come on, come on. I¡¯d been acting shady, and Gavryn could wise up any minute and report it to his boss. I had to be hundred percent sure he trusted me before leaving or our crew risked walking into a trap and getting killed. If one of his colleagues didn¡¯t respond in the next thirty seconds, I¡¯d have to abort the plan. I sent a bunch of urgent notices to Nycos and Livie. With the needles adrift in piss puddles and blood splatter in the mirror, mere breathing would thwack me with hepatitis. I swooned and leaned against the wall to stop myself from falling but immediately wanted to boil my hand. I focused on the phone¡¯s screen. Nycos was typing. Finally! Nycos: Those are the passwords from the last 2 weeks bonehead Nycos: You know we aren¡¯t allowed to write the password Me: Please, just give me a clue Me: If I¡¯m late, they¡¯ll fire me Nycos: We¡¯ll both get fired if I tell you My thumbs jittered as I typed. Me: Please!!!! Me: ??? Nycos: It¡¯s about a dog Me: Right!! Thanks, man! I deleted the conversation, the fluster in my fingers unchanged. The heist had to take place tonight, and a quantum-force search would need days to find a sentence-long password, even with that hint. Zee¡¯s slit eyes and scaled face flashed before my eyes, and bile rose to my mouth. I swallowed it hard. ¡°Is everything all right?¡± Gavryn asked. ¡°No, actually. I feel dizzy. It¡¯s the smell. I¡¯m going to throw up.¡± ¡°Let me in. I¡¯ll hold your hair.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want you to see me like this.¡± ¡°Not to put pressure on you but people are waiting to use the bathroom,¡± Gavryn said. ¡°Move,¡± a man said in a deep voice. Bang bang bang. The door wobbled after each knock. ¡°Get out, twat, or I¡¯m busting it open.¡± ¡°One minute,¡± I said. The raging dude unleashed his wrath on the flimsy particle board, and the screws came out of the top hinge. Krut krut krut. I sent a bunch more urgent notices to Livie. Livie: WTF Livie: You just woke me up! Don¡¯t send me UN for that kind of krut!!! Me: Please help me out Me: My shift is starting Livie: Sorry Livie: Can¡¯t help Livie: Going back to sleep now I had to guess something. Me: Is it the dog is pissing on a tree? Livie: It¡¯s surfing on a tree not pissing!!! BUTTERBALL!!!! The door flew open. Mr. Tantrum pushed past me, treating me to a view of his hairy butt cheeks as he aimed heedlessly at the toilet, pee pooling at his boots. I deleted the conversations and returned to Gavryn, delighted to have escaped the bowels of hell. Gavryn perked up as I gave him the phone. I squeezed my hands into my back pockets. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯ve got to go. Let¡¯s say my parents weren¡¯t the most understanding.¡± He frowned like a kid whose lollipop had fallen on the ground. ¡°But we¡¯re just getting to know each other.¡± ¡°My number¡¯s in your phone. How about you invite me on a proper date next week?¡± ¡°I¡¯d love to.¡± ¡°I know.¡± He tilted his head and frowned. I smirked, chugged the rest of my beer, and picked up my jacket. ¡°Log out, Gav.¡± Gia and Mac would have understood the reference. It wasn¡¯t even in Lawrence Kasdan¡¯s script; Harrison Ford came up with the most iconic piece of dialogue: I love you. I know.