《Appless》


 Chapter 1 - Appless Fool

    So, you found this journal, huh?


    I¡¯ll just assume you''re either:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">A: Some government operative snooping where they shouldn''t.


    </li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">B: A Saurian who salvaged this, assuming you guys won the war and enslaved earth. Or,


    </li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">C: A random dude from the future that found this phone, possibly buried in some shithole.


    </li>


    </ol>


    Regardless of which, it doesn''t concern me anymore. So¡­ let''s start at the beginning, shall we?


    Hello! My name is Eric Mohammed. Quite strange, yes? Here I am with a western first name and a typically Middle Eastern last name. Imagine growing up as a teenager living in a trailer park and you¡¯ll get a better picture of how my life went down.


    What can I say? My life is full of clich¨¦s.


    Add to that the fact that my parents were piss poor and couldn¡¯t afford an aug for their child, and the picture gets bleaker still. When you consider that I¡¯m uglier than a disfigured pit-bull and it gets even more interesting. The fact that my parents died in the 2065 riots and left me as an orphan is yet another clich¨¦ you¡¯re familiar with. The fact that my only useful skill is salvaging old shit that people throw away is the only plot flavor added by the dumb fuck writing my messed up life story at this point.


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Middle Eastern heritage. Check.


    </li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Piss poor. Check.


    </li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">No family alive. Check.


    </li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Ugly as fuck. Check.


    </li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Living in a trailer park. Check.


    </li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">No augs. Check.


    </li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Failure at school. Triple fucking check.


    </li>


    </ul>


    I pass the fucked up test, see? Every fucking bully gets a hard-on just looking at me. That¡¯s before they commence by fucking my shit up, taking me apart verbally or just beating the shit out of me and pissing all over my shivering body in the aftermath.


    But let me elaborate on that last one. You sound quite intelligent, Eric. You sound so smart. You¡¯re good with repairing tech. You seem to be oozing intellectuality. Why are you a failure at school?


    Fucking augs, man.


    If you¡¯re from the past or have been living in a cave for the past forty years¡ªI won¡¯t judge man. I mean, no cave-shaming here¡ªthen let me enlighten you. Augs are the new mobile phone. In modern society, your augs are who you are, and if that¡¯s the case and you really don¡¯t know what augs are, then you¡¯re without augs, and If you¡¯re without any then welcome to the fuck-up club. We¡¯re brethren in fuck-uppery now, welcome to the Order.


    Essentially, augs started as an edgy invention for the rich. A set of cerebral implants to improve learning speed and social skills. A massive success if you don¡¯t count the first five or so unfortunate volunteers who became vegetables thanks to it¡ªI heard they quite like the life of The Uploaded¡ªbut I digress. Suffice to say, it was a massive success. So successful¡ªin fact¡ªthat it turned the team who invented it into billionaires overnight. A team which, thanks to a loophole in their contracts, managed to elope before the patent was issued, and started a two dozen corporations that sold their own versions of the stuff.


    This led to an average consumer version sooner than you¡¯d expect, and suddenly: augs were the norm. But then again, we¡¯re human, and in the spirit of capitalism: augs got all the firmware that used to run on a normal handheld phone. Suddenly, your alarm, your calendars, your emails, your phone calls, your games, your in-app purchases, your apps: all were now a part of you.


    Oh, and did I forget to mention? The whole fucking internet.


    And with the whole fucking internet at your fingertips to act as your external memory storage device, how could non-augs compete?Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Non-augs, a.k.a: the appless. That¡¯s me. App-less, not apples, there. Before you made that pun, I butchered it for you.


    Appless. A weird term, huh? Yeah. That¡¯s the slang name the augs came up with for us, their non-augmented brethren living in the stone age, and my late parents¡ªthe lovable idiots they were¡ªdidn¡¯t ¡°believe¡± in augs. They lived and died blaming their own parents for giving them augs and were adamant that I grow ¡°pure¡±.


    So, of course, they made that choice for me. Their little innocent sacrificial lamb. I was to be an experiment. I was living proof that humans could exist and function without augs in this day and age. Well, fuck you dead parents, and thanks for nothing, ass-hats.


    Fucking anti-augs.


    The thing is¡­ how am I supposed to study, attend school, meet new people, be social, or live a normal life with just a damn old mobile phone in my hand? How can I compete with a normal student who has access to the whole fucking internet at their beck and call?


    Wait. Let me explain that bit, and also explain the reason I was moved to special-ed. while I¡¯m at it.


    You see, augs can learn something in a fraction of the time it might take me to comprehend. Like we¡¯d be learning a topic. Say for example: learning about space and the solar system. The teacher starts by accessing their augs and initiating a session, which is then broadcast into every aug in class and causes the AR¡ªaugmented reality¡ªmodule of the implants to activate.


    The AR module then projects a simulated model of the solar system in the minds of everyone in class. Except me.


    Whilst everyone is watching a model solar system with their eyes, I have to point a stupid ancient phone with inferior graphics at the ceiling to see anything. I have to fiddle with zoom controls to interact with the simulation. I have to be the class oddball, and everyone laughs and points at the Appless idiot waving his phone in class.


    Then I¡¯d get angry and sock a fool, or throw my phone at them and spend the rest of my class watching the peaceful, non-augmented thin air of detention.


    See what I mean? What future did I ever have to begin within modern education?


    After this happened a couple of times it was quite obvious to everyone that I wouldn¡¯t fit in, and at the start of the next week, I was moved to special education, at the recommendation of my teachers, and the school principal himself.


    I now get to enjoy my time among my ¡°special¡± peers. No offense intended it¡¯s just¡­ let¡¯s just say I¡¯m not too keen right now. I have a lot of issues and I¡¯m barely able to contain my ¡°teenage angst¡± at this stage.


    So yeah, Appless, poor as fuck, ugly, orphaned, bullied, and I dunno, why not lump me with the dudes with learning disabilities, or worse?


    It was too much, after a whole year of this shit, today I was going to quit school.


    But school didn¡¯t quit me.


    I returned ¡°home¡± that day to find out that my trailer had been broken into.


    Apparently, the scraps I was keeping for a rainy day belonged to someone else and I was just borrowing them temporarily.


    They stole all the shit I had salvaged over the years. My current project, a salvaged PlayStation? 6 was stolen, too.


    They even stole my cooler. The motherfuckers. They probably would have stolen the mini-fridge too, if the trailer still had one.


    No more cold underage beer then. It went against my father¡¯s Muslim heritage anyway. Fuck it.


    Now, as for options: I could join a gang to mug people or something stupid like that, or join the biggest gang there is, and mug some aliens while I¡¯m at it.


    Yeah. I¡¯m talking about the big M, the military.


    You see, after WWIII¡ªthe shortest war in history¡ªmilitary service became mandatory. Except for non-augs, so at least I had that going for me. All according to my parents¡¯ wishes.


    But now I was about to fuck up their dream. The last farewell from me, if I may.


    Volunteering to the military as a non-aug entailed something else, though. I¡¯d have to sign another separate contract for military-issue augs. I¡¯d finally get my own wings. I¡¯d break out of my cocoon and become a marvelous Homo Novus. I¡¯d finally get to be a real boy.


    Pinocchio¡¯s got nothing on me.


    So, join the military. The first step is to get my papers in order.


    Thankfully I had everything stowed away in my trailer. Let¡¯s rummage through it and find my hidden stash of important documents, like, perhaps, my birth certificate?


    Shit.


    Who the fuck steals a birth certificate? What use would someone have for one?


    Just then, a thought strikes me.


    Did I forget to mention that everything is now authenticated via augs, and normal people don¡¯t need birth certificates any-more It¡¯s because their augs act as a social security number¡­ So, could it be¡­?


    Forgery had to be done either electronically or via old paper trails like mine. What use is a birth certificate without an ID and a social security number to accompany it?


    Feeling my heart hammering in my chest, I reach down my hand to my back pocket to check for my wallet and my heart drops.


    Triple titty fucking fuck.

 Chapter 2 - Signed Out

    Hi! My name is Eric Mohammed. I¡¯m homeless, paperless, appless, and a very recently penniless, high school dropout.


    I should have joined the military while I had the chance.


    Now I have to go¡­ somewhere, prove that I am me, a legal citizen; and get replacement papers to prove my identity.


    Piece of cake. Especially because paper trails haven¡¯t existed in like fifteen years. It¡¯s all digital nowadays.


    But wait¡­ I still have my phone!


    That¡¯s proof enough of my identity, right? It has all my shit, digital ID included.


    I raise the phone and unlock it, only to find a new message staring me in the face.


    <blockquote>


    Your session has been signed out from all devices. Please, sign-in again.


    </blockquote>


    I grit my teeth. Nice try, fuckers. I¡¯m not typing my password on the unsecured public internet for you to steal.


    It¡¯s obvious. Whoever is doing this is after one thing: my identity. The last fucking thing I have of worth, although that¡¯s debatable at this point.


    I packed my things, slept till morning, and exited the trailer park. I kicked a trash can into more heaped trash on the way out, cause fuck this neighborhood. There¡¯s nothing left for me here.


    I went back to school.


    ¡°Oh look! It¡¯s Eric the Manual Cleric!¡±


    Very punny. You¡¯re gonna have to try something stronger pal. Your game is weak.


    ¡°Oi! Mecca!¡± A nickname? How funny.


    ¡°Eric! Wait!¡± Fuck. Not this¡­ anything but this.


    It was Fuchsia.


    I speed up on my way to the vice principal''s office.


    ¡°Eric!¡± She shouts reproachfully and I stop and turn.


    ¡°What do you want, Fuchsia?¡±


    ¡°Did you quit school yesterday? How could you do this? And not even a word before you leave?¡± She asked, looking furious.


    I contemplated what to say to that. I¡¯d honestly forgot I was supposed to do that, as is socially acceptable between friends.


    Friends? Is that what we are? It was a one-sided friendship on her behalf to be honest, and it made me feel like a charity case she took on.


    That was Fuchsia''s thing though. She liked to do good, like perhaps taking on a charity case like me.


    I would have been all for this budding friendship and all, except for one thing: Fuchsia is a special kind of aug, the biggest kind of aug out there: a streamer.


    Fuchsia is a popular streamer, and that meant that my face was being broadcast live to millions of people around the globe, like right now as we spoke.


    Just what I needed.


    She couldn¡¯t turn it off either. It was right there in her contract with qTube or whatever service she¡¯d signed with. She couldn¡¯t turn off her streaming except for reasons like bathroom breaks and¡­ well, I didn¡¯t know exactly, but I kinda assumed it: sex.


    She was stuck perpetually broadcasting her life, in real-time. Like the most fucked up game of The Sims in existence, with¡­ millions? of people watching every passing moment. What¡¯s worse was that her ¡°show¡± was distinct in that it featured a ¡°unique¡± hook. A non-aug. Me. At least that¡¯s what I gleaned from overhearing conversations around the school.


    Which frankly made me doubt the whole friendship thing, to begin with. What would a streamer have to do with a complete loser like me? Other than boosting her ratings that is?


    Yeah. You can call this paranoia, but I¡¯m not buying it.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Look Fuchsia¡­¡± I began as I reached for my phone. Normally, I¡¯d idly play with my phone, all the while stealthily trying to access her stream and see the chat messages fly by¡ªwhich I couldn¡¯t really keep up with due to the sheer volume and lack of the superhuman processing speed of an aug¡ªfor a hint at what people expected me to do, and then I¡¯d act my part and leave in peace. Today, though; my phone was not accessible. I¡¯d forgotten about that. God damn it.


    I had to leg it anyway, ¡°¡­look. I don¡¯t really want to talk right now. Could you please let me be?¡±


    Lame. I know. But it was all I could come up with on short notice. I should have thought of a good excuse, in hindsight.


    Because she started crying.


    ¡°You suddenly quit school without telling me, and now you want me to leave you alone? What did I ever do to you?¡± She starts sniffling and tearing up just then. I knew it was likely an act, and that I was being made to look like the insensitive appless asshole here. Great.


    ¡°Look¡­¡± I began.


    ¡°I thought you were my friend. I thought¡­ maybe we¡­ had some things in common and¡­¡±


    At this point, she started getting flustered. Oh no. What the fuck?


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°How¡­ how dare you!¡± Her face took on a new flush. As if embarrassed by what she just said. Then she slapped me on my cheek and left with a huff.


    I stood there for a whole minute, speechless. What the fuck just happened?


    People who witnessed the spectacle kept giving me dirty looks. None knew me personally, thankfully.


    I put it all out of my mind and rushed off. I had more important shit to do.


    Walking into the principal''s office, after dodging two or three persistent bullies, I looked around to observe the mayhem.


    And it was mayhem. The desk was stacked full of unfinished paperwork, I saw a couple of cigarette butts strewn about. He was apparently smoking on the sly since the school was a strictly no-smoking area. Hmm¡­ blackmail material? Not really, he didn¡¯t give much of a fuck about anything.


    The problem with principal Arthur was that he gave no two shits about the rules. He simply did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.


    Like now, for example. He wasn¡¯t here.


    I was still salty about the special-ed thing, to be honest, that¡¯s why I thought of blackmail just then, but it wasn¡¯t really his fault, in the end, I had to admit that.


    I took a seat, and waited, and waited.


    It took his lazy ass about thirty minutes to show up, and only God knows what he¡¯d been up to. I stood up and greeted him.


    ¡°Hello, sir. I¡ª¡± Just as I began, he interrupted me.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Abrupt and to the point, as usual.


    ¡°I seem to have lost all my documentation. I was hoping the school could¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯re that non-aug, right? I remember now.¡± He lit another cigarette and looked at me archly, ¡°What if I told you¡­¡± he said slowly, ¡°¡­that I was told to specifically deny your request?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I asked, flabbergasted.


    ¡°What if I told you,¡± he repeated, ¡°that a man visited me this morning and specifically advised me against giving you any form of documentation?¡± I could practically see the air-quotes around the word ¡®advised¡¯ in his sentence.


    I sighed and sat down without his explicit permission.


    ¡°Let me guess: they have something on you,¡± I asked resignedly.


    ¡°Oh yes, they have quite the dossier on me,¡± he motioned for me to come closer, and I did. He spoke again with a smirk, ¡°and on you.¡±


    ¡°What should I do?¡± I whispered back as I inhaled his smoke and coughed. He noticed me being affected by the smoke but made no motion to put out the cigarette.


    Instead of answering my question, he responded with a throaty chuckle, then put his finger to his chin in a mocking gesture.


    ¡°What should you do? Hmm¡­¡± he started pacing, ¡°What should you do?¡± he stopped and looked at me seriously, ¡°you should run, you idiot,¡± he leaned closer, ¡°whoever is doing this is after your life, not just your identity.¡±


    ¡°My life?¡± I asked in consternation.


    ¡°Of course, your life! Do you think they just want a new identity card? How are they going to keep you silent?¡± He lowered his voice, ¡°how do you think they¡¯re going to keep that identity intact when you come to someone like me asking for new paperwork to prove your identity?¡±


    My fingers clenched around the arms of my chair an involuntary motion. I felt the world spinning around me. What could I do?


    He seemed to almost hear my question because, in the next sentence, he gave me a solution.


    ¡°You¡¯d better run to your streamer friend, and ask her to help you. I heard you made a scene today on your way here.¡±


    Holy shit! Fuchsia! She¡¯s my ticket out of this. If I can stay in the ¡°broadcast range¡± of her, no one would dare to come and kill me.


    All I had to do was keep her close¡­ but then what?


    I asked him that very question, and he responded, ¡°You take this,¡± he pulled out a shabby-looking and somewhat worn plastic-headband that had a tiny digital display attached to it, ¡°and you go to this address¡±, he gave me a crumpled paper with scribbles on it, ¡°and you ask to see Mrs. Dana, then hand it to her. I¡¯ve taken care of everything for you. She¡¯ll tell you what to do next.¡±


    ¡°But what about you? Are they going to hurt you?¡± I asked.


    He grabbed me by the shoulder, ¡°You don''t have to worry about me,¡± he said as he pushed me towards the door, and spoke again as I left with the form clutched in my palms, ¡°and Eric?¡±


    I looked back. He¡¯d remembered my name all along.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let any bastard out there tell you what to do, or who to be.¡±


    I overlooked that odd phrase, so I didn¡¯t comment. I wish I¡¯d known what he meant at the time.


    I left.

 Chapter 3 - Super Awkwardo Strikes Again

    Finding Fuchsia wasn¡¯t all that hard. She was playing basketball with a group of students in the courtyard.


    Of course, I was supposed to be in a class by now, so getting her out of PE was going to be a problem. But I didn¡¯t have to get her out.


    I simply had to wait her out.


    So I sat down on a chair behind the pole, in perfect sight of her, and waited. She kept glancing my way and giving me puzzled looks.


    Just as I¡¯d planned. I¡¯m on TV, motherfuckers.


    What was that? Yeah, she was blushing alright. Which made me wonder about what she¡¯d stammered earlier. Was she serious? I liked to think so, but at the same time..


    An appless and an aug¡­ Yeah, fat chance of that happening. Her parents, whilst quite liberal, I assumed, since they allowed her to stream and all, would come after me with pitchforks if we were to¡­ you know, get closer.


    I also assumed they watched the stream. So they probably knew about me already. Fuck, just another angle I didn¡¯t want to deal with. Damn it.


    I fiddled with the headband nervously and thought about my phone. I had to get to a secure network to sign-in again, and I wasn¡¯t willing to sign-in using the government¡¯s public Wi-Fi. That¡¯d be a fast and sure way to get myself hacked, if my suspicions proved correct, I¡¯d be fucked. I mean, I was fucked already, and no way in hell were I going to make it worse. Yeah, not doing it.


    My fingers itched to go online and browse the net, though. I looked towards Fuchsia and wondered how many people were watching me through her eyes right now.


    Every time Fuchsia looked my way, that meant that millions of people were probably looking my way too, which made me even more nervous. It was the reason I always hated being around her, to be frank.


    People around us were noticing how often she looked my way. Her little menagerie of followers kept staring at me¡ªsome were small-time streamers themselves¡ªwhich meant I was being noticed by even more crowds, and that meant that there was a non-zero chance I was also being observed by whoever was after my identity.


    Actually, now that I think about it. Aside from my intermittent appearances on her stream, I was nobody to society. No one knew me aside from a few neighbors at the trailer park, and some of my classmates at school. I was completely off the grid. So how did the identity thief know about me?


    I nearly banged my head. It was such an obvious detail, and yet I missed it all the same. Whoever was doing this had known about me from her stream.


    God damn it.


    This¡­ complicated things. Her menagerie was focusing their attention on me now, and that meant there was an active discussion going on in the background, making it easier to glean extra details about me. Whoever was doing this was assuredly watching, which meant they¡¯d know every action I was taking against them as I went about doing it. They probably couldn¡¯t attack me outright in front of an audience, that was true; but who said they couldn¡¯t sabotage my efforts just as easily? Let¡¯s see¡­ going someplace? Let¡¯s hack a traffic light. Going into a building? Let¡¯s trigger a fire alarm. Trying to contact someone? Let¡¯s give you more trouble by scrambling every single payphone¡ªarchaic, I know¡ªin a one-mile radius around you. While this may sound like paranoid thinking, the possibility was there. Who said the criminal enterprise after me¡ªI assumed they were such at the time¡ªdidn¡¯t have a hacking specialist on the payroll?


    Regardless, I needed to be smart about this and depending on how big or how prepared my enemies were, I had to take different measures.


    First, I resolved, there would be an information blackout around Fuchsia. She wouldn¡¯t get to know anything about what I was doing or why I was doing it. She¡¯d have to follow me blindly.


    That was going to be harder than I thought, but I had to keep her¡ªand by proxy, everyone watching¡ªin the dark about exactly what it is I was doing.


    Granted, they¡¯d figure it out if they were smart, but still.


    Second¡ªand to keep myself safe¡ªI had to take extra measures to keep Fuchsia engaged socially with me. I had to be the highlight of her show for today. No¡­ for the foreseeable future.


    I glanced around. She was still playing. Oblivious to my predicament, and I noticed no strangers about. Nothing amiss with the crowd watching either.


    Except¡­ I noticed a silhouette standing in the distance, and it quickly disappeared when I turned back to look in that direction. Uhh. What would a grown man in a black blazer be doing inside a high school, watching teenagers during PE?


    I kept my vigil and watched on.


    It was awkward.


    Understatement of the century, right there. I know.


    Maybe I could go, ¡°Hi, Fuchsia, I¡¯d like to make up.¡±


    Or, ¡°Hi, sorry about earlier, I was confused.¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Yeah, not happening.


    I went with the ¡°blunt stupid special¡±, a.k.a. my own style; delivered by yours truly in a typical awkward teenage voice.


    ¡°Hi, Fuchsia, would you like to go out with me?¡± I simply asked her out in the most awkward way possible, cringing internally as I said the words.


    Her face went through a couple of different phases, first, was the shock, then the anger, but that simmered quickly to be replaced by realization, maybe resignation? I wasn¡¯t quite sure.


    ¡°So that¡¯s why you were flustered earlier?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I was dumbstruck.


    ¡°You pushed me away because you can''t bring yourself to ask me out.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± I lied, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably.


    ¡°Fuck you. I don¡¯t buy it.¡±


    Shit, why did she have to make it more difficult than it was?


    ¡°You don¡¯t buy what?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Your lie, you¡¯re speaking to me now because you want something else.¡± She countered.


    ¡°Like what?¡± I played stupid. Seriously, now of all times?


    ¡°Like get in on her show.¡± Butted-in asshole A with the annoying voice. I hated that dude.


    ¡°You mean like you¡¯re doing right now?¡± I shot back.


    He back-pedaled with record speed.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡¯m doing,¡± he vehemently denied, but I gave no quarter, ¡°are you sure about that? I¡¯ve seen you prancing about in front of her all day, trying to show off how good at basketball you were. It almost looked like you were fishing for more views, but who knows, right?¡±


    That shut him right up.


    Fuchsia turned to look at me again, ¡°Both of you, stop it.¡±


    I sighed, she looked me up and down in suspicion.


    ¡°Out with it, then,¡± she commanded, ¡°what do you want?¡±


    ¡°I just wanted to apologize about earlier and spend a nice day with you, is that wrong?¡± I asked, making as if to move way, ¡°If so, never mind me, forget it.¡±


    She caught my arm, ¡°Not so fast! I want to know why, and I¡¯m going to.¡±


    ¡°Turn off your broadcast.¡± I countered.


    ¡°You know I can¡¯t.¡± She said.


    I shrugged. She seemed to understand something, at least.


    ¡°Fine then, let¡¯s go on a date.¡±


    And what a date it was.


    ¡°You sure know how to show a girl a good time.¡± Said Fuchsia as we walked through the library.


    ¡°Are you mocking me?¡± I asked stupidly.


    She rolled her eyes.


    ¡°Why are we visiting the city¡¯s library, of all places?¡±


    We¡¯d taken the mag-rail all the way out here, and I don¡¯t suppose it was a fun ride for her. It was better than the alternative¡ªthe public bus system¡ªat least.


    It turned out the address principal Arthur gave me was the city¡¯s public library. For now, though, I tried to hush her and get a move on.


    ¡°I need to do something here first, and then we can be off on our date,¡± I whispered, mindful of the quiet atmosphere.


    ¡°Fine.¡± She acquiesced.


    I moved with her through the building, stopping only when we reached the reception desk. I told her to wait for me, but she refused and wanted to come over and see what it was I was after. I sighed.


    She just had to be difficult.


    The receptionist was a haughty woman in her eighties, she looked pissed to be working here. Great.


    ¡°Hi, I¡¯m looking for Mrs. Dana, where can I find her?¡± I asked her.


    ¡°Two lefts then follow the corridor to the right.¡± She instantly dismissed me whilst chewing on something that looked like gum. Fine with me.


    I moved to the left of the intersection, here the library looked absolutely crammed with destitute books no one bothered to read anymore. I mean, why read books when you can parse the entirety of Wikipedia with your augs and get all your information in a compact, digestible format? Only the appless such as me had any use for the library nowadays, and most did not even bother.


    I personally think libraries still existed as a memento of days past. A reminder to everyone of how things used to be.


    Well, maybe some augs did use the library for the sake of nostalgia, I don¡¯t rightfully know. But I digress, we moved through the halls, looking up and up. Four whole floors full of books were stacked on top of each other to greet us. Fuchsia seemed to be taken by the place, probably her very first visit. I bet her audience was going wild. In fact, I bet this library would be crowded by this time tomorrow.


    Fuchsia kept glancing longingly towards the books. I had to stop her from picking up a volume of something and sitting down to read it a couple of times.


    ¡°Never seen a real book?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Oh yeah. It really is my first time seeing one.¡± She said sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re a jerk,¡± was all I could say to that. I knew she was telling the truth. The look of wonder in her eyes was all the confirmation I needed.


    ¡°Tell you what, you can read all you want after we¡¯re done here, how about that?¡± I told her.


    ¡°And what are we doing here, exactly?¡± She asked me with a suspicious glare.


    ¡°I¡¯m just here to pick up something,¡± I lied.


    She didn¡¯t seem to believe me, but we moved on.


    We reached the second intersection and took a second left, here was the atrium. It had been converted into a holo-hall. Which¡ªin essence¡ªwas something akin to a very large Augmented Reality museum. I could have probably used my phone to check it out, except my phone was currently locked. Here, Fuchsia paused, fascinated by all the shiny shit I couldn¡¯t see.


    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful.¡± She said as I stared at the boring sheer walls around me, it made me want to sigh.


    ¡°You know I can¡¯t see any of this, right?¡±


    ¡°Use your phone.¡± She urged.


    ¡°I uhh¡­ can¡¯t.¡± I said defeatedly.


    She gave me a sharp look, ¡°and why is that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ uh¡­ the battery is dead.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡± she let it slide, thank god, ¡°another lie,¡± she said off-handedly as she fluttered her mascaraed lashes at me.


    Well, shit. It seems I spoke too soon. I had nothing to say to that, though.


    We silently meandered our way through the AR atrium, she slowed me down considerably, but I still managed to drag her through the invisible spectacle in a timely manner.


    And just as we exited the holo-hall and emerged in a side-corridor, the shit hit the proverbial plasma thruster.

 Chapter 4 - Don’t Shit Where You Eat

    Hi there! My name is Eric Mohammed, and this person having a panic attack and hyperventilating next to me is my friend-date, but also not-quite-girlfriend: Fuchsia McAuliffe.


    Let me explain how we landed in this situation, to begin with.


    This is all because the power went out as soon as we rounded the corner, and even though the backups went online and the lights returned some scant seconds later, there was no signal from the public Wi-Fi network. This meant that the incident was¡ªat least¡ªcity-wide. I knew this was the case because my phone gave a startled error tone as soon as it all started.


    Fuchsia panicked and screamed as her connection to the internet¡ªand to her stream, I assumed¡ªwas cut-off. Cut-off for what could be the first time in her entire life.


    I thought the experience was probably quite traumatizing for her¡ªin an age where internet access was like access to air, clean water, and uninterruptible power¡ªbut still, I kept a thin strand of hope it wasn¡¯t as big of an issue as I suspected.


    I certainly hoped things wouldn¡¯t develop in the same vein as that kid they¡¯d rescued earlier this year. He¡¯d lost access to the internet because of a malfunction in his augs or something, which resulted in him having a panic attack in the middle of climbing some stairs. It really wasn¡¯t pretty, but it made the news¡ªand racked-in the views¡ªat the time, and now he¡¯s living happily, and quite lavishly.


    Looks like I¡¯m immune to that shit¡ªespecially the fame and money parts¡ªI guess. I should be thankful, lucky me. I couldn¡¯t help but ruminate.


    I couldn¡¯t keep from worrying about Fuchsia, though. Mainly because I am in no way trained to handle this shit. Calming down a frantic teenage girl turned streamer experiencing acute internet withdrawal was NOT something on my resume, that¡¯s for sure. Is she about to experience a panic attack, too? How would I handle this? Please don¡¯t let this be the case. I wished really hard.


    I only heard a keening noise coming from her armpit as she turtled-up in what seemed like an instant, she started listing to the side and I quickly steadied her when she was about to tip over and fall on her face. I braced myself against the possible incoming episode, which happened quickly.


    She had me lower her so that she sat on the floor, then she started hyperventilating. Her chest rose and fell quickly, like a bird out of breath. I wished I there was anything I could do to help her; but sadly, there wasn¡¯t.


    I sat down beside her and she took my hand in a tight grip. I knew that was the worst part of the experience, so I started rubbing her back in a circular motion in the same way my mother used to do to comfort me, hoping against all hope that this would be of any help.


    She calmed down after a while and gave me a look of gratitude. I knew how it felt to be so vulnerable during an episode of this magnitude, so I helped her up quickly.


    Sadly, her feelings of gratitude didn¡¯t last that long.


    ¡°Are you feeling okay?¡± I asked.


    ¡°No. I¡¯m NOT feeling okay. What the actual FUCK just happened?¡± She responded.


    ¡°Shh, ease up on the caps-lock. You don¡¯t have to shout,¡± I whispered while looking around at the corridor, ¡°and I have no clue what you¡¯re¡ª¡°


    Her eyes squinted at me as she interrupted my last sentence, ¡°why are you whispering and acting all shifty?¡± Her eyes widened in realization, ¡°does this outage involve you somehow? Did you fucking cause this?¡± She accused.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°Uhh, I don¡¯t really know but¡­,¡± my eyes lit up with an idea, ¡°you know what? You go back to the lobby, I¡¯m betting they have a nanofiber connection and local WiFi there. I¡¯ll get to Mrs. Dana¡¯s office real quick, and then we can get the fuck out of here.¡±


    ¡°Not so fast! You¡¯re not getting rid of me that easy. I¡¯m going in there with you,¡± she jerked my arm back, clutching it tightly, ¡°because now I have to find out why you dragged me out here in the first place,¡± she said with a sneer.


    Fuck, she¡¯s pissed, I thought, but I sighed, ¡°fine, you can come. Just don¡¯t come blaming me if something terrible happens,¡± I acquiesced, ¡°just keep your voice down, will ya? It¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    ¡°Dangerous? Why is that?¡± She whispered as we advanced. The emergency lights in the corridor looked foreboding as we moved towards the next intersection.


    I sighed, but whispered back, ¡°I couldn¡¯t tell you while you were streaming, but someone stole my identity and now they¡¯re probably going to attempt to murder me,¡± I told her the truth, ¡°my only option was to stick to you since they probably wouldn¡¯t dare come after me during your live stream.¡±


    She let go of my arm, looking affronted as she asked a question that made my face burn with shame.


    ¡°So¡­ this whole thing¡­ You asking me out. Our date. It was all just a ploy?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    She slapped me on the cheek, then kicked me hard in the shin, and it hurt like a motherfucker.


    ¡°Ouch.¡± I cried out loudly, ¡°Okay, fine. I think I deserved that,¡± I said guiltily as I rubbed my leg, ¡°but what the actual fuck? You hit like a freaking truck.¡±


    She flipped me off and ignored me as she went ahead. I stood rooted in place for a while.


    ¡°You coming or what?¡± She said testily.


    I followed after her and started telling her the story in hushed tones as we walked, eyeing the various exits vigilantly for any sign of pursuit.


    We quickly made our way around the last bend, before coming face to face with yet another corridor, but this one was run down and dirty, with visible pipes running along the ceiling, which I found to be quite at odds with the rest of the building.


    We followed the corridor towards all the way to a beaten red door with the paint slightly fraying near the edges. Under the fraying paint was what appeared to be rusty iron. I knocked at the door just as I finished bringing Fuchsia up to speed on everything that had happened to me yesterday.


    ¡°Wow, you¡¯re a real idiot, you know that? You could have told me your entire situation on stream, and nothing bad would have happened,¡± she whispered as we watched the beat-up door in front of us, ¡°perhaps going public with this would have been better, even. At least we¡¯d have had a public record exposing the reason we¡¯re in possible danger right now.¡±


    I facepalmed. Stupid, stupid! How irrational can I get?


    ¡°What¡¯s done is done,¡± she said, ¡°let¡¯s worry about the present for now,¡± she said while rubbing at her eyes, I thought I caught a trace of a tear carving a trail down her cheek, or it might have been the low emergency lighting playing tricks on my eyes, I¡¯m not sure. I tried to ask her how she was doing, but she gave me a dirty look and said she was fine, before knocking at the door again, more forcefully this time.


    ¡°Who¡¯s out there? What do you want?¡± An ancient voice came through the door as it opened a crack and a wrinkly face with beady eyes peered through it.


    ¡°Hello, uhh¡­ Mrs. Dana?¡± Fuchsia greeted.


    ¡°That¡¯s Mrs. Stone to you. What do you want from me?¡±


    Fuchsia turned to look at me, ¡°what do we want, exactly?¡±


    I scratched my head, ¡°Hello ma¡¯am. I was sent here by the Principal of our school, Mr. Arthur. He said I should give you this and you¡¯d know what to do?¡± I brought up the headband and showed it to her.


    She sighed¡ªwhich sounded like the rattling of tin cans full of pebbles shaking in a strong wind¡ªand opened the door wider, ¡°come on in, but don¡¯t touch anything.¡±


    We stepped in, I went first and Fuchsia went after, shaking her head and muttering about something I didn¡¯t quite catch.


    What greeted my eyes was a¡­ I¡¯m not even sure how I can describe it.


    You know the age-old adage that says: don¡¯t shit where you eat?


    Well, it appeared someone had shat, ate, bled, vomited, and fucked in this place, repeatedly, and quite regularly too by the looks of it.

 Chapter 5 - Hackerman

    The smell that assailed my nostrils made me gag, Fuchsia looked like she was resisting the urge to throw up and add to the preexisting biohazard before our eyes. It was dark and damp too, which only added to the charm, lovely. I mean, I live in a mobile trailer next to a dumpster for fuck¡¯s sake, but this was too much even for me.


    I looked around me to find coils upon coils of electrical cable hanging from the ceiling, a computer with an ancient CRT monitor was on a tattered desk to my left, a messy stack of electronic circuits sat in a corner, and a whole rack of servers with bleeping lights was beyond a hole in the wall to the right. I almost stumbled into a bucket full of blackened soldering irons and assorted tools that was also half-full of soiled brackish water as I stepped in, and there was a sleeping¡ªor possibly dead, according to its missing fur¡ªcat sleeping on top of what I could only describe as a ¡°repurposed bean-bag.¡± It was dirty, oily, and full of holes¡­ with the beads of stuffing leaking out to the floor to complete the picture.


    ¡°Welcome to my humble abode,¡± the emaciated Mrs. Stone spoke from behind the door. She hadn¡¯t stepped out from behind it fully, and I was kinda scared shitless.


    ¡°More like your jumble commode,¡± I mumbled.


    I know, I¡¯m really brilliant when I¡¯m nervous, okay?


    ¡°The fuck did you just say?¡± Mrs. Dana tilted her head, giving me a menacing look as she stepped fully from behind the door. I sensed Fuchsia¡¯s hand grab my arm in a vice-like grip. I couldn¡¯t blame her since my heart nearly stopped as the Grinch herself slowly emerged into the dim light leaking in from the corridor outside. Her whole body came into view, and I really wished it hadn¡¯t.


    She was an extreme body modification fanatic, clearly not what I expected to see coming here.


    And by ¡°extreme body modification,¡± I don¡¯t mean the garden variety they had near the onset of this century, no. This was full bionic, next-level shit. I have nothing against body modders, but it becomes a real problem when they outgrow their mods.


    You know what? I don¡¯t even want to remember this shit. Fuck it. I won¡¯t even describe what she looked like.


    What, you want me to? No way, you sick fuck. I won¡¯t. Besides, it¡¯d be too hard to describe her anyway.


    Like, how could I describe her partially missing nostrils, wrinkled with age? How would I describe her displaced cranium? Would you even believe it if I said that her whole god-damned skullcap was upraised by about 3 centimeters from its original position? And that she had a ridge of carved bone visible through that gap? How can I describe her missing left eye with a freaking Tesla-coil-like metal thing protruding out from the socket?


    She¡¯s impossible to describe.


    And she was old, like really old, how can I describe the folds of wrinkled skin that were almost too big for her frame? Or how her skin seemed glued onto her bones in places? How it seemed more like a leather tarp draped over a skeleton? I¡¯m assuming she was fat at one point in the past, but who knows, right?


    How could I describe her right arm, which was apparently a bionic one that was longer than her left by at least four inches and as thick as a slim thin-wall DWV pipe? I mean, how do you describe the fucking grabber attached to that arm that looked like the ones they have in claw machines at arcades?


    She simply defies description.


    I mean, she even had that¡­ Never mind, I¡¯m done fucking with you.


    Anyway, apparently, my unwise and ill-timed spur-of-the-moment joke wasn¡¯t taken too well, and I felt a very painful pinch on my arm in that exact moment, as it appeared that Fuchsia also agreed with my assessment.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I misspoke, as I was saying¡­¡± I lifted the piece of plastic up to her, ¡°Mr. Arthur told me to bring you this headband.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    My tactic worked. She snorted and gave me the stink eye¡ªquite literally in her case¡ªand took the proffered headband, she squinted at it, and I saw her press her bionic arm to it and do something. I¡¯m not sure what she did exactly, but the display on the headband suddenly came to life. She seemed to be reading something on her HUD, then she sighed.


    ¡°Give me your phone,¡± she commanded.


    I handed it over, very reluctantly. ¡°It¡¯s signed-out,¡± she observed, ¡°and I¡¯m guessing you were signed-out for an unknown reason?¡± She made air-quotes with her hand and the grabber claw thing on her other arm, which I found somewhat unsettling for some reason.


    I nodded.


    ¡°All right, let me make a call,¡± she said in a raspy tone, we waited as she stared into nothing and did the weird statue thing that augs do when they¡¯re video-calling someone. It typically looks like they turn into statues that blink in that state. I kinda hated that.


    Then Fuchsia realized something and went nuts.


    ¡°You have internet?¡± Fuchsia pounced towards her like a starved lunatic. Despite being disconnected for less than fifteen minutes, she couldn¡¯t control herself.


    ¡°She can¡¯t hear you. She¡¯s in a call,¡± I held Fuchsia back.


    ¡°Duh, I know that you doof, but you¡¯re assuming she¡¯s making a call, to begin with,¡± she freed her arm from my grasp, then huffed and looked at me archly. She pointed towards something in the ceiling before looking at Mrs. Dana, ¡°she¡¯s probably looking at us through that camera right now.¡±


    ¡°Doof? Really?¡± I blinked and looked towards the camera, which was zooming and panning to inspect us, then towards Mrs. Dana, who decided to open her remaining eye and sighed.


    ¡°For the record, I did make that call.¡± Mrs. Dana said.


    ¡°So, you have internet?¡± Fuchsia asked.


    ¡°Yeah, I do.¡±


    ¡°Could you hook me up? What¡¯s your network ID?¡±


    ¡°And why would I do that? That would be an oxymoron,¡± Mrs. Dana frowned, ¡°that would beat the purpose of this blackout.¡±


    Now, wait a second.


    ¡°Are you the one behind this?¡± Fuchsia screeched.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Mrs. Dana hummed as she absently started plugging the headband and my phone into a computer at the back of her ¡°workspace,¡± and at that moment I felt Fuchsia¡¯s hands constrict before she let go of my arm in preparation to pounce towards Mrs. Dana and¡ªI assumed¡ªwreck her shit, but I somehow managed to hold her back.


    ¡°Easy, we don¡¯t know what exactly happened here,¡± I said to Fuchsia before she completely blew her gasket.


    ¡°What the FUCK did you do?¡± Fuchsia glared daggers towards Mrs. Dana, her voice full of venom as she asked for clarification.


    Mrs. Dana continued to ignore us as she opened a terminal and started typing commands. Oh great, it¡¯s fucking HACKERMAN or hackerwoman in her case. I had a strong hunch when I first entered this place, especially since she looked the part and all, but seriously? Is my life a cyberpunk novel now?


    At least the screen didn¡¯t start scrolling with unintelligible matrix glyphs and flashy shit, and she didn¡¯t try writing a GUI interface in Visual Basic to trace the killer¡¯s IP¡ªbrowsing through old internet meme archives is one of my hobbies, and one of the few you can do when your only access is an old phone, so don¡¯t judge¡­ you bastards¡ªthat would¡¯ve been really fucking over the top. At least she used Linux, but I digress.


    She typed some commands and both the screen of my phone and the digital display of the headband lit up and started displaying a loading screen. She started drumming her fingers on her desk¡ªand I¡¯m taking liberties calling it that¡ªthen turned her back to face us and deigned to address a fuming Fuchsia''s concerns.


    ¡°I did nothing. He, however,¡± she pointed at me, ¡°had no business bringing a streamer pup my way,¡± she crossed her arms, ¡°care to explain that?¡±


    I scratched my head as Fuchsia spoke before I could, ¡°what¡¯s wrong with streamers?¡± She asked heatedly.


    ¡°Oh, I have nothing against streamers, so long they mind their business and don¡¯t come near my¡ª¡° she paused and spread her arms, ¡°¡ªoffice.¡±


    ¡°So, what did you do?¡± Fuchsia asked, then her eyes widened, ¡°Is this permanent?¡± She asked with dread.


    ¡°Nope, you just triggered my perimeter defense against snoopy streamers like you,¡± she pointed towards Fuchsia as she spoke, ¡°every access point has blown a fuse in a radius of a couple of kilometers from here,¡± Mrs. Dana spoke, ¡°and don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not an ass. This is a public issue with infrastructure and won¡¯t breach your dear contract,¡± she said smugly.


    That seemed to mollify Fuchsia''s concerns for the moment, although I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if her ire was now directed my way.


    Mrs. Dana turned to face me before speaking again, ¡°Arthur told me about your situation beforehand,¡± she said, ¡°and I¡¯ve considered the problem,¡± this gave me hope, ¡°I could have you sign-in over my secure private network and order your new identification documents right now,¡± she said, ¡°but that would pose a problem. First, it would expose me, and we can¡¯t have that, and second: who could say that this won¡¯t happen to you again in the future?¡± She extended her claw to scratch at her chin, and the act made me shiver imperceptibly, ¡°but I have a more¡­ permanent solution.¡±

 Chapter 6 - A Deal Is A Deal

    ¡°Are you going to give him bootleg augs?¡± Fuchsia asked in worry. I suddenly started feeling a bit more anxious, and perhaps excited.


    A beep sounded from behind Mrs. Dana, and she turned around to check something on her computer. ¡°Good,¡± she said, ignoring Fuchsia¡¯s very important question, ¡°it seems that the API versions in both firmware dumps are partially compatible. You¡¯re in luck. You can save on scouring pawn shops for a compatible phone.¡±


    I was still frozen, trying to process Fuchsia¡¯s previous question and its ramifications when Mrs. Dana turned back to face me.


    ¡°And no, I¡¯m not giving you ¡®bootleg augs,¡¯¡± she stated, and I simmered down a bit, ¡°but as for the solution I mentioned,¡± she cleared her throat, ¡°it¡¯s possible thanks to the hardware provided by Arthur, that old coot.¡± she patted the headband I just gave her.


    Oh, so he¡¯s the old coot? I resisted the urge to call her out on that one.


    ¡°What does the headband do?¡± I asked.


    ¡°This ¡®headband,¡¯ as you call it, is a DreamStream 203i. A piece of interesting tech that went out of style pretty quick,¡± she explained. ¡°It¡¯s an external Brain-Computer Interface, an old prototype,¡± she pointed at Fuchsia, ¡°a bit similar to the augs in her head in that it can act as a two-way real-time communication bridge to your brain, albeit much less functional than a modern aug. Since it can¡¯t do any actual processing by itself, and the bandwidth is limited.¡±


    ¡°¡­and that¡¯s where my phone comes in?¡± I said, quickly catching on.


    ¡°And that¡¯s where your phone comes in.¡± she seemed pleased with herself, ¡°I can hook them up to give you something like false augs,¡± she went on and explained her proposed solution.


    Her solution came down to replacing my phone¡¯s firmware with a modified version of the one used by modern augs. That way I could have it interface with my brain through the DreamStream, thus giving me the ability to bind my social security number to my brainwaves, which acted as the modern equivalent to fingerprints, permanently and irrevocably.


    ¡°One last thing, it would require custom programming, and I don¡¯t do that shit for free.¡± Mrs. Dana finished. I liked the idea until she ruined it for me.


    ¡°How much would it cost?¡± I asked in trepidation.


    ¡°I charge by the hour, and this would take about four hours to get done,'''' she said, ¡°That¡¯ll come down to about sixteen-hundred universal credits,¡± she finished.


    The look on my face at that moment said it all.


    ¡°Can I pay you in installments?¡± I blurted out, knowing full well that my wallet was running on fumes. Unfortunately, my daily income from my part-time server job at the diner only amounted to twenty-two credits per hour plus tips. My rainy-day fund amounted to a total of three-hundred credits and change in a digital wallet I couldn¡¯t even touch at the moment without signing-in to access my account.


    TL;DR: I was destitute.


    ¡°Sure, you can pay me eight-hundred now, and the other eight-hundred after,¡± she said humorlessly.


    ¡°How about¡­¡± I started my counteroffer, but she interrupted me mid-sentence.


    ¡°No bargaining,¡± she shut me down instantly.


    As nice as the idea seemed, unfortunately, I couldn¡¯t afford it.


    ¡°Then I can¡¯t afford it,¡± I said, ¡°can we get back to your earlier offer? About that secure network access, you offered?¡±


    Ordering the new documentation would cost me a pretty penny, but it was much more affordable than her idea.


    ¡°Two-hundred credits,¡± she crossed her arms. It seemed she was intent for paying me back ten-fold for my earlier snide remarks. I regret everything.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Fuchsia, who had been standing to the side with a contemplative look all this time, decided to speak.


    ¡°If you do the custom work,¡± she hypothesized, ¡°would he be able to play IR games?¡± she asked, referring to Immersive Reality games I¡¯d always fantasized about joining, but couldn¡¯t without any augs.


    ¡°With difficulty,¡± Mrs. Dana replied.


    ¡°Define ¡®difficulty,¡¯¡± Fuchsia countered.


    ¡°He would be able to access them, but his reaction times would be nowhere near other players,¡± Mrs. Dana elaborated, ¡°he might also have some trouble getting used to the interface, and he¡¯d have to download the game files locally to his phone before playing,¡± she continued, ¡°without extra storage, his phone won¡¯t be able to handle that, though,¡± she stated, ¡°I do have the parts, but that will cost extra.¡±


    ¡°How much in total?¡± Fuchsia inquired.


    ¡°Twenty-nine hundred, in total, factoring in preloading the card with a game of your choice.¡±


    I had an idea of where this was going, but when I tried to object, Fuchsia shut me down with an icy-death stare. This was a negotiation game between two women and I had no place in it now.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you twenty-four hundred upfront. For the custom work and the preloaded memory card.¡±


    Mrs. Dana contemplated for a moment before speaking, ¡°the card will be a slightly used eight-petabyte one that¡¯ll fit two small games or one big game at best, and I won¡¯t charge for the file-system formatting, only bandwidth for the download.¡±


    Offers and counter-offers were shot back and forth between them until they settled on twenty-six hundred credits.


    As Fuchsia moved to pay, I started to object again, but she punched me playfully before touching Mrs. Dana¡¯s robotic claw. I internally cringed, but Fuchsia didn¡¯t seem to mind.


    And just like that, their augs interfaced and their deal was concluded.


    ¡°How long will the process take?¡± Fuchsia asked.


    ¡°Four hours, plus however long the download will take. I¡¯ll start the download now, you sure about your game choice?¡± They must¡¯ve exchanged words via the implants because I had no idea what the game of choice was.


    Fuchsia nodded, then responded, ¡°we¡¯ll be back in four¡±, then turned to face me, ¡°can we have our date now?¡± she asked calmly.


    ¡°What? Seriously?¡± I looked at her in surprise. Why did she still want to go after finding out how I tricked her?


    I mean, no matter how you looked at it, I was the asshole here. I hadn¡¯t expected this.


    She bobbed me on the head. ¡°A deal is a deal,¡± she said with a sly smile, ¡°besides, it seems we¡¯re not being chased by anyone like you thought,¡± she looked to Mrs. Dana, who nodded absentmindedly as she went about typing stuff into some code editor, ¡°we also need to discuss the terms of your employment, but that can wait,¡± before I could do anything except display a shocked expression, she grabbed me by the arm and commanded, ¡°now let¡¯s get out of here, I need some fresh air,¡± she whispered the last part.


    ¡°What about my phone, and the DreamStream?¡± I asked, knowing that if we came back here and she lost connection again, it would seem suspicious and attract unwanted attention to this place.


    ¡°You can come in to pick it up while I wait outside, later.¡±


    Her connection to the live stream had been resumed as soon as we left the neighborhood, she did the ¡°welcome back, sorry for the technical difficulties spiel,¡± and we left.


    It was slightly after dawn when we returned from our ¡®date.¡¯ She waited for me in front of the library while I went in to look for the phone I¡¯d ¡®forgotten¡¯ in the lost and found, as we had agreed before leaving the blackout area.


    As for our date, all I can say it was typical awkward-clueless-teenager-on-their-first-date stuff for me, although I felt she was a natural as she steered the conversation. I mostly took a passive stance and didn¡¯t speak unless I was spoken to, but she straightened me out real quick by smacking me whenever I did that.


    I wanted to bolt out of the place as soon as I laid eyes on the menu and the quoted prices, but she somehow calmed me down with a single, reassuring look.


    I was a little self-conscious because I didn¡¯t get to pay anything since she was the one to order for us. She simply swiped a panel embedded under the glass of the table, and our orders soon arrived.


    She ordered a soda and a double cheeseburger for the both of us, and I enjoyed the food because I was getting a bit hungry, too.


    Honestly, it was strange to do something so ¡®normal¡¯ for other people. I was kind of nervous, and ashamed about my clothing, which was your typical run-of-the-mill t-shirt and old generic denim pants that I kept in shape with my seasoned sewing skills.


    I can¡¯t help but think that I would have had a great time if I weren¡¯t so much of a scaredy-cat.


    After we returned, I went inside the library and retrieved the phone and the newly upgraded DreamStream from Mrs. Dana, the Cyborg Swindler. We didn¡¯t speak much, I took the stuff and she told me how to use the new software, warning me of some pitfalls and the limitations she couldn¡¯t work-around. I half-listened, as my mind was still a jumble, wondering what my new ¡°employer¡± would want of me, and of ways to pay her back.


    I went outside and exchanged IDs with Fuchsia, she told me she¡¯d call me later¡ªalluding to our previous agreement of her contacting me during her ¡®offline times,¡¯ which worried me slightly¡ªand we parted ways.


    I went back to my trailer to prepare for work, I didn¡¯t have the time to put on and test the DreamStream, and I wouldn¡¯t for the rest of the day; but in my mind, I couldn¡¯t help but ponder one great persistent question¡­


    What the fuck had I gotten myself into?

 Chapter 7 - Rare Meat Al’s?

    I worked as a server at a local branch of Rare Meat Al¡¯s?, an absurdly-named tiny branch located on a highway, right next to the lone hydrogen station in miles.


    My job came down to grabbing food prefabs from a box, dumping them into a food dispenser, then serving the result to patrons with a robotic smile. Your typical minimum-wage fare.


    Do you remember when I mentioned that I made an hourly twenty-two credits plus tips? Well, tips were hard to come by, since most transactions were digital in this day and age and most people don¡¯t bother to go the extra mile and press the button to select ¡°the tip option¡± when they¡¯re in a hurry. Quite the amazing UX design choice, I might add. The place saw constant traffic, mainly from truckers coming and going as they refueled their trucks next door. During the short windows of time available when their trucks got replacement hydrogen cells, they¡¯d flock inside our little slice of heaven to have a quick meal and chug gallons of coffee, before resuming their dreary night-long trips.


    It was a tiring, demanding, thankless job. I honestly wished that the owner of the franchise¡ªBig Al himself¡ªwould just install android servers in every branch and give us flesh-bags a managerial role, but the bastard was adamant that ¡°the human touch is important,¡± or as he liked to say when he wanted to sound intellectual to the ladies on his live stream: ¡°humanity begets acumenity.¡± I call bullshit, and he¡¯s the living, walking proof of said bullshit, but I digress.


    Before going to work, I wore the DreamStream as I was instructed, in order to pair it with myself. I¡¯d have to wear it for six hours straight for the process to complete, and I couldn¡¯t take it off until then. The process was a necessity, to enable the software to be calibrated to my brainwaves. It couldn¡¯t be interrupted, according to Mrs. Dana.


    Six hours. A whole six hours that I had to patiently endure, and then¡­ I¡¯d have my wings! I¡¯d finally get to be a real boy, just like I always dreamed.


    How naive of me, right?


    The DreamStream fit my head like a reverse-tiara. A beat-up one¡ªto be sure¡ªbut hopefully a functional one. Some people kept giving me strange looks as I jogged to work, but most just assumed it was some kind of fitness device or an edgy fashion statement and let me be.


    I was super excited as I arrived at the diner.


    That was a big mistake, in hindsight. Letting any kind of emotion take control while working this kind of job is a huge risk because getting it¡¯s bound to get you distracted, and getting distracted while doing a boring, monotonous job could lead to unfortunate accidents. But more on that later.


    I entered the staff room through the backdoor and clocked myself in, all the while humming a catchy tune that was stuck in my head. I was soon noticed, as I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the kitchen.


    My coworker, Jimmy Bonner¡ªor as he¡¯s more often called: Jimmy Bonkers¡ªwas a lovable, unbearable bastard. He was really obsessed with physical fitness, and wouldn¡¯t stop chiding me for ¡°not taking care of my body as a real man would.¡± On a typical day, he wouldn¡¯t stop blathering about ¡°big gains,¡± and ¡°getting swole.¡± His definition of a healthy human male was a macho guy built like a wall of bricks, and I always got back at him with my annoying specialty: obscure historical memes.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    He was much older than me and used to work in orbital construction with a contractor for the military. Until his neck was injured in a freak accident while piloting a construction mechatron, and he was let go. His insurance refused to cover the surgery on a technicality, and as is expected: he got screwed over by rampant capitalism. Now he worked as a server and impromptu staff manager at this shitty diner while considering his options. Figures.


    ¡°Welcome to Rare Meat Al¡¯s. Can I take your order¡­ Princess¡­?¡± He greeted me with a tilt of the head and an inquisitive look at my exquisite tiara.


    ¡°We meet again, our lord and savior, Bulk Bogan.¡± I shot back. Smack-talk? I was born ready for this shit.


    He¡¯d look it up and absorb every last bit of information about the reference through his augs and internet, but I was hoping he wouldn¡¯t get it this time. I always threw the most obscure memes I could find his way, and yet his uncanny ability to dig up ancient and extremely obscure in-jokes and to comprehend them in seconds still confounds me to this day.


    ¡°I¡¯ll admit it, I do love to poomp my mooscles,¡± he replied with an exaggerated tone and started flexing his biceps. ¡°My mooscles¡­ my mooscles are getting stronker,¡± he finished with a deadpan voice.


    ¡°That was a fast one,¡± I chuckled.


    ¡°Because it¡¯s from YouTube. That shit is archived and heavily documented, yo,¡± he smirked. ¡°Oh, and what¡¯s up with that thing on your head? Is it a new fashion statement or something? What¡¯s wrong with kids these days?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a pacemaker¡­ for my brain,¡± I replied slowly, and he snorted at that. ¡°How late am I, by the way?¡± I doggedly changed the subject.


    ¡°Not very,¡± he shrugged. ¡°Oh, by the way, Hallie is not coming in today. She called in sick.¡±


    ¡°What? Again!?¡± I shook my head, ¡°She¡¯s teething again?¡±


    Teething was the derogatory term for the act of imbibing Zodapine¡ªcolloquially known as Zoods¡ªwhich just so happened to be a highly-addictive psychoactive drug extracted from the reproductive organs of some alien abomination that was possibly engineered by the Saurians, the worst species humanity had the honor of going to war against so far.


    It was called teething because it caused you to slowly grow new sets of teeth that push away the previous ones. Even if you managed to overcome the dependency, you couldn¡¯t stop midway, or you¡¯d risk getting stuck with a half-grown set of teeth. I heard the process hurts like hell, and that quitting cold-turkey was nigh impossible since you¡¯d have to time it perfectly with the exact moment a new set of teeth grows mature and evicted the previous one. Yet hardcore junkies loved the stuff. Unfortunately, Hallie was one of them.


    Aaand¡­ I¡¯m blabbering again. Although you probably didn¡¯t read that long-ass exposition anyway. But I digress, back to the topic at hand.


    ¡°Beats me. If she¡¯s teething, then it¡¯s her funeral.¡± Jimmy responded with a smirk, ¡°Now go and get changed, we got shit to do.¡±


    I did as he told me, and went to work.


    As I foreshadowed earlier, getting distracted while working a monotonous job like mine was a recipe for disaster.


    I was just working like usual, walking from kitchen to a table while holding trays of food, when I heard an echoing bang that nobody else heard, apparently, then my vision swam and I blacked out for a moment, and I suddenly found myself sprawled on the ground, with the scent of food inside my nose, somehow, and a throbbing pain at the back of my cranium.


    That food was coming out of my pay, and what just happened was the first sign that something was very wrong with me, but I shrugged it off and went about cleaning my mess.


    A few hours later, I really wished I hadn¡¯t ignored the issue.

 Chapter 8 - The Cement Mixer Experience

    I awoke with a splitting headache, aching muscles, and a spongy mouth.


    And before you say anything: I know, okay? Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a [¡­] like this!¡±


    My head throbbed. I was sure my eyes were open, but I couldn¡¯t see shit other than weird flashes of multi-colored light.


    ¡°[¡­], but how does he have [¡­]? Is he a [¡­]?¡±


    I could intermittently hear snippets of a conversation taking place right next to me. That was odd.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know anything about [¡­]¡±, an indistinct voice whispered, ¡°what about [...]? are his parents [¡­]?¡±


    It kind of irked me that I was missing all the important parts, without fail. Speak the missing keywords more clearly¡ªgod damn it¡ªwhoever you are.


    ¡°No, we¡¯re not sure of his identity, and we couldn¡¯t find any ID on him,¡± the muffled voice of a guy responded as my ears started working again, ¡°the guy who brought him in gave us his name and that¡¯s it. He left as soon as he dropped him off,¡± the voice explained, ¡°he was muttering about how he had to return to the diner now or get stonked, whatever that is.¡±


    Good ol¡¯ Earthworm Jim. I internally chuckled despite the pain in my head.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. We¡¯ll figure it out later,¡± a womanly voice stated.


    ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see doctor McGrath¡¯s reaction to the MRI results. She¡¯s going. to. flip.¡±


    I was now positive I was brought to a hospital. I tried to recall the last thing I was doing before finding myself here. I was at work and everything was normal, then¡­ it all seemed fuzzy from thereon.


    I slowly moved my hand to touch the spot on my head where I¡¯d worn the DreamStream, and my hand came into contact with a bald head instead. It seemed they had removed it. Fuck.


    Wait, bald? Did they shave my hair too? Triple tiddity fucking fuck.


    That was¡­ less than ideal. I wondered why they¡¯d done that, and more importantly: why they did it without my consent. This pissed me off.


    My hand movement attracted their attention. I heard a door open, and someone spoke to me.


    ¡°Mr. Mohammed. You¡¯re finally awake. That¡¯s good,¡± spoke the same womanly voice from before.


    ¡°Yes, and acutely bald,¡± I said sarcastically.


    ¡°I¡¯m Doctor Olivia Samuels, and we¡¯re sorry about that. We had to shut down your augmentations because they went into overdrive and nearly killed or paralyzed you,¡± she said politely, ¡°unfortunately, we couldn¡¯t find any ports to connect to.¡±


    ¡°I have neither ports nor any augs.¡±


    ¡°That would explain it. Would you care to tell us why your brain is showing signs of neural resonance?¡± She said as she performed whatever it is that doctors do on patients when they wake up.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that is, and I¡¯m also experiencing searing agony at the moment, so excuse me if I can¡¯t talk,¡± I dodged the issue, ¡°mind telling me what¡¯s happening to me, exactly?¡± I asked as she shined a light in my eye that made me cringe.


    She sighed and finished her examination before stepping back, and I felt more than heard a slight creak as she sat down at the foot of the bed. I could see a blurry silhouette of the shape of a human in my peripheral vision, but that¡¯s about it.


    ¡°You¡¯re exhibiting the symptoms of neural resonance, which is a condition that manifests when augmentations make too many drastic changes to the brain all at once,¡± she explained slowly. ¡°All augmentations have a fail-safe against that, but the interesting part is¡ª¡± she tilted her blurry head, ¡°¡ªis that you don¡¯t have any augmentations installed¡ª¡± she drummed her hand against the rails of the bed, ¡°¡ªthat we know of.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± I asked irritably.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°May we assume the device you were wearing on your head is responsible?¡±


    ¡°You may assume what you like,¡± I said in a pissy tone. ¡°You may also assume that you may have caused permanent, irreversible, brain damage to me by removing it from my head without my explicit consent.¡±


    I was angry, and I wanted to scare them. Serves the fuckers right for shaving my hair.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure our legal department would love to go over this with your lawyers in the future¡ª¡± she responded icily, ¡°¡ªbut for now, you¡¯ll have to pardon us for being more concerned about saving you from death by the seizure, which may have been caused by the use of an unapproved, unlicensed, and most importantly illegal augmentation device.¡±


    An implied threat, great.


    ¡°Who said it¡¯s illegal, or an augmentation device to begin with? I¡¯m not implanted with any augs, doctor.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what your MRI scans suggest, but let¡¯s shelve that discussion for later. For now, you need to rest.¡± She said before getting up. ¡°Good night, Mr. Mohammed. We¡¯ll talk more when you wake up feeling better.¡± She walked to the bedside, then pressed something on the wall, and the world went dark.


    Except, it didn¡¯t. Not exactly.


    Well, the world around me went dark, but I was still wide awake and looking at the flashes of color that had been hounding me since I woke up. Then they settled down into patterns, and before I knew it, I could see myself standing¡­ somewhere¡­ elsewhere?


    Where the hell am I now? I thought to myself, and the thought echoed around me as if I¡¯d said it out loud.


    I was standing in an endless, azure expanse. Sandwiched between two planes that extended into the distance endlessly.


    I thought it was an out-of-body experience. Oh, how wrong I was at the time.


    I tried to look down at my body, only to find I had none. I was currently a disembodied wisp of light.


    It was disorienting. I tried to walk¡­ or float, and nothing happened.


    I thought of moving real hard, and then it worked. I could move about, and fly with but a thought.


    What I found disorienting was the fact that this whole world¡ªwhatever it was¡ªwould glitch out of existence and return every couple minutes. During those moments, I had glimpses of many of my old memories. I would see through my eyes¡ªor feel and hear things¡ªat different points of time in my life. Gradually, the flashes increased in frequency, till all I saw was constantly changing perspectives. It was disorienting and it made me sick.


    I saw through my eyes as a child. Then as a teenager. I was a toddler. I was a fetus. I was a baby.


    Did I just recall things from when I was a fetus in the womb? What the fuck is wrong with me?


    I saw happier times. I saw my mom and my dad. I saw my kindly grandparents. I saw myself at three years old, playing with my sister and our cousins¡­


    Wait, I had a sister¡­? And cousins?


    I saw myself as a baby. I saw my mom talking to me. She was telling me something. Something important. Something that I couldn¡¯t quite grasp.


    This wasn¡¯t an out-of-body experience. It was an in-the-body cement mixer experience.


    I wished it would end. I couldn¡¯t take it anymore.


    ¡°Morning, knucklehead.¡± I heard Fuchsia¡¯s voice say.


    I stirred awake and slowly opened my eyes. I looked to my right and saw her sitting there.


    What was she doing here? How did she find me? I couldn¡¯t help thinking to myself.


    ¡°What happened? Didn¡¯t Mrs. Dana tell you to be careful with the DreamStream?¡± She chided me, and I almost flipped out because I thought she was live-streaming this.


    She noticed my look of panic and took mercy on me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not streaming.¡± She chuckled. ¡°Privacy laws and all that, besides there are the hospital¡¯s policies against streaming. You know?¡±


    I nodded blearily, and my vision swam with the act.


    ¡°How did you know I was here?¡± I was curious.


    ¡°A mutual acquaintance sent me a message. At the perfect time when I was in the privacy of my shower.¡± She sighed. ¡°I gotta remember to ask her how she did that.¡±


    I bolted up straight when I heard that.


    ¡°Mrs. Dana told you?¡±


    ¡°Who else?¡±


    I slowly lowered myself back against my pillow and held my temples in my hands.


    ¡°They took my stuff.¡± I confided.


    ¡°Including the phone and the DreamStream?¡± She raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Yes.¡± I said dejectedly, ¡°and the bastards shaved my head.¡± I pointed out the obvious.


    ¡°So what? I¡¯ll ask them to return them,¡± she snorted, ¡°and the new looks kinda suits you, by the way.¡±


    I sighed, I still felt self-conscious about my perfectly smooth head.


    ¡°Any idea when they¡¯ll let me out?¡± I asked worriedly.


    ¡°No clue. They said you¡¯ve improved a lot overnight, though,¡± she comforted, ¡°but you have to tell me: what happened, exactly?¡±


    Just as I was about to tell her, there was a knock at the door.


    ¡°Come in,¡± I said.


    A gaggle of people walked in. Some appeared to be medical professionals, while a few weren¡¯t. They all looked at me with various expressions in their eyes, and one of them¡ªan older gentleman with the bearing of a professor¡ªwho¡¯d been holding my DreamStream, approached.


    ¡°Hello, Eric. We¡¯d like to have a word.¡±


    Fuck.

 Chapter 9 - Pest Subject

    Hi! My name is Eric Mohammed, and I¡¯m about to be probed up the anus by a bunch of crazed military scientists thirsting to explore my inner workings.


    I¡¯m now the most important research subject of this day and age, and every crevice of my body shall be explored, prodded and analyzed, because¡ªwait for it¡ªI¡¯m now a precious national treasure with a priceless brain that just had to be studied.


    We must do it for science!


    I must now be selfless, shut up completely, do as they ask without any complaint whatsoever, and make like a good little test subject. I had to cooperate. If I ever wanted my life back, that is.


    Yeah. Absolutely no way in hell, broskies.


    I won¡¯t trouble you with the entire conversation, but here¡¯s the gist of it:


    It started with innocuous inquiries about me: my life, who my parents were, where I was raised, the events leading up to this moment, how my identity was stolen, then it devolved into some kind of interrogation where they tried to fish out my whereabouts in the last week and where I¡¯d obtained the DreamStream¡ªwhich they apparently were able to identify¡ªand they quickly became frustrated with my half-assed answers, or my silence in some cases, and things devolved from there.


    Then came the subtle threats.


    Our ¡°discussion¡± started to heat up, and we started shouting to our heart¡¯s content. Fuchsia leaned in and whispered something in my ear, asking me for something, but at that point, I was shouting vehemently, and so I just snapped and told her to do whatever she wanted. She gave me a dirty look and a slap on the head for being rude at her and walked back to lean on the foot of the bed.


    The disgruntled scientists made some calls, and so it happened that another gaggle of¡ªsurprise, surprise¡ªwell-dressed lawyers flooded into the room. I was then threatened with multiple lawsuits, citing the possession of an unapproved, and thus illegal neural augment, possibly for the purpose of identity fraud, followed by threats of the confiscation of my phone and the DreamStream, and perhaps the loss of my part-time job and any chance at a future job opportunity as a consequence of said lawsuit. Their argument was that I should just accept, because, in order to prove I had absolutely no augs in court, I¡¯d have to let the government study me anyway, and that was an extra unnecessary step. It was better to just do it now, with my consent. No lawsuit needed.


    The carrot in their deal was that I¡¯d get a ticket to the easy life. Money, women, and drugs. Okay, I¡¯m just making that last bit up. In truth, they offered a monthly stipend for the duration of their study, and to cover my higher education should I decide to resume my high school year and go to college. In essence, they¡¯d give me a chance to put myself on the path to success.


    I was tempted, to be honest, anything was better than my less-than-optimal pointless existence so far, but I didn¡¯t like their shifty eyes. I was sure the consent forms they wanted me to sign had longer fine print than the clauses they put upfront. I¡¯d essentially be giving away my freedom for the duration of the study, without an enclosed deadline, aka forever if they wanted to.


    Hell no.


    And so I remained steadfast, and after they exhausted all their tricks, the ¡°discussion¡± ended on a sour note, with subtle threats of conscription by a grim-looking, ass-clenching, dead-serious military bigwig who came in and saw fit to explain to me that: because solid proof that I was augmented was available¡ªin the form of the brain scans¡ªand that I¡¯d soon be of legal age to be eligible for selective conscription, according to the Military Recruitment Act, Section 5, Appendix Whatchamacallit of the Year 2065, I was going to scrub latrines on hostile alien worlds in a couple of months when he became my commanding officer, and that¡¯s after they do the study anyways, that is.


    You probably get the full picture of how balls-deep in shit I felt, and although by now I knew they wanted to study my brain real bad, I never realized the why of it, or how important it was for them, back at the time.Stolen novel; please report.


    And, with their ultimatum issued, they up and left on that note.


    I was at a loss. I know I¡¯d originally planned to join the military for a chance to get augs, but not like this. I won¡¯t be a damn test subject for a military experiment if I could damn well help it.


    Farewell, cruel Earth. I¡¯m going to die in PvP against space Kobolds now. You sucked ass anyway. I couldn¡¯t help but lament, thinking of my impending conscription as I watched the hoard of lawyers, scientists, and angry military bears leave.


    But then that Fuchsia¡ªGod bless her¡ªstarted giggling uncontrollably. She¡¯d been silently observing all this time, and only now did she show any reaction at all.


    I looked at her questioningly, and after she calmed down she leaned closer. I won¡¯t lie, it got me hot and bothered, but her next words changed everything.


    ¡°According to my stream settings, this will go live in about two hours.¡± She whispered conspiratorially.


    I suddenly realized what she was talking about. Her stream had a time buffer thing that prevented viewers from watching in real-time, thus preventing trouble-makers from directly tracking her position and making her life into an absolute living hell.


    ¡°I love you, you beautiful bastard!¡± For a moment, I forgot I wasn¡¯t talking to my buddy, Jim, and hugged her fiercely. I didn¡¯t pay much attention to my actions at the time. What can I say? I was dumb and I was super excited.


    Because all I could think was: Hell yeah! Take that you conniving bastards! We¡¯re going public with this, boys.


    Then I thought of something and exclaimed.


    ¡°Wait. Don¡¯t you need consent for that!? Won¡¯t this land you in trouble?¡±


    ¡°You gave consent when you told me to do whatever I wanted, but I guess you were too busy with your shouting match to pay attention to my question,¡± she stepped back and looked through the window in anticipation, ¡°next time, be careful with what you agree to, you doof.¡±


    ¡°Does this mean I¡¯m famous now?¡± I raised my voice over the shouts of protesters coming from outside.


    I was already dressed, and we were going to get my things from safekeeping in the hospital¡¯s security department. I hadn¡¯t signed any waivers of liability¡ªbeing unconscious during admittance and all¡ªso they had to give them back.


    ¡°Oh, about that. I didn¡¯t want to tell you, but¡­ you kinda already are,¡± Fuschia said as we walked side by side.


    ¡°I¡¯m what?¡± I couldn¡¯t parse that response.


    ¡°Famous.¡±


    ¡°Nice try, I¡¯m not falling for that one.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡±


    ¡°Because of your stream?¡±


    ¡°You could say that.¡±


    Just then, we arrived at the security desk, and the conversation abruptly ended. We did the old song and dance with the clerk who seemed very nervous¡ªpossibly because of the protesters outside¡ªbefore she acquiesced and sent someone to bring my things back from somewhere¡ªprobably from the same college professor that tried to make me his test subject, or the military dude or god knows who else. After about thirty minutes I spent chatting with Fuchsia, I was handed my stuff back.


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Phone, check. </li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Memory chip, check.</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">DreamStream, check. </li>


    </ol>


    It was time to get out of this place. Good thing I didn¡¯t have to settle any bills before leaving. Free healthcare. Yay! Thanks, Canada. You will never be forgotten. One of the few countries to bring something to the table that made the Federation less shitty than it would have been.


    I was completely distracted at this point and I forgot to ask Fuchsia about the fame thing. We left the hospital through a different exit to avoid the protesters that were undoubtedly waiting for us.


    We said our goodbyes, and I thanked her for coming and helping me out. She subtly signaled me to call her at 5 PM, before we parted ways. I took the mag-rail and arrived at school to get my stuff from my locker. Then decided to visit the library again. An old cyborg witch had a reckoning coming her way in the form of yours truly.


    I never noticed the people following me because I was super excited as I stared at the shiny, beautiful, flashing icons in the corner of my vision.


    I was finally a real boy, and this was going to be the start of my great new life.


    Oh, how little did I know¡­

 Chapter 10 - A Brief Brush With Truck San

    In all honesty, I should have expected this.


    I knew I was a bit gullible, but this¡­ this was stupid level of complacency. I should have known.


    I stood in place, staring at an empty wall and a door that should have been there, but wasn''t.


    Fucking cyborgs, man.


    The bitch must¡¯ve taken off before I could deliver my litany of prepared harsh words. I supposed it was time to move on, forget and forgive and all that. I was still salty though.


    I checked, once, twice, three times. Nothing I did revealed anything new, the door simply wasn¡¯t there, as if it hadn¡¯t existed, to begin with.


    I contemplated taking a jackhammer to that friggin wall for a second but ultimately decided to cut my losses and leave. I had shit to do.


    Nothing for it, oh well. Another disappointing conclusion to a disappointing errand. Color me surprised.


    Just as I walked back through the atrium in order to leave the library¡ªand still feeling over the moon from the pleasant surprise in the form of a tiny inbox icon in my peripheral vision¡ªthe icon started flashing.


    I stared at the inbox icon, at a loss on how to activate it, then I realized I knew jack about interfacing with it. I lifted my phone to eye level and¡ªbefore thinking of the consequences¡ªheld the button to turn it back on.


    The phone finished booting and lit up with a chime, and it never crossed my mind to question how I¡¯d had a freaking HUD in my vision all this time with the phone turned off in the first place because that¡¯s when things took a turn for the beautiful.


    I probably looked like a drooling idiot standing in place while staring at empty air to my older self, but I was in actual heaven.


    Because I was beholding the miracles of AR in first-person. And hell yeah it was worth it.


    It was disorienting at first. I¡¯ll be honest, I almost tripped and fell on my ass from sheer surprise at the spectacle going on around me. A spectacle that turned a big ass room made from nondescript concrete into a freaking explosive menagerie of colors, shapes, and lights.


    I was standing on a reef at the edge of the ocean, and when I looked down and saw the dark waters ahead, I had a passing thought about the depths of the ocean and what dwelled there, and suddenly, I was there. I was visiting the deepest reaches, where gargantuan monsters lived and preyed, which made me think of how small humans were, and how we¡¯re a speck on a huge tapestry that¡¯s the entire freaking universe, and then I was out in that universe, looking at the trillions of tiny specks¡ªstars¡ªlike an all-knowing god staring at my creations.


    Omniscience aside, I then thought about the edge of the universe, and I was suddenly there. And as I stared at the nothingness before me, I realized I¡¯d achieved my big dream. I was finally a fully functioning member of society, and there was nothing more to look forward to.


    Ha! That pun was tasteless, I agree, but that¡¯s all behind me now.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Fine, then! And before you say it, I know, I¡¯m beyond redemption.


    As I thought of all the puns I could be making at that moment, I found my vision blurring. Something was terribly wrong.


    My perception was slowing down, and it wasn¡¯t the projections being simulated around me, no. I could feel my own hands moving slower than they should. Every muscle in my body was responding slower. The message notifications on my phone¡¯s screen were flashing at a glacial pace, and the seconds-hand on the wall clock was moving agonizingly slow.


    Another thought struck me, was the world slowing down, or was my own cognition speeding up?


    But wait, why was there a wall clock that I was staring at? And more importantly, the messages on my phone! Which I was supposed to check? I¡¯d forgotten about that entirely. My phone¡­ Where did the damn thing go?


    ¡°That finally caught your attention, huh?¡± A regal voice spoke.


    I idly twirled my mustachios as I looked behind me with an inquisitive look, and by reflex, I was suddenly kneeling, which was somewhat hard to do in full fucking plate armor, I ruminated.


    Wait, there¡¯s something wrong with that sentence. what the f¨C


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± I addressed the queen reverently¡ªfrom long-ingrained habit¡ªas my mind did backflips at the previous sentence, and this situation I found myself thrust into. Where the fuck am I? Weren¡¯t I just standing in a modern library?


    No, I was standing in a spacious hall, where I¡¯d been looking at a tall golden wallclock encrusted with gems, and now that I¡¯d turned around, a beautiful queen¡ªcrown, scepter, regalia, and all¡ªwith a regal bearing.


    ¡°Ser Rufult, I greet and welcome you to The Radiant Court,¡± her tone was a bit haughty, if not intentionally so, ¡°would you care for some refreshments? Just yesteryear I was gifted with the finest of minty wines, a tribute that was acquired from the breach after painstaking effort, I presume,¡± she twirled her scepter¡ªwhich was faintly glowing with the barest hints of power¡ªand paused, ¡°a bit sugary for my taste, to be frank, but someone with your sweet a tooth might appreciate it much more than I,¡± she finished with a wink.


    ¡°I would humbly decline, Your Grace,¡± I¡ªor rather this Ser Rufult, whoever the fuck he was¡ªrejected her offer politely, ¡°If I may, I am here to humbly request an audience with His Majesty.¡±


    She scoffed at this, ¡°Indeed, yourself and half the kingdom,¡± she seemed frustrated, ¡°and his own queen, it seems.¡±


    ¡°Even your highness, my queen?¡± Ser Rufult wondered.


    ¡°Especially I, ever since that mad crook found his way into our courts. Him and his insane ramblings about a summo¡ª¡± The queen¡¯s reply was abruptly cut off as a demon sprang up behind her and opened its maw wide. Then time stopped. Oh no.


    I¡¯ve been Isekai¡¯d into a freaking web novel. Fuck, I¡¯d rather die. But how? I detected zero trucks in my vicinity. I was inside a library for fuck¡¯s sake, how the fuck did I¡­? Ahh. The augs, the mystery game¡­ I see now. I simultaneously freaked out and calmed down a little. Then I tried to enjoy the experience. I really hoped my body was fine back at the library. The scene was surreal though.


    Meanwhile, after unsheathing his greatsword, Ser Rufult had taken a backseat and handed me the reigns. So this was the tutorial, I supposed. Well, then.


    Time was still stopped, but as soon as I made a move, everything resumed again in slow motion. I saw a spectral ribbon in the air that I assumed I had to follow¡ªif only because my arm wouldn¡¯t easily move any other way. Slowly, I swung the greatsword along with the highlighted guideline, and it severed the demon¡¯s arm in two. I then saw another guideline to follow, I let my body do as bidden as I leaped forwards and kicked the queen aside.


    Then I was face to face with the demonic fiend, and try as I might, I couldn¡¯t shake off the feeling of trepidation creeping up my spine as it nonchalantly grinned at me, triple rows of sharp incisors and all, and the smell.


    I felt a bit heroic, facing such a demon, but by God above, the smell was enough to drive me away if I could run. I was honestly surprised at how they got the details of everything. I¡¯d later learn that it wasn¡¯t that intense for everyone, but oh well.


    From that point, the guidelines weren¡¯t restricting me as much, and I was free to act. It was about time to kick a demon¡¯s ass and steal its bubblegum¡­ or get kicked in the gonads.


    Either option was up for debate at that point.

 Chapter 11 - Knight Apparent

    I tried to sign out, I really did, but I had no clue how any of this worked. Thinking ¡°sign out¡± or ¡°log off¡± real hard did nothing, and I couldn¡¯t speak since I was apparently inside a cut-scene and Ser Rufult wasn¡¯t inclined to help me by going off-script here.


    This pissed me off. My real body was standing in the middle of the atrium in a public library, and god knows what was happening to it right this moment, and I did not want to wake up in a hospital yet again.


    And it was so that I turned my attention to what I could actually do in this situation, and that was venting my frustration in glorious combat against the unfortunate demon in front of me.


    It may have never come up so far, but I¡¯m pretty darn good at video games, if I may say so myself.


    I¡¯m also obsessed with winning.


    Which is why what happened next pissed me off to no end, but I digress.


    I rushed towards the demon, or tried to, only to discover that my feet were conspiring against me as I fell to the ground face first.


    It was to be expected, really. I was like a little toddler making their first steps into the world for the first time.


    The only problem with that analogy is that a toddler¡¯s limbs didn¡¯t go akimbo every time they tried to move. They didn¡¯t fall to the ground and twitch like a fucking epileptic mess, and without system assistance, woe is me as I attempted to rediscover my virtual body¡¯s muscle groups.


    Meanwhile, a demon was standing on top of Ser Rufult, kicking and teabagging¡ªI assumed¡ªthe shit out of my avatar.


    Luckily, and as I soon discovered: I didn¡¯t see a dwindling health bar¡ªor anything analogous¡ªto speak of. Which lent credence to the theory of this being a tutorial of some sort.


    It took me a couple of minutes to get my bearings and willingly flex an honest of god pinky properly. The rest of my muscles soon followed. I swore in that moment to kick the shit out of the simpleton who designed this game if I ever got the chance to do so.


    Now to the problem at hand, and the teabagging little demonic shit. I had to fight and kill it, that was obvious. The issue here was that I was currently lying face-down, and my greatsword was stuck underneath my body, and I had to get it out from underneath me somehow. The issue was exasperated by the fact that I was currently decked out in full fucking plate armor.


    They don¡¯t tell you about this shit in history lessons, nor do they capture this fact in fantasy movies, but the predicament of a knight in full-plate falling down is a real issue, usually followed by a swift death from a more mobile foe. On an actual battlefield, a fallen knight is about as useful as dumbells on a spaceship.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Regardless, I managed it somehow. I think it was because the system assisted me somehow, but in the end, I managed to throw off the demon and got up. Sword in hand, I was now facing the monster and prepared to slay it in glorious combat.


    [Insert inconsequential battle montage where I beat the crap out of the demon here. What? It¡¯s the tutorial or whatever]


    Anyways, I beat the living shit out of it, and yet, as I drove my sword into the demon¡¯s heart for the last time, it suddenly gained its second wind and managed to ignore all the damage I¡¯d done to its body and bit its way through my neck. I died right then and there.


    I¡¯d won, but then I was made to lose. A most frustrating plot device that I hate with all my being.


    I lost because the game designers wanted me to. Absolutely not because I sucked at the game or anything. Honest.


    Regardless, I was fucking hyped! I¡¯d never experienced anything like it and it was everything I¡¯d ever dreamt!


    Then everything faded to black, and I found myself standing in the same position in reality. I silently wondered what the fuck was going on. Was this game bugged or what?


    Then I glanced at the phone, where a veritable wall of the most clich¨¦d monospaced green text was scrolling by too fast for me to catch anything, and then there was a pause and a loading indicator, after which a single blinking message appeared:


    > Synchronization scenarios completed: 1/5.


    And so I understood. That wasn¡¯t the real game, and it wasn¡¯t a tutorial either. I was simply being introduced to the VR functionality via pre-made scenarios. That lazy cyborg hag hadn¡¯t considered that maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªI would have to unlock and use my phone in a public area.


    I checked the time, and only 3 minutes appeared to have passed since this debacle had started, not a big deal in the grand scheme of things.


    But no matter. I was glad nothing was stolen from me, at least.


    I sighed heavily and began checking my messages as I walked back towards the mag-rail station.


    Many of the messages were from my dear cyborg witch, repeatedly and vehemently warning me against coming over to visit her before ¡°I lost my tail,¡± which had me surreptitiously checking over my shoulders with manifest paranoia as I walked. No succubus tails sprouted there, for sure, and nobody was following me. Either they were too good, or she was talking out of her ass to stop me from coming over and punching her in the family jewels.


    The last message gave me pause. It was from principal Arthur, asking me if my notice of withdrawal from school was still valid in light of me becoming a fully integrated citizen. I was wondering how he found out about that when I realized that he was dropping some unsubtle hints about possible discreet inquiries from the UEF military about my current status, with some key phrases alluding to imminent conscription in case I really left school.


    I sighed and replied in the negative, I¡¯d rather finish school right now over an uncertain future of being conscripted to be a test subject right now. Besides, now I won¡¯t be forced to go to special-ed¡ªmy biggest pet-peeve against going to school¡ªaccording to the message. Yay.


    His prompt reply told me to get my ass over to class right this instant because the school day was about to begin.


    I checked the time again, and it was 10 AM.


    Still giddy with excitement, I decided to go.