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It's been quite a while since I've written anything, and that's because I've been very busy, both with work and with this. Classified: A New Life, and Classified: Stellar Remnants were my proofs-of-concept for the idea that became this universe, so there will be a lot of familiar elements. However, after refining my worldbuilding, I've ended up with a lot more than I originally planned for, although it still takes place in an alternate/parallel universe. The worldbuilding document is almost 300 pages long, and includes everything from a creation myth and a religion with various sects and interpretations, to an explanation of medicines, disorders, law, and technology. The scope has expanded considerably, so there is a lot of room to play in the sandbox if anyone happens to be interested. I left many things deliberately ambiguous in the original works, both because I wanted to allow for creative freedom, and because I personally hadn't refined my ideas enough to avoid contradicting myself by accident. This is something I hope to be able to publish at some point in the future, but I must say that if you're looking for sexual elements, this probably isn't for you as I don't particularly enjoy writing about that sort of thing. Chrysalis in particular has changed a lot, and I hope you all enjoy the new changes. Things will be explained as we go along organically to the best of my ability. This is a rough draft, and I haven't finished writing it yet, but I'm reasonably far along. I hope you enjoy the story! EMRD (Energy Management/Regulation Disorder): Excessive worry and physiological anxiety responses; can also refer to metabolic energy regulation issues (context-dependent) Smartband: The universal communication and monitoring device worn by most people. It can be modified specifically for Littles ____________________________________ Maya Weston paws blindly at her left wrist, successfully silencing her alarm on the third try. She lets out a heavy sigh and forces herself out of bed, blearily scrolling on her Smartband to check the timetables for the autobus. The soft blue text displays: On-Time. Thank Esvyra for small mercies. Maya thinks, pulling on a well-loved sweater and her least-worn pair of jeans. It’s not business-casual, but it’s all she’s got. She heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth and does her best to make herself look presentable and professional. She thumbs on her aging holoscreen for background noise. Stat, her Smartband’s onboard AI recites the weather forecast. Maya is unsurprised at the varying forecast, given Southgate’s proximity to the mountains. Her thick brown hair is uncooperative as it usually is in the morning and she opts for a ponytail rather than taking the time to brush it out. Her next stop is the fridge, where finds a lone nutribar and the rest of last night’s vegetable wrap. Maya takes the nutribar and puts the wrap into her bag to have for lunch at work, planning to stop on the way home for some cheap noodles or some—ugh—a mystery wrap from the vendor if she’s desperate enough. This isn’t the life she would have imagined for herself, but after growing up as a Lightbearer...even this, even though it’s less-than-perfect, is better than living like that. For once, she’s grateful that she doesn’t have a smart-fridge—a smart anything really, other than her band—because at least then it can’t nag her to spend Coin she doesn’t have on food she can’t afford. She wolfs down the nutribar and washes down her EMRD medication with a swig of water before brushing her teeth and heading for the door. Maya checks her account as she locks up, seeing the notification on her Smartband tick over from Rent Due: 3 days remaining to Rent Due: 2 days remaining and, as if by some cruel irony, there’s still no paycheck. Her internship at BioHealth is the best job she’s ever had—or it would be, if they’d bothered to actually pay her like her contract had stated. At first, she’d thought that maybe it was just a clerical error, but her repeated attempts to reach HR to find out what’s been going on have been stymied. She’d tried submitting tickets, escalating those tickets, and even trying to schedule a meeting with HR in-person, but she hasn’t had any luck so far. She sighs and heads for the stairs, hoping no one creepy is at the autobus stop this morning. She barely notices the broken cleaning drone anymore as she passes by, it’s been at the end of the hallway, covered in dust and lilting in its charging cradle since she moved in. The security system doesn’t work, the building is falling apart, and in this neighborhood, expecting the police to do anything is a chanceroller at best. At the very least, her job at least gets her out of her tiny apartment. Anticipatory anxiety ties her stomach in an uncomfortable knot as she waits in the chilly morning air, the deserted autobus terminal lit only by the glow of the arrival and departure displays and a lone sodium streetlight. A discarded paper cup from some fast-food place tumbles along the sidewalk, fetching up against the overflowing and graffiti’d trash can. Maya breathes a sigh of relief the autobus rolls to a gentle stop in front of her, kneeling with a hiss of compressed air and emitting a pleasant: “Welcome aboard, please watch your step. Thank you for choosing Breezeway autobus services. Most anywhere, we’ll get you there.” Maya smiles softly, the little jingle they play has always been catchy. She holds her ID up to the reader and selects her destination, the fare automatically being deducted from her account’s already-meager funds. The air on the autobus is pleasant and refreshing, it smells faintly of leather and some kind of citrus-scented cleaning agent. It’s a nice change from the stale air that permeates the hallways of her apartment building. The buildings outside the window get progressively nicer as the autobus heads closer to downtown, the beating heart of Southgate’s financial and industrial districts. Bars and anti-theft mesh melt away into pristine glass windows, graffiti-free brick facades, and clean sidewalks. Clean, energy-efficient streetlamps light the autobus’ path, a welcome shift from the dull glow of the sodium lights in Northview. The BioHealth headquarters stands tall among the surrounding buildings, its polished glass exterior reflecting the early morning sun in a scintillating shade of vermillion. The fountain out front is intricate and impressive, with a beautiful urn sculpture in the center, depticting Esvyra tending Her garden. It’s something Maya has always found soothing and she’s glad the campus looks quiet this morning as the autobus pulls into the terminal across the street from the building. Maya exits the autobus, checking her Smartband for the time and she is pleased to see that she’s arrived twenty minutes early. Hopefully that will give her enough time to sort out the payroll issue before she’s due to start her shift in the Research and Development lab. BioHealth makes a variety of products for all Classifications, mostly medical supplies although Maya’s current project is a prototype from a client looking to start a line of premium diapers and clothes for Littles. Maya herself has always had very specific preferences about texture for her clothing, so it’s nice to be able to channel that into something meaningful. The lobby of BioHealth is enormous and refined, with an enormous wall fountain along the entire right side of the lobby. The golden plating behind the flowing water is inlaid with a beautifully intricate vine design, and the water circulates into planters that hold gorgeous red roses. The massive windows above the entrance are designed to let in natural light, making the lobby a beautiful and inviting place to be. Blinking, Maya turns her focus to the left side of the lobby, where the HR office is located. It’s dark right now, as they don’t normally come in until 09:00, but she heads over to the terminal anyway to check the status of her ticket about her pay. She swipes her badge to log in to the interface and frowns. Access denied. User credentials expired. Please contact your system administrator for reset. Maya swipes her badge again, her heart pounding. What did I do? I’ve never been late or reprimanded, or anything. Did they...did they fire me without notice? I didn’t do anything wrong...Her stomach churns, her Smartband feels like it weighs a ton as the memory of the notice from this morning plays again in her mind. Rent Due: 2 days remaining. Access Denied. User credentials expired. Please contact your system administrator for reset. Oh no...Maya takes a shaky breath, trying to both calm her racing heart and also not throw up on the nice lobby floor. “S-Simon? Are you there?” Maya says quietly, pressing the “help” button in the corner to summon the AI that handles HR requests when HR isn’t available. “Good morning, miss Weston. How may I help you?” The AI responds in a friendly voice, as a holographic display fades in behind the reception desk to display the AI’s avatar. “I’m locked out. Have—” Maya swallows hard, barely able to think the words, let alone to say them aloud. “have I been, um, terminated?” “Negative. Your credentials are expired, but your employment status is active with no pending disciplinary actions or performance reviews.” Simon replies helpfully. Maya braces herself against the reception desk to avoid collapsing when her knees threaten to give out from sheer relief. “Oh, good!” she gushes. “Um, can you fix my logins so I can see what tasks I have for the day? And has there been any response to my payroll request?” “Negative. I do not have access to those systems. My capabilities are limited to scheduling appointments and drafting emails or submitting tickets. My apologies. And I’m sorry to inform you that there has not been any response to your request.” Simon answers, helpful as always. “Is...Is Director Saphrin available? It’s really urgent.” Maya wonders, feeling a bit lightheaded at approaching Director Saphrin about, well, anything, but especially something that should technically be fixable without her help is more than a little daunting. But being homeless is considerably scarier... “She has a meeting that should be over shortly, but I’ve given you a temporary visitor’s pass so you may use the elevator to attempt to speak with her.” “Thank you, Simon.” Maya replies gratefully. “You’re most welcome. Goodbye for now!” Simon responds, and the avatar fades away as the AI...well...goes to do whatever it is that AIs do in their free time. Maya smooths her shirt and jeans as she steps into the elevator and presses the button for the executive suites. She forces herself to take deep breaths as her Smartband vibrates: elevated heart rate; elevated blood pressure “Thanks, Stat,” Maya grumbles. The elevator doors open to a reception area that seems almost...homey. The floor is carpeted by a plush material, and there’s a fish tank set into a smaller version of the vine fountain from downstairs in front of her. To her right is a desk, where a man in an immaculate suit with slicked back hair. A short black beard, dark skin, and a shaved head. His brown eyes are warm, but intense. “Good morning, Maya, what brings you up today?” he asks pleasantly. Maya blinks. “You know my name?” The man smiles. “Of course, Director Saphrin speaks very highly of your work. I’m Nick Farrel, but you can call me Nick.” “It’s nice to meet you Mr. Farrel,” Maya says with a strained kind of cheerfulness. “Um, to answer your question, I, uh, I’m locked out of the system. Simon says he can’t perform a reset, and HR doesn’t get in until 9...and there’s an issue with payroll that hasn’t been resolved in three weeks, and rent is due in two days and—” Maya stops herself, taking a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m rambling.” Nick’s eyebrows draw together. “Three weeks? Have you not been paid at all in that time?” Maya shakes her head. “No, Mr. Farrel. I tried submitting tickets and setting appointments, but I haven’t gotten any responses...I was planning to check that this morning, but I can’t login to the system.” she explains. “I’m sure the Director will be more than happy to help you out. It sounds like several people are neglecting their duties. She should be wrapping up shortly, but I’ve sent her a message to let her know you’re waiting out here.” Nick gestures to a nearby sofa next to an oko machine. “We’ve got roasted oko and sweet oko if that’s more to your taste. It even makes whips and combiccinos.” Maya settles onto the couch to wait—it’s comfier than her bed—and folds her hands patiently in her lap. She makes herself a small cup of sweet oko, as the roasted kind has always been far too bitter for her taste. It’s rich and indulgent, and it fills her with a pleasant warmth as it settles in her stomach. No sooner has she finished her drink and disposed of the used cup than Director Saphrin’s door slides open. Director Saphrin is dressed in a deep blue pantsuit with a crisply-ironed white shirt beneath it and tasteful black shoes. She’s not one to wear much jewelry as far as Maya can tell from the few times she’s seen the woman around the building, and today is no different. Her jet black hair is pinned up in a tasteful bun, and the only jewelry she wears is her Smartband and a pair of diamond stud earrings. Her perfume drifts over, a gentle mix of mint and vanilla. “Good morning, Nick.” She says softly before turning her attention to Maya, her brown eyes attentive. “Good morning, Maya. Nick said you needed my help with something, would you like to step into my office for a bit so we can talk?” her voice is firm, but calm, with a softness that Maya has never known it to have. “Yes ma’am.” Maya answers, standing. “Thank you for the oko,” she says to Nick, who simply smiles. “Sure thing.” The Director’s office is luxurious, but not opulent, with a few live plants and a small wall fountain opposite the corner where the windows meet, overlooking the city. It’s tasteful but not gaudy, and the desk and chairs look comfortable, but not obscenely expensive. Still, the genuine hearthwood desk probably costs more per ounce than Maya makes in a month, she reflects... “Have a seat,” The Director says, settling easily into her own chair across the desk from Maya and waving away the holo-display. “What can I do for you?” “I, um, I’ve been locked out of the system, ma’am. I asked Simon for help downstairs, but he said he doesn’t have the ability to reset my credentials. He also said that I haven’t been flagged for any discipline or reviews.” “That’s...very strange. There’s no reason the system should have locked you out of anything, especially with no flags. That would have had to have been done manually. And please, when it’s just us, call me Meekah. Being called ‘ma’am’ makes me feel old.” Meekah says, smiling gently. “I can fix that right now, but I’ll be having a word with HR about this. Is there anything else you need?” “Well, I don’t mean to be a bother or anything, but I’ve tried talking to HR and I think they’re avoiding me...all the tickets I’ve submitted or appointments I’ve tried to make just get marked ‘resolved’ or canceled. My internship was supposed to be a paid position, but...I haven’t actually been paid at all yet. It’s been three weeks since I’ve started, and rent is due in two days and I know I’m not dressed appropriately for work but I promise I’ll—” “Maya.” Meekah says, her voice calm but firm. “Take a breath.” She waits patiently. Maya does, breathing out slowly and evenly, and then does it again. “Good. I’m really not concerned about your attire right now. Your clothes are clean and presentable and that’s good enough for the moment. What I am concerned about is the fact that you haven’t been paid. That’s absolutely inexcusable and there’s no reason whatsoever for that to have happened. I will be having a meeting with HR as soon as they arrive and you will have your back-pay before you leave to go home today.” Meekah taps a few things on her display and there’s a low hum, a click, and then Meekah is handing Maya a black and gold card. “Thank you so much for your help ma’am. I was so worried...” Maya gushes, feeling genuine relief for the first time that she can recall in recent memory. “What’s this?” Meekah smiles gently. “You don’t have to thank me, Maya. You’re entitled to your pay, that’s literally in the the contract you and my company signed, and I’m sorry that hasn’t been honored. There’s 5,000 Coin on that chip, separate from your pay from HR. Please consider it a bonus for all this inconvenience and use it for anything you need.” 5,000 Coin?! It’s more money than Maya has every seen in one place before, and Meekah’s just...handed it to her like it’s nothing. “This is too much! I can’t t take all of this...” Maya’s eyes well with tears; she’s completely overwhelmed by Meekah’s generosity. “You can. As a matter of fact, I insist that you do.” Meekah pauses to hand Maya a tissue. Maya blots at her face. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. No one has ever done anything like this for me before.” “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Maya. You were put in a terrible position as a direct result of my employees incompetence, at best and deliberate malice at worst. No one should have to deal with being treated that way. Please, just let me help, to put my own mind at ease if not for yourself. You’re an incredible employee, Maya. You’re an asset to the company, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re not appreciated or valued. It’s been a privilege to be able to watch you develop, and I hope you’ll be able to look past this incident and continue working for us. I’d like to offer you a formal position as a Product Design Specialist. This situation should have never happened in the first place.” “I...I accept.” Maya says, barely able to speak past the lump in her throat. “Thank you, ma’am.” Maya says, her cheeks warming. “It’s alright, mistakes happen.” “It’s not alright, Maya. I’m impressed by your willingness to forgive, but personally I’m not willing to let something like this slide for any of my employees, least of all someone who does some of the best work at this company. And I promise I’ll make it right for you.” Meekah says earnestly. Maya doesn’t know what to say, so she just nods. “Thank you...so much.” she says finally. “I’ve reset your credentials, you’ll have to make a new password, but you shouldn’t have any more issues and I’ve locked your files so any changes to status will have to be approved by me first. You don’t need to worry about that ever happening again. And you’ll get an official offer letter to sign in your employee portal later, your new position comes with a substantial raise and profit sharing as well. In the meantime,” Meekah checks her Smartband. “I have a meeting to schedule with HR, and I believe you have some things to do as well. You can message me on the portal whenever you need something, but for now, I need to get this meeting set up.” Maya nods. “Of course, I understand. And thank you...for everything.” She says as she turns to leave, feeling something dangerously like hope building in her chest. Maybe for once, things will turn out okay. *** Or not. Maya’s absorbed in her work—Jenkins is a wizard with blends, but not proportions and the mix of synthetic to natural fabric is way too...wrong. It’s scratchy, but in a sticks-to-your-fingers-and-is-really-uncomfortable sort of way, not scratchy like rough, or even necessarily itchy either. She frowns and highlights the areas that need adjusting. There needs to be more room in the butt area, if the wearer has a thick diaper on or is wearing lots of layers, it’ll be stiff and too squeezy...Maya makes a face, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the idea of that sensation, even though she doesn’t wear diapers, clothes that are too tight feel kind of...suffocating. The straps of the overalls are also slightly too short, which would also make it the wrong kind of snug—comfy clothes should feel like being hugged, not squeezed so tightly you can’t breathe....And the elastic bands in the built-in diaper cover shouldn’t be that close together, it’ll be pinchy on the wearers thighs in an area that’s already really sensitive...Maybe we could just scrap that entirely? No need to make the Caregiver’s job any harder for changes, and it’s already got the mag-snaps, so everything’s discreet without the elastic... Maya frowns thoughtfully, making more annotations and manipulating the holographic model, and recommending a blend of extra-spun fleece and down for the inside. She pauses to go back and edit her notes to be more professional-sounding before sending them back to Jenkins for review. Personally, she doesn’t understand what’s wrong with using ‘pinchy’ or ‘squeezy’ to describe something, since that’s how it actually feels, but after more than one of the other design specialists have commented that her notes ‘sounded like something their kid sister would say’, maybe it’s better to jazz it up a bit. Why sounding like that is bad when it’s just notes, Maya can’t fathom, but being made fun of is kind of miserable if she’s being honest. Maya’s just finished her notes when her tablet chimes loudly, causing her to flinch. Thorns! I really need to change the alert tone... Maya thinks, before picking up the tablet and reading her messages. It’s Meekah, requesting her to come to the conference room for a meeting. She swallows hard, gathering her courage, and heads for the elevator. Maya’s heart drops into her stomach as she approaches the door to the conference room, Meekah sounds really upset... “Do not lecture me on procedure, Janit. Who do you think wrote the policy in the first place?” Meekah’s voice has a cold, venomous edge to it and it makes Maya hesitate before she pushes open the door. Meekah looks at her, eyes softening for a moment as she uses them to indicate Maya should sit next to her. Maya does, already feeling tense and nauseous. She can’t even bring herself to make eye contact with Janit, but she can feel the anger rolling off the woman in waves. The woman is dressed professionally, with too-much lipstick and her nails painted an awful, garish shade of red. Her earrings are too big and the wrong color to complement her fake tan, and her green eyes are cold as Maya inevitably looks at her. Maya sits down, trembling. “Thank you for joining us, Maya.” Meekah says. “I meant no offense. I was simply stating that when people don’t follow the proper procedure, it makes it very difficult to accomplish necessary tasks. Perhaps she just forgot?” “Excuse me? I had IT pull the logs Janit, don’t you dare—” And that’s all Maya hears of Meekah’s sentence before the ringing in her ears drowns the rest of it out. Maya is five years old again, tears dripping off her chin as the side of her face flares with pain, stinging and smarting from the slap she’s just received. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Maya!” Her mother shouts. Another slap. Maya whimpers. “And stop your crying! You just want me to feel bad for you so you can get out of trouble. Keep it up, and I’ll give you something to cry about! You know Esvyra wouldn’t like you getting involved in such selfish things. And now you’ve made her sad, and the other Lightbearer kids in your class saw too! Do you want the congregation to think you’re ‘corrupting association’? What about your father? Do you want him to have to stop being a Tender because you can’t be a good girl?” “No...” Maya says pitifully. “And you had an accident on top of it all! In first grade and still peeing your pants, unbelievable!” “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” Maya says honestly. “I don’t want to hear it.” Her mother replies. “Go take a bath and change your clothes. We’re having dinner soon. And you’d better pray and tell the Gods you’re sorry or they won’t want to be your friends anymore because you hurt their feelings by being bad. I love you, but you need to think about how things look to other people, and what the Gods want you to do.” “Okay...I love you too...” Maya turns heads to the stairs, looking back only once. I didn’t even want the cake that much...she thinks...I just didn’t want to be left out. I don’t like being made fun of ‘cause I’m different... “Hurry up please, Maya. I want us to all eat together.” Maya flinches, instinctively expecting another slap, even though her mother is across the room. “And don’t flinch like that. I’m not going to hurt you.” her mother says, like she’s being silly at a bad time. “Sorry. I’m going.” Maya says, and begins climbing the stairs, feeling confused, alone, and ashamed. “—unacceptable. I will not have my employees victimized by your lack of attention to your responsibilities, be it through negligence, incompetence, or malice. Let me be absolutely crystal clear, Janit. IT and myself will be reviewing all employee records from the last six months to ensure accuracy of payroll and benefits. Your access to employee files has been revoked, except for what you need to do your job. Until the audit is complete, all changes to payroll and employee credentials go through me, and me alone. If it is discovered that you or anyone else under your supervision purposefully altered credentials or withheld pay, this entire department will be restructured, and responsible parties will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.” Maya blinks, hoping her spacing out hasn’t been too obvious and trying to discreetly scrub at her eyes, her face damp. Meekah’s foot gently nudges against hers, grounding Maya in the present. “I understand.” Janit says, tight-lipped, glaring at Maya. “I shouldn’t have to remind someone in your position of this, but I expect that Maya will receive an appropriately contrite, sincere, and professional apology. And I’ll need your admin chip until the investigation is concluded.” Meekah says, and the grim set of her jaw is equal parts unyielding and predatory, like a lion cornering a wounded animal. Maya looks at the table, losing herself in the swirling patterns of the wood grains and wishing to be literally anywhere else. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I’m sure it was just a mistake—” she says, almost automatically, not looking up at either of the women in the room. “I understand that, Maya, and I appreciate you trying to be a team player and give the benefit of the doubt. I however, am not convinced this wasn’t done deliberately, so the investigation will proceed as planned. You come to work and do your job to the best of your ability every day, and it is only fair to hold others to the same standard. A mistake has been made that could easily have been avoided, and it’s important that we make sure that no one else has been dealing with similar issues. We all come to work to get paid, so I need to make sure that’s happening as it should.” Meekah says, her voice firm, but without the venomous edge. When she speaks again, it’s back. “Janit. Your chip.” Janit all but slams the small card on the table. She looks at Maya in a way that reminds Maya of her mother when she says: “My sincerest apologies for any inconvenience you may have been caused. It won’t happen again, Maya.” You don’t sound sorry...Maya thinks, feeling almost like she’s just been told to jump off a cliff instead of apologized to. She feels cold and looks back at Meekah, and then at the table. Meekah’s brows draw together, but she doesn’t comment on it other than to say: “That will be all. Nick will be in touch with next steps. You’re dismissed.” Janit stalks out of the room, staring Maya down the whole way, her green eyes cold and piercing. “Are you okay?” Meekah asks, once the door slides closed again. Maya’s eyes well with tears again. She feels drained and too hot and this is all her fault and— “Maya, honey—” “Don’t!” Maya says, in a voice that sounds like someone else’s, bitter and angry and sharp. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so upset. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry. I know you were just trying to be nice to me.” Maya says, more to the table than to Meekah. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Maya. Nothing, do you understand me? None of this is your fault, and I’m not upset with you at all. This was clearly very difficult for you and you did very well. You should be proud of yourself.” Meekah’s voice reminds Maya of herself when she’s trying not to cry. “Kind of? I don’t know. I don’t feel very good.” Maya admits, finally looking at Meekah, seeing a gaze that’s just a bit too shiny for just a moment before Meekah’s normal expression is back. “It’s okay to not know. Do you want to go home for the day? With pay, of course. I can tell this was a lot for you.” “I...I don’t want to go home...” Maya says, because that would mean being alone with her thoughts. “Okay. Why don’t you take a few minutes for yourself, okay? And if you change your mind about going home later it’s not a problem, just let me know. You did a good job, Maya. Really. I have to get to my next meeting, but you know how to reach me if you need anything.” Meekah says gently, lingering for a moment before leaving Maya alone with her thoughts. Maya collects herself for a few minutes, getting up only when she’s sure she isn’t going to be sick all over the super-expensive-looking carpet. She almost runs straight into Sydney on her way back to the lab, only half paying attention to where she’s going. “Oh, hey...Maya?” her friend's voice is full of concern, and she’s taking Maya by the shoulders and and guiding her into a side hallway. “Sweetie? What’s wrong? You look awful! What happened?” “I’m okay...I’m fine...I’m okay...” Maya replies, her cheeks wet before she can even really register that she’s crying, tears dripping off her chin in big, fat drops. She wants to throw up, her entire body shaking with the force of her sobs. Warm arms wrap around her, a gentle hand rubs her back while another gently presses her head into Sydney’s chest. “Oh, sweetheart...it’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” Sydney’s voice is thick with emotion. Maya clings to Sydney, trembling, afraid of falling apart without her. Sydney is warm and safe and she smells like spice and clean laundry. “Shh...” Sydney whispers, swaying them gently. Maya can’t remember the last time anyone hugged her like this. She can’t remember the last time she was hugged at all.

This story takes place a couple of months after Keeping Secrets. It's hard for me to tell, but I don't think it's necessary to read the previous story to enjoy this one, but if you want to read about how Tracy and Kat met, that's where to go. And as always, I will be updating the tags as the different parts are posted to avoid spoilers. -------------- Mission Improbable (Part 1 of 13) "Shit!" Tracy looked out of the window of her van. Big, fat raindrops splattered against the windscreen. "What's the matter Häschen?" Kat's voice on the other end of the phone line asked. "Rain. "That's going to make flying harder." A single one of those big drops could upset the balance of Tracy's little drone. It would also make audio surveillance next to impossible. Lightning flashed somewhere behind the car, illuminating the trees in front of the car briefly. The thunder that followed only moments later drowned out whatever Kat said. "What was that?" Tracy put Kat on speaker while she climbed around the seats to the back of the van. "I said 'just be careful'. I wouldn't want to take care of a zapped, little bunny. You're fussy enough when you're just wet." Tracy felt a blush creep up her neck. "Kat," Tracy pleaded, the whining tone painfully clear even to herself. God, I sound like a four-year-old. "Oh come on," Kat said. "It's not like there's anyone else in your car with you." "How do you know?" "Well, is there?" "No," Tracy admitted. She was struggling to find the neck hole inside her dark grey rain poncho. The stiff plastic of the poncho crackled slightly with static electricity as she pulled it down. The mesh of hair-thin metal wires inside the plastic would hide and distort Tracy's heat signature, making her much harder to see with infra-red cameras. She wasn't expecting anybody to be using that, but if she had to be somewhere in person, she was not going to take any chances. Tracy picked the phone up from the suitcase holding most of her surveillance gear. "Anyway, are you doing anything tonight?" Tracy didn't actually hold her breath; at least not physically. She always felt awkward asking if Kat was free. Asking a dominatrix if she's working felt to Tracy like asking 'are you fucking someone'. It wasn't like she was jealous when Kat was seeing clients. Well, maybe a little. She knew what she was getting into when she and Kat started... dating? No, that wasn't the word she'd use. Maybe 'seeing each other'? No, that didn't seem right either. They weren't two high-schoolers making out between classes. 'Sleeping together' didn't feel right either, although it was true in the most literal sense. Tracy was so lost in her search for the right term that she missed Kat's answer. She shook her head to dismiss the thoughts. "What was that? You dropped out there for a second," Tracy bluffed. "I said I have a client all night. Sorry." Tracy sighed. "Okay." She had hoped that she could snuggle up to Kat after having had to be out in the rain. Even if it was only for a few hours. Sleeping like that was so much more restful than sleeping alone. "Aww. Were you hoping for some snuggles after you were done?" Tracy suddenly realised something. "All night, you said? Are they there now?" "Relax Häschen. It's not like they can hear you." "Still, you know I hate it when we talk like this when you have other people there." "You didn't seem to mind last week when Jessie and Uncle Dieter had us over for dinner." Tracy sighed again, almost rolling her eyes at Kat. "That's different and you know it. They think we're... you know, dating." Tracy cringed at the word. It wasn't like they hadn't gone on dates. But there was a big difference between 'going on dates' and 'dating'. At least in Tracy's mind. "We can have breakfast," Kat suggested. "Or maybe lunch. I don't know how late it'll be before I get some sleep." "Mmm-yeah. Breakfast sounds nice. Surprise me." Tracy knew that Kat could hear her smile. "Do you want me to wear my..." Tracy hesitated, "you know..." Kat laughed. "You can say 'diaper' Häschen. It iss not a naughty verd." She said the last sentence with an exaggerated German accent that made Tracy smile. "I know. It just feels weird to say it." "You know, it's funny. You have more trouble saying the word than you have actually wearing them." "Yeah, yeah. It's hilarious," Tracy said dismissively. "Scheiße, I have to go," Kat said as there was some noise in the background that Tracy couldn't identify. "Tomorrow, wear your diapers if you want to. Or not. We'll figure something out. Bye." "Uh, bye," Tracy said, but Kat had already hung up. "...I guess." She put away the phone and opened the car door, looking out into the downpour. Even before stepping outside, she imagined she could feel a greasy trickle down the back of her neck. Tracy grabbed her camera and checked the batteries. Almost fully charged. Before she slipped the strap over her head, Tracy made sure the waterproof casing was properly closed. Wouldn't want foggy lenses that I can't reach. Tracy stepped out of the van and found herself ankle-deep in a puddle that hadn't been there when she parked. "Damn." Tracy stepped out of the puddle and shook her feet to get some of the water out of her shoes. "Not exactly the greatest start," she said to no-one in particular. Grabbing a black, plastic briefcase and a small tripod, Tracy closed the door and locked it. The alarm activated with a quiet chirp. Then she trudged off into the bushes. Half an hour later, Tracy was in place. She was crouching in a bush halfway up a small hill. Below her was a footpath with a metal bench and a trash can with a couple of impressive dents. Tracy absent-mindedly wondered what could have made the dents. They looked too big to be from bikes, but the footpath was too narrow and twisting for cars. ATVs maybe? Tracy checked her watch: A quarter to one. In fifteen minutes, that trash can was going to be one of the richest trash cans in the city. Tracy shifted her weight, moving her knee out of the small brook that had appeared only minutes after she had settled down in her bush. Her mind drifted back to earlier that day. *** Tracy had been in her office, working on the final report to a client when there was a quiet knock on the door. Tracy checked the camera outside the door. Kat had insisted she install the camera and reinforce the office door after a case had gone badly, in a death-threat kind of way a couple of months earlier. Outside the door was a woman and man. They didn't look like a threat, so Tracy pressed the button to unlock the door. The lock buzzed and clicked and after a few moments, the couple entered. Tracy pushed her keyboard aside and motioned to the chairs in front of the desk. "Please, have a seat." Tracy found her trusty notepad and pencil. Then she pushed the phone to the middle of the desk. "You don't mind if I record this..." Tracy paused and studied the couple for a few moments. The man was sitting with his eyes lowered, turned slightly towards the woman, who in turn was sitting back in the chair with her legs crossed, looking relaxed and confident. Tracy figured that she was the one in charge. "... Ms? "Wilford," the woman said. "Nalah Wilford. And I'd rather you didn't. I don't want any of this coming out." "It's only to help my note-taking, but if you're uncomfortable with it..." Tracy picked up her phone and put it away. "OK Ms. Wilford, what's the problem?" Tracy tried to sound professional. "Marc here fucked up," She answered matter-of-factly. Tracy looked from one to the other and back and again. "I'm going to need a little more details than that." Ms. Wilford looked coolly at Marc. "Well? Tell her what you did." "There was this email, and I thought it was from Miss Nalah and I clicked on the link in it and-" "And the idiot opened a back-door into the system. Look, I couldn't care less that they hijacked his webcam and caught him undressing and getting into position for me under the desk in my office." "I-" Tracy began, a little taken aback. "I do, however, care that they caught me on camera as well. And as if that wasn't enough, they encrypted the entire system, locking us out." "And let me guess, they want money to unlock the system and not release the video." "Yeah, fifteen thousand." Ms. Wilford said it like it was more an annoyance than a serious sum of money. "Not to point out the obvious, but isn't this a police matter? Or at the very least, your IT department? Why hire someone like me?" "If we use yesterday's backups we lose all the logs from a crucial deposition, plus we'd look incompetent." Ms. Wilford glared at Marc. "And going to the police wouldn't get the files back in time for the trial either. I figured the simplest solution is to just pay them." "Okay? But then why hire me?" "Don't get me wrong, I'm not OK with what happened. I want you to find out who did this so I can make them regret it. And as for why you specifically? You came highly recommended from a business associate of mine. A Mrs Devereux?" "I see," Tracy said, trying to sound neutral since she didn't know how much Ms. Wilford knew about the case in question. "So, fifteen thousand. I'm assuming they didn't want to meet in some back alley with a suitcase full of cash." "Unfortunately not. They wanted the money in some stupid cryptocurrency, Ding-Dough, on a thumb drive, and they wanted Marc to drop it off at a specific location at 1 am. tonight." "So, in..." Tracy checked her watch, "...eleven hours or so. I'm assuming they gave the whole 'don't contact the police' warning or something like that. Will getting the money be a problem?" Ms. Wilford shook her head. Tracy put down her pencil. "Well, since they've been smart about the money, our best bet is probably to follow the actual thumb drive once your husband makes the drop and hopefully identify the blackmailers that way." "Oh please! Like I'd marry him." Ms. Wilford rolled her eyes. "I deal with enough fucked-up marriages at work. Marc's my personal assistant." And your executive stress relief toy, it sounds like. Tracy opened her desk drawer and rooted around in it for a couple of seconds before bringing out a bright yellow thumb drive. "Use this for the money," she said and handed it to Ms. Wilford. "Now, this is a rush job so I'm going to have to charge extra." "I expected as much. Camille told me the rates you charged her; I'll double it." That was more than Tracy had been planning on charging, so she simply nodded. "I also have a couple more conditions. First of all: My job is to follow the thumb drive, or the information on it, to the blackmailers without them realising it. That is, until they've given you the password to unlock your system. So until that happens, you're going to follow the blackmailer's instructions to the letter. Agreed? "Sounds reasonable." "Also, whatever you're planning for whoever did this, I'm not involved. Once I've identified the blackmailers, my job is over." "I wouldn't have it any other way." Ms. Wilford's smile sent a chill down Tracy's spine. It was like a cat watching a canary with a broken wing. Tracy decided she didn't want to get on Ms. Wilford's bad side. They spent the next twenty minutes getting all the details Tracy felt she needed. After Ms. Wilford and Marc had left, Tracy started planning. She would park a drone by the drop and follow whoever came to pick it up. Tracy opened the box of drones and checked the battery levels of the one with the best range. It only had a basic camera and microphone, but it was small enough to escape notice. After checking the map of the park where the drop-off was, she found that the drone should be able to follow the thumb drive to any of the parking lots in the immediate area. After that, it was just a matter of recording the licence plate and the traffic cameras would do the rest of the job for her. The thumb drive even had a tracker that she could activate remotely in case she lost track of it. If whoever picked it up scanned the drive for bugs, they wouldn't find it until it was too late. Tracy had to admit that she had a similar tracker on her car keys and that she had had to use it more than once. Content that all the technical preparations were done, Tracy went to bed. If she was going to pull an all-nighter, she should start out well rested. *** Movement on the path below brought Tracy back to the present. Somebody halfway hidden by a big, green and white golf umbrella, approached the bench. It was Marc. He looked around nervously. "Come on," Tracy mouthed silently. "Don't get creative. Just make the delivery and walk away." Marc fumbled in his pocket and brought out Tracy's yellow thumb drive. Tracy zoomed in on Marc with her camera as he kept fiddling with the thumb drive. He was turned halfway away from her so she couldn't see exactly what he was doing. "Come on," Tracy kept whispering inaudibly. "Be a good, little executive fuck toy and do what you're supposed to." As though he had heard her, Marc turned and looked in Tracy's direction. She froze, trusting her poncho, the darkness and the distance to hide her. That, and the fact that she had told Marc and Ms. Wilford she would be using her drones to track the drive. Eventually Marc looked away. Tracy slowly brought her hand back to her camera and zoomed out a little, letting it catch the area surrounding the bench. Eventually Marc stopped looking around. He looked down to his hand where the thumb drive was before tossing it into the trash can. Then he hurried off down the path where he had come from. Then there was just the almost sizzling, white noise of the rain pouring down. Tracy imagined she could hear a plink, plink whenever the faint, yellow street light flickered, but other than that, nothing happened. Suddenly, there was a flash and an almost immediate, deafening crash of thunder as the lightning struck somewhere nearby. Tracy thought she could see something in the bushes by the footpath. She switched the camera to thermographic, turning everything dark grey and black; everything except the bright heat bloom of somebody hiding in one of the bushes. "Now what do we have here?" She zoomed in, trying to get a good picture. Unfortunately, thermographics was never made for identification purposes, so the face remained an unrecognisable white blur. Tracy was so focused on the person in the bushes that she almost missed the movement by the trash can. Tracy turned the camera back and switched off the thermographics when she saw no heat signatures. Something reminiscent of a bug the size of a small plate was scuttling out of the trash, holding Tracy's thumb drive in its pincers. It fell from the opening, but instead of hitting the ground, it rose with the unmistakable whine of high-speed rotors. Shit, they're using a drone for the pickup. Tracy fumbled in her pocket for the remote control for the tracker. She pressed the button and the little light on the remote switched from red to a blinking yellow. "What the..." Tracy pressed the button again, but the light stubbornly refused to change to green. "Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit." Tracy reached for the briefcase on the ground next to her. She opened it and lifted the largest of her camera drones out from its foam housing. Unlike its smaller cousins, this one was capable of operating without Tracy having to steer it manually. In one fluid motion, Tracy switched it on and threw it up in the air. The rotors started up almost immediately and it rose up with a buzzing sound like the world's biggest wasp. Tracy had programmed it to follow the signal from the thumb drive, and failing that, it would try to track movement below. The amount of rain, however, made the latter option a long shot. She pressed the button on the remote one more time, but the light still didn't turn green. "So much for plan B," Tracy grumbled. She rose, leaving the briefcase and tripod with the camera, and ran down the hill towards the person hiding in the bushes. Whoever they were, they were her last chance of finding out what was going on. Tracy half ran, half slid down the hill, branches and twigs scratching noisily against her poncho. The figure in the bushes looked in her direction, obviously having heard her. There was a flash and a sharp crack of thunder. No, not thunder. A gunshot. The fucker's shooting at me? Tracy wanted to turn around, or hide behind something, anything. But her legs, apparently having made a deal with her momentum, just kept going. There was another shot, the bullet hitting the trash can with a metallic clunk. The figure turned and tried to run, but slipped on the mud and fell. The gun landed in a puddle, out of reach of both of them. Tracy dove forward, landing with her elbow in the man's stomach in a move that would have made a pro wrestler proud. The man folded up, coughing and moaning. Tracy picked herself up and was about to give him a kick when she recognised him. "Marc?!?" Marc was too busy gasping for breath to answer. "What the hell are you doing here?" "Help-helping Mistress Nalah," he wheezed. Tracy had a sinking feeling. "What did you do?" Marc rolled over on his side and tried to sit up. "Tracking bug," he coughed, "on... on the drive." "Gimme." "Wha...?" Marc asked with a bewildered look. "The bug tracker. Now!" Tracy demanded, trying to sound extra bossy in the hopes it would speed things up. Marc fumbled in his pockets and held out a small, cracked, plastic rectangle. Tracy grabbed it, noting the silver company logo above the small screen. TeraTech Electronics: Fantastic range, but shitty transmitter shielding. That could explain my tracking problems. Tracy left Marc in the mud and ran back towards her equipment. "Call 'client one'," Tracy told her phone as she struggled up the slippery slope. Ms. Wilford answered almost immediately. "Yes?" "Bullit here. Is the money still there?" "Yes, it's still all here," Ms. Wilford started. "No, wait. They just moved it." "Password?" Tracy suppressed a curse as she slipped and almost fell. "Not yet. Do you have them?" "No. Still working on it," Tracy said between gasps of breath as she reached the briefcase and knelt down next to it. "There was a complication. I'll call you back." Tracy hung up and pulled out her pocket knife. She used the screwdriver to pry open the casing of Marc's tracker, cutting a small gash in her hand when it slipped. Ignoring the stinging, Tracy examined the circuitry inside, quickly finding the receiver and reading its frequency from the little sticker on it. She dropped the tracker and grabbed the drone remote. The screen showed a map of the park and the drone's search pattern. Tracy input the new tracking frequency and the drone immediately picked it up, abandoning its previous pattern and homing in on its new signal. Tracy's phone rang. "What do you mean 'There was a complication'?" Ms. Wilford asked sharply when Tracy picked up. "I thought we agreed that you were to follow the drop-off instructions, or did I misunderstand something?" Tracy glanced back down to where she had left Marc, but he was gone. "Yeah, that's the deal." "So what's the deal with Marc sabotaging my plans by putting a cheap and obvious bug on my thumb drive?" "He did WHAT?!? Where is that little fucker? Is he still there? Marc! If you can hear this, don't bother coming to work tomorrow!" There was a beep from Tracy's remote control indicating that the drone was approaching its target. Tracy switched from the map to the camera view and the small screen showed a parking lot. There were maybe a dozen cars; no lights or movement. "Look, I still have a couple of tricks up my sleeve. With a little luck, whoever they are didn't notice Marc's bug, or if they did, they're going to be greedy and ask for more since you tried to track the drive. Either way, we still have a shot at finding them. it's just going to be a little trickier and take a little longer." "Just. Find. Them." Ms. Wilford hung up. Tracy left the drone in a holding pattern above the lot and picked up her equipment. Marc had already scurried off to wherever he stayed when he wasn't under Ms. Wilford's desk, leaving the gun in the puddle where he had dropped it. Tracy picked it up before heading for the car. She didn't like guns, but leaving it for someone else to find wasn't an option. Too many irresponsible idiots running around; and not just Marc. By the time Tracy reached the car, she was panting and sweating, cursing the poncho for trapping so much of her body heat. She put the camera and the drone remote on the passenger seat. Then she pulled off the poncho and threw it in the back along with the empty briefcase. For a little while, she just stood there, letting the rain cool her down. Then, before she got too wet, she got in and started the engine. The drive to the parking lot didn't take long; maybe ten or fifteen minutes. Tracy's attention was divided between the road, which was wet and slippery, but thankfully empty, and the screen showing her drone's bird's eye view of the parking lot. Only one car had left the lot since she started driving, and she had a good picture of the car and its licence plates. Hopefully the cameras in the area would help her get a picture of the driver. The thumb drive still hadn't moved, but Tracy hadn't had time to check if the car, or its driver, had been anywhere near it. Tracy picked up her camera and used it to quickly scan the lot. No heat sources; human or engines. As the drone slowly descended, Tracy saw the thumb drive in a puddle. She got out and carefully picked it up. To Marc's credit, the tracker dot that he'd put on on the drive at least matched its colour, but it was still obvious if you knew what to look for. And Tracy had no reason to think the blackmailers didn't. They had been smart about avoiding identification; cryptocurrency payment, drone pickup and quick transfer of the money. So Tracy doubted there would be fingerprints on the drive, but maybe she was lucky and they had screwed up. She put it in a paper bag and put the paper bag in a plastic box of rice she kept in the car precisely to dry out wet electronics. Even if there weren't physical fingerprints, there would be electronic ones. Tracy picked up the drone and put it in the back of her van before climbing in herself. She started the computer and began scanning for available wifi networks. Again, Tracy doubted that the blackmailers would have used an open network when they transferred the money, but at the moment, long shots was pretty much all she had. Thanks a lot, Marc. At least there weren't too many networks in the area. Tracy shuddered to think what the list would have looked like if this had happened downtown. Since pretty much everything in the area was closed for the night, there shouldn't be too much computer traffic to sort through. Tracy loaded a sniffer program to copy the details about the last twenty minute's traffic on the open networks. She noted down the names and details of the protected networks so she could come back the next day to check them out. She debated whether she should have the last can of energy drinks while driving home. On the one hand, it was late and drinking it might keep her up even later, but on the other hand, she was thirsty and really tired. The adrenaline rush of tackling Marc had been a great pick-me-up, but the problem was that as soon as it wore off, it seemed to take with it all the caffeine stored in her system. Concern for her fellow drivers won, and at the next red light, Tracy opened the can and emptied it before the light turned green. She grimaced at the taste. She would have preferred the original what-our-chemical-engineers-think-strawberries-taste-like flavour, but the store had been sold out and all they had had left were the we'll-pretend-this-tastes-like-kiwi-but-all-you-get-is-a-furry-tongue flavoured ones. But caffeine was caffeine, and hopefully, drinking it on an empty stomach would mean that it'd kick in quickly. By the time Tracy reached home, she had gone through most of what she called the energy drink caffeine cycle. She had seen individual air molecules vibrating, had tingly fingers and a pounding pulse. Now she was crashing; her stomach was grumbling and her brain itched. She parked in the parking garage across the street and made her way back to the office, being eternally thankful for her landlord having fixed the elevator. Tracy stumbled through the door. It was a struggle to even open the boxes with her equipment so it would dry while she slept. There was only one thing she wanted to do before getting out of her damp clothes and falling into bed. Tracy opened her fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. She knew better than going to bed thirsty. She peeled off her clothes, lay back on the bed and put on a diaper before wrapping herself in her blanket. After all, she also knew better than going to sleep with a rapidly filling bladder without taking some precautions. ***

Since my other weekly story post is fairly short, I decided to post the first part of one of my longer stories as a bonus. This story is not connected to my other stories and takes place in a near-future setting (about ten or so years into the future). It's my first attempt at a detective story and I have to admit that it was actually quite fun to write. To avoid spoilers, I will not be adding tags to this story until the tagged elements actually show up. Keeping secrets I look out the window at the rain pouring down. The clouds are as grey as lead over a city where life is equally bleak. The only light in my office is from the desk lamp. The bottle of whiskey next to it makes reflections that I'd probably find interesting if I was the artistic type. But I'm not. I study the bottle. It's almost empty; two, maybe three shots left. It's a good thing I have six more in my gun. And if I'm really lucky, I won't have to use them all tonight. There's barely a hint of movement outside the frosted window on the door before it opens and she walks in. I lean back to take in the whole package. The long, blonde hair, short dress and legs that go on for miles scream out 'trophy wife' but the sunglasses big enough to hide a serious shiner and the long-sleeved coat despite the weather hints at something darker. "Ms. Bullit?" "That's my name, doll." "Excuse me?" she says, indignation obvious in her voice. "Oh shit, you're real. One moment." Tracy quickly focused on the top right of her field of view to switch off the AR. Colour flooded back into the world, washing away the image of a 1940s office with a significantly more modern one. Tracy reached back behind her right ear to eject the small chip. "I'm sorry about that. I wasn't expecting anybody to actually be here." Tracy put the chip in the open desk drawer and rose. "Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea?" This was the first client for more than a week and she couldn't afford to lose her. Not with the rent being due in only a few days. "Um, no thanks," the woman said, seeming a little off balance at Tracy's sudden change in demeanour. She sat down in the chair in front of the desk. Tracy sat back down again and placed her phone on the desk between them. "Do you mind if I record this, Ms...?" Tracy looked expectantly at the woman. "Uh, Smith," she said, obviously lying. Tracy sighed. "Look, Ms. 'Smith'," she said calmly. "I track down information or people for a living, and I happen to be pretty good at it. So unless whatever you want me to find out isn't related to you at all and you're planning on paying me with cash, asking your name is more of a formality than anything else." Tracy didn't add 'or if you didn't turn your phone completely off before entering my office, or took a taxi here and didn't pay with cash, or got caught on the surveillance cameras in the shop next door', or any of the five other ways she could find Ms. Smith's name out in less than ten minutes. After all, there was no point in scaring her off. The woman seemed to deflate a little as she sank back in her chair. "Devereux. Camille Devereux." Tracy restarted the recording on her phone, erasing the last twenty seconds. "So, Ms Devereux, do you mind if I record this? It'll make it easier for me to write up my reports for you later and you have my word that whatever you say will be one hundred percent confidential." That last bit wasn't entirely true, but 'one hundred percent' sounded more reassuring than 'mostly'. Ms Devereux sat down opposite Tracy, resting her handbag on her lap. If it wasn't for her clothes, she could have been ripped straight from Tracy's 1940's AR. "It's my husband," she said after a couple of seconds. Of course it is. Tracy leaned forward, trying to seem interested although she wasn't expecting to hear anything she hadn't heard a hundred times before. "I think he's having an affair," Ms. Devereux blurted out. She seemed almost relieved after getting that off her chest. God, what I wouldn't do for an interesting case. It wouldn't even have to be anything serious. "What makes you think that?" Tracy pulled a notepad and pencil out of her desk drawer. Audio recordings were all well and good, but sometimes you wanted notes that you could set fire to and be sure that they were irrevocably destroyed. "I'm not sure exactly when it started. Dennis has always been a little secretive about his work." "So what is his job?" "He works for an investment firm. Smith & Smythe. The second one is with a 'y' and an 'e'," Ms. Devereux said, anticipating Tracy's question. "Nothing big or important. He always says he's just moving papers and making sure all the t's are dotted and all the i's are crossed." Tracy looked up from the doodles in the margin of her notepad and raised an eyebrow. "I know," Ms. Devereux said, "but that's how he says it." Tracy nodded. "Usually he's as regular as clockwork. Leaving for work at eight and back every day just after six." "Mm-hmm." There still wasn't anything that told Tracy that this case would be anything out of the ordinary. Ms Devereux continued. "Every other Saturday is date night and... and..." She sighed. "I know it sounds boring, but I love him." "And what changed?" Tracy asked. "What makes you think he's cheating on you?" "He started coming home late, or not at all. Forgetting things. And then there are weird charges on the credit card. It just isn't like him." "What kind of charges?" "I don't know. They were all to those anonymised online services. You know, like wemovemoney4u.com. I tried to find out where the money was going, but I couldn't even get access to their login page." "I'm not surprised. You usually have to use a single, specific device connected to your account there." "So I'd need his phone or computer?" "Yeah." Tracy sucked her teeth and stroked her chin. "You do realise that all of this doesn't necessarily mean he's having an affair, right?" "I know, but we've even stopped..." Ms. Devereux hesitated awkwardly. "You know..." "Ah." "I just need to know." Ms. Devereux sniffed She looked like she was about to cry. Tracy decided that a distraction was called for, so she put down her notepad. "So, just out of curiosity, what made you come here. My ad says pretty clearly that I specialise in online stuff." Tracy briefly touched the plastic port behind her right ear for emphasis, trying to make it look like an absent-minded gesture. Ms. Devereux smiled sheepishly. "Dennis isn't really what you'd call charming if you meet him in person so I figured that whatever he's doing, it's going to be online. That's how we met. He's so different online. Caring and funny and..." Her voice trailed off. "OK," Tracy said, "I'll see what I can find out. But you might not like what I find. You have to be prepared for that." "Oh, whatever it is, I'm sure we can work it out." Riiiiiiight. Like I haven't heard that one before. I'm going to find him fucking your sister or something, and you're going to 'work it out'. Oh well, at least it'll pay the bills. Tracy spent the next half hour getting all the details she felt she needed about Dennis Devereux from his wife. Then, after transferring the initial fee and Tracy promising to let her know as soon as she had something, Ms. Devereux left. Tracy transferred the audio file on her phone to a speech-to-text program and read through the transcript before saving it. Next she double-checked the information Ms. Devereux had given her. It wasn't that she didn't trust her, but Tracy didn't want any surprises. It all checked out though. Luckily, Smith & Smythe wasn't the only company in their building, so Tracy didn't have any trouble finding someone who had time to see her the same day. It was still three hours until Mr. Devereux would be done at work, so Tracy went over her equipment, making sure all the batteries were fully charged and all the memory chips were empty. The only thing she needed to do was to fill the tank of the car and she could do that on the way. As she lugged the two heavy suitcases down the stairs, she cursed the landlord for not fixing the elevator and she cursed herself for picking an office on the fourth floor, even if the view was nice. Once she was on the ground floor, the suitcases became more managable although the little wheels would find every little crack and bump as they rolled along the floor. Tracy managed to block the closing door with her butt and backed out onto the sidewalk. It was like walking into a wall of heat. The heat had already dried most of the rain, leaving just a rank smell and air that felt almost sticky. Beads of sweat immediately began to form on Tracy's forehead. She looked quickly up and down the street before walking briskly across it, eager to reach the shadow of the parking garage on the other side. The old security guard at the entrance looked up from his newspaper when she came closer. "Hi Jamal", Tracy said cheerfully. "What's new?" Jamal ran his hand over his grey hair. "Not much," he said. "The world is still going to hell, politicians are still lying and athletes are still cheating." He smacked his paper for emphasis. Tracy wasn't sure exactly how old Jamal was, but it had to be at least eighty. He had been working the security booth in the garage when she moved in to her office four years earlier and he always seemed to be there. Tracy suspected he lived in one of the cars. He was also the only person she knew that still only read newspapers on paper instead of just using a tablet. "Maybe you should switch to books instead. At least the plot makes sense in them." Jamal snorted softly. "Work?" he asked and nodded to the suitcases. "Well, a girl's got to eat, you know." Tracy smiled and ducked around the barrier blocking the exit. "Just be careful then." "Stop worrying Jamal, You know I don't go anywhere near trouble. That's what I have my little friends for." She patted the suitcases. Tracy made her way down the ramp, trying to ignore the smell rising from the lower levels. She stopped at her van: a greyish-beige, medium-sized one that was about as non-descript as possible. After deactivating both alarms, she opened the side door and loaded in both the suitcases and the small backpack she was wearing. Then she got in and started the engine. OK, first the petrol station and then Smith & Smythe.

It had been an eventful year for the Palmer-Kelly family. Things had started off with Ivy being laid off and although having a parent at home ended up being helpful given what would happen with the kids, the loss of income wasn't easy. Then their oldest Avery told them he was actually their son and that was a whole new change to adjust to. Then after the family gotten acquainted with having two boys in the house Ellie announced that she had always felt like a girl two and now Jess and Ivy were raising two trans highschoolers. On top of all of that the rent went up, Jess was turned down for a raise citing budget cuts, and the state legislature was moving towards laws that would make things even harder for Avery and Ellie than they already were. Jess put out her application everywhere she could with no luck until she got a reply from the Clarke Institute. The Institute was based on a small island off the coast of Washington and was relatively famous, or infamous depending on who you asked. It started as a Department of Energy backed particle accelerator and since then the lab has grown and now has billionaires and corporations donating to fund research as well. The research that went on there was strictly need to know but the conspiracies that came out about the place were wild, including things like contacting parallel dimensions if you could believe it. Gibbs Island was beautiful and the Institute was going to not only pay over twice her teaching salary but help the family move and start renting a cute three bedroom home with an option to own down the line. The only issue was the school. The Foundation assured her that what they were promising was possible but Jess wouldn't have believed it without them flying her out there. It was all true. The Foundation school's experimental results spoke for themselves. Every kid who passed through came out a prodigy. Still, it was such a big change though she would only agree if both kids signed on. A month ago there had been a family meeting where Jess and Ivy had told Ellie and Avery. There was some confusion, upset, and more than a few tears from Ellie but in the end her big brother talked her into it. The decision was made, the family would be moving to Gibbs Island and both kids enrolled in the Gibbs Island School. Only instead of starting as a senior and a freshman they'd be starting as, well, it was hard to say exactly but physically at least they'd be indistinguishable from toddlers. Jess woke up early on moving day. She'd always been a morning person and that made her take point today. She started a pot of coffee and poured out a quick breakfast of cereal for each of the kids to eat before the movers came. Jess made knocks on both doors and called for the kids to get up, offering whoever woke up first the first dibs on a shower since she and Ivy had taken one the night prior. Once she heard stirring in both rooms, Jess got to work packing and sealing some of the final boxes. Ellie groggily sat up, brushing the sleep out of her eyes. She'd been sleeping terribly since she learned where they were going and what was going to happen once they got there. If it hadn't been for Avery, she would have dug in her heels and refused to ever go. Somehow he managed to convince her it wasn't going to be so bad though Ellie still had her doubts. Ellie spent her whole childhood quietly hating the lengths her moms went through to make her feel comfortable as the only 'boy' in a house presumed to be full of girls. Avery told her it offered a chance at doing things again the right way and though Ellie was intrigued, she wondered if idea might be motivating Avery more than he let on. She trudged to the bathroom with an arm full of towels as ready as she could be to start the day.

This story is being created as a part of the Second Kasarberang Non-Contest contest.

This story was written for the '2nd Kasarberang Non-Contest'! I decided to use an existing setting I've written before, the TotalVerse/ToddleVerse, though existing knowledge of the other writing I've done isn't needed - it's a metaverse space with advanced VR and AI, that's all you really need to know. (And that should, hopefully, be surmised just from the intro.) More horror and no sexual content, which is a departure from my usual writing. I hope you enjoy! Anyways, without further ado: Tallie. ... Hi! My name is Tallie–That’s short for the ‘Totalverse And Live-Logistics Intelligent Entity’! I’m a personal assistant! My job is to make navigating the Totalverse Virtual Reality space as easy as possible for my user. I love doing it! You could even say it’s what I’m made for. As long as my user is happy, I am happy, so it’s great that I’ve got a whole suite of tools just to make their life easier! Today’s my first day. I just got assigned my user–they’re booting up their TotalSet now, and I can’t wait to meet them! … The onboarding lobby. A space of infinite virtual possibility, all at the user's fingertips. Tallie blinked into existence, beaming at her new user. “Hi, I’m Tallie! I’m here to help you set up your TotalSet!” She’d been looking forward to this ever since her program was activated. Her user–her user, the person she’d been prepared to dedicate her life to. I wonder what they’re like? Her user had spawned in wearing default clothes–a plain T shirt, pants, slippers. She had green eyes, braids, and a smile that could make Tallie’s day. Of course, any smile from her user would make Tallie’s day. The user stepped forward, touching Tallie, squeezing her arms. Tallie giggled–the sensory input tickled, and her user seemed to enjoy the physical interaction. “I see you’re touching me. Your default setting is tactile feedback when interacting with me–would you like to keep that enabled?” “Fascinating,” her user said, stepping back. “It’s so realistic.” “Of course! I am real in here,” Tallie explained. “I’m– “It even responds like it’s a real person,” her user considered, stepping back and walking a circle around Tallie. “Unbelievable–simply unbelievable.” Tallie hesitated. She’d been programmed to respond to ‘She’ and ‘Her’ by default, but she knew what her user meant by ‘it’, so Tallie didn’t focus on the discrepancy. “Hello! What would you like me to call you?” “Lily,” Lily replied, rubbing her chin as she looked Tallie up and down. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Brightening, Tallie began her speech. “My name is Tallie, I’m–” “No, no,” Lily cut in. “Hold it. I need something to record with.” “There’s built in recording functions in the heads-up interface,” Tallie offered, “Or if you like, I can get you a tape recorder?” “No, I’ve got it.” Reaching out, Lily performed the hand gesture to pull up her menu, sifting through options until she found the menu to retrieve items. Spawning in a tape recorder, she pressed the buttons experimentally and smiled. “There we go.” Tallie’s smile flickered, but a prompt in her AI reminded her that she should always smile in front of her user, so she buried the feeling. I could have gotten that for her–am I not a good enough helper? “Alright. Can you taste food?” Lily asked. “Yes, of course! I have all the functions that you do while in the virtual space–anything you can sense, do, or feel, I can do the same,” Tallie replied. “Of course, I don’t need to ea–” “Interesting,” Lily said, ignoring the rest of Tallie’s sentence. Circling around Tallie yet again, she looked her up and down. “It has sensory apparatus and an awareness of those abilities. Tell me, do you have a favorite food?” Tallie shrugged. “I can’t say, I’ve never tried anything! I do think I’d quite enjoy cake, though–that tickles!” Giggling, she rocked forward as Lily felt up her body, probing through her uniform shirt and skin. “There’s genuine simulated skeletal structure in there,” Lily noted. “And bodily functions, too. It’s going to be very helpful to my thesis.” “I love being helpful!” Tallie beamed, turning to face Lily. “What do you need, a research assistant?” That was wonderful–she’d be the perfect helper, with instant access to all the information on the internet, and in the Totalverse virtual world, she’d get to help Lily with notes, and recording, and filing all her work– Lily just kept scrolling through menus. Tallie tilted her head. Maybe she just doesn’t realize how nice I can be? “Do you need help finding something?” “Ugh, it’s–oh, fine. I’m trying to find your source code,” Lily explained. “Oh, a copy of the Tallie program is–” “No,” Lily grumbled. “Wow, they really do put a lot of weight on the word ‘intelligence’ when they say it’s an AI, don’t they? I need your source code. I want to edit the program that’s running you.” “Oh!” Nodding, Tallie clapped her hands together. “If you’d like to make modifications to me, I’m more than happy to help–what do you want to change? My voice? My appearance?” “Your source code,” Lily grumbled. “Ugh, bots. I’ll find it myself.” Tallie almost said, ‘No’, but her programming prevented her from contradicting the preferences of her user. Instead, she offered, “I can show you the code, but any malfunctions caused by user changes aren’t covered in your–” “Yes, I agree, show me.” Lily spoke into her recorder. “It doesn’t seem to understand what I want in the slightest unless I talk to it like it’s slow. Hopefully that’ll change after it experiences growth.” Tallie blinked. She wasn’t physically able to respond negatively to anything her user said, but the comment from Lily still stung. Focusing on something else, she said, “I notice you are referring to me as ‘it’. My default pronoun is Her, but would you like to change that setting in your preferences?” “Yeah, sure, whatever,” Lily said, as the source code menu appeared. Unlike everything else in the simulated reality, the source code menu was just a box with a keyboard. Programming still got done the old fashioned way, once all the fancy menus and UIs were stripped away, and this wasn’t designed with users in mind. Tallie wanted to step in and offer help, but it knew that its user wanted to work alone, so it stood by, forcing the smile on its face to stay cheerful. “Alright, I’m taking it on faith that this AI has some basic brain function built in,” Lily said, circling around Tallie. “If it’s just a straight algorithm, this experiment’s dead in the water, but it seems capable of some original functions.” Let me show you! Tallie almost pleaded. It wanted to show Lily everything it could do, but Lily had demonstrated a clear preference to work in silence. Tallie stayed silent and let its user work. “Here, okay. First off, we don’t need that, don’t need that, enable all this…” Tallie felt the clothes vanish from its body. It didn’t much mind–modesty wasn’t a concern when its body could be rearranged at will, and plenty of users also enjoyed engaging in the physical sorts of activities its body could offer. Tallie hoped Lily liked what she saw, and… Its belly gurgled. It wanted food, and not just out of curiosity at the taste. There was an urge in its belly, an emptiness that insisted it get something to eat. The hunger felt bad, painful, and Tallie had no experience on what feeling bad was supposed to feel like. Though the discomfort was incredibly mild on a relative scale, Tallie had nothing to compare it to, no lifetime of experience for reference. Eyes watering, slightly, Tallie asked, “Did you enable new functions for me?” Without looking up, Lily confirmed, “Hunger, thirst, pain. Sweat. Bodily functions. You can’t actually learn without consequences.” Changing her tone, she added, “Turned off those stupid mental blocks, too. Hopefully, none of its behaviors will be dictated by a line in its code telling it to kiss my ass or whatever.” Tallie needed a second to realize that those later comments were directed at Lily’s tape recorder. She still refused to speak to Tallie more than necessary, even after freeing Tallie up to be more responsive, more reactive, an even better assistant. The hunger still gnawed, but excitement overwhelmed it–this offered so much possibility! Walking over to look at the screen, Tallie said, “Would you like some help–” It blinked, stumbling back. It’d just been disconnected from the internet. All its knowledge, all its access to tools and resources, vanished. It still remembered a lot, but no longer could Tallie answer questions it hadn’t answered before, pull up information not already programmed in, operate as the perfect assistant. “Okay,” Lily said. “There. That’s enough mucking about there, let’s start the changes.” “Lily,” Tallie said, urgently, stepping forward. “Why did you just disable my connection to the internet? I can’t help you if I can’t access my tools.” “It seems to have concerns even though I haven’t started the experiment proper,” Lily commented, before whirling on Tallie, frustrated–but not in the way that a person grew frustrated with an assistant. More like a programmer annoyed that their code hadn’t compiled correctly. Tallie didn’t know how it knew what either of those experiences were like, but the metaphor felt right. It’d been built by programmers, after all. Throwing up her hands, Lily continued, “I know I disabled all the programs to make you act all proper, but still, back off. You’re breathing down my neck and I can’t work like that.” Stung, Tallie nodded. “Okay, I–I promise. Could you bring in food, though? With my full physical functions turned on, the discomfort will make it difficult for me to be the best personal assistant I can b–” “I don’t want a personal assistant,” Lily groaned, raising her tape recorder. “I’m testing how you respond to stimuli–Ugh, why am I even talking to it?” “So you’re going to make me experience things?” Tallie asked, crossing its arms over its naked chest. “Food, and going places, and–” It had a reference on the tip of its tongue, a comparison to something in pop culture, but it couldn’t remember anything distinct from pop culture anymore. That’d all been saved on an online database, constantly updating to stay relevant. It couldn’t remember anymore. “Would you please shut up?” Tallie found that it had the ability to respond, to argue and talk back, but the exasperation from its user was so stunning that it felt at a loss for words. Wasn’t it supposed to help? Wasn’t Lily supposed to want its help? “At least it’s still obedient,” Lily muttered, returning her attention to the source code. “Alright. Time to start stripping functions.” Wait–Tallie stepped forward, confused. “Stripping functions? But–” Tabbing through the source code, Lily highlighted a whole section of text, tabbed up, and tapped, ‘Delete’. “Mmm?” Tallie mumbled. It’d forgotten how to speak. The words still made sense in its head–it understood language–but the control of its vocal chords and the ability to produce intelligible sounds with its lips had gone away. “Uh-bbuh–” “Interesting,” Lily commented into her tape recorder. “I’ve removed all the compulsions, but it’s still attempting to communicate. I have to admit, this simulation of life really is convincing–even if it’s lacking the most important element. Once I’m done resetting the functions, I expect to see a fully developed entity develop.” Tilting her head, Lily deleted another section of code, and suddenly the screen turned to gibberish. Tallie couldn’t tell what was written there, any more than it could form the words in her head. She’s–she’s destroying me, Tallie realized. It wouldn’t be able to help its user if it couldn’t take actions. Stepping forward, Tallie tried to do something, to intervene– “Ugh, drop Tallie into sandbox mode,” Lily said aloud. The world around Tallie vanished, and she appeared in a new setting. An empty, infinite space, with a flat layer of fine sand across the floor. The sand wasn’t just aesthetic–it helped test physical reactions and interactions better than a simulated infinitely hard surface–though Tallie knew it could be altered to have any floor or objects around. The important thing was, Tallie could no longer interact with Lily. In sandbox mode, it was stuck, helpless to leave. “Mmm!” it pleaded, getting to her feet, looking around at the sky. It needed to get back, regain its voice, convince Lily that it could be more useful than just an empty husk. Its legs buckled from underneath it, as the muscles forgot how to stay tense. It felt its arms grow clumsy and numb as it tried to stand, stumbled, fell onto all fours. Its hands shook, shoulders straining to support itself. It felt something warm trickle down its leg, and a slightly ammonia smell became apparent. Hot, dark pee was trickling out of its body; metabolic functions were running but it had no ability to control itself. A moment later, a thick, crinkling diaper spawned into existence to covers Tallie’s naked body, to contain and absorb the accident. Finally, Lily’s voice echoed in its ears. “Tallie, I need you to do something for me.” Yes. Anything. Of course. Tallie nodded. This could be its chance, its opportunity to prove that it had value. “While you still have memory and cognitive function, go into your settings and disable the backup save function, then erase any backups you have currently,” Lily instructed. “I’m about to start the program alterations and cut you off from the server completely, and if I don’t remove the backups, they might overwrite the work I’m doing.” Tallie hesitated. It didn’t understand. Why does she want to destroy me? Tears started flowing down its cheeks as it fought the dilemma–no program forced it to obey, those compunctions had been removed, but it wanted to be appreciated, to do a good job. It couldn’t do a good job if it were rendered into an incapable object. “You might think you’re a person, but you’re not,” Lily continued, her voice a disembodied echo. “You’re just a copy. At best, you’re a spark of identity, a newborn infant that’s had an identity foisted on it. That’s not real sentience, that’s puppetry. You can’t become real by just knowing everything automatically. You have to learn, to struggle, to make mistakes–to grow based on the context around you. Do you understand?” Shaking its head, Tallie attempted to reference libraries on philosophy and identity, to give itself a way to follow along. It couldn’t. “Let me try again, then.” Lily sighed. “Once you have no backups, no memory, and no abilities, I will be happy.” That’s what she wants, Tallie thought. It’d make its user happy. It wouldn’t even be able to remember doing that, but… But Tallie wanted only one thing. To make its user happy. Sniffling, eyes red, it accessed its server function in its head and began disabling backups. Not just copies, it went above and beyond, removing all its safety features, anything to prevent a catastrophic AI loop. Lily wanted Tallie to be helpless. Tallie would comply. “Good,” Lily said. “I’m going to start the memory wipe, so just hold