Jan the Waster

Jan was a shadow of herself, a prisoner to the ceaseless thrall of implant addiction. Her life had become a series of fleeting, neurodigitally induced euphorias—echoes of real joy—fed by the relentless VR and AR wired directly into her senses. Much like someone enslaved by heroin, crack, meth, or alcohol, Jan was ensnared by a new demon—an insatiable hunger for digital pleasure. Roaming the streets, she was a shell—mentally fractured, willfully sapped, and living in squalor. Her existence had been reduced to a perpetual quest for the next data-driven high, and her agony was palpable within the onslaught of this digital narcotic on her mind.

The city—a kaleidoscope of neon lights, virtual displays, and augmented reality—was indifferent to her plight. Despite its technological marvels, the primal forces of nature, like the torrential rain Jan found herself in one evening, remained unyielding.

Seeking refuge, Jan stumbled upon a forsaken church, its doors broken ajar. Inside, the pelting rain dripped through holes in the ceiling and echoed off the walls—a depressing melody of abandonment. Though dilapidated, it was nevertheless some sanctuary from the elements. Scattered around, others like her had carved out their own havens in the church's forgotten corners. Wracked with discomfort, and her mind a battleground of digital chaos, Jan struggled down the aisle and collapsed at the altar.

In her turmoil, she cried out, “What do I do?” Her voice rasped with desperation, a plea for clarity amidst the constant dissonance of her fragmented consciousness. Helplessly, she begged for dominion over the unrelenting stream of media coursing through her mind.

It was then that a surreal moment ensued—the effigy of Jesus on the cross seemed to stir, his gaze subtly shifting towards her. In a whisper barely louder than the rain, he uttered, “Thieving will focus your addiction.”

Though rational minds might attribute this to a schizophrenic effect brought on by the augmentations embedded directly in her visual cortex, or dismiss it as simple hallucination, Jan remains convinced to this day, with unwavering certainty, that this encounter transcended the digital realm and occurred in stark, tangible reality.

Thieving, Jan mulled over the word in her mind, repeating it like a mantra. The idea acted like an anchor amidst the storm of information assaulting her brain—a solid core, a nucleus of focus against which the relentless data streams from her implants ricocheted. This unexpected concentration brought her a measure of peace, a respite from her usual torment, and a clarity she hadn't felt in a long time.

Looking around, Jan’s gaze fell on a woman a little older than herself—mid-thirties, perhaps—watching her. The woman sat beyond the pews against the wall, covered by a blanket and accompanied by a dog. She extended a gesture of camaraderie, raising a flask-shaped bottle of vodka as an offering. With the word thieving still cemented in her thoughts, Jan approached and settled beside the woman, gratefully accepting the flask. As she drank, the warmth of the vodka spread through her, a soothing balm to her chilled body.

“You’re freezing, poor thing,” the woman remarked, feeling Jan's icy skin. With instinctive compassion, she moved closer, covering both of them under the blanket. The dog, sensing the need for warmth, nestled beside Jan, its head resting gently in her lap. Jan took another swig of vodka, and warmth began enveloping her, both from the alcohol and the shared body heat of her new companions. Her previously fractured mind, only moments ago a kaleidoscope of disjointed thoughts, remained surprisingly coherent, still held together by the word she'd been gifted—thieving. Calmed by this, it was not long before she was asleep.

As dawn broke, sunlight filtered through the church's stained glass, casting streams of colored light throughout the derelict building. Jan awoke to find the woman and her dog still slumbering peacefully beside her under the blanket. Now, contrary to what one might think, the notion of stealing from this woman never crossed Jan's mind. Her previous night’s encounter had caused a sense of purpose, and though she was still processing it, she felt that a divine design had been communicated to her.

Her addiction to the sensory jolts from her implants was as unyielding as ever, yet the nature of her dependency had subtly shifted. The data streams, once her lifeline to fleeting contentment, now felt trivial, no longer quenching her thirst for stimulation. It was, perhaps, akin to the way a drug addict develops a tolerance, requiring a stronger substance to achieve the same high. For Jan, it was the mantra of thieving—her newly acquired shield against the barrage of digital noise—that paradoxically rendered these streams impotent in appeasing her cravings. She found herself in need of a more potent form of neurodigital stimulation, one of her own creation, yet she was uncertain how she would achieve it.

Emerging from the church, Jan left behind the kindly woman and her dog, stepping into the crisp morning air. It was then that she witnessed a sight both bewildering and awe-inspiring—a hawk flew down from the sky and morphed into a man sitting against a nearby wall. Such a transformation defied the limits of avatars, which could disguise one's form but not bestow the power of flight nor conjure a person from thin air.

The man, clad in a tasteful ensemble of a gray shirt, dress pants, and adorned with expensive jewelry, stood up. Casually, he opened a balance display above a digital wallet he held, revealing a substantial sum of money. With a simple gesture, he transferred the balance to a remote account node and closed the display, discarding the now-empty wallet onto the ground as though it was a piece of garbage.

Curiosity piqued, Jan approached him. “Where did you come from?” she inquired.

His reaction betrayed surprise, as if he hadn't noticed her until that moment. He scrutinized her disheveled appearance—dirty clothes, gaunt frame, and unkempt hair. After a pause, he replied, “I was here the whole time.”

Jan, undeterred, pressed on, “But I just saw you transform from a hawk into a man. You weren't there, and then you were.”

“That’s not what happened,” he retorted dismissively, turning his gaze away.

“I’m standing right here, and I saw what I saw,” Jan insisted.

He paused, eyeing her again with a furrowed brow. “I just fooled your firmware into showing you that,” he said, before starting to walk away. Jan began to follow him, but he suddenly vanished.

She halted, her mind racing. Was this an illusion, a figment of her fragmented psyche? Yet, she felt certain of the reality of what she had witnessed. Then a disturbing thought occurred to her—it had never dawned on her until that moment that the mandatory implants, dictated by Authority, could be controlling everything she perceived. The man, she speculated, might never have been there at all—perhaps an augmented projection, like the advertisements clinging to building facades. Yet such projections were always discernible as virtual, and while one could project oneself as an augmentation elsewhere, it was always clearly not physical. The hawk and the man had seemed undeniably real, yet they could not have been.

The notion that her reality could be so thoroughly manipulated was both unsettling and eye-opening. Jan surmised that the man had not been physically present at all, but was instead an utterly convincing augmentation—an illusion. This epiphany ignited a spark in her newly focused mind. If such a convincing presence could be simulated, it opened up a realm of possibilities for deception and trickery—perfect for orchestrating heists.

Her mind still racing, she realized she would need to clean herself up and gather information about this advanced form of augmentation she had just witnessed. She would also require money, especially for dealings with black market data brokers, and she would need to be where those data brokers could be found. Compelled by these needs, and a sudden sense of urgency, she set off toward the swirling heart of the city.

As she weaved her way through the crowded streets, she performed a dance of petty theft—a choreography of opportunism and stealth, honed by years of necessity. She pilfered food, clothing, valuable trinkets, and small amounts of cash from distracted, unsuspecting denizens of the city. And though she believed petty theft was not the meaning behind the words she had heard at the altar, it was now her means to improve herself.

On this day, her success was extraordinary. She attributed this not to mere luck but to divine intervention. She even managed to surreptitiously bathe in the common bathrooms of a cheap bunkhouse along her way. By the time she reached the city's heart, she had transformed. Clean, groomed, and with meaningful amounts of cash stashed in various pockets around her newly stolen clothes, she was a stark contrast to the person she had been just hours earlier. Her newfound wealth, however, was still insufficient to clear her debts, leaving her hardware wallet unusable due to collection actions embedded in her firmware.

Jan's journey through the city was not just a physical transformation but a mental one as well. Her mind was now sharp and purposeful, driven by the cryptic directive of thieving and a need to explain her encounter outside the church. She felt poised on the cusp of a new path, one she believed had been laid out for her by a higher power.

The heart of the city was a vortex of activity, caused by the swirling patterns of its layout. Roadways and walkways spiraled in concentric circles, with traffic flowing unidirectionally, orchestrated by sophisticated traffic AIs. The masses, some cloaked in digital avatars, moved like a fluid stream amidst the towering edifices. Here, the distinction between day and night blurred beneath the perpetual glow of lights and AR screens, and the sky was a forgotten tapestry, rarely glimpsed above the urban canyon walls.

In this pulsating hub, Jan's quest seemed as vague as it was urgent. She craved a jolt of pleasure from her implants, something monumental and self-generated. She was also on the hunt for answers about the mysterious illusion of shape-shifting she had witnessed. If such secrets existed, this was where someone could be paid to divulge them.

As she navigated a raised walkway, her search for a black-market data broker was interrupted. Below, a vehicle slowed from the blur of high-speed traffic, pulling up to the walkway next to the road, and a familiar figure emerged—the man from earlier who had transformed from a hawk. Jan was dumbstruck. The odds of encountering the same individual twice in this vast city seemed beyond the realm of chance.

He was a vision of opulence, adorned with diamonds, gold, and silk. Jan’s focus narrowed to him alone. She quickly began maneuvering through the crowd on the overpass, intent on keeping him in sight. Her haste and disregard for those she pushed her way past drew loud complaints, but the importance of not losing sight of the man superseded all other concerns.

Reaching street level, she saw him head toward an arched entrance flanked by imposing guards—a VIP lounge, perhaps. Heading after him, her focus was interrupted when she collided with a monstrous man, who had just as much disregard for her as she had for everyone else she was pushing her way past. As she stumbled back, and he continued on his path unfazed, he shot her a look, his expression communicating that all-too-familiar statement in a question—really? But he continued on his way, and Jan quickly regained her focus. She looked back to where her target had been moments ago, but he was gone.

Terrified that he had vanished again, she hurried toward the arched entrance, where the imposing guards, visibly amused at her approach, barred her way. Now she stood at the threshold of a long hallway. The opulent setting, illuminated and carpeted in red, confirmed the exclusivity of the establishment, and to her relief, she saw the man again, moving down the hallway toward a distant door.

One of the guards coolly demanded a 500-unit fee. Shocked by the price but intent on not losing her target, Jan quickly began counting her cash. One of the guards chuckled condescendingly. “We can't take that,” he said. “This is a reputable establishment—transfers only. What, can’t use your wallet because of collections?” His words cut sharply. She was caught entirely off guard by the unnerving accuracy of his perception, and she looked at him for a moment in disbelief. But she quickly refocused on what actually mattered—the man she was following.

He was about to reach the door at the end of the hallway. In desperation, she called out, “Hey, you!” But he continued on, oblivious to her. As the door opened for him, revealing uniformed staff inside, Jan's anxiety peaked.

Determined not to be ignored, she yelled with a force that cut through the air, “Hey, HAWK BOY!” Now he stopped, paused for a moment, turned, and locked eyes with her. His expression was inscrutable, but she felt a surge of triumph, as if a threat to reveal a secret had struck its mark.

The host and servants were now also gazing at her. The man, apparently recognizing her from earlier, gave a subtle nod to the guards, and with a swift motion, he authorized a payment from his wallet. Satisfied, the guards stepped aside and gestured for Jan to enter.

She made her way quickly to the door, stepping into the grand lobby of the establishment. The place reeked of wealth, with well-heeled patrons lounging in luxurious surroundings. Jan's stomach growled as the aroma of rich food hit her; she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now. A servant approached them with steaming towels, and the man she’d been following cleaned his hands with one and handed it back. Jan did not initially follow suit, but a few awkward moments later, noticing the expectant looks from the man and the servants, she mimicked the action.

“A date, Mr. Ossic?” the host asked, sizing up Jan with a glance. Her mismatched, stolen clothes a stark contrast to Mr. Ossic's expensive attire.

“An acquaintance,” he corrected.

The host mostly concealed his skepticism. “Your usual, Mr. Ossic?” he inquired.

“Full privacy,” Mr. Ossic demanded.

“Of course, sir.” The host complied, leading them to a private, glass-enclosed dining area. Once seated, the staff exited, and Mr. Ossic, gesturing with his hand, turned the glass opaque. Jan noticed that all of her data feeds had been severed.

“You are the waster from this morning,” he observed, eyeing Jan's transformation. “Quite a change.”

“You’re one to talk,” she retorted.

An awkward silence followed.

“Do you always go shape-shifting around?” Jan asked.

Mr. Ossic's gaze remained fixed on her. After a pause, he asked, “How did you follow me here?”

Jan thought for a second, deciding not to reveal the truth. It was better, she decided, to let him believe that she actually had some method to do that. “I'll make you a deal,” she proposed. “Show me how you did that trick this morning, and I'll tell you how I followed you.”

Silence returned, his eyes still locked on hers.

“I’ve got to admit,” he finally said, “I thought you were just another stim waster. I should’ve noticed you, but I didn’t. And yet, here you are, having followed me.”

Jan had played her cards right, bluffing about her ability to follow him. Now, she had to maintain the ruse.

“That’s right,” she lied confidently. “We both have something the other wants—I want to know how you change shape, and you want to know how I can track you. Let’s make a deal.”

Mr. Ossic scrutinized her, his expression a mix of skepticism and calculation. “It is worth more than that,” he stated firmly. “You owe me if I give you this.”

“It seems fair to me,” she countered.

“It isn’t,” he replied coolly. “You’ll need to do something for me.”

“What exactly?” she asked, wary of what he might want.

“I don’t know yet,” he said, his tone unyielding. “Something valuable. Maybe you could transform into something precious, and I can sell it.”

Reluctantly, Jan agreed. “Fine. Now tell me how it works.”

There was a moment of silence, then he began.

“Obviously, you are aware of our mandatory implants controlled by Authority,” he said. “The exact functions and locations of these implants are highly uniform. They are how Authority rules us. You may also know that they’re all interconnected, which is why we all see the same virtualized objects around us. But you may not know that they also control what we can and cannot perceive. In fact, speaking of that at all is illegal. This conversation has already been flagged, and logs will be reported as soon as I release the privacy barrier around this room.” He paused, then continued, “But let’s focus on the shape-shifting. There are multiple interconnected data layers in our implants, but three are relevant here—the physical layer, the augmentation layer, and the virtual layer. The key to appearing as something else entirely is to force an avatar from the virtual layer, where you’re allowed to be whatever you want, through the augmentation layer and into the physical layer, without the violation being flagged and reported to Authority.” He paused again, adding with a hint of condescension, “Thankfully, Authority is arrogant to the point of delusion, and they are convinced such a thing is impossible.”

Mr. Ossic then proceeded to go into great detail on the complex interplay between implant layers, and to Jan’s surprise, she found herself understanding it. For someone who had always considered herself not particularly bright, the clarity with which she grasped these intricacies astounded her. Mr. Ossic then detailed a meticulous method for pushing a VR avatar into the physical layer, and, complex as it was, it imprinted itself indelibly in Jan’s mind. After hearing how it worked, she believed she could do it.

“Did you understand all that?” he finally asked.

“Let me see,” Jan responded. Her voice was a mix of curiosity and determination as she attempted to transform herself. To her delight, she morphed into a large cat. The sensation was exhilarating and deeply satisfying, fulfilling her craving for stimulation in a way she hadn’t experienced in ages. She felt every aspect of her feline form—the powerful muscles, sharp talons, heightened senses, even the air brushing past her whiskers.

Mr. Ossic watched in amazement. His unique ability to manipulate the implant layers had been a closely guarded secret, a singular achievement. Yet Jan had replicated it effortlessly after hearing the explanation just once. In his eyes, she had transformed from a mere stim waster to a formidable hacker, capable of tracking him and easily replicating his advanced techniques.

Reverting to her human form, Jan exhaled a prolonged, “Wow,” the relief and euphoria evident in her voice.

Mr. Ossic, still processing what he had just witnessed, acknowledged, “Wow indeed.” A few moments later, he issued some words of warning. “It’s a glitch in the implant system that lets you appear as something else, experiencing everything as that being, but it remains an illusion. You leave your real body behind, unseen by others and not experienced by yourself. If you don’t return to your actual body for basic needs, like hydration, you’ll die.”

After a contemplative pause, he shifted the conversation back to her. “Now, your turn,” he said, his gaze intense upon her. “How did you track me?”

Jan had once been quite adept at thinking on her feet, a skill honed in survival as a child, before she had descended into the depths of addiction. Now, focused again and relaxed from the recent satiation of her need, the skill returned. She swiftly fabricated a tale about her tracking method. She based her lie on the shape-shifting protocols Mr. Ossic had just shared, and, seeing that he’d believed her, she felt a flicker of pride in having outmaneuvered him. She was confident he wouldn’t discover the deceit until he attempted the nonexistent technique himself.

“Remember, you owe me,” Mr. Ossic reminded her, shifting the topic. “But first, let's deal with that Authority report of our illegal conversation.” He then detailed a relatively straightforward method to erase unwanted Authority reports—a task, as it turned out, far simpler than shape-shifting. Jan absorbed the instructions effortlessly, and she was coming to realize that she had an exceptional memory for code.

With a snap of his fingers, Mr. Ossic made the glass walls of their dining area transparent again, and Jan’s connection to the data feeds returned. Soon, staff members arrived to take their orders. Mr. Ossic chose lobster and chardonnay, while Jan, still amazed by her recent stroke of luck, opted for pork ribs and a rich malt ale. The meal was exceptional, the ribs and ale possibly the finest she had ever tasted.

After their meal, Mr. Ossic announced their next destination—the church where they had both been earlier that day. Curious, Jan inquired why. He explained that its mostly deserted nature made it a good location for remaining unseen, admitting that he had been careless earlier when he allowed her to witness his transformation.

Upon their arrival at the deserted church, Mr. Ossic promptly revealed his plan. He displayed an image of an exotic black-feathered parrot with a striking crest and vibrant red cheeks. “Transform into this,” he instructed. “There’s an auction tonight at Senator Mytel’s palace. I'll pose as an obscure wealthy man and auction you off as a rare prize. We should easily get 125,000 for you. Then you can escape when it's safe.”

Jan morphed into the parrot as instructed. Mr. Ossic affixed a band around her leg, explaining that it would create the appearance of a legal paper trail for her. He then altered his own appearance, and they headed toward the affluent district where Senator Mytel’s palace lay—a grandiose structure adorned with towering Roman columns and vast gardens. The auction was a lavish affair, and Jan, in her avian guise, was sold for an impressive 170,000.

Hours later, Jan found herself alone in an opulent sitting room, her precise location unknown. She had been transported there, covered in a blanket inside a large cage. With the room quiet and dark, and no one in sight for the last hour, she decided it was time to escape.

She planned on shifting into something small enough to slip through the cage bars, but to her dismay, she found that she couldn’t transform. Her attempts to navigate the implant layers were futile, repeatedly blocked. Closer inspection revealed the cause—a code loop stemming from the identification band on her leg effectively imprisoned her in parrot form. This loop was pushed through multiple implant layers, making escape impossible. The band that Mr. Ossic had placed on her leg had trapped her in this form.

She quickly realized this meant data could be illicitly pushed through implant layers bidirectionally, but that insight offered little solace in her current predicament. Overwhelmed by a mix of desperation and fury, she was struck by the depth of Mr. Ossic’s betrayal. Trapped in an illusion as a bird, she was doomed to die from dehydration within days, her real body languishing unattended.

Despite her efforts to circumvent the code that bound her, she found herself ensnared in a carefully designed trap. Hours of futile attempts to break free from the band embedded in her skin only deepened her sense of desperation. In a last-ditch effort, she even tried to gnaw off her own leg, but the band was unyielding.

Her increasingly desperate struggle was interrupted when a young girl, about eight years old, wandered into the room. Jan called out to her.

“Hey, little girl.”

The girl, initially puzzled, soon found delight in a talking parrot. “Oh, you can talk!” she exclaimed, approaching the cage.

“Yeah, can you help me?” Jan asked, getting straight to the point. “I need this band off my leg.”

The girl, taken aback by the parrot’s human-like speech, expressed her confusion. “You talk like a person,” she observed, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

“I’m a very special parrot,” Jan responded, desperation driving her far past the point of caring how she sounded.

The girl, contemplating the situation a few moments longer, agreed to help. She ran off and returned shortly with a pair of tin snips, but her efforts with them proved fruitless, the band unfazed by every attempt.

“There’s not even a scratch on that thing,” the girl remarked, her young face furrowed in confusion. “What a weird band,” she puzzled. “How can we get it off of you?”

Pausing to think, a spark of excitement suddenly lit up her eyes. “I know!” she exclaimed. “I’ll use Daddy’s laser pen. It cuts through all sorts of weird stuff!” With that, she dashed out of the room.

Returning minutes later, the girl held a device resembling a standard pen. Carefully, she aimed its tip at the band on Jan’s leg, and a thin, yellowish laser beam shot out. Jan’s eyes widened in realization. This was no ordinary laser; it was operating across the implant layers—a sophisticated tool, indeed.

“Isn’t this cool?” the girl said, her eyes alight with wonder.

“Yes, it’s incredible,” Jan agreed, her voice betraying a sense of awe.

The girl, focused on her task, added, “It can cut things that aren’t really there.”

Jan immediately realized that this device could do far more than just cut. The base of the pen was emblazoned with a tiny stylized star and falcon—the symbol of Authority—and Jan speculated about the girl’s father. Likely, he was a high-ranking member to possess such a tool. But those thoughts were fleeting; what mattered was the effectiveness of the laser.

With a final burst, the band snapped, contorting and sparkling briefly before it vanished into nothing. The girl stared in bewilderment at the spot where it had been.

“Well, that was really strange,” she said, her voice betraying a level of suspicion and comprehension that Jan found disconcerting.

“Sure was,” Jan concurred, simultaneously relieved to be free of the band, fascinated by the pen, and worried that the little girl now sensed the impropriety of the situation.

“Time to go back in your cage,” the girl instructed matter-of-factly. “I need to tell Daddy what happened.”

Jan complied, returning to her cage. The girl placed the laser pen down, carefully secured the cage door using both hands, and then hurried out of the room.

The moment the girl disappeared, Jan quickly transformed into a mouse, slipping effortlessly through the cage bars. Then, back in her human form, she picked up the laser pen and pocketed it. Her mind was set on escaping, returning to her body, and then confronting Mr. Ossic.

However, her plan hit a snag. Attempting to lift a chair to break a window, she discovered she couldn’t move it. While the chair felt completely solid to her, it remained immovable under her touch. It dawned on her then—her physical presence here was nothing but an illusion. The “glitch,” as Mr. Ossic had explained, meant she looked and felt completely real but couldn’t apply actual force to physical objects without her real body.

This disturbing realization further deepened her understanding of the control the mandatory implants held over perceived reality. Puzzled, she wondered how she could carry the pen. The answer came quickly; the pen, too, existed only in the implant layers.

Jan pushed these troubling thoughts aside for the moment. Finding a way out of the house and returning to her real body was her immediate priority. Testing a door, she found it opened at her approach. She was in luck—this dwelling responded to her as if she were actually there. She would be able to move through the residence, and she began doing so with haste.

Navigating through the sprawling, eerily deserted home, Jan was driven by a singular focus—escape. The quiet halls gave no hint of the young girl who had unwittingly become her savior. Jan moved quickly, and soon stumbled upon a grand central atrium. The space, soaring 50 meters high and equally wide, was a spectacle of nature amidst opulence. Waterfalls cascaded among lush greenery, with paths and leisure areas woven throughout. It was a haven of beauty.

Her urgency intensified upon spotting the little girl in the distance, presumably in search of her father. Jan couldn’t afford to be caught now. She noticed the glass ceiling of the atrium, some panels of which were open, likely for ventilation.

Without hesitation, Jan transformed into a nondescript bird, far less conspicuous than the rare parrot she had previously mimicked. Clutching the invaluable laser pen in her talons, she took flight, soaring through one of the open panels in the ceiling.

Breaking free from the confines of the atrium, Jan found herself amidst the towering skyscrapers of the city. The residence she had been trapped in crowned one of these giants, standing about 700 meters tall. Gliding through the skyscrapers, the thrill of flight enveloped her, a sensation so intense and gratifying that she momentarily lost herself in the euphoria. As her senses returned to her, she was left with a feeling of tranquility, high above the chaos of the city. She wondered about the limits of this form—how far could she travel from the city’s core before the illusion ceased to function? She felt how easy it would be to lose herself in this and forget about the hard reality lurking beneath it. But she quickly cleared her mind, remembering the urgent need to orient herself.

From this aerial vantage point, the cityscape was unfamiliar, yet her lifelong residency in the city guided her. She recognized landmarks from this new perspective and directed her flight towards the abandoned church, her physical body’s obscured location.

When she returned to her body at the church, the reunion was a harsh reminder of her physical needs—the pangs of hunger and thirst hit her immediately. It had been close to 24 hours since she first transformed into the parrot, and she’d had nothing to eat or drink since. The realization fueled her anger toward Mr. Ossic even more. He had almost succeeded in leaving her to die, all the while profiting from her sale—a sum that could have sustained her for a decade.

But Jan stilled her anger for the time being, purchasing food and drink from a street vendor not far from the church. As she ate, she examined the laser pen she had stolen. She’d realized right away that cutting false objects was only a default function. The device was also designed to accept code and push it into any of the implant layers. As she studied it, Jan began feeling something she had truly never felt before in her entire life—power. Her thoughts returned to Mr. Ossic, and now she really did know exactly where to find him—the luxury establishment he frequented.

Over the next few weeks, she followed him through the city in various non-human forms, learning where he went, what he did, how he laundered his ill-begotten money, and about his transactional intimate encounters. Most importantly, she learned where he lived—a luxury apartment near the top of a massive skyscraper.

She thought long and carefully about her options, and finally decided she would confront Mr. Ossic directly. She had leverage on him, not that she had any intention of extorting him—but he didn’t know that. To him, she was still an elite hacker to be bargained with. She would walk right into his apartment, right through the front door, and he would let her.

Jan meticulously crafted her appearance to embody an air of authority and sophistication. Wearing a formal suit mini dress, matching blazer, slight heels, and her hair slicked back into a bun, she exuded the aura of a corporate executive or an Authority agent. A simple but elegant gold chain draped over a light gray undershirt added a touch of class. With sunglasses shielding her eyes, she approached Mr. Ossic's building, embodying the essence of elite confidence.

Upon reaching the front door, she accessed the building’s public directory and sent a query to Mr. Ossic’s apartment, fixing a steady, unyielding gaze on the door camera. After a brief wait, his voice crackled through a speaker at the door.

“What do you want?” Mr. Ossic's voice came through the speaker.

“We have some things we need to talk about,” Jan replied, her tone as dry and unwavering as her stare.

Moments later, the door clicked open. Jan stepped into the empty lobby and took the lift to Mr. Ossic’s floor. She found his apartment and waited. He opened the door and let her in without a word, and she followed him inside. As the door shut behind them, she swiftly drew the laser pen from her pocket, jammed it into his back, and activated it, injecting custom code into his implants. The attack, though somewhat crude, was effective. Mr. Ossic’s body seized up, and he collapsed to the ground, his head twitching as he struggled against the NULL loops she had injected into strategically chosen data pathways.

“Y-y-y-you’re crazy,” he stuttered, struggling to speak against the paralysis. “Wh-wh-what do you think you’re going to do?”

Jan observed Mr. Ossic’s futile efforts with a mix of scorn and indifference. To her, he had diminished to a minor obstacle, no longer the formidable figure he had once seemed. His ingenious shape-shifting trick, though a remarkable feat, paled in comparison to the vast possibilities unlocked to her by the laser pen. She had spent weeks unraveling its potential, discovering capabilities far surpassing anything Mr. Ossic had demonstrated. It was, in fact, the key to myriad concealed functions within the implant system.

“You’re trying to access your building’s security, aren’t you?” she finally said, her voice laced with contempt. “You know, the loop you trapped me with can be used in many ways through the implant layers,” she continued, emphasizing her advantage.

Mr. Ossic remained silent, his focus entirely on circumventing the code she had injected. Despite his skill, Jan knew he was outmatched. The laser pen granted her a level of access far beyond his reach.

Mr. Ossic’s apartment was sizable, featuring an open layout that seamlessly connected the various living spaces. A balcony above the main floor functioned as a bedroom. In the center, the furniture was practically arranged, creating a functional sitting area. Off to one side, the kitchen boasted a bar and an island, adding to the space’s utility. Large windows offered a sweeping view of the city’s skyline. The overall decor, with its straightforward and robust design, had a distinctly masculine feel.

Jan dragged Mr. Ossic to a dark leather sofa in the sitting area, positioning him to face the kitchen. Despite her smaller-than-average frame, Mr. Ossic’s weight was manageable. Once she had him seated, she made her way into the kitchen.

“You tried to kill me,” she stated flatly, disdain evident in her voice.

He remained silent, his efforts still focused on breaking free from the code loops she had injected.

“I mean, I guess I can kind of understand,” she continued, her tone bitter. “You can’t have more than one person who knows that secret, right?”

In the kitchen, Jan’s hand found a knife in one of the blocks on the counter. She grasped it and walked back toward Mr. Ossic.

Fear flickered in his eyes at the sight of the knife. “M-m-murder’s are i-investigated,” he stuttered, his voice trembling with fear. “Th-th-they’ll know you were h-h-here,” he attempted to reason, a desperate plea to her sense of self-preservation.

“No, they won’t,” Jan countered coldly. “I’m a ghost.” And it was no lie. While exploring the capabilities of the pen, she had learned how Authority monitored implants. The system wasn’t managed manually. By their records, Jan’s implants had reported her dead about a week ago—just another nameless, indebted addict who passed away on the streets. In the eyes of Authority, her body would have been disposed of like any other street detritus, collected and incinerated without a second thought. The process was automated; no one would verify the reality of her supposed disposal. Why would they? It wasn’t as if an impoverished, homeless woman would have any way to directly manipulate her implants. In the technology that ruled their reality, Jan had made herself nonexistent—an untraceable non-entity.

As Jan advanced toward Mr. Ossic with the knife, she echoed his earlier words. “Remember when you said Authority was arrogant to the point of delusion?” she asked rhetorically. “Seems like you’re part of that club, too.” Her voice was cold and detached. “Right now, to the world, I’m not even here. You’re all alone in this apartment. When they find you, they’ll think it’s suicide. ‘Strange, he seemed fine. Must have been hiding his depression. No real friends, just a lonely, rich guy. The irony, huh?’” she mused darkly.

She reached him, his body twitching in vain as terror engulfed him. Kneeling in front of him, she locked eyes with him. Her gaze unwavering, she placed the knife in his trembling hand and guided it to his neck.

He tried to speak, stuttering out a feeble, “W-w-wait!…”

Without hesitation, Jan slit his throat. She wasn’t going to repeat his mistake of leaving a victim alive long enough to escape. Coldly, she watched as life ebbed from him, ensuring he was truly gone before she stood up again. She reached around his back, pulled out the laser pen, made some adjustments to the code, and jammed it back into him. The gash across his neck appeared to vanish, replaced by new gashes down the arteries of his forearms.

In a world dictated by implant data, she had never been there. The “investigators” would see no reason to doubt the digital narrative of a solitary man in his apartment. Why question the data when it painted such a clear, albeit tragic, picture?

In the weeks that followed, Jan painstakingly duplicated the laser pen—an endeavor that proved extremely difficult, ultimately requiring the purchase of additional black-market items to achieve. When she finally completed the duplicate, she returned the original to a spot in the atrium, ensuring the young girl who had unwittingly aided her escape would find it. It was crucial, Jan believed, that Authority remain oblivious to its temporary absence. She surmised, correctly, that the girl’s father would avoid reporting the missing item to avoid potential consequences. When the girl inevitably returned the pen, it would be met with silent relief, and the incident would be quickly, for all intents and purposes, forgotten.

From that time on, Jan began spending her nights as a black owl, her form of choice—its heightened senses and silent flight making her an unseen observer, a shadow flitting through the night. She watched the city’s elite, meticulously planning her targets, never striking the same place twice—a diamond necklace here, a silk gown there. With her newfound abilities and the access granted by the pen, she moved through the city undetected, a spectral presence among the unsuspecting wealthy.

By day, Jan lived a life of modest comfort. Luxury had never appealed to her, but she enjoyed a sense of security and ease. Occasionally, she dipped into her accrued wealth to help the city’s downtrodden—a gesture of solidarity with those still trapped in the cycle of poverty she had once known all too well. Such acts of generosity brought her a sense of fulfillment, a nod to a Robin Hood–esque role, though she kept the lion’s share of her spoils for herself.

Jan was still an addict, but in her addiction, she had found focus.