CSA

What does CSA stand for? Whatever you want. Cyberpunk Shortstory Anthology. Cracked States of America. Contemporary Social Anatomy. Chaotic State of Anarchy. Completely Scientifically Accurate. Cool Sick Awesome. Crap Shit Ass. Confederate States of America. Cynical Stupid Action. Whatever you read into CSA is on you. Here's a breakdown of the work as a whole.

1,2,3 - America before it dissolved, vague time periods for this and for everything else, this section is set in the 2010s-2020s

4,5,6 - Former America, now referred to as Freeland, during Dissolution and the immediate aftermath, set in the 2020s

7,8,9 - Life in megacorp microstates within Freeland, set in 2030s-2050s

10,11,12 - Powerful individuals of Freeland, set in 2070s-2090s

You can assume the stories are in vaguely chronological order, but there's so much overlap and ambiguity only those 4 sections are concrete enough to worry about. You shouldn't necessarily have to read them in order to understand what's going on so read whichever has a synopsis you like. I tried to use this as an exercise in writing stuff in different ways. Also a big TRIGGER WARNING for anyone who has been a victim of murder, rape, or society at large.

It's full of spelling errors and probably more than one plot hole, but hey, you get what you pay for. Feel free to email me comments, reviews, edits, or suggestions using the mail icon in the share bar at the bottom of the page or click this.

I squeezed out the remainder of my shit long ago, but I was sort of stranded there. My phone needed charge and my backup solar charger wasn't cutting it in the torrential downpour that exploded into the sky out of nowhere. The older generation tried to act like these mini-hurricanes were normal. I didn't get why though. We all knew it was global-warming-induced future-weather caused by the unprecedented levels of industrial pollution over the past century. The supermarket bathroom was simply the only place I knew other than my house where I could jack some power. Not that I couldn't afford to pay my bills. For all intents and purposes, I was rich. I really was just after some data. Time isn't happening if information isn't being exchanged. It'd been hours since I last checked reddit. Reddit, while not my favorite infodrug, was definitely the one I used the most. It didn't require a very strong data link, and I never built a tolerance. It was the weed of infodrugs. After I lost feeling in my legs I decided I had enough info in my brain to get me home. I stepped outside the filthy public bathroom with the lone hidden AC outlet in the handicapped stall.

The sky was bright and barren as soon as the rain stopped, like a cartoon on fast-forward. My journey home continued. I still lived amidst the cheap college housing I inhabited before I decided college might be a waste of time. I didn't have a job. When I was still in high school I mined hundreds of bitcoins. I got lucky. It was just a hobby for the most part although I'd be lying if I claimed I wasn't interested in the idea of getting drugs mailed to me. I wasn't the most social person and I always had problems finding dealers. This Silk Road thing solved that problem for me nicely. It seemed like bullshit. Money was not supposed to work like that. Weed was not supposed to be mailed to my apartment with no repercussions. Regrettably the revelation of the rampant spying going on via American alphabet-soup agencies (and my fear of getting caught) outweighed the potential benefits of shitloads of basically free drugs. So I basically forgot about my 679.8378 bitcoin stash. Then, a couple months ago, I happened to come across one of the many articles discussing the recent explosion in bitcoin value. Roughly one thousand USD per bitcoin, just some numbers my computer crunched a couple years ago. I was no millionaire, but I had enough to live on for the rest of my life, easily. How could I live this frugally? Simple.

During my sophomore year of college I became a hikkikomori. And I had never been happier. I grew up in an orphanage so I was sick of face-to-face human interaction by the time I entered college anyway. What people failed to realize is that there are billions of other humans on the internet. I posted my opinions and arguments on the chans, met up in online worlds to play with my steam friends regularly, and played therapist to complete strangers on omegle. The backpages were where I bought all my sex too. At first I only left my room to go to class. Soon though me and most of the people I went to college with realized that it was a waste. Worse than that, it was a scam. I wasn't the first person to stop going to class. I actually held out until about half of my classes were empty. Then I quit right before the end of my sophomore year. Shortly after that I learned of bitcoin's value, cashed out with half a million US dollars, and soon cut off contact with all the people I was forced to interact with to merely exist.

I was almost at my apartment. I passed by swaths of datajunkies swarming like lethargic flies around any free wi-fi point, their faces buried in better worlds at the other end of a screen. Much to my dismay, eye-contact was made and the fluid statue of a man called out to me: "Wizard! Make this spot hot! Allllll I need is a place to code!" A corruption of a 4chan meme run amuck, 'wizard' had become datajunkie slang for someone with a fat dataport. It was derived from "wi-fi" in addition to the mere love of fantasy, it didn't really make sense as time went on with the advent of 5G, the successor to 4G. At 3 gigbits a second nearly anywhere in a 50 mile radius of a tower, it was still considered something of a rich man's luxury. However it was so efficient many ISPs started using a meshnet of 5G access points instead of traditional fiber optic cables, effectively restructuring modern internet. The DJ trying to get my attention could smell the 5G on me and he wasn't satisfied sucking at the distraught teat of the college library's access point. I pretended not to see the guy who carried himself like he was from the West Coast. The dropping out of college thing wasn't merely localized to my school. This had become a nationwide epidemic. Some became hikkikomoris like myself. Some started working on organic farming communes. Some started working for the government. The hippest among us became cyberpunks.

Cyberpunks were traveling, highly educated, homeless, bands of anarchists. Digital nomads on steroids or at least LSD. They were mostly in their twenties and late teens. They carried ample solar chargers, cables, keyboards, camping gear, musical instruments, ramen, and each one's most prized possession, their mobile device, be it smartphone, tablet, or laptop. They traveled in packs of two or three to a couple dozen and never alone. They slept outside in the margins of civilization. They drank the free water that flooded American public facilities. They ate dumpstered food or food acquired via begging or busking or just plain stolen. As much as they rejected society and authority, some even still participated. Not a small amount of cyberpunk troupes had one or two programmers traveling with them. You'd hear the occasional story of a cyberpunk "family" that hit it big after their resident programmer created a viral app. This always shot the code-monkey to maximum alpha status. Even when they had plenty of money, the cyberpunks didn't stop traveling. They were known to merely upgrade their equipment or even buy plane tickets for the whole tribe to continue their travels in a novel environment. They were the drop-out counterpart of the hikkikomori, equally dismissive of society but extroverted by default. They were our generations' counterculture, our hippies, our punks. Revolutionaries at their best and mere junkies at their worst.

I trudged up the stairs and opened the door to my crappy 400 dollar a month studio apartment. A tiny one-room deal with thin walls and no parking. I didn't have a car and I did have considerate neighbors so neither of these things were an issue. I threw down my groceries. I lived off food that didn't require refrigeration. This provided more variety than one would expect. Tortillas, fruit, sausage, parmesan cheese, nuts, dried meat, berries, and that's not even counting canned food. I saved electricity by unplugging my fridge and my temperature was regulated by the layers of clothes I wore and two fans. The only light in the room was the warm, comforting glow of my top-of-the-line custom-built $3,000 computer. I splurged a bit on the black jade desk and blacker leather office chair.

I carefully stepped around all the trash and clothes and wires and sat down to plug in my noise-canceling headphones. I rarely listened to music. I rarely even played vidya these days. My ear buds gave me an additional sense with which I could interact with my comp. For some reason, data transfer to the net produced a quiet clicking. The frequency and pitch of this revealed how much data was being uploaded or downloaded. More than a few times I intuitively realized I had some hidden malware from this sense alone. At the same time I could hear how many and how fast my processors were running by the number and pitch of a simultaneous whirring noise. The percent RAM and GPU use were determined by these two quiet, constant pinging sound sort of like tinnitus. Like everyone else, the little blinking light was still how I determined when the hard disk was being written to. Maybe to someone else this would be annoying, but to me it was soothing as well as mildly practical. I put on my aviator shades. These didn't really connect me to my comp like my stethoscope/headphones. They served the purpose of mitigating eye strain produced by hours and hours of staring at a monitor. Reducing the brightness ironically increased eye strain as it made text more difficult to read.

I set my fingers on the glowing wireless brushed steel mechanical keyboard and lightly fingered the clit-mouse in the center. I started the night with more reddit. I found that the user interface, the mechanism of infodrug ingestion, mattered almost was much as it did for regular chemical drugs. Doing reddit on my desktop was to doing it on my phone as eating pot brownies was to smoking. You had to get a good app to do it on your phone properly too. A poorly formatted interface is fatiguing, the equivalent of body load. Fortunately reddit is a social infodrug making the body load less relevant. If you use, it's only a matter of time before you start participating in the community. This was the opposite of the next infodrug on my itinerary, Netflix. Like heroin, binge watching TV is a pleasant alternative to thinking. On my phone it was like snorting bumps. On my desktop it was like full-on injection. The whole time I was Netflixing my brain was focused on nothing but what I was consuming. I barely moved for 6 hours. When I came out of my tv-binge coma I grabbed my perfectly weighted wireless mouse, in order to mix up the route of administration. I tried some chans after that. 4chan. 420chan. 8chan. Similar to reddit in a lot of ways I always considered these to be the psychedelics of infodrugs. They opened my mind, although I occasionally saw things I didn't really want to see. I went back to reddit. Boredom was no longer a feeling I experienced, similar to how true pain and hunger were nearly eradicated with the invention of anesthesia and cheap food in the 1900s. So long as I had a data connection I could always be indefinitely entertained. Some groups began-

My internal monologue was cut short by a poorly dressed, hairy caveman, clenching a pen and moleskine notebook in his teeth, kicking open my unlocked door. Tan and short and muscular and lean. He had these massive, wireless headphones on and was listening to some music with more bass than they could handle. I got the impression he hailed from a cyberpunk clan.

I felt no fear though. I had lived a good life. And I wasn't afraid of death. I watched tons of anime, surfed the net compulsively, and been around quite a few people on drugs so nothing struck me as particularly unusual anymore. I took a pic of him with my phone and used this app that auto-sent it to the chans, reddit, diaspora, instagram, facebook, tumblr, and more as others shared it. Caption: 'this guy just broke into my house'

He took the notebook out of his mouth and quickly scribbled a note with its attached pen: 'i need help' and underneath it 'DEAF-MUTE sorry' I snapped another pic updating my threads. I took off my headphones expecting him to do the same but he didn't. Oh well. I tried to grab his pad to write a note but it was back in his mouth before I could attempt the maneuver. I motioned for him to come over to watch me as I typed in a new text document: 'I can't help you. I'm sorry. Please leave.'

He scribbled on his notepad again: 'Im on a quest and I need a wizard.'

His brown eyes seemed sort of dilated and he was clearly on drugs. The chemical kind, not the info kind. The kind I used to do. I was bored enough to think at the time: Why not humor him? What’s the worst that could happen?

I typed: 'you have chosen well. Here is your armor faithful warrior'

I scavenged a heavy leather jacket and some beaten-up steel-toed boots from my laundry/carpet. They didn't quite fit but he seemed ecstatic. I gathered my phone, keys, and wallet. I actually had a hiking stick in my closet, clearly making me a wizard, so I duct-taped it to a tazer. In case this drugged up stranger tried something. I scanned the room one last time for "spells" to take. The best I could come up with was my large-pocket-sized computer air duster. A cold spell? A wind spell? Whatever this is a joke anyway, I thought. I typed: Are you ready to embark? He pressed a single key on my keyboard: 'y'

He started running out of my room down the stairs. Taking them two at a time. I barely kept his pace as we raced down the street, the deaf-mute caveman still holding the notebook in his mouth (I noticed his clothes had no pockets). He ran like a robot or a Cold War portrayal of a Russian, looking straight ahead at all times. We ran through campus and traversed the miniature hills and valleys of a golf course. Under nothing but street lights and a cloudy night sky. We reached the edge of the woods. The music in his headphones got slower. He took the notepad out of his mouth and wrote: 'wiz use light spell'

I flicked on the tazer's flashlight switch at the end of my wizard staff. Nice touch on calling it a light spell. This guy was really high. We entered the forest. I let him lead and I tried my best to illuminate the ground around both of us. My phone beeped. As I cast 'silent' I noticed I had 19 total notifications (comments, upvotes, likes, etc) from my recent multi-post on various social media apps. Not bad for 10 minutes. It's hard to remember exactly why I continued at this point. Sure it was partly because I was on the best endorphin high I'd had in years. And yeah I probably needed some excitement in my life or at least some exercise. Also maybe I possessed more than a twinge of nihilism. But oddly enough I think I really was just nostalgic for going on these adventures with my friends as a kid. Plus I had the advantage of the tazer at the end of a stick.

I was already tired from the jog and the walk through these pitch dark woods was boring. Right before I was about to give up on our quest we had our first random encounter. The loud barking startled me and I hung back but our fearless hero seemed unfazed. I managed to follow his path with my light and turn on my video-GIF recorder as he charged straight at the sickly beast giving it a devastating kick to the ribs. No shoes either. He punched another dog out of the air that jumped at him. He growled at them both through his notebook and another two that were too cowardly to make a move. His efforts proved successful, and the dogs ran away. He was bleeding.

"Holy crap dude! You okay?"

He calmly wrote with a big grin: ‘99/100’

Now I was in this thing for the long haul. That was just too freaking cool. I uploaded the GIF.

"Jesus. How much XP you get?"

He pointed to his headphones and I quickly typed out my question. He wrote: '12 but we have to share lol'

I tapped on my phone: 'As long as you're okay... What is the goal of this quest anyway?'

With my flashlight shining at his chin, he looked me dead in the eye as he wrote (poorly) and showed to me: 'kill the net'

I shrugged implying that he needed to be more specific. He moved away from the flashlight a little dejected and spent a few moments writing out something. He showed me his writing impatiently: 'tonight were gonna shut down the 5G cell tower. weve already lost too many of our tribe to the hivemind'

It was initially confusing to see a cyberpunk write about shutting down the net although I immediately understood what he was talking about. I couldn't deny that the net had turned me into a datajunkie. The scourge that morphed me into a zombie was spreading faster throughout society than any chemical drug ever could, thanks to the low cost and high accessibility. The internet was evil. There was just one problem. It took an awkward several seconds of typing but I finally presented my strange companion with: 'I lack the skill necessary. Do you even have a plan?'

He looked at me, flashed a smile, and scrawled: 'we are the chosen ones! and as a wizard you have a 5G connection. just download this when were at the place. copy it, dont link to it yet'

From his notebook he quickly produced a disgusting, crumpled paper QR code, the highest resolution I'd ever seen. I stared at it for a second before mechanically getting it prepped for taking it into my phone. Ignoring his wishes in my personal quest for points I sent it to the net with the caption: '#shutdownthenet' Right after the upload completed I was a bit stunned to find that since I checked a couple minutes prior I had already reached 112 collective notifications. This guy was karma gold. I had my doubts that he wasn't just crazy though.

I made a lead the way gesture and we continued until we got to a partially collapsed abandoned building in the middle of the woods. The full moon's light came in through the giant hole in the structure and glinted off something inside. Soon after we carefully entered, a vagrant lunged at me with a machete but my friend took the brunt of the poorly executed blow...receiving only about 5 damage. I used lightning bolt until our attacker stopped moving. The warrior took the sword and handed me the hat. I let him have the flask of health potion we found. Being the only one with pockets I took the bag of nickels and dimes. I didn't take a pic of this scene but checked my score again: 319 notifications. Like a samurai, I switched off my tazer in one elegant motion. The moonlight was good enough that I could switch off the light too as we pressed on all the way into some rich guy's backyard.

The blonde barbarian dropped into a crouch and began making every step deliberate, so that the initial contact with the ground was with a force of zero gradually increasing over time. I followed suit. We were almost at the exit gate when a police car pulled up dousing us in light. The man who got out didn't seem to be a cop. He had a gun though. He shouted at us, "What the hell are you doing on my property? Take off your damn headphones!"

I pushed my teammate back and made my move before he could do anything stupid. I held up my staff apologetically and said in my most sycophantic voice, "We're LARPing sir. We got too drunk and somehow we ended up here. We don't want any trouble. You can search us. We're not thieves, just drunk college kids. Swear to god sir. Please." I ribbed my oddly dressed friend and he thankfully seemed to get the picture without hearing a word. He looked down, intentionally started swaying a bit, took his writing implements out of his mouth, and proceeded to dry heave until he puked.

The man with the gun (who I quickly ascertained from his car was a currently off-duty sheriff) lowered his firearm and eyed us suspiciously. "Why you got that sword then boy?"

"We're LARPing, live action role playing. We're pretending that we're wizards and warriors. Feel it, it's not even sharp." It wasn't.

The sheriff seemed to be buying it. "What in god's name is wrong with you boys? My son does this crap too. You needa be hanging out with girls. You're in college for chrissakes."

"Sir, do with us what you wish. Just know that we really, really mean no harm and we're just trying to get home at this point. I'm tired. He's trashed. You can take our stuff. Just please don't arrest us. We really, really were just trying to cut through your yard. We're lost."

He grabbed my lightning rod and the machete, then stared us down. "Yer damn right yer lost. You all boys know that's trespassing, right? I could send you down to the station right now and lock you in the drunk tank for the weekend...but I don't think you'd last 10 minutes in there."

"No sir. Please. We wouldn't last 5 minutes."

He glared at the warrior for a solid 3 seconds before finally saying, "Okay. I'm still gonna write you a ticket, but it's justa warning. This is ONLY cause I wanna go to sleep."

"Thank you so much sir!"

"I'm keeping these..." he held up our weapons, "...toys. If you want 'em back you'll hafta come down to the station."

"Ok no problem. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Have a good night!"

We stood there for several beats in silence.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Fuck off!"

"What about our tickets?"

"Don't worry about it! Call a cab and fuck off!"

"Thank you so much!"

I tugged the arm of the fake-drunk real-tripping warrior and we headed off down the dirt driveway as I pulled out my phone to call a cab. Turned out I'd already hit 7,590 notifications! This had to be a new record for me. After the sheriff seemed to go inside the warrior was back to his normal weird self. He quickly jotted down: 'glad thats over. Were not done yet tho'

This had gone on long enough plus my only defense against this insane human being was gone forever. The internet points were nice but I'm never trying to die. I typed in my phone: 'dude I'm sorry, I'm out. I'm calling a cab if you want to go somewhere else'

Squinting in the moonlight he wrote down: 'No! We need you wizard. It has to be you.'

I ignored him and tried calling myself a black-cab via Uber. The man on the other end said it would take him 20 minutes to get to me. I plopped down cross-legged and admired my 9,721 notifications for a while afraid that.

The warrior (still standing) handed me a note: 'I dont know why it has to be you but they are always right. They. The voices.' He tapped his still-erupting-music headphones when I looked up at him, then he handed me another note: 'They found me in a hospital. I don't remember anything before that. I think I was in an accident. I know where we can go tho'

I texted him angrily: 'Dude. I can't actually help you. Find someone else.'

He stared at my phone's screen for a second before letting out the most agonizing shrieks. Then as quickly as he started screaming, he stopped, although he didn't stop shaking. His trembling hands scrawled another note in broken handwriting: 'I need you'

My empathy kicked in. What could I do? I couldn't let this guy suffer and he no longer seemed completely crazy. Someone was doing this weird shit to him. Equally important, they seemed to want something with me. I looked at my phone again to find I broke 10,000 notifications. I stood up and typed: 'ok man, lead the way'

He grinned weakly and fought his pain prior to sprinting off in that artificial manner yet again. We must have jogged about three miles away from civilization. Right before I collapsed we reached a drainage tunnel. He climbed in. I cast light with my phone and reluctantly followed, even though it was big enough for us to walk comfortably side by side. There was tons of graffiti and the whole passageway was littered with spraycans. We soon came upon a decorated canvas barricade that the warrior pushed aside to reveal a large open room lit by the cool glow of LED-in-gallon-water-jug lanterns. Pipes neatly poured out water from multiple levels. My eyes were drawn to the crowd surrounding an industrial-size Biolite woodfire grill/generator. The warrior's cyberpunk tribe.

"Hey guys!" I shouted to a confused response. The warrior ignored me and went to hug and hand-slap his friends. I stood back letting my eyes adjust. It was actually quite cozy. Chains of carefully arranged garbage. A waterwheel generator powering a couple low-spec laptops. And every single one of the warrior's friends had different over-ear headphones. I stood there staring at not just how fantastical my environment was, but how much these people loved each other. How happy they were living in this little tribe in the sewer. I wasn't envious. It was more about observing cyberpunks in their natural habitat than me wishing I was one of them. It was odd how fit and healthy the seemed despite their condition. Like a good nature documentarian, I made sure to snap some pics and upload them, caption: '#cyberpunklyfe'. At this time I had reached 21,314 notifications.

They all wrote and exchanged some notes. They all seemed equally mute, yet it seemed like none of them knew sign language. After a couple minutes of this I was beckoned over and they embraced me. Some women came out from one of the tunnels dripping water holding apparently dumpstered food and a couple cases of beer. We sat at a stolen picnic table and dug in. They passed notes full of small talk to me and I passed responses back. We roasted marshmallows over the Biolite. It was a strange experience to say the least. After a while a guy who had an air of authority pointed to a watch and the warrior got up. It was time to go. I got to participate in the hug-fest this time. The warrior was given a lockpick kit and I was given a zippo lighter along with a note that read: 'it's dangerous to go alone. take this' I found it odd they didn't give us anything else because they clearly had a small stockpile of guns, swords, and even a morning star. I pointed and the warrior just shook his head in response. I noticed he no longer was carrying his notebook and pen. We were getting close to the final boss. Without missing a beat, we were off down the exit tunnel and the dull glow of the cyberpunk camp was soon extinguished by distance.

Some cockroaches scurried past but they thankfully weren't trying to attack. Turned out the rats were. The warrior started wielding a piece of rubble to little effect. At first I tried to run (leaving my friend without light) but the warrior's screams returned, freezing me in my tracks. Time seemed to slow down when I shined the light back on him. I patted my pockets. My wallet, my computer duster, my keys, the lighter... In a flash of insight I grabbed a nearly empty spraycan and cast flame. It rewarded me with the crunches and screams of dead cockroaches. I picked up another and headed towards my shrieking friend. While no rats were killed, it was more than enough to scare almost all of them off my fellow LARPer. All except one. A real life unintimidated rat-king. I sent a pic of it to the net, caption: #the1trueking. It sort of resisted my next fire attack but it couldn't avoid a crushing blow from the warrior's stone. He didn't stick around to finish it off. We continued running down the tunnel. I checked my phone: 82,327 notifications.

It got narrower and narrower until we finally squeezed out one after the other into a dangerously wealthy neighborhood. A gated community. Cameras everywhere and the whole couple of drunk college kids thing wouldn't get us out of trouble here. I typed on my phone: 'dude we need to find another path to the place. we could seriously get arrested'

He looked at me, looked down, then turned around to continue on. I should have just let him go on his way. Instead I grabbed him and tried to take off his headphones. They were stuck to his head. He allowed me to investigate. Turned out that under his mop of hair this poor, crazy fucker had superglued his headphones to his skull. Easily undone but still, what the fuck? What did they do to him?

Before I could even process this, lights silently pulled up. Police. We both started running. The car sped up but I managed to find a nook to hide in, yet the warrior was gone. Perfect. Gunshots. I carefully scanned the surrounding area to make sure there weren't any cameras, peeked my head out, and sure enough, the technophobic cyberpunk was charging the car. He ripped open the door, threw the apparently stunned cop on the ground, yanked out a knife in the cop's boot, and severely severed his throat. I wasn't close enough to get the full brunt of the image, but the gurgling of his screams through the bloody gash that was the cop's trachea was enough to momentarily paralyze me in disgust or fear or something. I watched as the silhouette of the murderer rummaged through the still flashing cop car. He ran over to me wielding a shotgun and carrying a first aid kit. Without thinking I put my hands up. He handed me a note he must have scrawled with the cop's blood-spattered notepad: 'were ok we just need to get to the 5G base station. I need to cast heal on these bite wounds. You cast teleport'

I reached for the first aid kit but he pulled away and got in the car. I wanted to give up. I turned to my phone reflexively seeking infodrugs; to enter that better world. 167,215 notifications. I shouldn't have been this nice. I should have bailed at the homeless guy. But it was past the time for regrets. No going back once you're an accomplice to a cop-killer. I got in the drivers seat and figured out how to turn off the lights. The warrior guided me with pointing and deaf-style yelling in between treating his wounds. The local 5G tower base station ended up being only a five minute drive outside of the gated community, thankfully not passing any traffic cameras. Still night. I distracted the lone guard with a fireblast and the warrior cast shotgun. We worked our way through the dark, silent facility until we got to what the cursed warrior seemed to think was the central control room.

After a few minutes of failed attempts at lockpicking, my video game instincts caused me to take out the ice spell to freeze the lock and the warrior blasted the door open. We were in. Cops were surely on their way already so I got straight to work. I downloaded the file off the QR code and it installed on my phone automatically before prompting a restart. When it booted back up my phone was something else. Green Matrix-like text was constantly scrolling on the background and there were two buttons on the screen, 'SCAN' and 'KILL' underneath it. I instinctively hit the green SCAN button first, which presumably took in all information necessary to manipulate the system via a probe into the base station's intranet. This process took 5 agonizing minutes. No cops though. The warrior was content to happily do push-ups as we waited. My eyes were darting from the nearby computer terminal to my occupied phone longing for some juicy data to take in. I hadn't had 5 minutes to be left with my thoughts in a long time. It sucked.

As soon as the bar was filled, the KILL button turned from red to green and I hit it. At first I wasn't sure it worked, then all screens shut off leaving my phone the remaining source of light. It stayed alive just long enough for me to see the notification total from the most recent update: 553,140. Finally there were just the quietly blinking red, blue, and green LEDs on my compatriot's headphones. It was almost peaceful for about 3 seconds.

Then there were police lights and sirens. Then a loud crash. Then explosions. The warrior led the way outside, shotgun first. Before I could get a good visual of the battle, the shotgun warrior launched a metal pellet hurricane in their general direction. He bolted off to the van the headphoned-cyberpunks shooting and morning-starring the cops must have arrived in, deliberately ripping his headphones off his head in the process. There was blood and bone but it didn't look as horrific as what I braced myself for. Before I could even close my door we peeled out spraying gravel everywhere. I initially kept my head down to avoid the bullets and stayed there at the warrior's behest.

We rode in silence for a while until I heard, "I didn't lose my memory." The warrior spoke. I was silent. He took a deep breath and continued speaking in his surprisingly normal voice.

"That stuff about the voices was bullshit too. We really were deaf-mute though! Me, my friends in the sewer, we were all in the marines. I can't speak for them, but I was not a good soldier. I was really only there cause I had nowhere else to go." He gripped the wheel a little tighter. "The day before I was to ship out to Iran the brass pulled me aside and told me I wasn't going to war. At first I assumed it was just cause I couldn't shoot for shit." He briefly turned to me with a sad grin. "My dexterity stat was low." I let out a polite snort. "Anyway, it was really all about brain implant experiments. Top secret stuff. Project HIVEMIND is what I heard a few times. I don't know what the ultimate goal was, I just know that they controlled me like a drone."

Before he could continue I interrupted him. "What the motherfuckin- Holy shit- Dude. I think I've heard of something like that. Like those Chinese robo-roaches?"

He grimaced a bit and I felt a twinge of guilt. "Yeah, like those cockroaches," he answered. "Being a marine sucked but the shit they did to me lab..." A nearly imperceptible shudder punctuated his thousand yard stare. "I could only obey the commands they gave. Beamed through 5G one of the guys from the sewer learned. There were side-effects, or maybe it was intentional. They deactivated the hearing and talking parts of my brain. Then one day, there was some sort of outage and the tower musta shut down. I could hear again. I was free. Then I escaped. Others apparently had the same idea. And the rest you know."

"What was with the headphones? I thought you couldn't hear? And how'd you get that QR code?" I had a few more questions but I could piece the answers together. They needed me cause I was the only societal drop-out with a 5G connection in a 50 mile radius. We took that convoluted route to avoid traffic cameras. They located me via my extensive online presence, and that possibly contributed to all the video game analogies too. They knew my weakness.

He parked the car. I didn't notice but he had driven me back to my complex. He killed the lights and looked at me. "After we escaped and the power came back on, we still were under their control. We couldn't rip that shit outta our heads when we tried. Luckily one of the girls tried putting on a pair of headphones she found. It seemed to block the signal entirely so long as music was playing giving us our free will back, although talking and hearing were still out of commission. We only started gluing them on for safety last month. Another one of us stole the QR code for the 5G killswitch during our escape." His face exuded bittersweet as he looked towards my apartment door. "And now, it's finally over." With the same expression, he turned back to me. "Now I got a question for you. Why'd you help me?"

I finally could admit the real answer to myself. Loneliness. I hadn't talked to anyone in person in months, not even a cashier. I too had become a deaf-mute controlled by cell towers...albeit in a less extreme manner. Maybe I knew that subconsciously when he busted in earlier that night. Maybe I-

My overwrought introspection was broken as I realized my phone's GPS was tracking my location the whole time before I induced the 5G outage. There weren't any cameras at my apartment. I could tell police this crazy guy kicked down my door and stole my phone. Why would any sane, wealthy person go on an adventure with a total stranger like that? I had plausible deniabilty so long as I stuck to my story. I could actually get away with this, if I gave up half a million internet points. A hard choice to say the least. Reason prevailed in the end though.

Without another word I dropped my phone in the car, got out, and went straight to my computer to scroll my mouse wheel on a blank monitor.

I stared at my diploma.

They got my name wrong. University was all a big scam anyway. I took great solace in the fact that no one else seemed to know what the hell they were doing after college either. Like everyone else I knew, I was in massive debt with no real job prospects on the horizon. I wanted to do research in a neuroscience lab, but I knew I wouldn’t be able handle grad school financially. And an undergraduate science degree was apparently useless without a doctorate. It wasn’t fair. To anyone who graduated before 2007, a college degree was a guaranteed one-way ticket to job heaven, where employers threw themselves at you, you paid off your $40,000 student loans in a couple years, then you bought a house and had a family. Well, that’s the story we were told our entire lives at least. It seemed generally accepted that the present was a transition period, known as the Great Recession. It’s called a “recession” instead of a “depression” because on one hand, the world economy was going down the tubes by virtually every measure. Yet there were less people going hungry, healthier populations overall, and an apparent increase in creature comforts. A more accurate term might have been a “Post-Scarcity Depression.” Most people seemed to live fairly comfortably, yet anti-depressant use, suicide and unemployment rates had reached record highs.

Ever since the 2008 financial crisis it didn’t matter how many or what kind of college degrees you held, employers simply didn’t have the resources to train new employees. There were more educated workers than jobs to fill them. Half of under-25 college graduates were underemployed minimum wage-slaves. A quarter of them were unemployed. The remaining quarter either continued pursuing education or immediately got a job at daddy’s business. These weren’t the statistics I heard on TV, but they seemed to match reality better with respect to the data I gathered from other sources. The panicked pretense of confidence portrayed in the news was indistinguishable from satire these days. Everyone was talking about the end of days, from those who couldn’t afford basic cable to those on it. At least there were big parties usually hosted by the folks talking about the apocalypse. And for good reason. The man behind the curtain had been revealed. We were on the edge of the fiscal cliff. Global warming had never been more real, gun violence was at an all-time high, and most religious people quit their jobs to volunteer full-time at a church. Most thought it really was the apocalypse.

It was probably just the drugs. One had to admit the past couple of years were a great time to be a psychonaut. The worldwide economic collapse suspiciously coincided almost perfectly with the advent of an easily accessible, anonymous, global drug cybermarket known as Silk Road. I could obtain anything I wanted through Silk Road or online RC vendors. Legal drug analogs with unknown side effects began to be sold in gas stations and new ones were being synthesized faster than they could be made illegal. The DMT flowed like Spice. Of course, my DOC was DXM, better known as cough syrup. It certainly was one of the less cool drugs. Luckily I’ve never been the kind of person who makes decisions based on how cool they make me look. Not only was it easy to obtain for five bucks at the local pharmacy, I could do it in public or even drive on it with no one being the wiser. For some reason it made me feel good to have this little secret. The low dose I was on at the moment was preventing me from leaving this lame event. DXM was good for getting lost in thought and this oftentimes prevented me from taking rash actions. A sober person wouldn’t have been able to stand reality, and no one had to thanks to the incredible variety and abundance of affordable, quality drugs. In my mom’s case, it was wine and reality TV. My dad was more a beer and news kind of guy. Every person who didn’t completely go off the deep end was kept complacent by something.

Depression had been manifesting itself rapidly over these past several years when it was leaked to the public that the Great Recession only occurred due to a handful of corrupt men in the US government and Wall Street. Literally the entire world was suffering for the greed of a few, commonly referred to as the 1%. There was a small uprising in 2011 called Occupy Wall Street and it was soon proven impotent. When media and software megacorps teamed up to provide us with even cheaper endless channels of quality entertainment, it was all over. Our current reality would have been the delusions of a drug addicted conspiracy theorist decades ago. In fact, many people simply lived in denial of this reality, having it confirmed by not only their colleagues but almost all of the mainstream media megacorporations. Again, that’s not to say my life was bad. While the rest of the world seemed to be on the downslope, this conflict of reality merely created disharmony in upper-middle class America when the unemployed youth of 2013 wound up stuck at their parents’ house after college. This was a signal of failure in our American parents’ time, but was more and more the norm when I graduated college. They called us “entitled” yet refused to realize the world no longer works the way it once did. Our degrees now meant nothing, but they still cost several dozen grand.

How was this making even some of these people holding degrees happy? These sheets of paper effectively made us indentured servants to the highest echelons of society. We couldn’t travel the world, start a family, or really enjoy life until these debts were paid off. The folks who didn’t go to college at least escaped getting thrown into a massive debt hole if they were smart enough to avoid credit cards. Serfdom was back. It’s not like this stuff had never happened before; powerful people forcing others to do what they want is something that consistently happens throughout human history. All my relatives kept telling me that this would pass in a few years, but world-renowned economic analysts who weren’t related to me seemed to think differently. It was the tipping point on the exponential curve of human corruption. Geez. I had to start being more positive. I had to get out of that fucking ceremony. Being a Broderick I was going to have to sit through a shitload of other people having their name’s called before I could leave. Students didn’t even walk across a stage anymore at graduation; everyone just stood up when their name is called at an assembly. My parents couldn’t make it but most of my friends were here, so I decided to text my pal who was also at the top of the alphabet. Aaron Courtier quickly agreed. Aaron apparently grew up in my hometown, yet I never really knew him until I got to college. Regardless, we found we had a lot in common and remained best friends since freshmen year. I sashayed past my more obedient classmates to meet up with Aaron and a few others by the back exit. The stares we received on our way out seemed to emit hatred. I couldn’t imagine why. They wanted to be there, right?

“Well, what should we do?” Alicia asked after our initial meaningless banter. Alicia was Aaron’s sister and someone I unfortunately developed a crush on. I just tried to ignore it though. Aaron would be pissed. “There’s a graduation festival thing going on in the woods past the Factory,” responded Brandon. Brandon’s the only cool ginger I’d ever met. He was kind of a surfer bro. He always knew where the party was at, yet he never felt too cool to hang out with us, his friends since freshman year. “The only problem is nothing’s gonna be happening this early,” he continued. “Fuck it, let’s go to the factory,” Mel offered. Mel viewed himself as the badass leader of our group and no one really minded. The rest of us weren’t that decisive. Case in point, everyone seemed okay with his idea of drinking at the factory, so we went to College St to pick up some beer and headed straight there. Alicia split off with us to change clothes because she opted to buy the full graduation gown for an extra 200 USD instead of just the mortar board hats like the rest of us. We decided to chill in the courtyard behind the factory, away from the road. Someone long ago had set up tables and chairs and owner of this abandoned factory apparently didn’t give a shit.

*Ssss pop sip* Daniel: “Man, I don’t know what I’m gonna do now that college is over.” Brandon: “Look bro, relax. Just take a load off and enjoy the accomplishment you have crumpled up in your pocket.” Daniel: “Yeah, you’re right.” *Glug* Mel: “So guys, guess who invited some incoming freshmen tonight?” *Thumb point* Daniel: “Hahaha guys, guess who’s gonna get some illegal pussy tonight?” Aaron: “Bullshit Daniel.” Daniel: “Give me a break man. Are you saying that it would actually be hard for any of us?” *Glug glug glug* Mel: “No, but I brought them, so I get first dibs.” Daniel: “Dude, there’s enough to go around, right?” Mel: “Well, there’s only two, and I was kinda hoping to–” Daniel: “Threeway? Come on man, that’s a pipe dream and you know it.” Mel: “Fuck you man. The night is long. Give me a chance and then we’ll just go from there, alright?” *Glug glug glug* Brandon: “Hahaha yeah whatever man. I just want to drink, smoke and have a good time tonight.” *Glug* Aaron: “Oh by the way Brandon, did you get that ounce?” Brandon: “Of course bro, and I got a little on me right now. You guys game?” *Glug glug glug* Daniel: “Can we wait like half an hour?” *Ssssss pop sip* Brandon: “Why?” Daniel: “Check the time.” *Check phone* Brandon: “Hahahaha duh. Of course man, 420, good call.” *Glug glug* *Glug glug* *Glug glug glug* Aaron: “Okay holy shit. Did you guys hear about what happened in Toronto a few nights ago?” Mel: “Uh no.” *Glug* Aaron: “So did you hear about all those resignations of bank CEOs and arrests of financial terrorists a few months ago?” *Glug* Daniel: “Yeah. But I haven’t heard anything about it since.” *Glug glug glug* Aaron: “A few nights ago someone from Toronto posted a video on the internet that no one has been able to debunk that clearly depicts an alien.” Mel: “Give it a rest Aaron. Did you show up to graduation high?” Daniel: “I did.” Brandon: “Me too.” Aaron: “I’m serious guys.” Daniel: “What do aliens have to do with bank CEO resignations again?” *Glug* Aaron: “No, they’re related. Listen. In the video, this man with cat-like features except for a dolphin-like head is talking about the end times being near and that interdimensional alien beings will save us.” Daniel: “It spoke English?” Aaron: “Yup.” *Ssss pop sip* *Glug glug glug* Daniel: “Okay dude.” Aaron: “Fuck. Just give me your phone. I’ll show you the video right now.” Daniel: “Uh I’m not getting any bars here.” Mel: “Me neither.” Brandon: “I don’t carry a phone sorry bro.” *Glug* Aaron: “Well, just look it up when you get home then.” Daniel: “Sure.” *Sssss pop sip* Aaron: “I’m not crazy.” Brandon: “I don’t know guys. I wouldn’t be that surprised if all that was real. It is 2013 after all. The Mayans were pretty smart about outer space and stuff last year.” Mel: “Come on. If this shit were real, it would be all over the media. We all would have heard about it already.” *Glug glug* Aaron: “A-ha! I knew you were going to use that argument. First of all, you’re well aware of the vice grip the US government has on corporate media, correct? CNN fired their entire investigative journalism department.” Mel: “Well yeah, but–” Aaron: “Anything you see on television hear on the radio or read in the paper is just an extension of the propaganda machine of our government. Nazi Germany was the same exact way. In fact, most countries today are run like this. It’s the most effective method to control a populace, control their information.” Mel: “–But what about the internet? Shit spreads virally. Can’t explain that.” *Glug* Aaron: “Yes I can. Why do you think governments the world over have only recently been trying to extend that vice-grip control to the internet with legislation like ACTA, SOPA, CISPA and PCIPA? Freedom fighters like Kim Dotcom and Alex Jones have been getting too loud and too well-known. They need to further control the flow of information.” *Sss pop sip* Mel: “Also piracy. Don’t forget piracy. Isn’t that the main reason governments are cracking down on the internet?” *Glug* Aaron: “Nigga please. Profits from visual media have actually increased since torrenting went mainstream. Have you noticed that every big movie that’s come out lately has been breaking a financial record somehow? Spiderman, Batman, Avengers, The Hobbit, et cetera. And the only people losing money in the music sector are the middlemen, not the artists.” Daniel: “He’s right. I read that the piracy argument is bullshit too. I heard it has more to do with Arab Spring. Governments are afraid of that shit happening again.” Aaron: “Good point. And that only bolsters my own point: that governments are trying to lock down the internet to keep the lower classes in their place.” *Glug glug* Mel: “But again, what does that have to do with aliens? Why would the government care about aliens being real?” Aaron: “Good question. It’s simple. The power elite know these aliens are friendly. They know that the technology and knowledge the aliens bring are only going to make older forms of governance obsolete. They’re suppressing information about aliens because they know it is the only thing that will keep them in existence. The answer to your question is self-preservation.” *Glug glug glug* *Ssss pop sip* Daniel: “Who’s they again?” Aaron: “Governments the world over, but more specifically, the power elite pulling the strings behind them.” *Glug* Daniel: “But didn’t most of this power elite get arrested recently?” Aaron: “Most but not all. And it’s only been a few days since this video was posted. You can’t fight the flow of information. Information, like people, wants to be free. Just give it time.” *Glug glug glug*

Some more people showed up so we decided to end our esoteric discussion and begin smoking weed with them. We continued relaxing behind the factory amassing a crowd until it grew dark and then headed to the forest to join the people who were already drinking there. It was disappointing in the way that “grand finale” parties usually are. Years of media indoctrination had led me to always have high hopes for some amazing shit happening but barring some drunk guy doing stupid shit, most people just acted normally. I wanted to see a brawl or an orgy or something. Mel had just told me that he struck out with both his freshmen. I sipped my second bottle of robotussin as I considered making some moves of my own. But then a little after midnight the sky began flashing as if there was lightning, although there was no thunder. The only thing that could be heard was a loud high-frequency rotation sound. A UFO? No… A police siren?

A booming authoritative voice: “PLEASE LAY DOWN AND PLACE YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD.”

Out of the sky dozens of soldiers with masks and guns came down holding ropes and throwing what I assumed was tear gas. Somehow Aaron had the good sense to shout “RUN!” Immediately half the other partiers submitted. The other half must have been too wasted. I was. I sprinted to the factory even though about a dozen people were heading there with me. I was faster than most people and they were only sending out 8 soldiers in our direction. I knew the big factory door was locked and felt a wave of relief as I saw half of the fleeing partiers head that way, each followed by their own soldier. DXM typically gave me the perception that I was viewing myself in the third person as some sort of video game character and this phenomenon was exacerbated thanks to the soldiers rapidly closing in. I don’t know what happened to the lone girl who headed my direction but I certainly wasn’t going to waste time helping her get through the loose window. Suddenly a large quadricopter drone swooped down right in front of me shooting at me until it hit my hand with what I assumed was a rubber bullet. I dropped the beer with a depressingly feminine scream and made a beeline for the window. In two completely disconnected moments, I jumped in more fluidly than I was expecting and teleported inside, hitting the pavement near-silently. Then I crawled under the adrenaline-charged moonlight until I found a collection of rotten cardboard boxes in a room and promptly hid myself underneath. I heard gunshots and screaming in the distance, but the military-police never even got close to me. After a surprisingly comfortable sleep I was awakened by birds chirping.

The sun was shining brightly the next morning. It made it seem as if last night’s events were a particularly interesting DXM mind-movie. The only evidence to the contrary was the bloodstained dirt outside near the chairs we chilled at last night. I realized I wasn’t doing anything illegal, but I still did not want to be caught by the soldiers. They might even be shooting people on sight now. The only person who took this stuff seriously was Aaron’s Dad. He had a bunker within walking distance. I decided I had to make it there. Aaron might not be there, but at least there’d be some food. I headed back through the woods until I reached main street. Plastic cubes stacked like legos presumably full of sand, barbed wire roadblocks, military vehicles, dozens of soldiers wearing FEMA logos, and, surprisingly, a normal amount of civilians. Occasionally I heard a gunshot or scream, but I mostly listened to the sound of distant loudspeakers calmly shouting that we were now in a state of martial law. I knew I couldn’t just walk out there, so I slunk back into the cover of the forest and tried to check the news on my phone. Absolutely zero signal. I gave up and tried to find a break in the roadblock. I had to cross main street to get to Aaron’s neighborhood but by the time I reached the edge of the woods, there were still plenty of military men. I decided to use a distraction gambit. I turned my phone’s music player on and threw it as a diversion. It worked, giving me a tiny attention gap underneath an 18 wheeler which I ran under. It’s not like my phone was going to do anything other than track my location in this situation. The rest of the trek through people’s backyards was a piece of cake. Nothing except the occasional helicopter or drone. When I finally reached Aaron’s house it seemed as though no one was home. Thankfully, I was greeted with a familiar voice and an open door when I buzzed the hidden terminal to let me in.

Aaron: “DANIEL! You’re safe!” Daniel: “Where are the others Aaron?” Aaron: “I don’t know, I can’t get in touch with anyone, all phones and internet are down. Television still works though.” Daniel: “Really? What the fuck? What’s going on?” Aaron: “It happened!” Daniel: “What happened?” Aaron: “They just declared world war three and martial law.” Daniel: “Why did they declare martial law?” Aaron: “Well, NBC reports that there have been terrorist strikes happening all over America, but I’m positive that’s not right. It’s American’s fighting back.” Daniel: “Yeah…so, uh, how did this war start?” Aaron: “A combination of events. North Korea pulled the trigger by firing a nuke at a Japan.” Daniel: “That’s hilariously ironic.” Aaron: “Then Israel immediately fired a nuke at Iran. And once Israel was making moves, Obama went on TV and declared war on enemies of America’s allies.” Daniel: “I guess it makes sense they only call it WWIII when nukes are involved. Have we been nuked yet?” Aaron: “Not according the news I’m getting from this broadcast television, but it’s impossible to tell.” Daniel: “Did we nuke anyone yet?” Aaron: “Only India and North Korea.” Daniel: “Who else is involved so far?” Aaron: “It’s China, Iraq, North Korea and Russia versus us, Israel, South Korea, and Britain.” Daniel: “Wait, why’d we nuke India?” Aaron: “Dunno. That’s just what the TV said.” Daniel: “Sounds like we’re fucked.” Aaron: “Not if we stay in this bunker.” Daniel: “So we’re just going to stay in here forever?” Aaron: “I got a bowl.” Daniel: “I need that pretty hard right now.” *Toke* Daniel: “So like, what happened to everyone else?” Aaron: “I saw Mel and Brandon run off with two girls.” Daniel: “Nice.” Aaron: “Fuckin wish I could get in touch with them.” Daniel: “I’m sure they’ll just show up here. Who else do you know who has a bunker?” Aaron: “Yeah you’re probably right. So, what do you think is really happening right now?” Daniel: “Huh?” Aaron: “Like do you really believe anything the news is telling us? This is straight up New World Order bullshit. WWIII is how the Illuminati will consolidate power internationally. You’ll see.” Daniel: “Yeah probably.” *Toke* Aaron: “So what are you gonna do about it?” Daniel: “I mean, what can we do? Just stay in this bunker I guess.” Aaron: “No. We can’t do that forever. We need to fight back.” Daniel: “How dude? What the fuck are you going to do against the Illuminati as you claim? What the fuck are you gonna do against the US military? All those terrorists you claim are Americans, they’re all just gonna die. Fuck that. I don’t care about this shit. All wars are followed by peacetime. I’m just gonna chill here til that happens.” Aaron: “You just want to sit back and let life happen to you your whole life? You never want to take control?” Daniel: “Of course not, but mindlessly following suicidal folks like yourself certainly could not be considered taking control of my life. No offense.” *Toke* Aaron: “None taken.” Daniel: “Anyway, how long do you reckon we can stay down here before we need to get supplies?” Aaron: “I have a year’s worth of rations and entertainment. Two years if we really stretch it out.” Daniel: “Where do we shit though?” Aaron: “That bucket.” Daniel: “…where’s the toilet paper?” Aaron: “….” Daniel: “…shit.” Aaron: “You can say that again.” Daniel: “Okay, let’s go outside, get all we can buy, and come straight back here.” Aaron: “Damnit, we really don’t have a choice. Okay.”

The bunker door swung open revealing two haggard figures. It was Mel and Brandon. They told us that everything had kind of calmed down now. There were FEMA and DHS police everywhere, but as long as you weren’t actively trying to fight them, you could still pretty much live your life regularly. They went on to inform us that, working and paying taxes were now probably more important. Our friends apparently forgot how to enter the bunker, which is why they were just standing there. They were also high. More than a little disappointed that life was going to continue pretty much as usual, we went to get some pizza before going back to our respective homes.

Over the next 6 months, the country quietly went to shit. Actually, maybe quietly wasn’t the right word. The constant roar of drones, rumble of tanks, and occasional shrieking of klaxons had an unforeseen effect on the local wildlife. Birds and bugs either evolved or learned in a matter of months to produce mating calls three times as loud as what I had grown up with. Biologists claimed this was because these creatures needed to be louder than military technology in order to locate mates. This phenomenon made it next to impossible to fall asleep without the freely available, invaluable infodrug known as white noise. Most of the plastic barricades stayed up and were cemented in place. In a similar manner, small police bases were being retrofitted to the roofs of existing buildings. The amount of wall in my town seemed to have doubled. They got rid of most of the barbed-wire though. The remaining streetlights without cameras were soon converted to TRAPWIRE-connected automatic camera-lights, “smartlights.” None of this was a problem for me or my family. We had nothing to hide. As far as I knew the rest of the world was in a bad way although I couldn’t be sure once connections to all servers outside the US were blocked. WWIII quickly transformed Occupy Wall Street from an impotent protest organization to a violent paramilitary group, OWS 3.0. Many of the major US cities had become veritable warzones, with the opposing armies comprised of either the highly militarized riot police and their tear gas drones, or the somewhat uneasy alliance between east coast socialists and west coast isolationists.

I lived in a small town in Nebraska, so me and my family were entirely insulated from all this. In fact, I only knew about what was going on from a few sites I found on deep web. When I brought this up to my parent’s at the dinner table one night, they had no idea what I was talking about and chastised me for knowing these things. Apparently syndicated media sources had been almost entirely ignoring the reality of the situation, choosing instead to report that protestors are getting arrested for unnecessarily breaking reasonable laws. I showed my dad a video of OWS 3.0 rioters getting blown up in the veritable battlefield formerly known as Zucotti Park and he simply refused to believe it was real. For proof, he showed me a government-verified live-video feed of Wall Street in which everything looked fine. Most people only consumed the media facebook showed them or media from mainstream sources. It was even harder to get people off facebook when they started receiving FB bucks for using it. Virtual economies were what did us in. There was nothing I could do. Even if I did have the ability to gain a large audience, I would quickly be removed by the government. It was a futile endeavor. So I just stopped learning about what was really going on as well. It just made me feel shitty. The last I heard, riots were breaking out all over the globe: India, Turkey, Iran, Sweden, even normally non-violent Japan. As the year drew to a close, more and more riots began springing up in large cities all over the United States. These were referred to as the Doomsday Riots. On the evening of December 21st Aaron showed up at my bedroom window to solicit my assistance. I hadn’t seen him in months by this point. When the Great Recession hit, the expense necessary to move trapped most young people in the place they were living at the time. This caused a sort of pervading malaise during social interactions with fellow college graduates. Some made new friends. Apparently Aaron had. He had broken off from a crowd of armed civilians to run to my window. This was the first time the Riots had ever made it to my podunk town.

Daniel: “Dude what the hell.” Aaron: “Hey man. Did you hear about execution of order 13987?” Daniel: “No…what’s going on?” Aaron: “You haven’t even heard about that?” Daniel: “…I try to not know what’s really going on anymore…” Aaron: “I can’t really blame you. The Obama administration has just released an ultimatum to every US citizen: sign a pledge to aid us in this war, or be permanently labeled an enemy combatant state.” Daniel: “So I guess those aliens aren’t gonna help us, huh.” Aaron: “I don’t know where they are, but I do know the critical mass is about to be reached. So now, me and every other child of light are showing our dissent with the NWO in order to gather enough human consent for the Galactic Federation of Light to help us. Tonight’s the night!” Daniel: “Uhhh are riots the most effective way to do that?… I’m sorry man… I think I’ll pass…” Aaron: “What?! Daniel we need everyone we can get!” Daniel: “Look man, I’m just trying to keep my head down and live my life.” Aaron: “When is the breaking point? When does the frog realize that it’s being boiled alive? This is the night we strike! This is the night Second American Revolution begins!” Daniel: “What? Dude I don’t want to be in a war.” Aaron: “So you want to be a slave?” Daniel: “Yes!” Aaron: “No! You don’t!” Daniel: “A soldier is a slave Aaron.” Aaron: “You’re either with us or against us. If you don’t come out of there, I’ll–”

Despite the shame it brought me I shut the window, dulling the sound of broken glass and fire. The truth is I wanted to go outside and smash stuff, I just didn’t want to deal with the repercussions. No, it was plain as day that Aaron and whoever else he could get to come with him would lose against the might of the American military. I needed something to take my mind off my own personal failures and TV filled that role better than weed or alcohol or violence. Not having anything better to do the night he came by my window, I went downstairs to go watch TV with my parents.

It honestly started out as an innocent unbridled lust for destruction. People mistakenly believed there was some sort of political motivation. I never even watched the news. Things were going great for my family at the time. My dad was a lawyer and my mom had enough money to not cheat on him. I was an only child in the middle of my grad school years. I had a couple friends but they were too far below me to make any real connection. I didn't have a boyfriend. Not that I really wanted one. I just wanted to change the world. For the worse.

Before my rein of terror began I really was a good girl. I volunteered. I studied hard. I only had socially appropriate sexual relationships. My whole life I was told I could change the world if I did all those things. Like everyone else, I soon learned that didn't work. I tried the other side of the coin for a while right before I graduated college. I smoked pot. I got too drunk. I fucked bad boys. And it was all somehow less satisfying than what I'd been doing. I didn't want to merely ignore the rules. I wanted to make new ones. Break the mold. Then one day I saw the light.

Being from a wealthy family it didn't matter that I was a comp sci grad student, I was still rich. I had the most expensive clothes, make-up, technology, car, everything. So when the 5G crash struck my city I was hit pretty hard. For 2 hours my life was thrown into disarray. I couldn't work. I couldn't contact my friends. I was completely powerless. And I knew for a fact that a single person was the cause of this. A single person temporarily crippled an entire nation. I wasn't smart enough to engineer a viral cell-network quick-response code retro-virus. I wanted to do something like this though. I wanted to taste that kind of power. I wanted hard evidence that I did something real, that I mattered. Right from the start my mission was to be first and foremost, to spread destructive memes. Other than that, I always needed to get away with it. I never wanted to end up in prison. I didn't want to be directly responsible for hurting anyone either. Even though I chose to pursue destruction I had never been nihilistic. In a way I just wanted to be a prankster. I became possessed. School, TV, boys, it kind of all zoomed away as I thought up ways to severely inconvenience the world.

My first official project took months of scouting out, although the time it took could be attributed to my own timidity. I chose the target of a newly installed security camera on a wooden telephone pole. I was savvy enough to know that there was a big anti-surveillance movement at my school. Plenty of suitable candidates for patsies. The Monday before my planned date of execution I flirted with one of the dumb buzzcut anarchist leader boys at school. I immediately forgot his name, but he made sure to give me his number. I talked to him at length in person about how cool it would be if someone burned down a security camera pole. I made sure to elicit a reply via text that indicated he was interested in that kind of stuff. My alibi wouldn’t require nearly as much work. I made my move on a Friday, the night most crime statistically occurs.

I crawled through the woods with the stolen gasoline and kindling in some crude straps fashioned from stolen rope. It took me 30 minutes of dirty army crawling to get to the telephone pole that was a 5 minute walk from my house. I approached from an angle impossible for the camera to see. Still crouched I dumped the gasoline on the kindling, putting some sticks and leaves next to it for good measure. I lit a box of matches with my gloved hand and crawled the 30 minutes back. The firefighters might have seen me if they weren't so distracted by fighting fire. My cell phone was left home and I got my roommate to Facebook a boy for me at the exact time I left under the guise of shyness. My alibi was firmly in place. Not that anyone came looking for me. Buzzcut wasn’t so lucky. Well he was pretty lucky in that he didn't get charged with anything, but he did end up quitting his anarchy schtick apparently.

My actions had two other salient effects. One, other cameras started coming down. Every time someone didn't get caught it was attributed to the "pyro" as she came to be known. The other effect was a surge in activist graffiti and wheat-pasting, at least around my university, showing the pyro as a modified figure of the TF2 character. I resented that they actually choose a female icon. That was one layer of obfuscation removed. Ironically one thing that didn't change was infrastructure security. It made sense if you thought about it. The whole phenomenon revolved around eliminating security cameras. It created more jobs to put up new cameras, jobs were a political priority, and no one was actually getting hurt. The amount of money and effort it cost to replace the cameras was negligible. It was seen as an excuse to revitalize the area. At first.

The social media buzz was that this made the pyro an impuissant joke. More pathetic than revolutionary. Idiots. It was never about making a specific thing happen. I was simply horny for change. Any change. And things were changing, albeit in small ways. I achieved what I wanted and once I had a taste of a plan coming together I naturally craved more. I knew if I got caught I’d cease to be a legend in the moronic public’s eyes. That aspect of it I'll admit, I was totally into. I retreated back into the light. Into normal life. Into class. Into parties. Into the mundane. Into hell.

Two months passed. Something bigger happened. A coordinated telephone pole take-down. My entire school had to shut down due to these concerted attacks. Only for a day. But still. I did that. Kind of. The power, the rush I felt that first night was back. And this time I didn't have to lift a finger. It became clear to me. Destroying a network in an unstable system causes a ripple effect. I had thrown the aging university telecommunications infrastructure into disarray with little more than gasoline and matches. Next up was the local transportation infrastructure. Like all addictions my next hit had to be bigger. This is when I realized I had to get help. Much to my dismay.

I created a couple of dating profiles. Standard stuff, although no actual profile picture. Not even any lies except a fake name. I said I was into mischievous construction workers with trucks. Whoever I met up with would need to have pretty low standards in the first place to go on a completely blind date like that. I knew my looks would blow them away. It took me 2 hours to through the hundreds of messages til I found a boy who suited my purposes. Online dating really was like shooting fish in a barrel.

The first date was at a pizza place. The expectedly desperate guy showed. He looked like he just hit the jackpot. Gross. He was a bit too chipper for my tastes. It didn't matter though. He had nice arms. He wasn't lying about working in construction. It was easy to gauge his interest in my actual plan without revealing too much. The exploits of the pyro functioned as small talk for any generic couple these days. I segued into narrowing my plan specifics by asking him if he wanted to help me screw over my ex-boyfriend. He barely asked for details. This guy was putty in my hands.

It took me another few “dates” with this guy before I figured out exactly what I needed to do. The goal was to inconvenience the most people. Neither me nor the construction boy had access to explosives so we had to be a bit more creative. The location would be a popular commuter exit ramp. It took a few weeks of intermittent searching for me to find one that couldn't be avoided with a trivial detour. We loaded his truck up with orange and white barrel barricades preloaded with quick-dry cement, both stolen from construction sites. I got him to cut the bottom out in addition to rigging the inside with a circulatory system of plastic tubes that allowed for even hydration when we poured water in the top. He also fashioned me some traffic spikes out of nails and tubing filled with cement. He designed it so after throwing these down the rain cemented them to the asphalt. We arrived on site at twilight, right before it was to start raining. I threw down the traffic spikes before the blind curve while he rolled the barrels off his truck and stuck funnels in the top. We made our escape right after the downpour started. Needless to say, he got lucky that morning.

It ended up being less effective than I had hoped. Fortunately one of the many advantages of being a beautiful woman is that no one can criticize you for impotence. All reports of the event said the commotion caused a jam that barely lasted an hour. The sole victim's Volvo wasn't even damaged. I knew that the only way it'd work is if I erected two barricades at once; more if I could organize it. I needed more than one man's help. I needed an army.

I went back online. I set up more dates. I coquetted. I bought new outfits. I stared at my made-up face in the mirror wondering how anyone could do this for fun. I could only use one boy per dating site. I presented them each a different story, a different name, a different profile picture of a girl who looked okay but was without a doubt less sexy than me. A new alibi for my roommate every time too. I only contacted them through online and through different VPNs. I never let them know where I lived. I was a new person each night. For all that trouble I only ended up with 4 boys after 2 weeks.

I had enough time in the hours between 2AM and 4AM to erect 4 barricades in precise locations. I got one of them to load his truck up before the first boy dropped me off at the his house. Two of them were wrapped around my pinky so tight they carried out my plan without me even being there to help. Fortunately only one was dumb enough to send me a picture documenting his work. When I was later questioned by the police, I was a hot girl who denied any involvement. The last I heard of him he went to federal prison. Police never came for the rest of my boys. I was smart enough to manage the two I carried out the mission with and the fourth actually seemed to be more into the plan, the pyro, than me. He was smart enough to know how to avoid getting caught.

This escapade was far more successful. The news was seized with reports of a 32 car pile-up that occurred during rush hour. I got lucky. Two cars careened into the on-ramp and off-ramp barricades within seconds of each other. The simultaneous crash in both lanes confused drivers. The confused drivers all acted in discord creating a dissonance that would have been music to my ears if I heard it. Even better, the city mayor went on the news that evening vowing to locate the scumbags who pulled this domestic terrorism, which in turn when viral on YouTube. I deleted my accounts without even looking at their messages.

Telephone pole burning became intro level stuff, but it didn't stop. The cement barricade technique started popping up on highways across the country. Police came for those who weren't as careful but they were few and far between. Someone wrote a guide to making the quick-dry cement-barricades and anonymously posted it to the net. Over the next few weeks things escalated even further. Now, instead of being attributed to the pyro all these acts of vandalism were attributed to terrorists. Two months in and economic effects began to show. Whenever this occurred, truck drivers couldn't reach their delivery destinations and most other people couldn't get to their jobs on time. Major corporations were hurting from the time stolen from their truck drivers. None if this affected college students. The chaos was growing without added effort so I lied low while others copied my ideas. My Facebook feed quickly woke me up to the national perception of these cement blockades. Most people were opposed to this scourge upon the country and the buzz was that this chaos had a purpose. It was thought these were the coordinated efforts of some neo-revolutionary group. Technically the people claiming this were right. I wasn't doing anything anymore, they were, and they did care about that kind of stuff. But they pretty much all incorrectly thought that whoever was the first to do this gave a fuck about fixing society. Made it even funnier in my opinion. Watching these people talk about me like I had some grand plan to help them gave me exactly as much satisfaction as I predicted it would. I needed more.

I needed to come up with more ideas, more step-by-step instructions detailing how to carry out them out, and distribute them anonymously. Guides to terrorism was a market with high demand and low supply in this day and age. I was good at making them. Being in a computer science graduate program, I was good at network security too. I could steal all the information I needed and distribute it without being traced. It only made sense to combine my two greatest talents. Three if you count looking cute and innocent. Cops always believed me when I repeatedly denied claims from my former potential suitors that I had even once given them the time of day. Night after night I laid in bed awake, dwelling on these thoughts until one night what I had to do slammed into me.

'Rats in supermarkets. Termites in office buildings. Wasps in courthouses. Untraceable economic bioterrorism. This is the next step. Buy a mating pair of these creatures or find them in the wild to keep your supply purchases as off the grid as possible. Breed an army. Insert them into a hole on the target with an ample supply of food. Let them do the dirty work. They'll all naturally diffuse to where people are because that's where the food is.' I stared smugly at my text for a few minutes before submitting it anonymously on Cryptograffiti. I couldn't just sit around and wait. I had work to do. I needed to get these idiots even more information. They weren't capable of doing it themselves.

I started dating a city planner. No need to get into the messy details. No one got laid. He is how I secured unfettered access to all architectural plans in the city. I researched layouts of every building thoroughly. I was mainly looking for vents or other access points and how the maintenance tunnels twisted throughout the building. Letting rats out in supermarkets was trivial, just pick the lock and slip them in the back door. Termites in office buildings would be harder to figure out, but I was going to leave that to the office-workers. A wasps nest would be hard to sneak in anywhere. Rats and termites can tear through barriers with their teeth. Wasps can only sting. Before I could complete this aspect of my research people were already following my orders, poorly. They were using explosives to penetrate buildings and then letting their animal helpers run amuck. It was too disorganized, too brash. And every single one of them got caught. Even worse the direct violence seemed to scare others off. The attacks dwindled before I could even get my info out there. I was devastated.

It was too late. I had already obtained the intel I needed to pull this off, but anonymously posting my plans online turned out to be a bad idea. Soliciting people on the net or in person had both become too dangerous and 99% of the population were completely incompetent anyway. I had to find a way to be more selective, at least somewhat. The only thing I could think of was distributing info by hand directly to certain individual's addresses. I couldn't even use printers anymore. I knew there were people who were willing to use this intel, I just didn't have a way to get it to them. It turned out my last ditch effort worked. I stayed up all night hand-copying instructions for penetrating key buildings' defenses 100 times over and putting each sheet of paper into a ziplock baggie. At sun-up I drove my car all over the town putting a baggie at every frat house, at every slummy crackhouse, at every mosque, at every radical professor's house that I knew of. Surely one of these would hit their mark: an angry boy who wants to lead a team to do something extremist. A week later I received hard evidence this occurred. The governor's house was evacuated for 2 days as exterminators killed whatever was let into it.

The nearby heat re-ignited my fire. I was starting to fall behind in my school work but I didn't really care at this point. I took a 1 week leave of absence to carry out my next move. I went on a tour of the white house as well as the revolutionary underbelly of the District of Columbia and seduced parties in both those groups. Then I dropped off info at every underground base location I found. Not a month later the white house was evacuated just as the governor's was. This was a big deal. The seat of power, penetrated. It made people think they could exact change upon the universe as I had. The proof was in the pudding. There were abundant reports of people anonymously receiving dossiers in their mailboxes. They were starting to disseminate information themselves. They were calling “me” the “info-fairy” now. I was miffed they still implied this anonymous terrorist/folk-hero was a woman.

Society started crumbling all around me. People, important people, were getting shot on live television. Highways were now riddled with checkpoints making travel an Orwellian nightmare. Food was getting scarce. It even got more difficult to escape reality as caps were put on data. For most people it was bad. Not for me. I was finally becoming the person I wanted to be. I finally understood my destiny. Wasps and cockroaches shut down expensive businesses. Termites and carpenter ants demolished buildings. Rats and mold devastated the food supply. It was round one of the apocalypse and I was Pestilence, Death, and Famine. It only made sense I became War too.

I dropped out of grad school. This time I needed focus all my energy in building a real army. It probably seemed suspicious to other people, but I couldn't plan something of this size alone and getting “caught” didn't matter anymore at any rate. I still couldn't go completely public though. I stalked the most decorated war heroes I could find through publicly available military records. Then I cross-referenced their information with what I could find in the recently leaked massive government black project documents as well as the already public terrorist threat database. A single one of these guys could compromise my mission. I never formally dropped out of grad school but I never returned. For all intents and purposes I cut off contact with my past. I still had access to my trust fund, which immediately I converted to cash to fund my travels. Before placing my PGP key in each soldier's mailbox, I made it a policy to secure some confirmation from 3 friends or family members of each of my candidates that the soldiers I selected were who their data said they was. It didn't take long to receive replies. In rest stops and fast food restaurants, we organized our plan alone and together via darknet. The societal tension reached an apex. It was my time. This was to be my magnum opus.

When we finally all met up on the freshly christened battlefield of NYC, the hundreds that came were visibly shocked to learn I was a diminutive babe. As soon as I opened my mouth their jaws snapped shut. They knew I was the person contacting them. Shouting at these men (and a few women) gave me tingles. Their screamed replies converted it into full-blown arousal. Without much fanfare the penetration specialists began their work as the rest of us lurked in the underground concourse.

The penetration specialists were mostly disgruntled employees and personnel who were too critical to the production of counter-revolutionary propaganda to evacuate the city with the rest. Once inside the 30 individuals would re-congeal into 5 groups of 6. Each squad had the sole mission of getting the doors unlocked long enough for the rest of us to break through. I was with the team at the least guarded entrance. I was carried by my stampeding brigade like a surfer riding a sentient tsunami. The wave broke in a crash of glass, bullets, and grenades. I didn't even have a gun. It didn't matter. I controlled those who did.

Due to the nature of our surgical strike taking the elevator wasn't an option. I hiked up hundreds of stairs and over as many corpses until someone more knowledgeable about the environment we were in yelled that we were at the public broadcast room. Someone else gave the order to charge seconds after I mentally decided to do it. Again the tsunami hurtled through everything in it's path until we were in the broadcast room. Confirmation crackled through our communication appendage that the other organs of our team had secured all the necessary technology to prevent anyone from stopping us from publicly broadcasting. They barricaded the entrances as best we could. We were going to start a civil war.

I was heavily made up, like a sexy commando, so much so that no one would be able to recognize me. We collectively prepared the scripts months ago. All I really did was read, like a newscaster. Our production assistants put relevant info and pictures on the screen as I did my thing. Reports started flooding in. The United States government never officially declared war on it's own people but in a matter of hours world news sites made it abundantly clear. I was the main event but my soldiers continued providing programming for the masses. My work here was done. I partook in the drug-fueled orgy that seemed to have blossomed. This went on for a little over a day as we all traded off keeping special ops forces at bay and keeping fresh inflammatory memes churned out. No one slept. These people knew they were going to die. And they were right.

Sunday night something killed the celebratory atmosphere. More and more heads turned toward the big window overlooking the city and framing the immaculate sky. In the distance I saw a twinkle. I knew what it was, but one of the guys monitoring the web confirmed my thoughts. The United State's government was going to bomb their biggest city. A civil war would start. This whole thing spiraled completely out of my control. I liked that. Some guys just don't understand. Most women don't really like leading. We want to be the spark, not the explosion. I flicked off the heavens before my descent to hell.

The young politician walked on stage, his neutral demeanor betraying nothing of his next move. "I'm here today to address claims that I did cocaine 3 years ago. I did. Not only that but 4 years ago I smoked methamphetamine, dropped acid, did a medley of designer drugs, and smoked illegally obtained pot. When I was a teenager I got in trouble for flicking off a teacher. I broke a girls heart. I didn't rat out some guys I knew who stole a car. Even younger than that I got into a fight, I stole a bag of candy, and shit my pants when I was caught. I still torrent movies. That's all true. But here's the bottom line, these anonymous accusations launched at me are a social assassination attempt by a CIA organization known as COINTELPRO. This is a good thing. It means we're getting powerful. The powers that be are getting scared. Don't fall for their desperately executed tricks. Look, nobody's perfect, least of all me. That is precisely why we must reject the status quo and utilize the ORACLE system I developed to organize our communities at the neighborhood, city, county, state, and national levels. Power is best utilized when it's decentralized. If there are any further allegations towards me, check them against what I just told you. If it's true so be it. I've dug up all the dirt on me. Everything else is a lie. My personal life is irrelevant anyway. I don't want the power and the stress of being the leader of the free world. This isn't about me. Government is not about people. The whole point of government is to create the legal system we want to live in. Now that we have blockchain voting technology and automated government project data miners we only need a human intermediary as a conduit for migrating the broken old republic to this more practical way system of governance. I hope social assassination is no longer an option. Really all the CIA can do now is assassinate me the old fashioned way, MLK style." He laughed. "Am I enough of a martyr for you yet?"

This is the part where the stunned public would have stayed silent for a second before erupting into thunderous applause. Instead, the young politician's head exploded, resulting in instantaneous passionate screams. The assassin had botched the job. Whether or not it was intentional was anyone's guess. The CIA assassin was shot by the TSA hours later. This was the first self-aware cultural epiphany. Mere seconds before this rapidly political leader was shot he called out his detractors, making denial of harsh reality all the more difficult. This was nowhere near as obfuscated was the JFK or the MLK thing. The net almost immediately reached a consensus as to what happened. Everyone ignored the TV news and everyone knew the ORACLE candidate was killed by the US shadow government. And everyone knew why. He was too close to dismantling the matrix very rich people had spent centuries assembling. Even though the people knew what happened there was no reason to care.

So most went on with their lives. At first this was misinterpreted by the powers that were as submission, although soon top level government sociologists predicted that an armed uprising was brewing using data mined from social media sites and the deep web. They deliberately misinterpreted the data to justify their primal fear of course, but that didn't stop them from declaring nationwide martial law. Ironically, it was the highway barricades and constricting of bandwidth themselves which caused a domino effect that skyrocketed the cost of food and entertainment. Shelves gradually withered away. It was the almost accidental removal of bread and circuses, not the assassination of a revolutionary leader, that was cause for revolution.

Similarly, the backlash to these events was gradual yet steady. It was rather difficult to tell at first what was actually going on because the mainstream media stage play continued uninterrupted. There was an old evil tyrannical democrat and the lesser of two evils, a very young entrepreneurial libertarian. This candidate had "revolutionized" the campaign process by spending less than a million USD on advertising, claiming to rely on viral videos but in reality relying on ISP endorsement and manipulation of search results straight from Google's servers. Net neutrality was a thing of the past so this was easy to accomplish at this point in time.

But the people would not be fooled again. For the six months leading up to the assassination a never-identified group had been conducting terrorist acts uniformly throughout the United States of America. It was easy for anyone to tell these weren't CIA black-ops because instead of calmly providing the cowering citizenry with answers in the form of oppression the government was forced to try to cover up the growing problem. The news media was scrambling, not that anyone watched TV for actual information about the real world anymore.

That is, until the weekend Anonymous (or whatever you want to call them) took control of 30 Rockefeller plaza and started broadcasting it's own news on what was formerly known as NBC. Yes, just like V for Vendetta. Unsurprisingly the key to the ignition of the American Fall (as it came to be known) was televising the revolution. Only two days of non stop insurgency-inciting broadcasting was all it took for shit to hit the fan. It should be noted that the television tower was so strongly fortified the terrorists held it against special forces for two whole days before being surgically converted to dust via a 5 kiloton tactical nuke. If you have to pinpoint the exact moment the United States of America ceased to be, this is it. Needless to say, elections were postponed until a to-be-determined date. The remainder of New York City promptly did what large cities do best and devolved into an unsalvageable dystopia.

Over the next 6 months, smaller companies based in the troubled country one by one shut down all operations and relocated their headquarters, no big deal. The larger corporations realized they could now exploit the nationless people by charging more for their products and paying smaller wages to the suckers hired to do grunt work. Globalism wasn't so kind to the individual though. The second America dropped the nuke Canada and Mexico took a firm stance on closed borders. Most people with families to take care of stocked up on food and stayed in. Some organized militias siding with the government...or against it. The people with less to lose finally put those years of virtual reality training to the test. Of this last group, about half tried to occupy government buildings while the rest tried their hand at crime. All but the top-tier raiders got themselves killed in a matter of weeks, typically at the hand of the people they attempted to rob. All government forces had their hands full eradicating the anti-government militias in addition to the problematic insurrection. Soon that same Anonymous group had taken control of a myriad of communication systems which they used to manipulate the police and military into protecting their families instead. This technique wasn't 100% effective but it evened the odds a bit.

The leader (if there was a leader) of this Anonymous coup was a mastermind, not giving orders, but instead merely distributing information in the manner that most benefited the organization. This decentralized leadership style was a hit with all the splinter cells of the revolution. Allegedly, the information was dropped off hand written in a tube at random people's houses. Untraceable by the NSA so long as the guy making the drop didn't have his phone on him. So many places were info bombed that even if half the data was lost there were enough duplicates that the right person always eventually found the info. What info? It started with blueprints, guard shift schedules, and admin network access to state government buildings. As the movement grew the "info fairies" started leaking data concerning the location of weapon caches, nuclear launch codes, and blackmail no politicians. Much to everyone's delight, someone had even been able to prove that the sitting president wore a chastity belt. By the time the bomb dropped there was no real information advantage the government had over it's people.

With most of the public military withdrawing from the war against the people, the US government had no choice but to unleash it's black ops mercenary forces. It wasn't pretty. On average for every borderline super soldier killed, 50 domestic terrorists were executed...which isn't terrible considering how much training they had. All hope was lost. The army formed by the combination of CIA, DIA, DEA, TSA, AAA, COBRA, and the seven-foot blue-eyed super-soldiers known as the Four Horsemen (the aptly named result of a secret bio-engineering project courtesy of the PMC Xe) were just too good. Then the American people unleashed their secret weapon: crowdfunding. They simply bought the highly skilled sector of the US shadow military using untraceable funds not tied to the US dollar. Extremely skilled murderers never fight for silly things like patriotism. That's only in stories. Thank Satoshi for inventing cryptocurrency otherwise the transactions could never have occurred.

Like the sun imploding, the US government seemed to only feel the effects of its own demise much later after it happened. Government employees still got their checks. The mail still went through. Police officers still issued speeding tickets (unless they found a gun on you, in which case it was straight to a FEMA camp). Even though all the while the Senate, House, and Pentagon were literally occupied by violent protesters. For some reason the White House remained the vestigial stronghold of the dying organization. If the people occupied that building it seemed like the whole ordeal would be over.

For about a week the battle seemed to reach a stalemate. Pretty much everything important was occupied by the insurrectionaries except the White House. The powers that be managed this via the antlike underground base beneath the white house property. People had found tunnels going all the way into Canada. The drone strikes had ceased. Netflix broke new records. The whole country was peaceful and quiet at the one time of year you'd expect the opposite, the 4th of July. No one really knew what to do at this point. Even if the rebels surrendered things would never go back to how they were. All the powerful people government was invented to protect evacuated long ago. Thanks to globalism, patriotism is considered quaint at best and evil at worst. All parties realized how ridiculous it had all become. However, you should never underestimate how difficult it is to concede defeat nor the lengths people will go to avoid it. Eventually, something that started out as a joke became the de facto solution via social media: get Keanu Reeves to walk up to the front door of the white house alone with a megaphone and declare independence. He was 'the one' after all. Not to mention the fact that he was an instrumental player in taking the capitol building.

"We the people hereby dissolve the constitution and all government organizations as they exist today. The money and assets of all organizations funded with tax dollars have will be confiscated and held until redistribution. Outside of that, any property someone owns is theirs. Taking from then is theft. Do so at your own peril. There is no longer a united states of America. This landmass is now under no centralized authority." This declaration didn't need to be convoluted. And neither did the cherry on top. Keanu ad-libbed: "Oh, and give me your chastity belt. I'm alone. Come out. Give up." He stood there as long as it took for them to process the situation and deliberate. When the president finally came out, accompanied by a dozen super-soldiers, it was easy not to smile but goddamnit he had to. The president (er, now just a man in a nice suit) got undressed and handed over the device. It was hard to feel sorry for the guy because he didn't appear to give a fuck. It's not like he was making any decisions to begin with. He was more of an actor than Keanu in many ways. They looked into each other's eyes in silence. Then the former president turned around and went back inside. There was a faint roar in the distance. Keanu walked back to his car looking straight ahead, occasionally glancing down at the chastity belt. The celebrations over the next couple of days were excruciating for the poor national hero. His work here was done.

Then the people got down to business. Immediately after the war all the governments financial assets were eliminated. US dollars were now worthless and no one wanted them anyway save a few crazed collectors. The estimated value of the government's fiat "wealth" was distributed evenly as a custom-made cryptocurrency used only for a bidding program. Think basic income on steroids but only for auctions. During the revolution a group of anonymous programmers released an open source crowdfunded bidding program. Its purpose was to facilitate the fair division of government goods should they win the war. Google was behind an add-on app that utilized their google glasses to further optimize this endeavor. The asset allocation began a month after the US government was officially disbanded. This was to allow people to collaborate and plan out what they needed to buy. This also allowed the people occupying government facilities (mostly militia members and former soldiers) time to use the bidding program and google glasses to document as many goods as possible. They had more incentive to stay there than merely being nice. Google was providing free google glasses to the volunteers, IBM was providing free tech support and database maintenance, and every corporate fast food chain from Arby's to Zaxby's were providing people with more food than they could eat. Various oil, car, and delivery companies handled the transport. The heads of corporations figured they needed to start bribing everyone instead of just politicians. They saw what the people could do. The whole world saw. The men at the top of large centralized organizations, government or otherwise, all over the world were quaking in their boots. The newly nationless people seemed to know what they were doing and for the first time in history there was a several month period with no one was rushing to fill the power vacuum.

People working at auction sites walked around with google goggles pre-installed with auction software. The volunteers would pick things up, examine them, take a picture, and voice-to-text description was added automatically to the humongous auction database. People would bid and, if workers were feeling honest, the item would eventually reach its destination. Most of the stuff was junk though and not even worth selling. Old computers, shitty cars, reams of paper. The really interesting auctions were for tanks and huge mansions, stuff you couldn't steal easily anyway. Small neighborhoods bought tanks. Individuals bought mystery designer drugs. A gigantic organization with massive support bought almost all the weapons of mass destruction so they could be safely dismantled and disposed of. All in all the auctioning went pretty smoothly. Only about a fifth of the stuff didn't get to where it was supposed to go, not counting the huge amount that was outright stolen.

Not knowing what else to use everyone just started paying for things in tiny amounts of bitcoin which fortunately had the side effect of stabilizing it considerably. The barter system made a serious comeback as well. People who worked for smaller now defunct companies (or the government) looked for new work and unless your local grocer was a complete asshole you were given a grace period on your food purchases. Some people died of starvation and remained corpses in their apartments. People who drove trucks and worked factories for corporations on the other side of the world did what they always did except now their paycheck was in bitcoin. The people who took care of public facilities had formed unions and people had to pay to use their services. Many got along fine without paying them, or garbagemen or teachers or cops, they just did the work themselves. Some people started forming grassroots communities using ORACLE as their guide. Most people liked having their own little sovereign state inside their home and those that didn't preferred to experiment with new constitutions. Thousands of small communes with their own "governments" (ie: a list of rules written on a digital wall) sprang up.

The militias generally stayed in place after the dissolution. Many others just bought out former police and military and spec-ops agents with their "pseudo-wealth" from the redistribution. People were safe for the most part. Despite the stubbornly dwindling ranks of the raiders, for a couple months after redistribution everything was okay. For a single beautiful summer the innocent unity the people desired kept the power vacuum from collapsing in upon itself. The first landlord who violently demanded tribute for rent changed this. This sparked the Real Estate Wars. Somehow, it was far more savage than the brutal American Fall. Those neighborhoods with the foresight to acquire tanks and military equipment held their ground easily. Other communities were not as lucky. Now that there were no legal system or even laws (the global ORACLE rule list remained empty for the entirity of its existence) the only two ways to resolve disputes were contracts, and failing that, violence. Because landlords used contracts and typically had enough resources to hire enforcers, they had once again become actual lords free to extort their leasers however they pleased. No threats of state violence to stop them, only the guns of militiamen. Even though eventually everyone was dragged into the fracas, not many landlords were unreasonable about their rent. Empathy didn't suddenly vanish along with the US government. The problem was neither did greed and self-preservation.

It worked like this. All the more greedy landlords quickly formed several alliances so each region (west coast, southwest, middle, midwest, northeast, southeast, hawaii, and texas) of the former US was intended to be ruled by an oligarchy. Using their aggregated and partially stolen assets each lord alliance began amassing vast militaries, conquering lords who were unprepared to fight for their property, and making unreasonable demands of their tenants. This only really went smoothly in Hawaii. Everywhere else saw some degree of resistance. To make matters more complicated, lord alliances in one region started attacking other regions' lord alliances. They saw it as playing Risk in real life.

The west coast kept to itself. They had the most tenacious communities, corporations, and individuals so it was all the lords there could do to merely prevent their assets from being seized. The southwest, southeast, and Texas all generally could afford to push north. This worked for a while but it was soon realized they spread themselves too thin and they collapsed. Many folks in the northern states who couldn't hack it against the approaching armies from everywhere infiltrated Canada where a government still existed but more importantly was full of easily seizable empty space. Empty homes meant less power for the lords of the north.

The entire former country was wracked with creatively bloody skirmishes and sabotages between thousands of warring factions for the next two years. Not just lords anymore either. A group that referred to itself as the tenants cropped up in reaction to the lords. They tried using the same strategies used against the US government but ultimately never succeeded. On top of that raiders and old-fashioned organized gangs became a growing problem. After living through dissolution though many were unfazed by this. The youngest had grown up in a post 9/11 world of magic and fear while the oldest suspected this kind of thing was coming for a long time. The actual people fighting were a relatively small portion of the total populace. Like in all war-torn places most people simply got on with their lives. Sure some were afraid to leave the house but the likelihood of cancer or getting hit by a car was still higher than being shot. Rather than a fixed value, rent became tribute you paid whenever a lord's army was in town. The lord alliances figured drawing lines in the sand was more important than turning their tenants to peasants.

And again, this became the new normal. Gunshot wounds were frequent, but the doctors (who remained) were cheap. People gradually shifted away from supermarkets and turned to the more reliable local militia or lord or tenant or gang protected farms to get groceries, but anyone who's not already part of the appropriate group gets told to eat dirt. The people of the free land were simultaneously closer together and farther apart than they had ever been before. The collapse of the American government barely affected the rest of the world. Other countries merely observed the grand experiment of the American Fall, as they did during Arab Spring. Corporations barely changed their business model at first and as long as trade continued no one really cared what the countryless people did. In fact, the huge drop in exports from formerly American companies increased the value of every other country's exports.

First of all, this kind of thing was too radical for the vast majority of Europeans. Throughout Eurasia, attempted uprisings were getting squashed by new EU unified military, headed by German military forces and mainly comprised of ex-American ex-pats. Alaska voluntarily became part of Canada, fearing what was witnessed in the lower 48. Canada catered whenever it could to the EU for the same reason. Canada was forced to create a border wall that could barely hold back all the refugees and malicious forces. Suicide refugees made sure of that. The Mexican cartels for some reason chose to focus on raping their native land rather than pushing up through the heavily armed, Mexican-hating southern portion of the land north of them. Some countries in South America and Africa decided to eliminate all central authority. Of course, by that time those places already had an anarchy so virile and pure that there were no longer centrally controlled military forces in the world powerful enough to bring order anyway. The Middle East was the same hellhole powderkeg with the occasional oasis of wealth it always was. America no longer existing had strong enough economic repercussions on the rest of Asia to put most countries into a recession. All except one.

Japan, Taiwan, and recently reunified Korea quite reasonably assumed WWIII would occur to fill the power vacuum left by America and to protect themselves they all unified into a new nation, Dan-ilseong. There was a certain untapped synergy hiding in those three islands. Former North Korea created such a powerful military with so few resources, the CIA had to create a propaganda campaign against it. Combined with the technology and resources of the other three, Dan-ilseong created the most advanced military the world had ever seen in a matter of years. Just in time for a war that would never come. No one considered this a waste however. With America out of the picture and the EU spreading itself too thin, Dan-ilseong had become the new world superpower without so much as dropping a single nuke. Then, they pulled a move so unbelieveable, so shocking, they stunned the world: they didn't start throwing their weight around. One disadvantage to having a really high-tech military and a government that understands how to balance a budget is that you can't just go around frivolously invading countries. Besides, when everyone wants what you have, winning trade wars is like shooting fish in a barrel.

After over two centuries of championing the ever nebulous "freedom", it came time for the Land of the Free to put its money where its mouth is. America was over.

He only had one shell left and he couldn't afford to waste it on the door. A tall thin man easily kicked the cabin door in after blasting away the area around the lock.

The scrawny white guy launched a fist at the even bigger white guy's beard. It went about as well as an uppercut could go. The victim was actually lifted off the ground a bit despite weighing well over 250 pounds.

If you didn't know the context you might be under the impression that this was all in good fun or a drunken mistake at worst. Wrong. This is months of aggression coming to a head. How did we get here? It all seemed perfect on paper. After dissolution the two young men, best buddies at the time, got some supplies and a small band of twenty-somethings and teenagers together in order to buy a secluded 2 acre patch of a national forest during the Great Auction. One year ago...

"I've been waiting for this my whole life," the lean glasses-wearer said as they pulled up in their caravan of RVs and Uhauls.

"It's not gonna be a breeze man," the muscular guy said removing his sunglasses. "The RVs were a good idea though. And I've been meaning to ask since before we left: where'd you get a satellite?"

"It's actually just a regular TV dish. There's a way to modify it that should allow us internet access! I got all the tools and printed documentation in my trunk."

"Good fucking call dawg! We're gonna need it once people start showing up. I hope there's gonna be enough space. And shit, I hope they don't for the sake of this beautiful ratio," he looked at a gaggle of women. Fun fact: there were exactly 1.6 times as many women as men, at first.

The skinny guy pushed up his glasses. "Heh, who even know if we'll get that many visitors. I'm sure now that the US is toast there's gonna be autonomous anarchist communes popping up everywhere."

"We'll be the best though. Cause we got ORACLE." He patted the heavy-duty block of processors and plastic inside his vehicle then turned to his friend. "You don't think the democracy feature is going to cause problems, do you?"

"No way. Math allows us to determine the objective best allocation of resources. I'm more worried about our poor excuse for a constitution..."

"Hah are you kidding? It only has one rule on it: you can't use violence to coerce others. The nonaggression principle. Everyone can agree on that anyway. It's just more consistent to formalize it. Less room for misinterpretation. We'll be fine John."

John nodded. It was high noon in the middle of the forest but the two men and the dozen or so male friends they brought with them immediately were hard at work determining the best arrangement of trailers, tens, and pop-up campers. They didn't need to consult the ORACLE for every little decision of course, although this was the first thing on ORACLE's commune initialization task list. Luckily some things were just common sense. After a few gallons of water were extracted from the river the two dozen females had set up the social hierarchy. The men settled on a circular arrangement for now and the women chose the hottest among them over age 18 to be the alpha female. A couple guys made a bonfire in the middle of the circle and everyone passed around the whiskey that was brought. This is when round two of the female hierarchy negotiation was carried out. Five guys including the two leaders of this venture received two mates each. Eight received one. The remaining two men received no female partner, leaving 7 girls mateless. There weren't any homosexuals at first, surprisingly. Those not having sex the first night didn't seem too broken up about it, and they were all under age 17 anyway, so you don't have to feel too sorry for them in the first place. In fact, feel sorry for one of the guys who got two girls and two of the guys who got one: they had whiskey dick that night.

The next day the men wasted no time completing the commune initialization tasks available on ORACLE. That was probably mostly cause the sun and birds woke them up, but nevertheless, they fought through their hangovers to set up a still and a slightly more high-tech water collection/purification device. They tried to get the women to begin preparing the land for farming but after realizing that would require cutting down trees, the women all changed their assigned job to kindling gathering.

As the device was being set up, one of the younger men had an idea. "What if we diverted some of the river water to an artificial pond? We need somewhere to wash with soap that is separate from our drinking water."

Auron (his parents were new age hippies) pushed up his glasses before responding. "Good idea man. We don't quite have the tools necessary but you're welcome to try."

One of the teenage boys piped up. "Shouldn't we just stick with what ORACLE says for now?"

Another agreed with him. "Yeah bro, just setting this up has been a bitch and a half."

So the young man asked the rest of the group to help him dig a ditch with shovels but no one else did. He gave up on his idea for good at the end of the day. Fortunately his idea wasn't necessary for a healthy village. People ended up walking downstream from the collector to wash their clothes and dishes. There's some things people will just adjust to. You see, Auron knew this guy would fail and that other men wouldn't be willing to help is the two leaders weren't participating. These people were by definition followers. Otherwise they'd go start their own communes. While the rugged hardware their ORACLE ran on was purchased during the government auction, ORACLE was an open-source program anyone could download and use to streamline running a communo-anarchist commune. These kids followed Auron and John here so they were the de facto leaders. Anarchy meant no laws, but it didn't mean no hierarchy.

It was time for dinner. Everyone had agreed beforehand to begin rationing their food after reading ORACLE's suggestion. They happily munched on sandwiches and peanuts, simple high calorie food. There was no alcohol to drink tonight.

Perhaps it was the sobriety, perhaps it was the hard day's work, but either way the sex was more raucous and violent than the previous night. Less love-making, more property-taking. The girls that didn't pair up the night before sought out cock. The guys that didn't pair up the night before jacked off and went to sleep in their vans or tents. Everyone was content.

The next morning however, it became apparent that someone submitted an anonymous new proposal via ORACLE. ORACLE wasn't merely a vast store of survival data, a resource allocation tool, and project manager, it also functioned as a sort of democratic tool by altering ORACLE's constitution. If someone had an idea for how to improve the commune they could anonymously submit it via the app and every member could vote on whether or not they wanted to do it. This was versatile enough to change how ORACLE itself functioned to the point where it's essentially an object oriented programming language. You can think of all the features on ORACLE as programs loaded into RAM and the democratic tool that edits these in real time. Programming a new society by committee. Here's how the very first anonymous proposal read:

'USER::Anonymous PROPOSAL::RedistributeMeansOfReproduction DEFINE RESOURCE:Pussy AS USER:Gender:Female-Hotness:INTEGER DEFINE Pussy:ALLOCATION EACH USER:Gender:Male GETS 1 Pussy/USER:Gender:Male:EffortInput THRESHOLD::1/20'

Everyone learned about this first thing in the morning when Charlotte, the late 20s demure woman near the top of the hierarchy, woke everyone up. To her, this was unforgivable and the person who created this proposal needed to be found out. Most of the men were trying to stifle their laughs. None of the commune members had trouble reading this because they all were required to pass a thorough exam in ORACLE usage and even pledge their loyalty to it before being allowed to join the group. In case you can't understand it, it's basically proposing that the second amendment to the constitution is treat women like property and distribute them equally to each male according to his ability. In a nutshell, sexual communism.

"I'm literally shaking right now." Charlotte was.

None of the men had the courage to respond to this. Just below the surface every single one of them, even the ones who got laid, saw where this anonymous legislator was coming from. The past two days were all the evidence they needed. If any of them tried to openly defend it they'd likely be ostracized. John was well aware of this but took the risk anyway. Someone had to be the leader around here after all, and that meant doing the things no one else wants to.

Every bit of his body language screams defense. "Look, I don't like this either, and I sure as fuck didn't post it myself. But there's nothing to worry about because it will never get above the threshold number of votes. We have to respect the proposer's right to remain anonymous."

Charlotte snaps back: "I don't see that right anywhere in our consitution."

A lightning bolt of realization paralyzes the entire crowd.

An energetic teenage boy with scruffy hair cuts into the conversation: "Holy shit guys we have to fix that!"

Charlotte glowers at him. "It was you, wasn't it Kerry? I b-"

"No fucking way! I love women! I was the co-president of my feminist student union before the war!"

One of the lower rank girls creeps to his defense. "H-he's not a bad guy. I don't think Kerry would do something like this."

"Aren't you two cute?" Charlotte says as she flips her hair in that bitchy way. You know what I'm talking about. She's THAT type of person.

John holds out his hands. "Enough! I'm creating the proposal for the right to anonymity right now and we'll continute this after it's voted on."

Charlotte is fuming. "You can't just boss us around like that! I took an oath to only obey ORACLE."

"Fine! Do what you want. I'm gonna go draft this right now." He walked back to his trailer to do so. Here's what he came up with:

'USER::JohnGunderson PROPOSAL::RightToAnonymity DEFINE USER:Name-CONTROL:Anonymous:BOOLEAN DEFINE IF USER:Name:CONTROL:Anonymous:TRUE THEN USER:Name:VIEW = Anonymous DEFINE IF USER:Name:CONTROL:Anonymous:FALSE THEN USER:Name:VIEW = USER:Name NOTES::This adds a new CONTROL to USER:Name's, a BOOLEAN for whether or not they wish to be anonymous. If that new control is toggled to TRUE, their name will be hidden, if its toggled to false there namell be displayed everywhere in the system normally. THRESHOLD::1/20'

John walked back into the crowd now in heated argument and clapped the imaginary dirt off his hands as a means of getting attention. "Okay come on guys, go and vote for it."

"I'm not voting for this." Charlotte's assertion was met with nods of aggreement by the now sizable portion of men and women standing with her. She had about a dozen women a couple men so all it'd take is a few of the people on the fence to abstain from voting and John's legislation wouldn't get passed.

"I can't make you do anything but," John checked the ORACLE app on his phone, "...it looks like we're already halfway there and it's only been a couple minutes."

At first she's pissed at his nonchalance, but then a smirk creeps across her face. "Hold on, we're going to propose some amendments real quick. Be congenial and go on and vote those through now, okay?"

He folds his arms. "I'll do what I want." Charlotte doesn't even bother getting a keyboard, she whips out her phone and adds her edits using the somewhat clunky voice-to-text system. She does it all in one try though which should be impressive to you and was certainly impressive to the rest of the commune. Here's how it read:

'USER::CharlotteEverlily PROPOSAL::AmendJohnsProposal EDIT RightToAnonymity ADDLINE DELETE RestributeTheMeansOfReproduction:USER NOTES::Sorry sweetie ;) THRESHOLD::1/20'

Just because the person who drafted the sex communism legislation renamed himself to Anonymous, that didn't mean his actual account information was tied to it. It was buried in an encrypted database, but could easily be retrieved by calling for the USER of the RedistributeTheMeansOfReproduction PROPOSAL. The THRESHOLD for this EDIT wouldn't change because they had yet to create any laws mediating voting besides the default of a simple majority. You can probably figure out what DELETE means on your own. That user gets deleted from the database and exiled from the physical commune. At the time, it was the most severe punishment that existed. Charlotte tacked this clause on as a rider to either force John to acquiesce or punish the person she wanted.

John looks around, already weary at 9AM. "I'm sorry to whom I'm about to fuck over. You should've figured something like this would happen though, right?" He clicks the vote button for Charlotte's legislation. Within seconds there's a chorus of notification sounds. As expected, the perpetrator was the creepiest looking guy there. I'm sure he felt ashamed and worried about his next move, but at least he still had his truck. As he drove away Charlotte led a little cheer.

Before now, nobody really planned on using ORACLE for much other than resource distribution. But this debacle awakened something in each and every citizen. The lust for power.

This is at odds with the lust for sex. At the behest of Charlotte the women go on a unanimous sex strike. Any stragglers are branded traitors by the other women. The men retaliate by going on a nearly unanimous work strike. The women retaliate by also going on a unanimous work strike. They have water and electricity already, these strikes will certainly be over by the time their tents/vehicles degrade, and while the lack of proper sanitation facilities is more or less a female-only problem, everyone will have to have to drive into town get food other than fish anyway. Plus a couple guys are working on implementing the farm.

Most of the men, well, they're used to sex strikes. The alpha males are the only ones who actually suffer. At first they try to keep sane with constant masturbation, but alas, they realize it was the validation they sought all along, not orgasms. So the two leaders end up doing all the work by themselves. The way they stay sane working is by making small-talk.

"This should would go a lot faster with more people," John says to no one in particular, albeit in earshot of a cluster of guys playing some AR game with their phones.

Auron finishes chopping down a small tree just in time to respond. "Don't worry about it. None of the tasks we need to do to create the farm requires more than one person. And we have all the time in the world!" He glances at his dirty, calloused, farmhand hands. "I guess there's pretty much no proposal we could pass to make things a little fairer."

John places his axe on the ground like a walking cane and glances towards the gamers. "What could you propose anyway? Without a steady supply of food, our commune is done for."

"You're right. Speaking of food, I think we earned a break. Let's go to McDonalds." They head toward John's truck and begin their bi-weekly 50 minute commute to McDonalds. Auron continues. "Doesn't it bug you though? I dunno. It doesn't sit right with me."

"Careful! You're sounding dangerously close to a capitalist."

Auron shifts uneasily in his seat. "We can all agree that capitalism is pretty terrible in the late-stage. But even Marx agreed that capitalism is a necessary period all societies go through. Even monkeys use currency."

"...yeah."

"Whatever, I don't really care about politics and I know you don't either. All I want is to live my life without assholes."

John nods. "It's only our sixth day here and I'd bet everyone is still on edge because the Collapse was barely a month ago. We're still in the adjustment period. We went from a couple dozen random people to an extended family overnight."

Auron still doesn't look satisfied and checks his phone for the time, but also answers. He finds another ORACLE proposal notification.

'USER::Anonymous PROPOSAL::SexProtection DEFINE RULE:Sex_strike_rule DEFINE IF USER:Name-CONTROL:DeferredVote: AND USER:Name-ACTION:Voting THEN USER:Name = Anony NOTES::Anyone caught having sex during a sex strike will be deleted from commune THRESHOLD::20/20'

He explains it to John who then asks, "What the hell? How'd this get passed?"

The answer hits both of them a split-second later. Bribes. While John and Auron didn't possess anything valuable enough to get people to vote against their interests, the women did. They only needed a handful of turncoat men in addition to their ranks to meet the threshold. And John's Anonymous proposal made it so those men couldn't be identified. Even if they were there'd be no way to prove they didn't earnestly change their minds. However, they can at least make bribery more difficult to pull off. So Auron typed up this proposal and submits it right before they leave ORACLE's intranet radius:

'USER::Auron Norwood PROPOSAL::AntiBribeMeasure DEFINE PROPOSAL:VotingPeriod AS 3600 SECONDS DEFINE IF CURRENT:TIMESTAMP - PROPOSAL:TIMESTAMP > PROPOSAL:VotingPeriod THEN PROPOSAL:Passed = FALSE DEFINE DEFINE NOTES::Adds a property to all proposals that limits the voting period to one hour, limits user to creating one proposal per day, and increases the voting threshold to a supermajority of 66%'

John and Auron initially chose this mountainous forested area for their commune because it's 40 miles from the nearest hiccups of what passes for civilization these days. Even back when everything was normal the small town they quickly approached wasn't much to look at and comparably dangerous. As they pull into the shopping center complex, John remarks how that little McDonalds building in the corner is now the focal point of the whole shebang. After topping up their tank at McDonalds' complementary gas station they park and go inside.

They both hate it, but after the Collapse they were one of the few reliable places to get food that remained open. Supermarkets were either raided and abandoned or converted into members-only militia rations distribution centers. Any restaurant with less resources than the international powerhouse wasn't financially sound. McDonalds is the only megacorp that can afford to experiment with a barter system and corporate scavengers. If John and Auron run out of bitcoin before their commune is self-sustaining, that's always an option. The walls are plastered with advertisements for the corporate scavenger program and the seats are packed with families relishing the comfort that comes with not being responsible for your own defense against criminals. It'll be back to whatever gang-ruled slum for them before too long though. Barely different from a feudal system. As the leaders haul back their sacks of corporately scavenged non-perishable food they resolve to seek out new commune members once things settle down there.

Later that evening back at the commune, Auron receives an ORACLE notification. Some of the women must have not liked the idea of bribery either because after only 6 hours, the AntiBribeMeasure passed. Yet a relatively uneventful week later, it was already rendered impotent. One of the members who went by Quinn concocted a fundamental system restructure via this proposal:

'USER::Quinn Parker PROPOSAL::RotatingDictator

NOTES::Every week the only applicable laws are whatever the randomly selected dictator says. It's random selection without replacement, so every member will be dictator once before anyone is dictator a second time. Also we need a seed for the RNG and I'm putting forth myself as the initial seed/dictator'

For some primal reason, no one considers the task of acquiring firewood and starting a fire to be 'work'. This provides a perfect venue to discuss this new proposal.

Auron is in rare form. Visibly pissed off, but the tone of his words is dripping with venom too. "What the fuck is this dictator bullshit?!"

Charlotte is the first to provide her input. "I think it's a fair system. It might not be perfect, but not a single proposal ever will be."

One of the men sort of backed her up but mostly insulted her. "Not only that, it will be far easier to weed out anyone who causes problems."

A bookwormy girl finally spoke up in one of these public debates. "We shouldn't have to join an organization within the commune to get anything done. Not having those intraorganizational politics was one of the biggest reasons I joined here."

A smattering of approval from both women and men.

Some guy in the back chimes in. "Like, it's also wayyy simpler."

Auron's at a loss for words. Not John though. "You're certainly entitled to use the ORACLE system this way, but how do you account for people who disobey the dictator?"

The mastermind himself responds. "Same as anyone who disobeys the ORACLE. Forcible removal unless enough people can't be mustered to actually do that."

"What if I break a dictator's rule, and next week it's no longer against the rules?"

Quinn can no longer hide his smugness. "I thought you were supposed to be certified in ORACLE? It's clearly stated that the only rule which is actually recognized is obeying the dictator. Who that dictator is at the time is irrelevant." The way the flames play on his face make him somehow smugger. "Oh yeah, and the dictator can pardon people."

Auron looks right at him as he clutches an imaginary neck. "Are you fucking kidding me? Did you all skip theory day in the course? We need to undo this mistake NOW."

Quinn with the practiced, over-emphasized shrug and a beaming smile. "Sorry tough guy. Gotta wait your turn!"

Then Auron locks eyes with John, in a reflexive attempt to telepathically communicate what he's about to say. John doesn't pick up on it before he says it. "Fuck this, keep ORACLE. I'm making my own, adjacent commune and all the farmland and the water filter are mine." He draws his gun as a threat but doesn't point to anyone specific.

Before John can do anything close to damage control, Quinn says, "You're banned indefinitely while I'm dictator."

Causing almost no one in the crowd to flinch, Auron yells and empties his clip into the air. Then he addresses the crowd. "Mark my words, this is how the dream dies." He levels the empty pistol at Quinn. "You've doomed us all to being either corporate slaves, feudal serfs, or dead. This could've been paradise, man." As he sulks off, a sudden breeze carries whispers of "unstable" and "power-hungry" to his ears. No one, not even John, hears from him for several months.

The interim period has its lows and high, but overall Quinn's "every dog has its day" governing philosophy is considered a success. Other than deleting people, there wasn't a whole lot of power to abuse. Typically power is abused to maintain or increase power. That's irrelevant after your week's up. No one in the group is very sadistic either. The worst thing anyone did was command all women to draw straws and give pity or regular sex so every man who wanted to could get laid. Some women refused but the fact the majority of them didn't merely caused the refusers to be perceived as less empathetic. Compare this to after the very first day, when genetically determined cracks in the pure democratic default system started to show. Most agree that it would work far better in a city full of strangers. The rotating dictator system, now referred to as "rotator", is much more suited to tight-knit communities like a commune. Moreso when every member is intelligent and roughly on the same page about life. It wasn't ideal for everyone of course. The people with the most clout, like John and Charlotte, realized how much less control they had in the rotator system.

Charlotte actually turned so against the rotator system, she founded the "votators", likely a result of her pillow talk with John. Oh yeah by the way, they're dating now. Votators simply want to return to the default system. Unfortunately the only official way to accomplish that is eliminating yourself from the pool of potential dictators. Once everyone opts out, ORACLE basically reverts back to default. John used his natural leadership skills as a weapon by witholding them. After his successful-by-every-measure dictatorship week, he announced that he's opting out, which impacted a few people enough to opt out too in an act of solidarity. Well, also because they did not want that responsibility in the first place nor want to be the first to opt out. Charlotte stayed opted in, pledging to only be dictator once.

Auron had a rougher couple of months. To him the commune was an all or nothing kind of deal. Everyone in his life told him to quit the idealistic bullshit which did little save strengthen his resolve. The rest of his friends and family either made it to Canada or died trying. Not that there was any way to contact anyone now. While GPS still worked, all forms of telecommunication were down coast to coast, let alone letter delivery. He swallowed his pride and got a job at McDonalds as a corporate scavenger. It was at least a smaller swallow than crawling back to the commune.

McDonalds provided food, bitcoin, bathrooms, gas, and weapons, but more importantly, his job provided some semblance of a social network. He had a squad of guys with guns watching his back during the day, even if they went back to their individual camps or houses in the slums in undisclosed locations every night. Corporate scavenging is a commission-based job. Squads receive in proportion to the usefulness of what they bring in. Never takes long for someone to suggest taking from the living rather than the dead. You think McDonalds gives a shit? Half these guys have families to provide for and, as dangerous as it is, corporate scavenging is still less dangerous than joining the constantly warring militias or gangs. Auron's not really a crack shot, yet the good head on his shoulders constantly brings his squad good fortune. With time he grows emboldened enough to hatch an idea. You probably saw this coming a mile away, so let's just skip ahead to the part that doesn't go quite how you'd expect.

Auron jumps out of the truck and is out for blood. He kicks open the door of some cabin coming face-to-face with none other than John. He throws his uppercut. Then he receives a deluge of messages John had sent months ago, enough to give Auron pause, so he reads them. Then Auron comes up with a new plan which he discusses with his former and current friend. His squadmates listened to him when he calls for a ceasefire, and even though John wasn't dictator the commune members respect his shouts as well. Both parties come out of cover with their guns lowered. Auron explains the situation here, and that if they want, they can move here with their families. No more corporate scavenging. They go for it, and by nightfall there are 60 people camping in the half-finished plot of land.

Much to Charlotte's dismay, John stops talking to her except to schedule fuck sessions when Auron returns to stay. This week's dictator is pretty laid-back so she has nothing but time and ire. Thats all she needs to convert some of her votators into cotators, who want a council of women who get elected every week to make the rules. Its unclear how theyd accomplish this as they all took their names out of the rotator pool. Auron picks up the remains of the votators. People who consider themselves rotator proponents are actually out-numbered by the corporate scavs at this point even though its still thr system in use. The scavs, grateful to live here stay out of it the best they can, but that doeant stop a significant chunk of the initial communers from wanting them out. And another chunk counters that by taking food to their auxillary camp less than a mile away and reinstating them as members as soon as one becomes dictator. And some scavs choose to stay in the auxiliary camp and invite more people. And on. Until every member is an island at the center of a venn diagram of countless organizations and alliances.

Who's to say whether ORACLE helped or hindered this bootstrap community? It wasnt used how its creators intended but maybe all people need is some abstract authority to organize under. In the end, however, its still just a box that stores information. It might as well have been a stone slab for what led to the downfall of their little village: a forest fire.

America was over and Janet's dad wanted to profit. No reason to feel bad he'd tell her. It'd be fun, he'd tell her. Her dad got her to go to wealthy-looking, well-defended strangers' houses. Nothing overly ambitious. Lazy tenants. The odd GDI. They even took out another father-daughter raider team once. Never anything close to a Lord. The way it worked is she'd tell them how a militiaman killed her mom and her dad killed a lot of people and she killed him and she can't go to the police because there are no police and the militias will kill me and I need to hide somewhere and just let me sleep here for one night. Technically, the only lie in her sob story was that she killed her dad. She let her dad in at night and every night he stole everything of value the homeowner had, only killing them if he had to.

Of course, because she was a reasonably attractive teenage girl, there was always that pesky unspoken implication that she'd fuck whoever let her inside. Janet mostly did the pure damsel in distress routine, but occasionally her dad did let her fuck someone. So the next time a mark seemed susceptible to her feminine wiles he'd let her do it. She loved doing it. She was a teenage girl after all. And doing it to help her dad made her feel like an untethered little slut and daddy's little angel at the same time. Luckily the men she wanted to fuck oftentimes turned out to be the most susceptible marks for a slutty teenage girl as well as ideal targets for her dad.

She helped do the stealing sometimes but typically the kind of technique she used to gain trust forced her to stay with the mark except to disable whatever security measures were in place. Some times she stayed with her marks a few hours. Some times a few days. Her dad never failed to kidnap her back every night safe as could be. His strikes were surgical. The post-war Great Redistribution was kind to Janet's dad. Or rather Janet's dad took kindly to the Great Redistribution. He spent all he could on military tech and stole more, wanting to keep Janet safe from the savage anarchy everyone with half a brain knew would come. All of the tech he bought was one-man special forces stuff. He trained diligently too. Nothing is as powerful a motivator as protecting one's own daughter.

That bright and windy night it began their target was a dingy shack in the woods next to a mall-turned-enclave. Janet's dad only wanted to hit this place because he thought he could get away with actually seizing the shack itself, instead of merely robbing the contents within. He was trying to become a small-time Lord instead of a mere raider. He wanted to go legit he told her. It was for her. He loved her. He told her. Lords being, "More legit," as her dad put it, outsourced the work they couldn't or wouldn't do by hand themselves work to raiders, militias, even corporations. All of Janet's dad's raids were purely about getting supplies and getting away. This was the first one where her dad killed someone specifically to become a Lord himself by taking land property like the Lords of olde did.

Lords were the landowners, the royalty, and for most people, the new government. Real estate owners pooled together their resources in certain housing districts to drive up rent prices. Renters went along with this unfortunate situation for the same reason indigenous people honored the deeds and currencies and debts imposed on them by European settlers back when America was founded: threats of violence. While the tension ran high between Lords who each wanted to manifest their destiny all over neighboring Lordships, for the most part, they didn't steal land from each other by virtue of a complex system of alliances. They mostly increased their territory by stealing from GDI's, God Damn Independents, landowners who only owned the property they lived on. Homesteaders. Technically, they were small-time Lords, choosing to not play the game as long as they could stand. Mostly you saw these guys out in the boondocks but you'd frequently see them in mansion enclaves with advanced security in the very rich parts of cities too.

This GDI was an anomaly. It was right on the margin of a bustling hypermall enclave albeit within smelling distance of that same enclave's waste. Janet snuck out of bed, defused the alarm system, and let her dad in just like always. It was her dad who made the crucial mistake of killing the owner of the shack. The atypicalness of the whole situation made him curious enough to do a quick investigation via Raidchan, the imageboard for raiders. Turned out the mark was a Lord of the north, hiding in a worthless GDI residence due to a PR debacle. This was a rather highly publicized event but until now, he was assumed to be hiding in his fortress. And now he was dead.

No one really wanted him alive but this man surely at least paid for protection and an astronomical bounty on the murderers surely would be posted. Janet picked up the corpse's phone to confirm his identity. He was indeed Connell Zimmerman: the flamboyant young Lord who went into hiding after saying some very incriminating things while killing a sexy yet disabled tenant on camera. Even though he didn't actually say anything about the reality of modern life people didnt already assume, it created a perfect shitstorm of bad PR that was likely exacerbated by his allies. The alliances were only for military aggression after all. Passive-aggression was fair game.

Useful idiots were as powerful a force as ever and Janet's dad knew that. Before the war he was a top information security analyst. That's pretty much how he came up with the whole scheme utilizing his daughter; he knew user error was always an easy way around 100% of the security in even the most highly militarized enclaves. It's also why he assumed that this formerly powerful figure had a biometric check-in failsafe that'd alert his personnel should he be killed and a couple microcamera implants. They'd be screwed even if his corpse wasn't covered in Janet's DNA.

"Fuck you you idiot!" she screamed as she handed the phone to her dad who swiftly snapped in two.

"Let's go. We're not in trouble."

She let him know how true she thought that was with a middle finger. Janet's dad cleaned his blade and started walking without giving her a second glance. She followed. They ran out the still opened sliding glass door that led to the back porch.

"OMG! OMG! What are we gonna do daddy? What's the plan?"

"Don't worry about it." They continued to a camera blindspot in silence. The air was practically crackling as adrenaline churned his brain to come up with a solution. Then he stopped only to say, "No...wait, I got it!" He started forward again.

"What?"

"We join the 'Ants."

"The Tenants?"

Her father failed to answer the question but Janet wasn't unsure of who her dad referred to. The Tenants were the group of rebel tenants starting to demand the houses they rented from the Lords and the meat behind Zimmerman's PR problems. She continued.

"But, daddy, you said yourself they're gonna get destroyed." Like dads of any time period, Janet's dad enjoyed ranting about groups he had little to no contact with. He considered the Ants little more than a fad. In this new world it simply wasn't pragmatic to take on the Lords. Judging from the quality of their official website they certainly didn't look like they could take on any of the Lordships anyway.

Janet's dad remotely activated his smart car and it drove to a discreet location to pick them up. He didn't show it but she could tell, her dad was grinning internally. He was getting seriously crazy, but then again, so was life. She wasn't in the mood to fight about this now. He wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. He turned control on manual, turned off all data access, and they proceeded down a highway in search of a place to camp.

Once they off-roaded sufficiently far and made a campfire, they immediately confirmed the fact they had a bounty on darknet. Maybe the guy didn't have microcameras because Janet was the only person on the list. Zimmerman's family must have really cared about him because her bounty was ownership of the entire Michigan peninsula and enough technology and bitcoin to actually have a shot at defending it. Becoming a Lord just by killing one person was a dream come true for Janet's dad. Too bad his daughter was the bountyhead in question. Janet tried to give her dad a command: "It's, like, you can't join the Tenants if that's what you're thinking."

He shot her a simultaneously kind and icy-cold smile. "Honey, don't worry about daddy. I've taken good care of us so far, right?"

Janet looked down and tried to reply: "I trust you daddy it's just..." She broke down in tears that quickly turned into open sobs. He held her as he explained, "The Ants are the only people in the country not out to get us right now. And besides, I have an idea. We sabotage them, keep them on a treadmill, all the while staying safe-ish from bounty hunters til we make it to Detroit. It's the only way into Canada these days."

She seemed to be trying to fall asleep in his arms. "Sweetie, you're too old for this. We have a big day tomorrow so we need proper sleep and I need some alone time to work out the details." She begrudgingly got up went to sleep in the armored car.

Janet awoke to the smell of cooked flesh and her smiling father.

"I went hunting last night! Feeling better sugar-pie?"

"Yes!" she replied more cheerfully than she was expecting. "Like, I'm totes sorry I cried last night but-"

"It's okayyy baby. I get how stressful this life can be. Heck, even before the war life was stressful. As long as you keep it contained until we're in a safe spot, it's fine. But no more of that today okay baby?"

"Um, okay dad. So like, what are we doing today?" He flashed that subtly psycho grin again. "I'm going to become a hero. I'll fill you in on the way."

Janet's dad set the coordinates for an isolated suburb and they sped off. Those supplementary gas tanks had really paid off. Last night he penetrated a darknet chatroom the Ants used to coordinate strikes. According to their intel the small-time Lord who owned the subdivision had just been usurped by a new rival. Not only was their defense was hurting, but the new Lord was technically a landless raider trying to break into Lordship. He didn't know what he was doing. Only Lords a tier or two above entry-level were threatened by this and even they weren't worried so long as the new Lords made the right alliances and paid their dues. The ones that didn't collapse in a couple weeks persisted for a long time granted that mini-Lord didn't get any more ambitious. A local Tenant had sent a message imploring the Ants to strike while the iron's hot. Most of the local tenants were unwilling to participate so this post was begging for help. Where did her dad fit into all this? He told her he was going to singlehandedly take out the new Lord before anyone showed up and give the land to the Tenants. He only needed Janet to do what she always does. He told her to get extra-gussied up due to the importance of the job. He ripped her dress in a precisely provocative way. She liked it.

Following standard operating procedure, he parked the car a sufficient distance from the target and she began wandering down the freeway to the suburb. She quickly was approached by armed, not-that-cute boys. They didn't draw their weapons but she threw up hands and got on her knees anyway. She knew what they liked by now.

"Don't shoot! Seriously! I need your help! I'll do anything..."

They looked at each other and one of them roughly grabbed her by her underarms as the other grabbed her by the feet. They carried her like a log. "Anything?" the one in front said as he clutched her tit with an ecstatic rapey expression. "We're gonna take you to the basement and fuck the shit out of you," the one in back said as he squeezed her ass. She wasn't scared so much as disgusted. It'd be one thing if two hot rich guys wanted to make love with her this aggressively, but these two beta peons just pissed her off.

"Fuck you!" she screamed at a loss for something cooler to say. She writhed around a little but stopped when she remembered they liked that.

"Heh keep going sweetie. The more you struggle the harder I get."

She tried screaming at the top of her lungs. "HELP! HELP MEEEEE! THEY'RE GONNA R-"

They dropped her to the ground and quickly pinned her down by sitting on her. The guy sitting on her chest smacked her a few times before gripping her throat so she couldn't make a sound and looking her in the eye. "You can scream all you want once we get you downstairs baby. If you scream out here again-" The guy pinning down her lower half lifted up her dress placed a sticky patch right on her inner thigh.

The guy on her chest, still holding her down, focused his eyes off her and started grumbling: "What did you just put on her? You fucking idiot."

"What? It's easier this way bro."

"Dude I'm not gonna have..."

She didn't catch the last part of his sentence as she drifted into a forceful sleep.

Janet woke bent over a barrel and chained to the floor. Oddly enough she seemed to still be clothed. Like they said, they appeared to have taken her to a basement.

There were 3 guys now, all naked. All quickly growing erect at her return to consciousness. At the fear in her eyes.

"Back the fuck off," she tried to say assertively. "I'll bite it off."

The new guy laughed. "No you won't. Unless your vagina and ass have teeth."

Involutarily, she gulped.

She struggled impotently as they potently rammed her full of cock. These low-value grunts were using her like a piece of meat. Usually she liked degrading sex but this was different. They mocked her gags and moans the whole time. When she started sobbing, they got even more violent. Eventually she stoped reacting at all. She was broken.

The three guys just left her there, dripping, and turned on the nearby TV as they smoked cigarettes. She wondered how much longer she'd have to live like this.

Not long. She heard an explosion from overhead and felt several bullets whiz by her now nude body. The guys tried to grab their guns but were shot before they could react. Her saviors presented themselves. Five rugged looking men with the initials 'IEN' branded on to their foreheads.

"You okay miss?" She was silent.

There he stood, Janet's dad, fully decked out in his gear beaming as he held the head of some guy about his age. Everyone was cheering. He looked like a hero. His facial expression flipped as he saw her. He jumped off the mansion's porch to embrace her.

"Janet baby! What happened? Did you get hurt?"

She was silent.

One of the men who rescued her piped up: "We found her chained up in a basement...nude, Mr. Rowe."

Her dad's expression went from bad to worse. "Oh no. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no." He squeezed her tightly then looked up to address the crowd.

"This. This is what absolute power causes people to do. This is why the Lords must be eliminated. We all deserve the right to live as equals. We are not slaves!" Still hugging her, he thrust up one fist, and everyone in the cul-de-sac followed suit. Even though the plan went awry, she knew this was the exact tableau her dad wanted. Loud cheers all around her. She was silent.

The small crowd walked past the fresh corpses and makeshift barricades into the bullet-ridden house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Everyone respected his refusal to let Janet out of his sight after he learned the full story, so no one criticized him for having her by his side later that night at the strategy meeting he suggested. Janet's dad had given the Ants their biggest win since Zimmerman disappeared. The Ants had even less training and resources that your run-of-the-mill militiaman. For a group of people sick of authority, they had no problem making Janet's dad the de facto leader, mostly cause he'd given them results. The head in the sack on the table was proof of that.

"We still want to make all decisions by committee! And you'll have to teach us your infiltration techniques," one the IEN guys said.

"Naturally, naturally. First things first: I'm a property acquisition contractor."

The faces of everyone in the room soured save Janet who was still wearing the blank look of traumatization. The big hairy guy spoke his mind. "So you're just another raider. Fuck off then Mr. Rowe. Thanks for helping us liberate our homes. Our homes. We have nothing to offer you anyway. Hit the road because I'd rather not kill you."

Janet's dad carefully relaxed his body language. "No no! I certainly don't wish to take anything from you. And don't get me wrong, we want to be part of this movement. Me and Janet are sick of living like this." He put an arm around Janet for emphasis. "We hate it. We see what you're doing and we see a way out, but only if you're truly committed to freeing the country from Lords."

"Of course we are."

"Then I have a very specific set of skills that can help us achieve that."

"Fair enough... So you're not a contractor? You're a freedom fighter just like us. Right?"

"I want to be, but here's the rub." Janet's dad audibly gulped as he took out his phone and brought up the bounty list with his daughter's picture on it. If he miscalculated the Ants' intentions, this would be their last mistake. "I can help you but because of this I need your help in protecting my daughter from bounty hunters. If you're truly committed to eradicating privately owned land, if you don't think this beautiful girl deserves your protection, then we have nothing more to discuss."

The bulky guy who had been speaking for the group looked up from the phone and loudly exclaimed to the group, "This says she killed Zimmerman." An explosion of gasps. "That's all you meant? I understand. Everyone else?" Nods and shouts of approval. "Sounds to me like you all are now Ants. I'm Bruno by the way."

After shaking Bruno's hand, Janet's dad hugged her empty husk and addressed the room, "I had a feeling you guys would understand. Now, we need to leave."

"Uh, excuse me?"

"Pack up your stuff, get in your cars, and burn down this neighborhood."

A mom took offense to this suggestion. "Is this some kind of joke? How dare you. These are our homes!"

"No joke. Another, stronger Lord will come take this place with time if and only if there is something of value here. But you can do what you want. I at least need to improve your network security and the only real way to do that in this day and age is sneakernet."

"Sneakernet?"

Janet's dad summoned an exasperated expression from his past life. "Okay, so for the record, darknet is not enough to have the kind of security you guys -er, we, require. I literally found this neighborhood's entire attack plan in 20 minutes. When dealing with Lords slightly smarter or more well-connected than a dust mote, you need an encrypted blockchain. Which means someone has to go to each Ant community in the country and hand out physical copies of every nonce used up until that point. You won't get anywhere without decentralized infrastructure."

The Ants succumbed to his confident jargon easily. He continued anyway.

"And that aside, we need better military equipment. Shotguns and AR-15s only do so much. There's the stuff we got today but you can't just go to the store and buy more now. Walmart ain't coming back any time soon."

Murmurs of agreement. He stands up.

"I say, the first priority is meeting up with more Ants. There's like what, ten men fit for combat here right now? We need more. And it'll be rough in some ways, but it'll be safer if we're constantly on the move, constantly evolving, too."

It took a few seconds for the gears to turn. "Won't that make us no different than raiders?"

He violently shook his head. "No way. Intent matters. Raiders do what they do because they want power." He smacked the sack with the head in it. "We do what we do because we need freedom." Perhaps they were all too tired to think carefully about what he said, but the meme ended up swaying most of the Ants. A couple of the families stayed behind, and they didn't end up burning anything, and two days later the majority set out for the nearest Ant colony. And out of nowhere a ferocious hailstorm started to pummel them. The entire campaign could have ended right there. Several of their vehicles did.

Their convoy had been crawling along the highway so there weren't any buildings to take shelter in. The best they could find was a dirt path that led up a median; probably used as a speed trap a few years ago. It seemed some people had hauled up RVs and tents and were now using it as a shanty town.

Janet's dad got on his helmet and got out of the car. Janet stayed inside. He went over to the bulky IEN guy who became his second-in-command and told him to roll down his window. "See that?" he asked as golfball-sized hail rocks bounced off his helmet with deadly force.

"Yeah? Looks like a homeless camp."

Janet's dad snorted and shook his head. "Good thing I'm helping you guys out now. Homeless people? That's not a thing anymore! And they're certainly not GDIs. Think about it: who would have an incentive to hide up here? Not an Ant, not a Lord or any of his cronies, not a militia, but a..."

"A raider!"

"Exactly. That's why we got to get the jump on those assholes."

"But-"

"We'll take their vehicles and weapons. You can risk asking them to join the Ants, but somehow I don't think a raider gang will join us that easily."

"Didn't you do-"

"We don't have time for this cowardly hemming and hawing! Screw it! I'll do it myself."

Janet's dad grabbed his Vector SMG and strap of grenades. The man in the car didn't look satisfied with their conversation. Still, he regretted not taking action back then. Back before it was too late. He fished a helmet out of the the mess in his sedan and made sure his AR-15 and 9mm were fully loaded. The people were all huddled in their shacks and RVs around fires and stoves. Janet's dad and Bruno were all it took to get the jump them and gain a not insignificant cache of supplies and vehicles. After getting help from the others to haul the corpses out, they slept uneasily amidst the fresh blood and gore. It was impressive. To everyone except Janet's dad and Bruno, the only people who actually did the dirty work, the Ants acquired a couple RVs and a bunch of food and first-aid supplies without killing anyone. And the people who did the killing, they only killed raider scum. That was the narrative anyway.

Her father's notoriety grew quickly after that. He was used to seizing possessions with no one's help and now he had the support of an army wherever he went. It was purely a matter of convincing the Ants that what they were doing was necessary; definitely not raiding because they only took stuff from Lords, militias, raiders, corporations, and occasionally GDIs. On the other hand, while reclaiming land for the Ants usually went okay, it always inevitably fell back in hands of a Lord. The Ants soon realized razing their own homes was indeed the best course of action. Once a Lordship was "liberated", the free people could either join the Ants or not, but their property was definitely going to be burned to the ground. Then the Ants went straight to the next one letting anyone who stayed behind sort out the bullshit that came after their liberation. Which typically ended up being more fighting albeit between increasingly smaller factions because some people still wanted those ashes.

Most people didn't want those ashes though. All they cared about was staying alive so they joined the Ant army and Janet's dad made a great leader. Even though he vehemently rejected any official position of leadership, some rapper-types dubbed him with the moniker 'Ant Lion' out of respect. It was through this vaguely consensual means of recruitment that it evolved into the largest nomadic army since the Huns. A horde of monster trucks, motorcycles, and RVs that gobbled up entire towns along the east coast and left ashes in its wake. Janet's dad made sure both of them stayed deep in the center of their protective army so bounty hunters were barely an inconvenience.

Janet's dad's specialized knowledge did not go to waste. Not only could his caravan coordinate splitting up and recongealing constantly (which they had to once it grew to more than a few dozen vehicles) penetrating Lord information networks was a cakewalk. It was the post-apocalypse after all. Information security was the last thing on anyone's mind. People couldn't even be arsed to change their passwords before the Fall. Lords and most others were still were reliant on old-fashioned HAM radios as well as the vestiges of cell phone internet. Guarding cell towers was often one of their highest priorities. Just because Lords were now losing ground to Ants didn't mean they stopped warring between themselves and these information networks were chock full of information on who's hurting and who's not. Therefore it made sense a hacker with a StingRay tracking device and a personal army would be able to steamroll an entire region. All things considered, Janet's dad couldn't be happier.

But to Janet, there was a major problem. She was totally safe. Too safe, in fact. Boys wouldn't even look at her out of respect, or fear, of her dad. They all knew the tale of the one time Janet's dad failed her when he first joined. Even though she was rarely out of his sight it was no surprise her dad barely talked to her anymore, although it seemed like in the long run he was more damaged by her rape than she was. He was also behaving differently in other ways too, almost like he was starting to believe his own bullshit. Despite his noble words Janet could see the truth: he was addicted to the act of conquest itself. What's more, he no longer seemed concerned with getting to Canada... but maybe that was just a cover. Janet rode shotgun in a sharply armored SUV near the head of a massive Ant convoy. Every day she had no idea what the plan was. As the ruins of Detroit came into view, she decided now was as good a time as any to ask the question that was on her mind since she was told where she was heading next.

"Um, dad?"

He didn't respond, arctic eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Dad? We're still going to Canada, right?"

For a second she assumed he would continue ignoring her. He responded as if he were giving commands to a GPS.

"This is where we stop running. This is what all this has been about." He sounded vaguely pissed.

"Um, what has this all been about again?"

He fell silent again, impossible to tell if he was going to elaborate until he did.

"The less you know, the better." He considered telling her more until he didn't.

Janet stared at him with a mixture of fear, love, and confusion then looked out the window towards the dead city.

Detroit wasn't really a hotspot of the American Fall; it was ahead of the curve on the journey to the apocalypse. Cops were practically non-entity their to begin with. Like everyone else who lived on the border back when the bomb dropped, the city mostly emptied into Canada. Now it was empty save for the absolute dregs of society. Mainly teenage boys. Along with all the pollutants they intentionally dumped for some reason, they were dangerous enough to make it easier for the Canadian Armed Forces to do their job of guarding the sole remaining land entrance into the Ontario peninsula. Like Manhattan, it was one of those places the Lords collectively wrote off. Most Lords understood they could only make demands from people who had something to lose in the first place.

As they drove past something called Zug island Janet's dad picked up his SABER V encrypted radio and addressed the troops. "Alright! See that building in the center? It's marked on your phones. That's our target. We take that. But this time we stay. Any questions?" A handful of "No sirs!"

Janet's dad demanded that she come with her. "Only I can keep her safe," he told her. And he had a plan to get them into Canada, she told herself. They slowly began their vehicular crawl through the heavily graffitied maze. Not long before the glint of distant scopes and the rat-a-tat-clang of potshots were heard. A klaxon sounded off in the distance. Janet was calm. Her dad knew what he was doing. The klaxon and guns went silent, leaving only the contradictory loud yet quiet hum of massive military vehicles moving slowly.

The caravan rounded a corner to find a striking figure, barechested in a trenchcoat, standing on top of a miraculously still working traffic light. He raised a hand. Janet's dad made the caravan stop and he poked his head out. It looked like the figure was smirking. "We know who you are. Give us the girl and-"

It looked like the figure was shot. Much to her surprise, Janet's dad wasn't the culprit. He yanked her back in the car and slammed on the gas as they both tried to make sense of what was happening. Several squads of boys launched off the sides of buildings in sticky gloves were swinging from cables and ropes which she suddenly noticed were hung from rafters all throughout the ruins like vines in a jungle. The crossbeams created bridges between the buildings on opposing sides of the streets and it was on top of these that dozens, possibly hundreds, more boys started jumping down from. Some held advanced assault rifles, some held swords, and they all seemed to be focused on killing each other, not the intruders. Bodies and bullets rained down, denting their armored car. The windshield became a blood-colored spiderweb.

Then the rubble started coming down. Janet's dad decisive swerving kept them alive but slowed their progress considerably. Janet lost track of the rest of the caravan and before she knew it their vehicle was trapped in a corral of ancient office furniture and huge blocks of concrete. She felt like screaming would be appropriate but she didn't want to make her dad mad. He was as stoic as ever but somehow she could detect his suppressed anxiety.

He spoke.

"Honey, we're going to jump out and hookshot away. I need you to hold on tight to me." She nodded. With his right hand he navigated to something on the car's touchscreen and with his left he got ready to unlock the door. An explosion of smoke and what smelled like tear gas from all sides preceded a signifcant decrease in bullets hitting the car's armor. He popped out the driver-side door and Janet half-dove, half-crawled out behind him. He yanked her out, held her close, and mashed a button on his chest harness. Out from his back several steel cables launched out diagonally with explosive ferocity to somewhere outside the smoke and became taut. Then it yanked the two of them in its direction with the same degree of power.

They sailed up out of the smoke just in time to see a massive chunk of concrete and rebar be pushed into where their car was. They both got an eyeful of the teargas too. Janet's dad hit another button that unhooked him from the wall and they both collapsed to the floor of the balcony they were lucky enough to land on. They were still close enough to the chaos that the gunshots hurt Janet's ears, but they were safe. She couldn't hold it in anymore. She began quietly sobbing.

"Shut up." She did. "Babygirl, I'm sorry. We have to get out of this." She started sobbing again but tried to talk through her tears. "W-why are w-w-we doing this daddy? L-lets escape!"

He gave her a disgusted look but it was quite possible the disgust was directed at himself. "Fine. You want to know? You want to become a liability for me? Fucking fine. The Ants were supposed to fight the Canadians, giving us enough of a distraction to make through the border. But now who fucking knows what we're gonna do."

Her tears abruptly dried up in her confusion. "W-why didn't you tell me that?"

He grabbed her by the wrist and looked her straight in the eye. "Unless you want me to cash you in, you're done asking questions." Maybe he stopped talking to her because he hated her. He pulled her inside through the door of the balcony and through what used to be a fancy apartment of a guy with a good job. Janet's dad instinctively threw her on the ground behind him as bullets whizzed down the hallway right before they entered it. He used the camera to slowly align the sights on his CornerShot with the heads of the boys down the hall. The screen on his gun confirmed they were headshots. "Get up," he ordered. She wanted to stay there. But she knew it would be too dangerous.

The rest of the downtrodden upperclass apartment complex was seemingly empty. Janet sat down next to her dad behind the lobby desk as he looked at a map on his phone. "Three blocks away," he muttered. He went to exit the building, shooting her a glare for a split-second to make sure she was still following him.

Outside was still pandemonium. Non-stop gunshots, explosions, and screams from every direction save beneath their feet. Frequently Ant SUVs would drive by spraying bullets and mowing down boys as Janet and her dad took cover. Every so often a corpse would fall from the crossbeams above to splatter near them. Terrified, Janet was conveniently silent at the grotesque display of viscera. Once Janet's dad got shot square in the chest but, even though it knocked him down, his bulletproof armor took most of the impact. Oddly enough, thanks to her dad's calculated tactical movements he almost never had to shoot anyone. It was almost as if they were cloaked by the chaos. Eventually they arrived at her dad's destination. It was just across the street from the remains of a car they were taking cover behind.

As they were sprinting across the street a hand grabbed Janet from below and yanked her into a manhole. The consequent smack against the ground stunned her long enough for her to get pulled in.

She rubbed all up against a rock hard body. Her eyes adjusted to the dim christmas lights. There was a boy with nice muscles and and a tanktop to show them off.

"Hey, you looked like you were in trouble."

"I-I was fine. I'm climbing back up." Janet grabbed the first rung of the ladder but hesitated to actually pull herself up.

He pulled her to him. "Are you crazy? It's a fucking warzone out there."

"Let me go! I got to get back to my dad!" but she didn't so much as struggle to break free. He let her go anyway. She got an eyeful of him in the moonlight-lit sewer. A shaved head punctuated by two beautiful hunter eyes and a cut-off shirt reading 'FreakMonkey' with two massive arms bulging out of it. A bit on the short side unfortunately.

He began to reciprocate her examination but they both cut short by gunfire from the manhole. "Come on!" he said as he grabbed her hand. Janet ran with him through the filthy water on instinct. She was getting sick of sewers.

As she was about to run out of breath, they reached the end of the tunnel which had a ladder down to a massive, peaceful room. Full of injured boys, but some healthy ones too. All shapes, sizes, and colors. And each and every one froze as she came down the ladder. A tall blonde vaguely gay boy walked over and pulled her muscley companion aside. Not even trying to whisper he demanded to know, "Who the fuck is that?!"

"I was keeping guard on East Jefferson, and I saw her out there. She needed help."

"What the fuck were you thinking Peter?"

Peter brandished a metallic bracelet and retorted, "What The Fuck Would Joe Rogan Do?" to which everyone within earshot responded, "Live your life like you're the hero in your own movie." Janet was still trying to figure out exactly what was going on.

The blonde threw up his hands and walked away. "She's your problem."

Janet cautiously tapped Peter on the shoulder. He flinched hard enough to make her flinch, then looked at her with eyes that said 'what have I done?'

"I have to go back to my dad. He'll come for me if you don't let me go," she said loudly enough that many eavesdroppers mistook it for confidence.

Peter's trembling hand stopped trembling when he rested it on her shoulder. "You can't. There's real bullets flying out there right now."

She let him finish before swatting his hand away and backing up. "I don't care. Let me go. Now." A shock of realization made her back up all the way to the wall. "If you're after the bounty, my dad will be out for blood and he has an entire army."

He inched forward. "Bounty?"

She let her guard down, just a bit. "You don't, like, know? Never mind then, I guess." Then she relaxed. "Anyway, I'll be fine out there so..." she said as she looked around for an escape route.

A kiss. She was looking away when it landed, so the surprise was a nice bonus. Instinctively she closed her eyes. She was the one to initiate use of tongue. It would have gone on longer if one of the other boys in the room didn't holler. She instinctively opened her eyes to find almost the entire room staring at them and a few of the bolder boys masturbating openly.

She shoved him away. "What the fuck dude!"

He looked behind him, "Goddamnit guys." And back to her, "We can go somewhere more private if you want."

More wet than she wanted to be she said, "Fine! I probably owe you anyway... Take me back to that sewer entrance thing."

"The manhole?"

"Ugh. Yeah. That."

A few guys boo at this development as they walked away.

"So you're really not scared to be out there?" asked Peter.

"Like, my dad is the leader of the Ants. I'm kinda like a princess."

Peter stopped in his tracks, annoying Janet a bit. "The Army Ants? You mean the raider gang?"

"Not raiders, liberators. And come on! Let's get this over with."

"Do you drive around in weaponized cars with a devil skull painted on it?"

"That's supposed to be an ant!"

"Uh okay but like half of us Roganites lost our dads when they tried to defend us from those guys."

"Roganites?"

"Guys who follow the teaching of Joe Rogan, but that's besides the point. What are you people doing here?"

This conversation had completely killed whatever arousal Janet had left in this disgusting environment. She sighed like it was too obvious despite the fact she'd learned it herself less than an hour ago. "The plan was the Ants attack the Canadian military then me and my dad slip through the border. That's pretty much why he started it too."

"Not to kill Lords and end private property?"

"Nope."

Now he was confused. "So your dad is basically lying to all the Ants, and risking their lives, just in order to have a distraction? So why are they attacking us then?"

Now she was pissed. "Because you attacked us first!"

"No we didn't."

She thought about it a little bit. "Well anyway, we're far enough away now. Let's do it."

"O-okay." Peter tenatively tried to make out with her but it wasn't working, for either of them really.

"Geez! Is it like your first time?"

He shrunk back. "How'd you know? Hey, just go. I didn't know your dad was the Ant Lion and I can't stop thinking about it."

She frowned as her brain almost made some connection about her dad and the word 'Ant Lion'. As she walked away she heard a "Good luck!"

Janet poked her head out of the manhole. The cacophony of battle was more than a couple blocks away now. Relatively safe. Her dad was right there. He yanked her up, furious. When they were both up in a room on the third floor of the building he yelled, "What the fuck were you doing you little bitch?!"

"Some guy-"

"Oh you're a fucking slut too! How could I forget? I guess this means I failed as a father."

"I didn't even-"

"Now you're lying to me? Now of all times? Do you have any idea how fucked we are right now? This is bad. Really bad. We're gonna have to bail. Hope we meet up with some Ants on the way outta the shitstorm."

Janet started to cry and leaned in for a hug. Which her dad promptly dodged.

"The fact that you think your crocodile tears will work on me is really just an insult. You weren't even crying that night I let you get raped." For just a split second, his eyes showed remorse.

Maybe that little slip of the tongue was the straw that broke the camel's back. Maybe it was her realization that her dad only ever used her for personal gain or as a verbal punching bag. Maybe it was his earlier threat to 'cash her in'. Maybe it was her little chat with the boy in the sewer. Maybe it was simple sexual frustration. In any case the neural impulse had already been sent and, no matter how much she would regret it after the fact, it would instruct her muscles to do something.

With angry tears in her eyes she charged her dad, the way he taught her, and shoved him out a window.

And that was the end of the Ants. While some did have Janet's dad's leadership ability, no one understood his hacking magic. The Lords kept on fighting each other over real estate though. Unlike the American Fall, there was no climax to the Real Estate Wars. The fighting just kind of tapered off after a while. Upstart Lords kept the bullshit war going for another couple decades but it was nothing like those first 5 years after Dissolution. The result was basically a further redistribution of wealth. Landlords seemed to realize that extortion wasn't gonna work and they didn't have the resources to keep fighting anyway, especially when they started having to compete with megacorps.

I winced every time I heard the whine of an engine. I needed to eat and get supplies and Walmart was the only place that sold anything within running distance. I had an old football helmet but I usually still jumped in the ditch on the side of the highway when I heard their engines gunning for me. I gotta admit, if I was rich enough for a car I'd throw bottles at pedestrians too. It looked fun. Hell, dodging them was fun, some of the time. And anyway I'd only been hit bad twice before. The first time I wasn't wearing a helmet and I got beamed square in the back of the head. It hurt but the really cool thing that happened was I temporarily lost my ability to read. The second time was with a bottle full of a liquid that makes you shit your pants. You win some you lose some I guess.

As a free-man without a vehicle, taking a 40 minute jog down the freeway was the only way I could get to Walmart and Walmart was the cheapest place was the only way I could get stuff. The backroads were held by a powerful Lord, who demanded tolls, and trying to cut through the woods was suicide thanks to all the booby traps and roving raiders that had been there since Dissolution. For some reason the Lords let all traffic pass no problems through the freeway. Maybe it was some sort of unwritten rule of the road from before the war that stuck around. I wouldn't know. No net at my place last year. At least no one wanted anything I had. I had a fistful of bitcoin but that didn't really change the likelihood of getting shot. My parents' inheritance (if you could call it that) wasn't much to begin with and growing smaller by the day. I didn't have to pay tribute to Lords but I still was responsible for water bills and food. I started taking grifting jobs but between the cost of the paint, transport, and access to the net to look for jobs in the first place, I rarely so much as broke even. Thank god Walmart kept their prices this low even after Dissolution.

A traffic whizzed by me and trash absent-mindedly leaked out windows. The weather was pretty nice so there were more pedestrians out as well.

“Walmart membership card, please.” I pulled off my shoe and dug it out. At that very moment a haggard couple walked past me and the guard, breezing through security with the membership chips they had injected into their hands. Needless to say, I was envious. Without one of those I had to get my card checked, pass the biometric scan, and memorize the weekly changing passcode. At least they didn't do cavity searches anymore.

After a minute or two of the guard checking me and my bag out, he let me enter sector 2130 of the Distributed State of Walmart. Past the gate there was a massive parking lot filled with steel-plated tanks, rust-covered bicycles, and everything in between all the way to entrance. I could relax here though. As the blinking LED sign reminded everyone, violence (unsanctioned by the DSoW) was not tolerated here. I was blasted by a cool gust of desanitizing mist as I crossed the wide-open store threshold.

All forms of transportation except the ones you paid DSoW to use were prohibited in DSoW, so I stored my board on my backpack. Luckily all the stuff I needed was relatively close by. After swiping my phone to pay, I sat next to an empty kiosk to eat breakfast and score some net. After downloading a couple gigs of entertainment and information from my usual sources, I hit up the grifting jobs board. Today was my lucky day: I managed to nab a bunch of Walmart's jobs that offered a bonus should we take payment in walcoin instead of bitcoin. All I had to do was paint blue and white W's over the designated red and yellow M's. Walmart recently entered the corporate microstate game and weren't having much success competing in this new arena. When watching videos sometimes my parents waxed nostalgic for commercials, which they explained were ads that interrupted videos. These commercials were already a stupid idea but Dissolution made that method of advertising completely unsustainable. Companies reverted back to just jamming their money-making memes in the middle of real world space. Billboards. The grifting jobs board was originally created as a way for Lords to harass their fellow Lords but soon became the future of advertising. Getting your message out there while simultaneously taking away someone else's made sense and there were plenty of young free-men like me willing to do the work.

The main issue, like always, would be transportation but I could hire a driver for a portion of the payout. Once I had my fill of data and food I went to work. My driver drove me to the first spot and already we encountered problems. Once a job is accepted, it isn't removed from the server until it's completed. It gets marked completed when a nearby hidden camera or drone confirms the job's done. This meant occasionally there was physical competition for a spot. I think most people really would prefer to negotiate these types of situations peacefully. I know it only takes one guy who disagrees to get everyone else to change their mind about that.

When it became clear why our car started slowing down near the clock tower target, the machine gun fire, the grifter, and my heart all picked up their paces. "Let's just hit the next one man," I pleaded to my driver. His skinny hands gripped the wheel til his knucles turned white. "Get down grifter. I need this fuckin money." I gave him a worried look and did as he asked. The gunfire roared and the engine screamed until a human yell and a juicy crunch made everything quiet for a second. "Yo grifter, there's a loaded revolver under the seat. Give me a little back-up." He kicked open the driver-side door and pulled a two-handed SMG from somewhere and began cautiously walking towards where the other gunner was taking cover. I felt around for the revolver and crawled out of the sedan.

The first gunner was caught between a car and a hard place. Still conscious. Still moving. Still trying to speak. Still looking at me. It wasn't the first time I'd seen a dying person. Hell, I'd seen my own parents die less than a year ago, but this was the kind of fucked up no amount of desensitization would make you desensitized to. I couldn't bring myself to put him out of his misery and my shaky hand wasn't making it any easier. I tried looking away and focusing on giving my driver cover fire and I hoped he didn't pay attention to my poor shooting. I didn't even hit the car the guy was hiding behind and eventually ran away from. The grifter working on the actual graffiti was long-gone by then.

"The bullets are on me. Thanks for the help." The driver walked back to his car and turned the writhing torso into a torso. I took out my paint and got to work. I knew work's a drag and it's a dog eat dog world out there, but I'd never get used to this. It seemed like any non-technical, non-violent work required connections I didn't have to get in. Apparently the number one most consistently productive way to determine which microstate applicant to accept was checking to count the connections that applicant had to existing members. All I knew was that crappy little subsistence farm I grew up on and now that was gone. I'm sure my parents wanted to protect me from the outside world, but they did more harm than good. After hitting the rest of my spots, I sent my driver his share of the walcoin, added him as a friend, and he was kind enough to drive me back home for free. I'd need to work again in a week.

The day it all started the streets were empty and the DSoW border checkpoint was in eyeshot. Not a whine, but a sudden deep growl made me hit the dirt. I peeked over the garbage-filled ditch. Somehow a military grade SUV had snuck up behind me. I waited for them to pass but they didn’t...and I knew what they really wanted. I started belly-crawling through the sticky wrappers and gravel and junk that had no place on the side of a freeway. Their masssive car kept a low growl alongside me like some sort of friendly tiger. After a good 20 minutes of this I popped my head up and down again, narrowly dodging three attempts to bean me. I heard a “fuck” and jumped up making a break for it. The spiky, black machine aggressively screeched its tires and barreled towards me. I barely jumped at the right time to avoid being run over and got smacked in the air instead.

A Walguard ran out of his booth to help me and the SUV sped off. He asked if I’d be okay and I told him I just needed some ramen. He gingerly put a patch on my magically uninjured neck. “For the pain,” he uttered. I tried to continue through the main gate, but he stopped me to do the whole security routine.

I walked down the main corridor to the big 3-D holographic map in the center, in front of the central tower. A little steadier now, I got my bearings. Food was on the ground floor, non-perishables on the second, and finally combat supplies on the top floor. The base area was huge. I couldn't afford a trolley so it took me about 20 minutes to walk the other side of the store, where the ramen was. “Greetings stud! How are you doing today?” a greeter asked. This woman was so out-of-my-league she was more of a billboard than a sex object. I nodded and smiled and kept my mouth shut and walked faster to the food.

Along the way I picked up some free samples of food I could never afford to tide me over. Most of the armed sentries and cameras were looking down from the third floor, but there were always a couple around any free food stand. When I finally made it to the ramen aisle I immediately purchased and ate a brick dry, right there in the store. I ran as many packets as could fit in my pack under the adjacent scanner-gun and plugged in my bitcoin stick to pay for it. I took the long way around back to the entrance, picking up more free samples along the way. I was caught off guard when the matronly free sample lady tried to strike up a conversation.

“You nodding too? Fuck yeah hun.”

“Er, what?” I stammered.

She tapped the patch on my neck through her latex gloves. Her eyes were half-lidded and she wore an easy smile. “That shit delivers 100ccs of Sam's Choice morphine over 2 hours. Hey now, don't get mad, but I'm a little surprised you can afford this shit judging from how scruffy you look. It's cool man.”

My heart sank. “Wait, what?” The nearby guards had been disinterested until now.

“You...did pay for that didn't ya hun?”

“Well- I- the guard at the entrance gave it to me, so...”

The woman's face turned a hue of second-hand embarrassment. “It's okay. Just pay for it now.” She brought a handheld scanner from under her kiosk and scanned the patch on my neck. She held the device towards me showing me a blinking '1 mBTC OR 500 WLC'. “We'll also take whatever you can sell us,” she added with a semi-reassuring grin.

I dumped out my pack and emptied my pockets despite knowing the reality of the situation. The guards didn't feel the need to physically apprehend me, they just sort of escorted me to the nearest support tower entrance. The support towers dotted the building at regular intervals and served the function of both societal and structural support. A clerk told me my number was 23 right before I was hurried into a hidden automatic door. They let me keep my backpack.

Inside was a peaceful-looking office with exotic plants and a kind receptionist who was helping someone else. After an indeterminately long wait (although to be fair I was still high) and several other people talking to her, my number was called. “Hey there! I hear you're having some trouble paying for morphine patch?”

“I never asked for this, I swear! A walguard just gave it to me cause he thought I needed it but it was a mistake.”

She frowned. “Do you remember what this guy looked like? His ID number? Anything?”

“I mean, I hit my head pretty hard. Also these patches are powerful...sorry...” I trailed off.

She brandished a dazzling smile. “Don't worry! These things happen. We have multiple options that will get you all paid up and ready to go about your business in no time!”

Not knowing how to respond I shrugged.

“Maybe you were told before that you didn't have anything valuable enough to pay off your debt,” she started. “That all depends on what you're willing to sell. Sell us a body part – even a useless pinky – and you'll be sittin' pretty on a fat stack of Walmartcoin!”

I stared at my hands and looked back up at her. “What are the other options?” I asked.

“Most people opt to work it off. This is a little more complicated and requires a bit more commitment than simply selling body parts. Furthermore you may not even be eligible.”

“Why not?”

“Working here requires becoming a DSoW citizen. It requires a background check and it's a lot of paperwork for you too.” She put the back of her right hand on the opposite side of her now comically pained face. “Plus it's a lot of paperwork for me.” She reverted to her plucky, easy-going demeanor. “But that said, we'd be happy to welcome you to the DSoW family! According to this...” she fiddled with her computer "it's projected that you'll have to stay here for 3 months due to all the additional debt you incur by living here."

This sounded great to me. I didn't want to appear too enthusiastic though. I had to play it cool if I wanted this job. “Um is there another option?”

Her eyes grew a little dim. “Not really no.” She punched something in on her computer. “Anyway a left pinky finger will get you 100,000 Wallycoin,” she added mechanically.

I stared at my hands a little more. It's not like I really needed a pinky. The receptionist started drumming her fingers.

“I'd like to become a citizen and work it off,” I finally declared.

“Great!” she beamed. It was hard to tell if she was being sarcastic or professional. "Give me your arm." I held out my hand palm down. She grabbed it quite roughly and flipped it around as she pulled the trigger on some sort of injector right into the big vein at the crux of my elbow. It hurt a lot at first, but the pain quickly disappated. "That's your work ID. It also doubles as a membership chip as long as you work here. You have to get another one if you quit." I sat back down in the waiting room for a couple minutes before being escorted by new, younger guards. They took me to another more barren waiting room and handed me a tablet. I spent the next hour trying to fill it out while more equally destitute looking people trickled in. After turning it in, I got bored of waiting and wanted to chat but everyone looked either busy or pissed.

Fortunately, the shifty black guy next to me eventually turned to me and whispered.

"Dude, we gotta get outta here."

I looked around. The guards were more interested in their phones than us. "Not me man, I don't want them to cut off my pinky."

He looked puzzled. We weren't on the same page at all.

"What? That's a thing?"

"Yeah. It's a pretty good deal for the wally. But in my case it really just comes down to I'd rather live here than in the woods. How much do you owe?"

He shook his head in a manner that suggested we were now on different books. "You mean you *want* to live here?"

"Hey man, being a free-man sucks. It's harsh out there. DSoW takes care of it's people. I've been floundering ever since I...got my own place."

He collapsed into his hands.

"What, man?" I asked.

Before he could respond, we were ordered to stand and get on a slanted cargo elevator. When we started our descent he piped up next to me.

"Man, I used to be a grifter in Austinopolis. Best in the city. One time I tagged over a DSoW billboard, got shot by a Walguard," he rolled up his pant leg to show me a recently healed up wound and shrugged. "Eventually a bounty hunter caught me and took me here. Never even been to one before the war." The elevator grinding down it's track filled the silence. He looked down at the floor. "What are they gonna do to us man?"

"I don't know but it can't be that bad. Most people seem to like it here." The elevator grinded to a stop right on cue. I didn't see that guy for a few days. We each had to split a room, got new clothes, ate amazing Walmart food I never dreamed of being able to afford, and were each shown to our new jobs. Most people worked the fungal farms in the basement but for some lucky reason they assigned me to be an undercover security guard on the ground floor.

Living at Walmart was easier than what I had braced myself for. I milled about the 40 acres of space for 10 hours a day, every day, looking for counterfeiters, hackers, pickpockets, any unsavory characters. I was not under any circumstances to apprehend them. My task was to shoot them with a tracer bug which was easy despite my subpar aim because I shot them out of a fully automatic submachine gun. After that I was given the option to spend 1 hour trading my blood plasma for access to an all-you-can-eat-in-1-hour buffet. I'm talking fried chicken, pizza, steak, sushi, lunchables, anything you could think of. I quickly learned the trick was to get in and out as fast as possible. Then the rest of the time I could do whatever I wanted!

The work itself was way more fun than collecting scrap for bitcoin too. I loved playing Metal Gear Solid on my PSX back at mom and dad's house and now I was practically living as Solid Snake. I'd sneak through the stacks of appliances and pallets of groceries and the occasional truck looking for people acting suspiciously. I had to make sure to not get spotted by them otherwise I wouldn't get to shoot them without getting penalized. I did fuck up and shoot the wrong person sometimes of course, but that wasn't too much of a big deal because all it did was increase the length of my contract.

About two weeks in I decided to try to make friends. I plopped my tray piled with food and my tracer SMG down across from a fat, Mexican, neckbearded man and extended my hand. He looked up from his burger both confused and apprehensive.

He glanced at my hand then back to his sandwich. "Can I help you?"

I slowly retracted my hand and sat down. "I just wanted to say hi. I've only been here a few weeks and I want to meet people. How are you?"

"You don't care. You don't even know me." He started munching on his burger.

I started eating my fries. "Well, I'm doing good anyway. You have a good day?"

He silently continued eating, but I continued talking despite this. "I did. I nailed 2 shoplifters today right in their backs! Those are gonna be a bitch to remove."

After sucking his fingers clean he immediately unwrapped another burger. Before he dug in, he chuckled and said, "That is pretty neat. What's your name ese?"

A smrik crawled in from the side of my face. "I'm Jason. What about you?"

"Peter. You seem pretty well-adjusted. How long have you been here?"

"Oh you know, a couple weeks."

The burger stopped an inch from his mouth. "What? Damn bro. What do they have you on?"

"Uh someone gave me a patch when I first got here but pretty much nothing since then."

"Hmmm, weird." He didn't seem too bothered by it in any case. We went back to eating.

I shoveled some more food into my mouth. Then, I thought of something to say with my mouth half-full of food. It didn't work the first time, so I swallowed and tried to say it again. "What do you do here?"

He stopped unwrapping his 4th burger midway through to answer. "I used to work in systems maintenance but, well, I messed up. It's all good though." He took a triumphant first bite of his burger and said with his mouth sort of full, "I worked out a deal where they pay me to get fatness reduction surgery. I just got to hit 200 pounds."

"Whoa! Why doesn't everyone do that?"

"I don't know. Scared I guess. I didn't even know this was an option until they offered it to me though."

I agreed. We chatted a bit more as we finished our trays, then went to watch TV in the lounge together for a while. Turned out Peter was a reasonably popular guy despite sitting alone at lunch. People started coming up to us and I soon made more friends. We met up after work for beer and TV in the cafeteria. And, boy, we got drunk fast thanks to the lack of blood. I actually lost my virginity at some point in there, but I don't remember much or even who with really. All I know is the next morning my dorm-mate high-fived me on the raucous sex I apparently had. We had our own tiny rooms but the walls were pretty thin. Still streets ahead of my old place on account of the AC, heating, and running water. After a month I was completely at home here. It was paradise.

Some people didn't seem to agree though. One day something strange happened. At least I thought it was strange. All the people who had been living here a while didn't look too disturbed. All the doors in the facility automatically slammed shut and locked, even broom closets and the dorms on the second floor. Lucky I had just left my room. The lights grew dim and red and a woman's voice spoke took over the loudspeakers which usually played pleasant ambient music. "ALL SECURITY LEVEL 3 AND ABOVE EKCLAGORFUNK BLIGIGOFWAGEF."

At this point I was a mere level 1 security guard. They hadn't even bothered giving me any tier of the cochlear implants that decrypts coded messages. It seemed pretty clear what was going on though. Above me a spotlight cut on and below me it shined on a black dude running with a limp. Behind him was a trail of blood and missed bullets. I suddenly realized I recognized him so I waved. "Hey! Dude! It's me from our first day!"

He looked up and rudely kept running. A shout running towards me from my left: "Hey you! Stop him!" I looked at the level 5 guard jogging towards me and at the guy in the spotlight. He was almost directly underneath me. So I got on the railing and dropped on to him. It didn't even hurt. Well, I thought so. The guy I landed on was unconscious. I rolled off him and stood up as some other burly level 5 security guards jogged up to me. "Thanks. That was pretty badass kid. We'll be sure to include you in the report."

"No problem!" As I turned to look at the guy on the ground my leg felt a shock of pain. I grimaced and collapsed back to the ground. "I-I think I broke my leg." They started carrying the guy away so I said, "Wait can you take me too?" Two nodded and picked me up. "By the way," I asked, "don't you need my name?"

"Nah, it's all recorded by motion cap cameras tied to your membership chip anyway. We'll get your name later."

"My name is Jason in case you wanted to know anyway."

The guy carrying my torso had a flash of recognition on his face. "Oh yeah, my sister is friends with you. Boy she's gonna love this story."

We chatted like this all the way to the nearest doctor tower. One of them tipped his cowboy hat and they went on their way. The doctor told me the cast would put me in debt another 3 months but I told him that was okay cause I liked working here anyway. I saw a couple of those guards at the cafeteria the next day and they called me over to eat with them. Turned out they'd recommended me for a fast-track upgrade to tier-2 security. It usually took 3 times this long, longer considering my mediocre performance, but yesterday's actions along was enough to get me there. They told me people that work in DSoW rarely show the kind of effort I did. When I stumbled home to my dorm there was a sharp new tier-2 hat waiting for me. I didn't actually have a uniform for tier-1 or even a tier-2, I just wore random clothes out of what was given to me from DSoW's own stores. A note said I wasn't supposed to wear the hat either, it was more a symbol that I was a team member than anything else. I went to sleep with a smile on my face that night.

Just a month after I lost my virginity, me and that guard's sister eventually ended up dating.

She came to my dorm one day wearing sunglasses. It may have been rude, but I had to ask.

"Teresa? What's up?"

She flinched away. "You're gonna think I'm gross..."

I grabbed her wrists and pinned her against the wall, making sure she felt my hard dick. "Oh really?"

She turned towards me and gave a weak smile.

I asked her again, "What's up?" and took off her sunglasses.

She shrieked. There was an eyepatch, with a picture of rose on it, covering her right eye.

I let go off her and picked at the strap. The blood in my penis went somewhere else. "Uhhhh..."

She started sobbing, but every other sob sounded like someone ripped her eyeball out. Blood started trickling out from under her eyepatch. I squeezed her close til she calmed down.

She finally did. "I hate it here! Let's run away." Back to sobbing.

"It's not perfect, but it's better here than out there."

She broke free of my hug and ran away. The next day I learned through mutual friends that she dumped me. She never ran away.

I'd really settled in by now and time started flying by. Every once in a while we'd get another escapee and I'd gained a reputation for being instrumental in tackling them, eventually earning me a tier-3 hat and the first tier of cochlear implants. Now I was part of the elite, able to understand messages few others could. According to my file I had another month of working here to pay off my debt. It didn't matter though. I resolved to stay regardless. I was somebody here.

One day Teresa, sporting a fancy eyepatch, found me sitting in the cafeteria. "Came crawling back, eh?" I tipped my fancier tier-3 hat.

She stifled herself before saying, "That's not what is going on here. You have a cochlear implant, right?"

"Sure do." I tipped my hat even farther.

"What does this say?" She holds out a small recording devices and hits play. "ALL PERSONNEL TIER 3 AND ABOVE, THIS EVENING THERE WILL BE A TIER 1 PURGE. INFORMING ANY LOWER TIER PERSONNEL OF THIS WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE DEMOTION TO TIER 1." She looked at me expectantly. "Well? My brother started acting really weird when this message was played."

She dumped me. "It's just some paperwork reminders."

She wasn't convinced. "Yeah, my brother said something like that."

"Which means you're overreacting. See you around." I went back to my pizza.

When I made it back to my room I heard the message on the loudspeakers myself. There was no elaboration but it wasn't unclear what was about to happen. Still, I went to find Teresa's brother in his dorm to ask for more details.

He looked forlorn. "This DSoW is still pretty new so I haven't seen it myself yet. Basically, we're running out of food."

"What do you mean? The foodstuffs section is 20 acres!"

He shook his head. "That's mostly all repackaged stuff that we farm and process in the lower levels. You've seen the fungal farms, right?"

"Of course."

"What do you think the fungus eats?"

"Uhhhh, water?"

"That, and human flesh."

"Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh. I started in the fungal farms and it just takes time to figure out. No one told you?"

"I never asked."

"And you've been here almost six months? Huh. Anyway, this Walmart ain't producing enough to sustain our population."

"I thought this place was just established a year ago."

He clucked his tongue. "Guess the guys running it fucked up or something. This was bound to happen eventually."

"So, what should I do then? They don't give us real guns will tier 4."

"The trackers bullets help. You're welcome to wait in your room til it's over too. I know I sure would if I was you."

I thanked him and took my leave. I didn't bother asking about Teresa. He would have told her if he was planning on helping her.

So it wasn't entirely peaceful here. It was still better than camping outside or under a Lord. And I was eating the same food anyway. Now that Mom and Dad were dead it was time for me to find a new family. The people of Walmart weren't perfect, but what family is?

I stared at my wall in bed mentally practicing my presentation for school later that day.

Mr. Munger was a boy genius, heir to the Munger fortune after the rest of his family was killed in The Wars by raiders. Each one had “IEN!” branded into their heads, short for “Income Equality Now!” Instead of hate, he responded with reason. These socialists didn’t really want his money. There was only violence and terror because people didn’t feel like anyone was watching over them. There was no consistent, safe place anyone could go anymore. The Lords were only concerned with pushing their borders and playing politics. Save the rents imposed on tenants and small tribal farming communes,everything inside a Lord’s land was effectively anarchy. The people wanted a father, a God. Mr. Munger drew up a business model that revolutionized the new world of old America.

A post-dissolution merger put him in control of McDonalds, a fast-food chain so popular and addictive it still made millions of BTC every year in Freeland alone. However there was the problem that customers paid with a variety of disparate things as there was no central money producing authority. That’s why each McDonalds has a team of appraisers standing by the register. But then he had an even better idea. McDonalds will be the first corporation to become it’s own country that issues it’s own currency. His idea sated people’s desire for safety and ease of buying burgers. Despite the huge money sink of buying up land and building McVillages, the globally connected micro-economies raked in twice as much dough for the company. End presentation.

I had this boring history lesson drilled into my head once a year since I learned to read. In truth, it’s not bad living in McDonalds. I know what it’s like out there. It’s dangerous. I’m just curious. I'm sorta free but the stories I hear from outlander kids from other corps or even raiders make me restless. I want to see what it’s like. I want to go on an adventure.

“Terry!”

"You certainly are a teenager, aren't you?" a gentle voice said as a calloused hand jiggled me out of bed.

"Morning mom," I mumbled.

She handed me an egg McMuffin. "Hurry up and get dressed. You need to start making it to school on time."

"Yeah yeah," I said to the McMuffin. "Do you have to come into my room to wake me up?"

Mom looked hurt. "You wouldn't wake up. And what's so bad about me coming to wake you up anyway?"

I stopped chewing. "Morning wood."

She blushed. "...Anyway, I know you're goin-"

"Okay mom. Let me get dressed." She hugged my head and left for work, then I got changed and left for school. The classroom was only a 5 minute walk. I took a seat next to my classroom acquaintance, Michael.

"Bro, today's going to suck. We're doing molecular gastronomy today."

I groaned. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

He scoffed. "I'm getting too high for this shit."

The class was still settling in so no one could hear us. "What?" I demanded to know. "How? Why?"

"My uncle came to visit this weekend and he brought real pills from the outside." He pre-empted my question. "Sorry, none left bro."

"Awww fuck you man."

After a bit more banter class started. It was my turn to give the two minute presentation at the start of class and I did, dreading what came next. Everyone agrees, molecular gastronomy is the hardest shit we have to learn here. I prefered public relations cause it came naturally to me, but most people prefered equipment maintenance out of sheer ease. I couldn't focus on this class though. I stared longily through the window at the highway. Fuck school, I thought to myself. Fuck Michael too. I want to be high. It's the closest thing to an adventure around here. A taste of the outside world. I stared at his doofy face. He was so lucky to have an outlander uncle. He was always getting all sorts of presents and hearing all sorts of stories. I was envious. I talked to outlanders now and then when they came here to eat, but having a family member on the outside was different. My parents lost everyone in the war. They came here as teenagers and haven't left since. McDonalds was all I had ever known. I feared it was all I ever would know.

Finally, class ended. Michael went to go do high stuff so I went to dick around in my hangout spot on top of the tunnel overlooking the ball pit. I people-watched for a while. All McCitizens here, no outlanders. Then, a slick-looking bespectacled-man in a red and yellow striped suit turned to look at me.

"Terry is it? Get your butt down here! I want to talk to you."

Even if he wasn't a quadruple-archer, my surprise alone made me obey him. I pushed off into the ballpit and climbed out.

"Um, yes?" was all I could think to say.

"Terry my good man, I've been listening to your presentations. We listen to everyone's presentations in class. But you knew that. You're smart. What you likely didn't know is that we do that for a reason." He adjusted his glasses. "McDonalds needs people to go and spread the word. We need you to go on a mission."

I was still too shocked to muster anything more than a "What?"

He pinched his glasses by the frame and grinned through them at me. "You have been selected to participate in our youth public relations program." He handed me an unsealed envelope full of pamphlets and papers.

"It's honestly pretty cool." He removed his gloved hands to reveal metallic hands. "We upgrade your body to one impervious to damage, super strong, super fast, and super smart. Yep, that's right. You get to be a cyborg." Holding both palms upright, he taps his forearms together to produce a blades out of his palms long enough to stab right through somebody's skull.

My eyes widened. "Holy..."

Gordon let this revelation sit for a beat before pulling up a diagram on his McWatch. Everyone in the group was to get something a little different because McDonalds couldn't afford to give every recruit a full set of cyborg upgrades. Acquiring the full set amounted to our badge system.

I looked down at the papers. I looked up at him again. "What."

Still smiling, he closed his eyes in a smug way for a brief second. "Take your time to digest Terry. Go talk to your parents. We'll talk more next week." With that and a pat on my back, he walked way.

I read the pamphlets for a couple minutes to make sure I understood him correctly. I did. This was perfect! Finally, an excuse to see the world. I immediately called Dad on my McWatch to tell him the good news.

"Sorry son-bo. Your mother doesn't want you leaving the country."

"B-but Dad, can't you talk to her?"

"Frankly son, I don't think you're quite old enough for something this dangerous either. You just turned 15 last month! Let me and your poor mother have a couple more years before you decide to throw it all away."

I felt pissed at my dad and somehow it felt qualitatively different than all the other times I'd been pissed at him. "Didn't you and mom leave wherever you came from to come here when you were teenagers?"

He laughed causing his respectable gut to jiggle profusely. It did not diminish my annoyance. "You're comparing apples and oranges. We were fleeing a war-ravaged country. You'd be *going* in to a war-ravaged country."

"But we wouldn't be alone! We'd travel with a group of other evangelists and we'd get cybernetic implants and we'd get training. There will be one trained medic for every 5 people! That's better than here."

"Sorry son, I'm gonna have to veto this one. Maybe next year."

I hung up. Fuck him. I went straight to Michael's.

"Michael! Come out bro!" I whisper-shouted at his window. The compound lighting had shifted to dim mode so there was a safe bet his parents were asleep...or at least didn't want him dicking around with me on a school night. After a minute or two he opened the second-floor window and simply dropped down. We silently pounded fists as we walked towards somewhere safer.

"Wanna get some burgers?" he asked.

"Yeah sure," I said to the ground. An awkward silence.

"Man, I gotta get more of those pills," he said casually.

I brightened up. "When is your uncle coming back anyway?"

"He's actually still crashing on our couch. He said he has more pills though."

We reached the burger vending machine and each took one. "Well? Is he not trying to do them?"

He ate almost half the burger and gulped before responding. "No, I meant he is crashing from drugs on our couch. He said crashing could also mean sleeping. That shit makes it real hard to stay awake."

"Oh." We ate silently.

"Dude, let's take some."

I looked at him taken-aback but also curious. "Um, I don't want any part of that."

"Yeah, fine. Pussy." His narrowed gaze turned away.

I was starting to figure out why this guy didn't have many friends other than me. But I really wanted to get high. "You have a point. It's not fair for you to take all the risk but I get half the reward. I'll keep lookout."

He turned back and un-narrowed his eyes. "Thanks man!" We went back to his house, I helped him back through his window and he pulled me up with a the aid of a blanket. Silently we crept downstairs. I stayed guard at the bottom as he literally crawled over to his uncle's raggedy bag. My heart was pounding an uncomfortable amount as he slowly fiddled around with it. Then he crawled back to me holding up two white oblong pills. We moved even slower up the stairs, our eyes glued to his parents' bedroom door. Eventually we made it to his bedroom. We hang-dropped from his window, grinned when we landed, then walked to my spot. We climbed in the tunnel this time.

Michael immediately swallowed his but I stared at it a bit longer. I took mine before he could call me a pussy though.

"How long until it hits?" I asked trying not to sound like a pussy.

"About 10 minutes. What should we do until then?"

"Let's just stay here." I tried to make it sound like I wasn't afraid of being outside on drugs, but I could tell he probably knew. I changed the subject. "So will this make us crash as bad as your uncle?"

"No don't worry, he took something else. He told me he got these special for me."

I gave him a blank look. "Why did we sneak around like that then?"

"My parents, duh."

Parents. That's right. My parents were assholes and they wouldn't sign my release form. Literally, it's my release from this monotonous life. "Hey Mike, just curious, what other drugs does he have in that bag?"

His trademark mischevious smirk. "Dude, it's not even kicked in yet and you already want more?"

"Not right now. Just curious."

The smirk turned to a serious expression, like what he gets when he's trying to study. "Lemme think. He's got this plant that makes you really hungry but I don't like it. He's got some liquid that he says makes you feel good. You have to inject it though and I don't wanna try that. He's got these crystals that you can smoke that taste disgusting that you have to keep in your lungs for a full 30 seconds. I couldn't do it but it looks like it just makes you sit there. He said it makes you see crazy shit. I kinda got a little of that but not really. Oh yeah, and then there's this powder that he said isn't a fun drug, but what he does is shoot a large dose into a stranger's face and then they do anything he asks. Also there's-"

"Wait! What was that last one?"

"I forgot the name. Why?"

"Does he have more? I want to try it."

"Bro, like, he said it wasn't really worth trying. I want to try the crystals again."

I mulled it over for a full five seconds before explaining to him my predicament. To my surprise, he looked dejected.

"Dude, why do you want to leave so bad anyway?"

I started to get annoyed. "Who's side are you on?"

He looked away. "Yours." He looked back. "So you want to dose your dad with the powder so he'll sign your release forms?"

"You got it. Think you can get me some of that powder tonight?"

Before he could respond, I flinched. I felt a strong wave of nausea. Before Michael could ask if I was okay the same thing seemed to happen to him.

"What did your fucking uncle give us?"

"I-I don't know. He was too high to go into detail."

An even stronger wave of nausea. This time, I felt some diarrhea coming on too. My whole body started to feel, for lack of a better word, bad. Judging by the manner in which he was fidgeting, Michael was on this ride right along side me.

"We gotta get to a toilet." Mike nodded and we went down the slide slowly to minimize our upset stomachs. We half-walked, half-ran to the nearest restroom and absolutely destroyed a couple of bathroom stalls. I finished first and he met me outside.

Neither of us said anything. We both still felt like shit, but not only physically. Mentally too. I can't speak for him, but I felt more trapped than ever. Yet my thoughts were cleaner. It was like my brain was operating on overdrive. I looked at Mike's pupils. "Are mine that big?" I asked.

He stopped trying to process what was happening to us, examined my face, and said "Yeah."

"Does this shit at least have a name?"

"Dunno. My uncle just pulled it out and said it was 'specially for me."

"How do you feel?"

Mike looked at the ground, seriously considered the current state of his mind, and told me "After that puke, dump, extra-large, purge-combo I feel...smarter?"

"I know exactly what you mean. Maybe we should test this? We have that molecular gastronomy assignment due on Monday and I know you didn't start."

He looked conflicted. "Isn't that kind of a waste of a good time? Then again, it's a sound way to test our hypothesis."

I snickered. He grinned. That's not how he normally talked, let alone thought. "It's an odd drug I'll give it that."

Unable and unwilling to get our backpacks out of our respective parents' houses, we went to the compound restaurant floor. This was where the magic of McDonalds happened. It was far enough away from the living quarter of the compound that the 24/7 bustle couldn't be heard. This was where the outsiders came in and got their food, data, healthcare, or even an application for McCitizenship. At 3 stories tall and stretching the entire length of the compound, it was also the biggest sector of our little microstate. This was the apex of life here. It definitely wasn't undesirable. Chicks love a man in uniform after all. Not even the people in R&D had more prestige than those here on the front lines of McDonalds. Food was free for natives of course, so we grabbed a tray full of fries out of habit and set it between two public use computers.

We logged in and did our homework. Everything just clicked. I only had to look up information once but only because I definitely didn't learn it before. Things I know I didn't retain just bubbled up to the surface. I finished in 30 minutes what would usually take me 3 hours. I went to take a victory fry but Mike appeared to have eaten them all. Still licking his fingers, he was on Facebook.

"Damn you're fast."

He looked at me dumbly.

"A-anyway, I'll see you tomorrow. I still need your help getting that drug for my dad."

"Oh yeah. Right on dude." He turned back to the screen. I walked back home alone and snuck in without incident.

Michael had no problem getting the only remaining canister of dust from his still conked out uncle's bag the next day in addition to another one of those mystery-smart pills. It was in a tube that you were supposed to blow in the face of your victim.

"I can't, like, put it in his drink or something?" I pleaded.

"I didn't ask my uncle the specifics or anything. Probably. Why can't you blow it in his face bro?"

"That's sketch." I popped the smart pill. "I'll figure it out."

Mike shrugged and toddled off to go do whatever it is he did whenever I wasn't around. I figured the best way to do this was get him drunk first. After coating an alley in puke and diarrhea, I stopped at a vending machine to pick up a liter of McLiquor. I just needed him to put his thumbprint on my McWatch. I slipped the tube in my pocket and went inside.

"Hey dad, I-" no one was home. I forgot that my parents liked to do date nights on Saturdays. I just need his biometric data pressed onto the face of my McWatch. I looked around frantically for a mere 15 seconds before it hit me. There was biometric data all around here! I found a paintbrush deep in my old school things and started dusting the used glassware for his thumbprints using the stuff in the tube. Luckily he was partial to these hexagonal tumbler glasses that provided a flat surface to take a picture of. Using my laptop I gave the thumbprint picture sharp lines of contrast and printed it out using the built-in mini-printer. But would a mere picture be enough to fabricate a biometric digital signature?

Yes! After opening the digital document, I pressed the paper to the face of my McWatch and it confirmed immediately. I was in the program, parents be damned. I wanted to get some victory food but I was strangely not hungry. Besides, I needed to cover my tracks.

The morning after doing that mystery drug wasn't really a hangover in the traditional sense. I felt out of it, but it was more like an afterglow. I felt dumber, but happier in a way. Sunday came and went peacefully thanks to the afterglow and having already done my homework on Friday.

Monday morning as I was walking in to school, I was pulled aside by that quad-archer.

"Terry! I see you've accepted our offer."

I grinned cattishly. He had no idea my parents were vehemently against it or that I faked the thumbprint. Not like it mattered now. "Yes sir. I'm ready to go ASAP." I looked towards my school entrance and silently gave it a 'fuck you.'

He patted me on the back and shook my hand. "Hah! That's the type of enthusiasm we like to see." He didn't stop shaking my hand. "My name's Gordon by the way. Gordon McMasters. I hope my lack of an introduction didn't put you off the other." He let go of my hand to bonk his head a little and stick out his tongue.

"No worries Mr. McMasters."

"That's my father's name. Call me Gordon. Let's get this show on the road Terry."

"Wait, you mean I don't have to go to school today?"

He took off his glasses and shook his head in a very practiced manner. "No Terry. You're done with that school forever." I hoped my excitement wasn't too palpable. "There'll be a week-long boot camp then you're going out with the next caravan."

"You'll need to undergo a short procedure of course. You consent of course."

"Anything! No problem! Uh do I need to prepare or anything?" I inquired.

Both of them shook their heads and McMasters assured me, "You don't have to do so much as a bootcamp." He frowned a little. "We used to have one, but found it tended to not be worth the trouble, especially considering I pick candidates out by hand in the first place." I tried I not grin but he shut me up before I could anyway. "Don't get cocky. A violent death was a risk you accepted when you took the offer. See you at the public entrance at 8AM sharp." They both gave kind of half-salutes and strolled away.

I didn't think they'd move me through this fast. I sent a message to my friends to meet up. I wanted to say bye in person. He's gonna flip.

I slammed open the front door bursting with energy.

"Where have you been?" It was my dad, with my mom sitting next to him gripping his hand. She lets go a hair and says, "We heard through the grapevine that you're going on an ad mission."

There was no reason to be coy. "Yep, I am, and I already got your permission. Sorry!"

"You're being unreasonable young man."

"Screw you mom and dad!" I screamed as I turned around to leave. I didn't need anything but my McWatch. I'd just sleep at my friend's tonight, or fuck it, in an alley. I just had to be at the public entrance in 8 hours. It came too slowly.

The restaurant area was usually not crowded this early. Today there was a small crowd of fellow shillers in addition to the odd cut-throat-looking guest. As I walked up to the rest of the teenagers, I noticed how different we all were. Not in disposition however. We were all visibly anxious.

McMasters strolled up and cut the tension. "Good morning! Are you ready for your last meal at home for a long time?"

No one really knew what to say but eventually one guy said "Yes" and we all followed suit. We sat down at the long party table as weathered waitresses brought tray after tray of everything on the menu. A couple people tried to make small-talk but it soon devolved into a cacophony of chewing and slurping. Not a fry left. The aura of anxiety was lifted when we finished the food. It's amazing how the simple act of sharing a meal can completely alter the dynamics of a group.

McMasters led us outside to a massive elongated, segmented vehicle that wouldn't even fit in the McDonalds garage. I touched the side, and to my surprise, no one yelled at me. Everything from the thick armor plates to the mounted machine guns were doused in our nation's colors.

"As you all know, our first stop today is Yamazaki-Zawadzki Cybernetics. Even though the McTank is fully automated," he adjusted his necktie to punctuate the next point, "I'll be with you every step of the way as a guide." He pumped his fist in the air. "Let's do this!" Everyone, including me, mimicked his movements and energy. We had to interact with the McTank via our McWatches. One by one we swiped our watches and got in.

The educational seminar started right away with video game consoles built in to the back of the seats. Apparently we had to reach a certain number of points to pass each day of the course, although it wasn't clear what happened if we failed. There was a lot of reading and it was mostly common sense stuff anyway, but as far as edutainment goes it could have been worse. While the vehicle dodged other vehicles and rubble like a snake slithering for it's life, McMasters paced through the center aisle like a mongoose looking for food. He was answering questions, quizzing us on effective marketing or survival techniques, and high-fiving us when we got it right. It was as intensive a course as he led us to believe though. Because the game/course material docked points every second you weren't actively playing, people rarely got up to use the bathroom.

The first flicker of lights in the sky appeared just as the sun was beginning to set. I'd rarely seen the night sky before. I couldn't quite put my finger on why, but it bummed me out. I stared out the window. Or maybe I was already getting homesick.

Our tireless leader clapped his hands to get the team's attention which snapped me out of my spacing out. "We're almost there! Bet you all are ready to rest and refuel, huh?" A smattering of groans. "Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but no one will be able to eat until after your operations."

It probably would have been a uproar if everyone wasn't so tired. Instead the groans just multiplied. We pulled off the exit and snaked through an inhospitable town taking up almost the entire width of the street. Twice, we nearly killed a freeman and one time it looked like we wrecked a tent. When we reached a large parking lot the McTank wrapped itself in a defensive coil and we got off.

The streetlights and periodic drone lights illuminated the expanse of cracked asphalt. We were fenced in by stacks of plastic blocks and razor wire. At the opposite end from the one we entered was what used to be a supermarket. McMasters was talking to one of the guards. From how differently they were decked out I assumed they were mercenaries. McMasters beckoned us over and we followed him into the supermarket.

Inside was packed with shiny new machines and stacks of crates and boxes covering a smooth floor stained so dark I almost didn't realize it was originally white. A bohemian asian man meandered over to us.

He addressed McMasters with his hands clasped. "Ah, the new recruits! Looks a like healthy crop this season." Then to us, "My name is Dr. Peter Zhen, PhD. I sure hope none of you snuck any food! This is what happened to the last young man who did." He gestured to a torso missing an eye. Several of the girls shrieked. "Just kidding! Just kidding!" but then he got a bit more serious. "However, please recuse yourself from the program if you have eaten anything in the past 12 hours."

In front of me a cluster of dudes were squirming a bit. Finally one spoke up. "I had a fry a couple hours ago."

McMasters threw a thumb over his shoulder. "You're outta here," he said flatly.

"I go back to the bus, right?"

"For now, yes." McMasters lingered on the 'now'. The group shuffled apart to let him trudge back like the pariah he was.

Zhen snapped his fingers to redraw our attention. "Now then, the rest of you go pick out your booth, lay down, and me and my colleagues will begin the operation."

This whole situation makes me suspicious but it's too late to turn back now. And McDonalds is one of the top megacorps on the planet. It even has a microstate on one of the space colonies. They knew what they were doing. We're not used to the outside world after all. The harsh lighting and filthy conditions must be normal outside the safety of a microstate. It was kind of cool in a way. Like everyone else, I laid down in the first booth that was available. One of Dr. Zhen's colleagues walked over without saying a word to me. I muttered a weak hello but he only put his facemask on in response. Then he put a mask over my face and some sweet smelling gas came out. I was asleep in seconds.

The last of the straps I didn't even know were holding me down comes undone. Upon waking the first thing I saw was a severed arm hanging in a large plastic bag over my booth that wasn't there before. I look to my right and before I can start freaking out, McMasters is rushing over with a pre-unwrapped, pristine, Big Mac. I grab it with my left hand and gobble it down in seconds. He's gone to tend to some other freaked out teen before I can even finish though. The guy working on me is nowhere to be seen. I take a deep breath and examine my right 'arm'. There's a hodge-podge of very loosely connected wires swarming by shoulder, but a protective metal shell sorta keeping them safe. Then I notice the upper arm's circumference. It's huge and metal with these lines of rubber that I figure are muscles. Working my way down it turns all metal and plastic. It seems to be full of seams hinting at more going on underneath the surface. On the underside of my forearm is a compartment housing a screen, a couple ports, and a few buttons. Then the hand. It's massive, I have 3 thumbs in additional to the normal 5 fingers, and they all end these razor sharp hooks. When I try to make a fist, it won't close all the way. I start panicing. It doesn't feel like anything. I lost the freedom to feel my own hand, my entire arm. I'm trying to not freak out again and just my luck, it starts to get out of hand right when a cute, smiling woman comes by with a cart full of McDonalds to offer me an entire bag of the stuff. I snatch it out of her hand and try to look away as I eat. She just keeps happily pushing her cart without a word.

I'm calm now so I get up and start milling about the facility. There are blankets over several of the tables in the booths. Most of them are empty and most of the other shills are curiously poking at their new body parts. Everyone is slowly migrating back outside to the McTank. Unreasonably confident, I walk over to clump of girls. I ask the cute one with short hair and a button nose what she got. She giggles. "It's a little embarassing~"

"Aw come on! We're all in the same boat here! Look I'll even let you touch mine," and I hold out my mechanical appendage. She cautiously touches it and I suddenly notice her two taller friends are leering at both of us. "Do you two want to touch it too?" They politely decline and tell us they're getting back on the bus.

A snap. A whirr. A clank. The cute chick jumps and giggles but it registers with me a few seconds later. She hit some button on my arm which launched the hand-claw thing out like a Happy Meal toy. My arm now ends in a thick, coarse rope of wires. The other end of that rope is somewhere I can't see. I try making a fist again only to remember I can't feel anything in this arm anyway. She lightly fingers the same button she pressed and when that doesn't work, we both push every button trying to reel it back in, relishing the act of discovering how my body works. The right answer was holding down the button she pushed initially. "I showed you mine! Now show me yours," I exclaim, getting a little queasy as I realize the sexual undertones.

She isn't put off by this though and giggles some more as she looks up at me. "You don't even know my name silly."

"Nope. What is it?"

"MacDowell." Oh shit this girl is from one of those families. "Bennington." Oh she just had parents who tried to give their kids an edge with a misleading first name. "Well, I guess it's not a big deal." She does something under her right armpit. Gradually, her chest expands til it's hard to look at anything else. She blushes and looks away, but speaks with pride. "See? Embarassing."

"I think it's great."

She looks down at them for a second and does something to make them go back down to flat. "That's not all though! The manual says-"

"Wait, we got manuals?"

MacDowell looked a bit hurt for some reason. "Yeah, they were in our booths. Didn't you-"

McMasters clapping again. "Alright team! We got a schedule to keep! Back in the McTank!"

I raise my monstrous right hand and shout, "Wait I need to get my manual!"

"Don't worry about it. We're going to a 3-day intensive training camp next. You'll figure everything out there."

I guess that's that then. My seatbuddy is sitting somewhere else so I ask MacDowell if she wants to sit with me. She accepts. We talk about this whole crazy program a little and she explains the real functionality of her augmentation. She got the subdermal carbonfiber armor. The catch was they had to biologically stop her growth, permanently. So the boob thing was just their way of making up for it. Also it helped with advertising. This trip was far shorter, about 20 minutes, albeit at the breakneck pace we've been cruising the entire time. It's early morning now, and the sun rising over the McDonalds Advertising Department is a sight to behold. I'm not tired, no one is. The operation took about 8 hours and we were out of it the entire time.

We're still hungry though, being teenagers and all. We tear through the lobby buffet like a pack of cybernetic bears. McMasters hands us off to the people who are to be our trainers and supervisors for this segment of the program. We're split up by which augment we were given: left arm, right arm, legs, subdermal armor, and perception. They lead us to our rooms and tell us to get changed into the workout clothes.

The first day was all about learning the ins and outs of using and maintaining our arms. Most of the day was about the maintenance actually. Don't get salt water on it. Clean it with a rag dampened with desalinated water. Don't worry if wires become severed and don't try to fix those yourself. Never put anything in your ports that lacks the McD PGP key. WD-80 oil in the joints once a month. The list goes on, and we got tested on it too. As for actually using it, there was the hookshot function which I had already learned about, the stun function, the capture function, the stab function, and as an absolute last resort, the self-destruct function. The left arms on the other hand, were more for combat. At dinner our teacher, who also had a mechanical right arm, informed us we were known as the "Swiss Army Knife" division. We are the versatile thinkers, the men and women who solve problems without even really knowing how. While sleeping with my arm took a bit of getting used to, I slept soundly that night. I'm sure everyone did.

The next day concerned the main reason we were here in the first place: spreading the word of McDonalds. Before Dissolution and in the rest of the world today, traditional advertising like on TV or billboards made sense. But here in the lawless land of the free, people stole entertainment without ads and destroyed anything that bothered them out in the world. Moreover, many people lived in communities so isolated, they had no idea McDonalds dotted the land providing a safe, secure place to raise a family. It is our responsibility to help these poor souls and teach them of a better way. Then we took a crash course in how to approach different types of people. How to identify threats as well as vulnerable targets. They crammed in a bit of general survival stuff too like how to build a shelter. At the end of the day, another game test thing like what we took on the McTank. I wasn't even close to last this time.

On the final day we got new clothes before getting back together with the others for breakfast. Unlike the workout clothes or our original McDonalds uniforms, these were all unique clothes, the kind you see outlanders wearing. Next we broke off again into groups of 5, one with each augment type. It was me, MacDowell, a pissed-off-looking ginger with a robotic left arm, a smug-looking asian with robotic legs, and a tense-looking blonde with no apparent robotic parts wearing sunglasses and headphones. Her head snaps up at me the second I tap her hand to get her attention.

"What? What is it?" I mime taking off headphones to see if she'll take hers off. "No. No I can hear totally fine. I'm a perceptive."

"I guess that makes sense. Well, we should all know each other's names, so what's yours?"

"Don't you know? That's right, of course not." An uncomfortable laugh. "I'm Pearl. You're Terry." She points at each of us as she says our names. "You're MacDowell." She points to the asian. "You're Fred." And finally, the ginger. "You're Lionel."

After exchanging our best attempts at flirting, the benevolent people assigning our missions cuts us off with simultaneous notifications of our first assignments on our McWatches, details to come later.

"We have to go all the way to Austinopolis?!" MacDowell exclaims. "Where exactly is that?" she adds. The information wasn't necessarily hidden from us, but we never had to learn about geography in school. Not like it made sense to teach it in a globalized world, let alone the ever-evolving borders of Freeland.

Pearl answered, "It's a day's ride south. Some city built around a functional nuclear reactor. Owned and operated by Taco Bell."

We chat a little bit more and get on the McTank along with everyone else. We're the last stop of the night. The door opens and we get out a 100 meters away from a walled city with a couple buildings just peeking over the top. The McTank rips down the beaten-up road and disappears. Then we receive the details. Much to everyone's surprise it's not any sort of outreach work. It's a delivery.

Lionel gives his thoughts without thinking. "What the fuck is this pansy shit? Do they really need all of us to do this? Can't they just drone it in? This isn't what I signed up for."

Fred tries to alleviate the situation. "We're gonna be doing simpler stuff for our first mission. It's gotta be a trial run or something."

I try get us back on task. "So let's make sure we do it right. And hey, think about the outreach if we got McDonalds burgers into a Taco Bell!"

Even Lionel has to nod in agreement. A bit later a passing plane air-drops a small crate of backpacks which are full of McDonalds food. Given these are delivery only, the food inside the backpacks all have a DO NOT EAT sticker slapped on them. This is the start of our first mission, de of Taco Bell. We have to be ready for anything. Me and the rest of the McCrew exchange looks. Not completely full of confidence in ourselves, but confidence in the team is what I get from it. Me and Lionel open the crate and we all put on the backpacks. There's a bag of food marked just for us there too, so we all eat a little snack to calm our nerves.

The first problem is obviously the wall. Pearl helps us find a spot with no cameras or guards and I hookshot us up, one by one. Crouching in the shadows atop this wall we admire the view. The centerpiece is a super-illuminated sciency building puffing out steam with a big LED display alternating between the time, weather, and Taco Bell ads on the side facing us. Makes sense that some important guy there would demand hand-delivered McDonalds. From that building, wires stretch out to others. Wires spiraling up around pipes go on to drape from building to building. Some are real buildings in-tact from before the war, some are huts cobbled together from plastic blocks and sheets of metal. Everywhere is glowing with streetlights and more lights emanate from inside the buildings. There's few people on the streets, but you can tell from the sound of video games and laughter that this is a bustling place during the day. The people on the streets are as weird, loud, drunk, and dirty as they come. Nothing like the sterile uniformity back home. I can't speak for the others, but this is what I came here to see.

A strong wind seems to snap MacDowell out of it and she whispers, "Do we all have to go? It's so pretty up here."

"Probably not," spits Lionel quietly. "This is baby stuff anyway. Fred should just deliver it all himself."

Fred holds up a finger. "What if I get spotted? I at least need Pearl to come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere without protection." Pearl points to MacDowell and Lionel.

"Why do I have to go? Make Terry go instead. He's a boy." MacDowell is starting to raise her voice above a whisper.

Before I can defend my masculinity Pearl explains with no remorse, "Once already inside, Ms. Inflatable Tits will be a lot more useful than the stretchy arm."

"Excuse me?!" MacDowell is full on shouting now.

"They picked smart girls to handle information and the sluts to disarm men," Pearl says as if people below weren't starting to notice our presence.

I have to put a stop to this so I whisper as loudly as I can muster, "Let's all go. They picked us to be a team for a reason, right? It's only fair."

Some feminine scoffs, then we find a mess of wires to climb down Pearl says won't kill us. My arm is too loud to use now and all the proper ways down are too well-protected. We decided to walk to the destination in a group of 2 and a group of 3 to reduce suspicion. Somehow I end up with MacDowell. It would feel more like a date if she didn't spend the entire time ranting about how much of a bitch she thinks Pearl is. Although as we walk past other couples I realize this actually enhances our cover. I assume the others are doing the same thing. Some people stare at our augments but it feels mostly out of envy. Along the way it starts to snow.

We make it to Taco Bell HQ unmolested. The front entrance is obviously a no-go and it's a struggle to prevent Lionel from shooting his way through. After circling the building multiple times without so much as a window, we decide the best option is MacDowell, the only one of us immune to bullets...and capable of scrambling male brains. It's even more of a struggle getting her to go than it was to get Lionel to not go. She takes off her backpack and McWatch and puffs up her chest before heading over. From where we're monitoring, it's impossible to tell what she says to them. All we see is they let her in.

One hour passes. We're already worried and to make matters worse now we're hungry too. Lionel unzips his backpack, hoping the DO NOT EAT sticker magically disappeared. It's still there though. Another hour passes. We're in full-blown panic now. Then she returns, disheveled, but no worse for wear except for her shoes. her toes are practically blue from jogging here in the steadily rising snow. She doesn't even sit down, just motions for us to follow her. As we're jogging she grumbles, "Sorry it took so long. I don't want to talk about it."

She'd wedged a bathroom window open with her shoes. Since all that was left is delivering the food to the room number, we decide Fred is the best person for this job. He climbs in and we hand him the backpacks. Lionel picks up MacDowell to keep her feet off the ground. I can't stand it. That should be me. Why am I such a loser? I got to clear my head.

"Hey Pearl, where's the nearest place to eat?"

After a second, "It's all Taco Bells around here, obviously. Just wait til we're back in the McTank."

Lionel, still holding MacDowell, lectures me, "We're supposed to be a team. We're all hungry, but we're almost done."

"Who asked you Lionel? Go fuck yourself."

MacDowell and Pearl are shocked but Lionel just smiles and clicks something on his arm. "Why don't you make me?"

"Fuck this!" I yell. Then I run through the now veritable blizzard to the first Taco Bell I can find. If only it was raining, then these tears wouldn't be visible. Before I go inside, there's an explosion. It's the massive building in the center. The one I was just at 5 minutes ago. People start pouring out of their homes to see the commotion and some of them are armed. Even though the lights are off, I go inside the Taco Bell and sit down in a booth to hide.

I flinch and instinctively move my hand to the stab button shortcut when a firm hand pounds me on the back. "Terry! What's up lil' brah?" I lower my guard to see who it is, but my fingers never leave the stab button. "Say whaat? You don't recognize me? It's me! Michael's uncle brah!" Now I'm shocked and my guard is down entirely. Michael's uncle laughs and orders us each a grilled stuft beef burrito and baja blast freeze. Seems he ordered it right before the place lost power. He places the food down in front of me but all I can do is stare at it. He starts eating and casually asks, "You okay brah?"

I look up at him and finally get the nerve to speak. "I think the people I came here with just died. I think I just helped-" I stop. Who knows what side this outlander is on.

"Here take this." He hands me a pill. I wordlessly pop it in my mouth. Nothing, then focus returns, then a veil is lifted. I realize I've felt this before. This is that drug Michael gave me.

"What is this shit? Meth? LSD? Why can I think so much clearer?"

His grin is barely contained by his face. "Nope, none of that. It's a sobriety pill. It eradicates all toxins in your body."

"Then why-"

He cuts me off. "All McDonalds food is full of anti-anxiety and anti-pain drugs." He waits for me to respond.

"How do you know that? You're an outlander. Why would anyone tell you what's in them when they don't tell me?"

"Who is more aware of the water, a fish who swims in it or you who exists outside of it? Plus I got a decade of life experience on you, kiddo."

My hand was playing with the idea of eating the burrito but now it looked like poison. "Hey, Michael's uncle, um..."

"Grayson, brah."

"Grayson, why'd you leave McDonalds ten years ago?"

He answers my question with a seemingly inappropriate full belly laugh. "Same reason as you, according to Michael."

"You were part of the outreach program too?"

He pounds his chest. "I wouldn't have made it this far without those subdermal implants." Then he puts his fingers on his chin. "No way I could survive in this world with looks alone." Now that I think about it, he was conventionally attractive, for a guy, and shorter than he ought to be. Then he leans back to shrug. "All it took was failing one test. They just leave us in the outland wherever the impants get installed."

"That doesn't make sense. Why would McDonalds abandon you after spending all that money to give you subdermal armor?"

He launches anouther raucous laugh at me. "How much do you think your implants cost?"

I looked at my cyborg arg. "I dunno. 100BTC?"

"Go lower. Way lower. In fact, go all the way down to zero." He paused for effect. "Wherever you got your implant done, it was at a school for people who want to become cybernetics surgeons. McDonalds provides the healthy young specimens and they provide the technology. There's a reason that segment of the outreach program has a 60% survival rate." He pulled something up on his phone to show to me. "It's like this." A wikipedia entry about haircut schools.

I guess I could go back with my tail between my legs at this point. Become my parents. Earlier tonight I felt the feeling I'd been craving, even if I was high at the time, a real life experience. "What do you think I should do Grayson?"

"Whatever you want man! That's the beauty of Freeland! You're welcome to tag along with me for a while. I can show you the ropes of being an," he wiggled his fingers like he was casting a spell, "OuTlAnDeR~"

I flash a smile, grab my burrito, and take a big bite.

Total blackness.

"Get up Lafonda."

Throbbing pain in the back of my head. I push myself off the ground.

"I said, get up."

The sharp voice takes my legs out from under me. I do as he says again.

"You really got no fight in you do ya you limpdick fuck?"

I want to say, ‘why you gotta bring my dick into this, friend?’ but think better of it. The sarcastic, rebellious path goes straight to the floor. Instead I ask what’s going on. A slutty-sounding woman’s voice answers.

"Monsanto took our land by force in the Lord Wars, destroyed it, and made us and our families slaves."

My inherited rebellious neural pathways lit up. It must have been more than 24 hours since my last hit. I knew what these people were referring to. Monsanto took some fracked badlands a group of scavengers lived on and gave them a stable source of vegan food, medical care, education, and best of all, jobs. They flourished, until a few bad business decisions caused the franchise manager to have to shut down most of the regional facilities. These people were unemployed eco-terrorists, as full of shit as ever.

"Did you really think you could get away with pretending to be a mad god for that long?"

I’m just a mid-level research chemist. I was warned about this when I accepted the position. Despite all the good our megacorp has done, a lot of people hate Monsanto. Enough to kill. This has been happening since before the war, back when Monsanto’s greatest accomplishment (or worst crime depending who you asked) was merely golden rice. I can only imagine how these people's hatred will crystallize into violence now. They’re going to make me a living effigy for their hated megacorp. No reason not to at least fight back—

A loud bang and flare starts coming straight at me, missing, but filling the long warehouse room with a both dazzling and dim red light. The shock helped me quickly adjust. The ecoterrorists look pretty much like I imagined. Filthy, angry, hippies, with diamond beetle armor. The unfortunately homely woman cast aside her spent flaregun sending out a ripple of scattering cockroaches. I turned to look the young man in his feral eyes. The reality of human faces made me a bit less suicidal.

I asked what they wanted from me, as kindly as I could muster, followed by an exaggerated pitiful cough.

"This is where we punish criminals we catch." He grins. "You reap what you sow." With that, he and his compatriot both took off sprinting into the darkness each step laced with a putrid crackle. I stare at them for a second and take off after them only to slam into a huge metal lattice gate after it free-falls to the ground. They click on flashlights and start walking in the distance. I shout some curse words for a while before turning around and processing my situation. I go pick up the flaregun and kind of scoop the flare back in the barrel to fashion a make-shift torch. Didn’t take long to find out what my punishment was.

Some flies and bees started buzzing around me, not attacking, just annoying. Then some ants started to fall from the ceiling. Then some roaches. My vision snaps upward and there it was: a metapede.

I heard about this. It was the residual unintended consequence of an experiment in gene splicing. We were trying to get different insects to use the same pheromone to communicate. No real practical purpose. Purely one of Monsanto's attempts to push the field further. Sometimes the virus we used for gene splicing gets improperly disposed of, resulting in these semi-sentient writhing masses of insects. I fall backwards out of the way as the bug blob drops right where I was I standing.

...and that was pretty much the extent of it's attack. It tries to get closer but I just keep on backing away. It doesn't seem malicious, just curious. We stared blankly at each other in the dim lighting. Flies and other compound eyed critters bubbled to the surface of the super-organism. Heavily-legged insects migrated to the floor. Flying insects buzz around me seemingly gathering intel and buzzed right back into the metapede mass. This is supposed to my punishment? It's fascinating. I guess dehydrating to death is bad.

I stick my hand in and immediately yank it out. Well there's the torture. Their plan (if you could even call it that) was for me to eventually grow too tired and weak to avoid the metapede and be eaten alive by their tiny razor sharp mouths. If I try to fight back? That's when they bring out the stingers and poison bugs.

I take a cursory examination of the room I'm in. No way out. I mentally resign myself to death but am still too awake to let the metapede have it's way with my flesh. I start screaming for help. I start rattling the gate. I start screaming that I'll betray Monsanto. I start sobbing. I quickly give up on that too. So this is how I die. I turn towards the metapede and continue the slow dance of my death around it's rapidly dimming red lair, careful to avoid killing any one of it's components/members. A single dead bug would assure the hive's hostiliy.

It's been hours. I am once again in pitch blackness. Won't be long now. I want to curl up into a little ball and cry but I still have too much energy and hydration to let it start eating me. So I back up against the wall and make countless loops around the room as I beg and plead with the mindless thing trying to eat me. At first I try to hold in my tears because of some masculine instinct. Then I realize that will dehydrate me faster, expediting this horrific process. So I let those tears flow. A grown man bawling in the dark as a he gets slowly overwhelmed by a blob of bugs. Pathetic.

It's been days. I haven't slept. I haven't done anything but slowly crawl away from death while simultaneously sobbing towards it. My voice is hoarse and my throat is dry. It couldn't be long now. If only I could lose consciousness before the eating began. But I know how counterproductive hope is. Not just here in this little slice of hell, in the world out there too. I suddenly feel my legs start to give out. The metapede makes it's move. I am still fully conscious and aware of pain though. No. No. Not like this. No. No. I dry heave through my eyes. The metapede slowly overwhelms my legs. I feel the tiny mouths starting to taste me. I keep expecting it to get better but it only gets exponentially more painful. I am too tired to scream in pain, although I want to. I start begging every god I can think of for forgiveness. I start praying. It works. By some miracle, I pass out from the pain after an indeterminate amount of time.

I have an incredibly vivid and interesting dream. I wake up in my childhood bed on the commune. I go outside to play with my friends, but my friends are all child versions of my Monsanto coworkers. My family is mostly there too and without any sort of transition we're all in the classroom. I'm naked but I don't care. Outside is the Monsanto campus. My mom tries to tell me something but I can't comprehend it. Then my teeth become very loose. I frantically touch them to make sure they're not falling out. It hurts. My head hurts. My whole body hurts. I wake up on roll mat on the floor of what appears to be a dilapidated church.

Seems I had rolled into a pipe jutting out dangerously in my sleep. I sit up. Light pours in via a gaping hole in the roof. It shines on a naturally formed flower bed in the center of the building. There are bars on the mostly broken stained glass windows. The pulpit has a long metal object jabbed straight down it's center. Judging from the empty cans and firepit remnants, there's evidence of someone living here. There are several rats scurrying about. And bugs.

I carefully stand up. Or try to. I'm immediately on the ground again. My legs! "Fuck!" I scream out loud. It all comes back to me. The kidnapping, the metapede, my death. My legs are bandaged up to the thigh and completely numb. I lack the courage to peek under them. I steady myself with a nearby chair. Walking is possible but requires more effort due to the numbness. At least it's numb. I look around for whoever did this, highly suspicious they have a malicious reason for doing so.

My eyes are fixated on the main entrance so I don't notice the child crawling through the tunnel right next to me until it's too late. "Boo!" he says. I collapse in fear as he collapses in laughter. Two others, little girls, appear out of nowhere to stand next to him. Terrified, I glare in silence. The stories I've heard of modern-day streetkids made modern-day eco-terrorists look like modern-day saints. He breaks the ice with a smile. "Sup brah?"

I try to analyze their clothing for any scrap of information. Aside from the boy's red hat and one of the girls' skull barette, they wear nothing but blankets so tattered and dirty it's impossible to glean any useful data from them. Then I see it. Their bottom halves are that of horses. Hooves, fur, ridiculously strong muscles. The works. Still staring at them, I start backing away and grabbing for a weapon.

This time one of the little girls speaks as she steps forward a bit. "It's okay mister. Relax! We're Christians!" Her attempt at pacifying me only sets off more alarms. Christianity was a doomsday cult that worshipped the execution of an immortal man. You had to be a psychopath to even consider obeying what was written in their holy book, the "Bible".

My fear must have shown on my face because the kids all looked at each other and frowned. "Kyah!" the girls screamed and they all cowered behind a prayer bench.

They were rejected Monfoals. One of the dumber things Monsanto pursued was monstergirls. Shortly after the Dissolution, megacorps from all over the world dove in to the Former United States of America to play in that oh-so-valuable legislative rubble. Perhaps the physical resources themselves weren't extraordinary, but the contemporary wild west lawlessness was. The shackles of this country's puritan ancestry were shattered. With no oversight and a pre-made, good-enough infrastructure, FUSA became the perfect petri dish for pioneers looking to push the boundaries of reality further.

From what I heard it was mainly the Japanese who commissioned these chimeras. That's what they were. Genes of humans and animals spliced together for presumably sexual profit. Rumor was the financiers weren't all that pleased with the results. Real life just wasn't as cute as their hentai. There was no real incentive to kill these monsters though, so Monsanto just let them free. Hard to see why my company is so hated when we do generous things like this.

I reach my arm out to the Monfoals still cowering behind the prayer bench. "Hey there...guys. I need to get to the nearest place with internet access. Can you help me out?" The little centaur boy rose up and answered me. "Um, there's one on the edge of town, on the second floor. We can help you if you need us to. "Yes! Please! Take me there and tell me about Christianity!" The monsterboy smiled and the two monstergirls sprung up to smile too. This town couldn't be that rough if these kids were this naive.

They told me their names and practically carried me out of the church. The monsterboy in the red hat was called Butch, he monstergirl with the barette was known as Kio, and the other monfoal with twintails was Mia. They were telling me all about their lord and savior. It's easy to tune them out because most of my attention was taking in the scenery. Wherever we were, there was no sunlight and no plantlife. Nothing but concrete, dirt, scrap metal, and barely functional pipes. It's not like the sky was blocked by any sort of canopy. We were deep underground. This place probably used to function as one of those dangerously impractical multilayer waste processing plants, although it's hard to tell with all the junk rearranged into living spaces. Not many citizens here, but the few I do see give me the angriest leers imaginable. The lighting is sparse and varied, ranging from neon signage to oil lamps to barrelfires. I was led down the only street for a while before I realized I was starving. I collapsed.

One of the centaur girls looks concerned as they prod me awake. "Sir! What's the matter?" she asked.

I manage to sputter back, "I-I, uh, I haven't eaten in, a, a-" before I collapsed again. The monsterboy runs over to what smells like a ramen shop and trots back to where I lay.

"Do you want some ramen? We help make it every day!" he says, beaming.

I give him a reassuring smile. "Haha what do you mean? Ramen comes from a Walmart factory."

"Not this one! We help Auntie make it from scratch. Come on! She says it's okay! Just make it a little further!"

"Auntie?" I braced myself for her Monsanto mutation. Unfortunately because she had none, I fear I came off a bit racist. She noticed and folded her arms. "No no it's not that I just figured you'd be a Monsanto monster." Yikes. Did I really just say that?

"Mistah, I don't need this kinda shit from some piece a trash my kids picked up. Show me some respect or you get the hell outta heah." I pissed off another woman without trying. Story of my life. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I don't have any money on me but I need some food and I need to get to a McDonalds. Please, help me." I couldn't beg with full force because I was bereft of energy.

She lightened her glare a little. "Mistah we don't use money heah. If you wanna eat, you gotta work."

"Fine fine, but can I eat before I work? I literally just collapsed from exhaustion."

She darkened her glare a little. "Fine." She left the dirt floor room and soon came back with a heaping bowl of noodles. I pause and look at the dish. That's when I notice the stray insect legs embedded along some of the noodles. Mia and Kio help me sit up and I eat rapidly. It's not like anything I've ever tasted before. Butch breaks the silence. I rudely consumed the fuck out of it. When I finished I noticed Auntie watching and was embarassed.

"Um, sorry," I said.

She smirked. "That's okay mistah! Ready to work for our Lord?"

"Yes." As ready as I'd ever be.

For some reason, probably the internet, I assumed my task would involve food service. In this case it was functioning as a human printing press for the Bible. Lucky for us in this day and age this former religion has been relegated to the status of cult. It's almost impossible to believe the shit that's in here. And I had to copy the texts she highlighted, word for word, for 6 hours. I told the proprietor that my time and effort would be of more use creating a printing press but she convinced me otherwise. Mainly using force.

The lighting situation outside barely changed but the Monfoals yawns triggered my own sleepy instincts. I turned to Auntie and before I could ask to sleep there, she nodded. The Auntie praising the children for taking care of a helpless man lulled me to sleep.

The next morning Auntie feeds us again but tells me I don't have to work this time. I'm paraphrasing, but after we finish she tells her kids to continue walking through this slum with a strange man. For a split-second I assume she's a terrible caretaker, but I suppose she rightfully figured I was the really the only person in danger here. A little less reliant on my merry party to walk, we continue on as plodding as before. The kids are bursting with energy this morning and because I still can't run as fast as they want, it all comes out in more obnoxious evangelizing. I silently thank god when we reach a dead-end, covered in graffiti. Faint music and dripping sounds from above. I look up. There seem to be strings of LED lights entwined with ropes bridges and metal beams, like some robot spider's cobweb. Without even stopping their coordinated cultist rambling, one by one the Monfoals start walking up a pile of rubble and walking across metal beams overhead. A sigh escapes me as I hobble up after them.

Having four legs is apparently extremely useful for this climb. Even if I did have full control of my legs, I'd likely still have to resort to climbing this zigzag pattern of junk on my hands and knees. When I reach a particularly rickety rope bridge, I take a good five minutes to gather my courage and breath. I hear the Monfoals encouraging me on from about 20 meters above. I'm almost there. It's only after I inch across do I notice a simple sturdy ladder going all the way up the ledge my escorts are on. Of course they couldn't use the ladder. I grimace but continue to go up the horse path. Almost at the top I smell something. Rotting meat. I writhe up the penultimate ledge to discover a corpse.

I come this close to puking. In the center of a congealed pool of blood, it's another Monfoal with 'ABOMINATION' carved into her flesh all over her body. Her eyes still visible and still looking ready to cry. Mutiliated like a petulant child would massacre a doll made of food. The 3 monsterkids urging me on snap me back to reality. I scrambled up the last ledge twice as fast as the previous one. I have to ask: "D-did you guys see that?"

The girls look away. The boy looks down and says, "Yeah. Auntie said she's up in heaven with God now."

I catch myself before I can inquire more. These are just kids after all.

Mia brightens up in a split-second like she didn't just see a mutilated corpse of something that once was very similar to her. "We're almost there mister! This way!"

The girls grab me by my hands and lead me through heaps of rubble, junk, and plain old trash until we arrive at a neon lit building. Well, building is not quite accurate. It's really just scaffolding with sheet of metal and cardboard nailed on as walls. They did a pretty good job. The neon signs are in a language I don't recognize but there's a lot of pink.

Butch holds out a hand like he's introducing the place. "This is it!" Then he and the other two curtsy and say, "May His Grace bless you now and forever!" before galloping away.

After they leave I notice the sounds of pain coming from the structure. High-pitched screams and the occasional crash. I stand out front for a solid two minutes unsure what to do. I probably would've stayed longer if a white woman didn't walk out. Or should I say slither? A topless top half with flawless D tits and a bottom half of six meters of albino snake. She looks at me with her larger than natural slits for eyes and opens her fanged mouth to hiss, "You look rich! No need to be scared sweetie. There's a first time for everything~"

I'm stunned by the tits. It's been a long time since I saw a real pair. I'm stammering like a teenage boy. "Uh, hey- so... can you uh get me back?"

She slithers closer and starts to wrap around me with a seductive smirk. "Sure thing sweetie. I'll get you back to where you need to be~"

"Uhhh...um computer?"

She giggles and tightens her wrap. "Sweetie, you don't need no computer down here~ Come with me, baby~"

Completely snake-charmed, I obey. Once inside, it all makes sense. Those dumb christians took me to a brothel of all places. A monstergirl brothel. Somehow this snakewoman is moving towards a room while remaining wrapped around me, my face pressed to her breasts. Inside is a mattress dirtier than the concrete floor.

She lets me go on the mattress then she gets to the edge of the bed. "You seem like the quiet type, honeypie. Yeah?"

I lie there and say nothing in response.

Her giggle is more aggressive this time. "Thought so. Good! I like 'em that way~"

She springs at me landing most of her body weight directly on me. Before I can react to it she sinks her fangs into my neck. I shriek like a little bitch, causing her to let out a satisfied moan. Then she pins down my wrists and starts jamming her forked tongue into my ear. I shiver, almost shudder, but I adjust fast. She yanks my hard crotch with one hand and whispers, "You're more manly than you look~" My pants are off before I know what's happening. I wonder how we're even supposed to fuck. I find out a couple seconds later as she positions herself on top of me and spreads apart a section of her snake belly, revealing something that looks damn close to a human vagina. After easing herself on with a sigh, she pulls me close to remind me that, "We haven't even started yet, baby~" One leg is bound completely by her lower half but the tail is just long enough to double-back and wrap around my neck too. I try to fuck back but it's no use. She's too powerful. Ironically, the lack of oxygen seems to help me gain my bearings. I start trying things. My face is close to the side of her head so I try using her own technique against her. Tongue, right in the ear. I could take it or leave it, but does this ever set her off. She's bucking wildly and I'm slowly getting more freedom to fuck back...until she hits the point I assume is when females orgasm. I can never tell for sure what their screams mean. Regardless of her situation, I certainly cum. Way more than I'm used to. It's one of those 10 pulse shots.

At least appearing satisfied, she slithers off. "How will you be paying, sweetie?"

My brain's totally fried from the events of the last 10 minutes.

"Honey? Hello?"

I shake my head and sit up. "Uh, sorry. I was trying to tell you, I'm just trying to get back outside."

"Not a problem!" She leaves and returns with a tablet computer. "You owe me 0.0005BTC. Go to your online wallet and send it to my address." She hands me the device. "Should already be saved in recent addresses."

Once the notification of receipt chimes, she snatches the tablet back.

"So, where's the exit?"

A thoughtful finger rises to her lips. "Now that I think about it, I don't really know baby~ The human customers have to be coming in here from somewhere though." The finger suddenly gains purpose. "Oh, I know! We get internet with a cable. Follow that and you're bound to get outside~"

It's the only lead I have, so I thank in the most awkward way possible and find this wire she's talking about. After a good 40 minutes of tracing it all around the dunes of debris, I arrive at my destination. A tiny little hole in the ceiling that the wire continues through.

Before the panic starts to set in, a cat distracts me. We look at each other. Slowly, I raise my hand to pet it, but it darts off before I even come close. Really could use a distaction right now. I slump down and survey my situation. Minutes of pondering get me nowhere but more anxious. Suddenly, a distraction appears.

I realize there's a person sitting next to me. A totally naked man with cat ears and whiskers. Well, not quite naked. Furry. I jump up, more shocked at his nudity than concerned about the obvious physical threat. He speaks: "Relax, man."

"If you can't get me back to the surface then please leave me alone."

His somewhat cheerful disposition fades. "Oh, you're one of them, huh?"

"Please leave me alone sir. I don't want any trouble."

"I'm willing to pretend you didn't say that. You're my exact type, physically." He winks.

I glance down at my pot belly for a split second. Is he planning on eating me? I start backing away planning on breaking into a run, but when I turn around there's another, more body-builder-esque, furry guy. This one has a lion's mane. I try to juke, but trip and fall.

The big guy offers a hand. "Sorry about my friend. I'm Ed by the way." I ignore his hand and get up myself. He sort of shouts to the first furry naked guy who has started walking closer. "He's clearly not interested Mike!"

"I know, I know."

I stare at Mike then I stare at his friend for far too long. The gears turn til the lightbulb goes off. I put my hands up and back away. "No nope nooo, not interested in that...not that there's anything wrong with it."

The big guy gets pissed. "Well you don't have to make it sound like such a bad thing y'know." Then his eyes narrow. "And why are you at a fag dogging spot in the first place?" Mike's demeanor shifts from sheepish to wolf-like. I position myself to make it easier to bolt but they catch wise to my plan as I come up with it. Mike yanks my lapel and inspects me top to bottom. Then he stops. A sinking feeling as I realize what he just found.

"Why do you have a Monsanto polo shirt on?" This is it. I'm dead. Or raped. Probably both. Heh, and after all that I went through too. Mike pulls me closer and snarls. "Why the fuck do YOU have Monsanto shirt on?"

I already know that in retrospect I'll tell myself there was no reason not to lie at this point, but in reality I simply succumb to fear. "I'm an R&D scientist for Monsanto. I got kidnapped and ended up here."

Mike loosened his grip a little bit. "Prove it."

"I- we- our IDs are our blood. Wait, prove that I do work there or that I don't?"

Mike's companion chimes in. "Why does it matter? Just tell us the truth."

I reflexively put up my hands at his voice. "I am, I really am! I really work for them!" Mike lets me go completely.

Turns out Mike and Mitch are also members of the MLA, the Mutant Liberation Alliance. Most men their age down here are. What originally began as a Monsanto counter-terrorism private military force quickly found itself co-opted by the mutants themselves. They're willing to fight for free because they joined Monsanto out of necessity. Turns out the same folks who are anti-GMO food are substantially more anti-mutant. Despite the fact these genitically modified organisms lived so out of the way of civlization, so deep underground, people full of hatred would still kidnap their children and leave their mangled corpses displayed with morbid messages written in their blood. After butchering the rest of their little villages of course.

I have to make sure one more time. "So you guys truly like Monsanto? Even after what they did to you?"

Mike starts to snap at me, but cools his demeanor. "No! It's- what do you think they did to us? They gave us life, a place to live, and protection from those who hate us."

I peer over the edge of the cliff we're walking along. Piles of garbage with the odd limb poking out are swarming with large rats. I look back at Mike and think better about challenging his claim.

"We certainly like Monsanto more than most of the outside world," Ed mentions. His eyes get that sharp look again. "That's why we're bringing you to MLA HQ. Got to check your DNA and make sure you're one of us."

One of them? Probably better to just go with it. Before long we arrive at their headquarters. No trash to be seen around here. The base is built into a concrete wall so the entrance is relatively unassuming, just a plain steel door. Actual human security forces out front stop us but not in the abrupt way I expected. They're on good terms with Ed and Mike. They check their DNA nonetheless with a gun-sized finger-pricking device. A bing sound and green light. Next it's my turn. They take my blood and put their hands near their firearms as we all wait for results. I don't know why I'm scared. I do work for Monsanto...don't I?

Bing.

All three of them stare at the screen on the guard's biometric analysis tool to see the results. The guy who pricked my finger slaps his forehead as he reads my file. "Holy shit! You're that scientist who went missing a few days ago. What happened? Are you okay?"

"Sort of."

He glances at my legs and back to me. "Good thing that doesn't look too bad." Bullshit, I almost say aloud. He continues. "See we have a little problem at the moment."

Mike's mortified. "No, no, did it happen again?" The guard just looks down. Mike's claws erupt with a violence nearly matched by the look in his eye. I can't believe that guy tried to fuck me not 30 minutes ago. Although the fact that his parents were literally designed for either sex or combat made total sense.

The guard's calm demeanor is the polar opposite of Mike's. "The eco-terrorists virusbombed us. Every mutant who was inside at the time is dead."

The silence goes on long enough for me to be the one to break it. "So... what do I do then?"

"Just stick with us til the reinforcements arrive from the base two floors below and decontaminate the place."

"Works for me." Ed's distraught and Mike's seething. "Well, thanks guys! I'm sorry for your loss."

Mike starts eyeing me like meat but somehow I don't detect any anger directed at me. Something clicks in Ed's head and suddenly he's the same way. Mike points at me as he says, "You can help us. Yeah. That'll work." I'd prefer to be meat.

"Uh sorry but my legs are fucked up and I'm tired and hungry and I just want to go home."

"Just hear me out," he begs.

"Uh no. No thank you." I start getting a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Listen, all we need is a human to virusbomb their base," Ed pleads.

Great, now they're tag-teaming me. "And what, blow myself up? I haven't even known you guys for an hour. No. Fuck that."

"You misunderstand. A virusbomb isn't an explosive. It's just some guy infected with a time-release virus. And we recently created one that wipes out humans in the lab. There's no way they'll have a cure yet."

"I'll still die then!"

"WE have an antidote. One of will just go in right aft- as soon as the suppository diss-"

"SUPPOSITORY?!"

"-dissolves and inject you with the antidote. Although technically it's not an antidote, it's really billions of nanoear-equipped nanomachines that-"

"No means no!" I look to the guard for help. Then I point to him. "He'll shoot you if you try to force me to go. I'm not going."

He swiftly puts his hand on his assault rifle. "He's right."

Ed throws up his hands. "Fine, fine." Mike backs down too.

Wow, I actually won. All it took was my friend with a gun. Funny how all the peace in the world is created with weapons.

After sitting in awkward silence for almost two hours the reinforcements arrive donning hazmat suits and chuck what appear to be smoke grenades in through the door. They wait a little bit, chuck more smoke grenades, and apparently proceed through the entire inner structure. I'm told these are actually nanomachines that use a nanoparticle of platinum in microtweezers as a nanoear. They are programmed to only hear the microsound specific viruses make, head towards them, and destroy any virus that exists. They can't get the virus DNA out of your cells of course, but these nanomachines become a permanent fixture of your body's ecosystem, constantly destroying any new virus that is created. Enough time has passed that the damage has been done for most of the mutants inside. The new, human, head medic announces that 13 died and 35 get to live as permanent cripples.

It's all very sad but I'm trying to contain my excitement of this nightmare being over. I survey the crowd removing their hazmat suits as we all drink some beer they brought to help wait for the nanomachines to do their dirty work. Almost all are mutants. There's even one with wings but they look too small to be functional. Eventually I lock eyes with the head medic. He gets one of the guards to help carry me inside to the medical treatment facility. I don't look as the medic unwraps my legs. He yelps, so I opt to let it remain a mystery. It takes an excruciatingly long time to treat my leg wounds. At least he was kind enough to give me painkillers, even though I didn't really need them. Then I'm wheeled to an elevator deep in the base and go up 10 floors only to discover I was under Monsanto all along. The medic wheels me to the food court and we part ways.

The next few weeks are the best of my life. It truly does take suffering to appreciate what you got. I don't have so much as a nightmare to ruin my good mood. All this positivity seems to help my leg heal too because after a month they're back to normal, albeit heavily scarred. My research goes smoother than it ever has before. My coworkers seem to respect me more too. At least they're not making their typical tedious small talk. It's not like I completely lost my cynicism though. I make sure to buy a couple guns and vehicular upgrades in the interest of never getting carjacked again on my way back home to the burbclave.

My instincts told me something bad was just around the corner, but I ignored it in my delusional happiness. My phone chirps right as I'm finishing dinner at the food court and getting ready to leave from work; something that has never happened before. A number I'm not familiar with. That feeling of doom in my stomach as I nervously answer: "Hello?"

"Hey LaFonda. Remember me? Got your number from the company database."

It's definitely Mike, but I ask him anyway, "Who's speaking?"

"Your old buddy Mike!"

"What do you want Mike."

"Straight to business eh? Well that's probably for the best in your situation."

The sweat pours out of me like a virgin's tears. My hand finds the gun in my holster and holds it for reassurance. "Wh-what do you mean Mike?"

"That virusbomb thing. It's in you. Do what we say and we'll keep you alive."

"What?! FUCK YOU!!!" I have to catch after screaming. I draw some looks from a few coworkers lingering about. "I'm going straight to the authorities. Goodbye."

Mike's unabashed laughter keeps me curious enough to not hang up. He continues. "That probably won't work out so well for you."

"Why's that?"

"The MLA is 100% mutant now and the elevators have been destroyed. Any human who comes down here will be killed on sight."

I try to sound tough. "I have the full force of a megacorp on my side. I don't think we'll have much trouble wiping you out and getting me those nanomachines."

More mocking laughter. "Maybe so, but you probably won't get last long enough for them to make much a difference."

"I-I'll just get the treatment up here. It's our product after all."

He tuts. "You only have access to the intellectual property right now. The nanomachines themselves would take you too long to manufacture. Lucky for you we got a whole mess of them ready-made right here."

Three beats of my heart, an ellipsis. "What do I have to do?"

"That's what I like to hear! We'll send you the coordinates of their commune. Won't take you more than 10 minutes if you drive fast. All you have to do is walk inside. Good lu-"

I hang up and raise the phone to smash it, but just scream instead. The message containing the coordinates arrives and I run to my car. Can't afford to use auto-drive. As I lean on the pedal I scream and smash the horn. Maybe I should just crash the car. If I'm not a kamikaze weapon for these guys I'm getting kidnapped. If I'm not getting kidnapped, I'm a slave to a megacorp. There's nothing for me in this life. No wife and kids waiting for me at home. Not even a cat. I can't flee to a country because any one worth going to stopped taking refugees from FUSA. I can't flee to another megacorp because it's too late in my career to start from scratch. I veer towards the nearest building and it grows in size exponentially, causing me to flinch and swerve back towards the road. Can't even take the coward's way out, huh? If I really wanted to die, I'd just tell Mike to eat a dick (or pussy; whatever's more offensive to gay guys), head back to the cafeteria, get the most expensive thing on the menu, then go to the bathroom for one final masturbation session. That'd probably kill everyone at Monsanto but who really gives a shit at this point? There's certainly no heaven and if there is a hell, it can't be worse than this. Yet I keep driving forward, so fearful of death that I do whatever this furry faggot tells me for the mere possibility of continuing this miserable existence. Welp, I'm here.

Dead leaves carpet the ground and dead trees claw the sky. A run-down apartment complex with so signs of life. This was once Monsanto community housing, decades ago. Unfortunately, all the lush new life bio-engineering breathed into the badlands lived off the waste produced at Monsanto’s factories. When the factories shut down, so did the ecosystem. I double-check the coordinates. This is it. Is he fucking with me? I walk up, try the door, then knock. I sit on the stoop of the main entrance. It's not too late to drive back to the cafeteria. Maybe there's a McDonalds close by.

"Can I help you?" A pair of eyes appeared on the dilapidated screen next to the main door.

I stand up and try to compose myself. I never thought of how I was actually going to get in. Better go with what I know they hate. "Hi there. I'm a Monsanto defector and I-"

A different voice, a woman's. "Holy shit, you're that asshole we fed to the metapede last week! How are you still alive? Whatever. Get him!"

That was easy. The door flung open and two burly dreadlocked men grabbed me by both arms and escorted me inside. They seemed puzzled as to why I wasn't resisting in the slightest. Dumb meatheads. We went up an elevator to the top floor and entered a woman's room. Albeit non-human.

A catgirl with larger than normal human-style eyes, fangs, both cat ears and human ears, and a lazily twitching tail. The rest of her is simply a gorgeous olive-skinned human-style beauty. Then, despite my best intentions I look a little closer, specifically at her chest. It's hard not to given she was wearing nothing but a hairband, a skirt, and a double-bosomed corset. Four tits.

She scratches me across the face and I whelp like a wuss. Guess she has retractable claws too. "Don't look at me." I remember this voice, she was one of the people there that night they kidnapped me. The look of recognition enraged her, so she made my scratched up face symmetrical. The buff guys finally let go of my arms.

"How stupid are you?" she snarls.

"I-"

"Shut up!" she shrieks. "You people just never learn your lessson, do you? This time, we're going to paralyze your body so you don't trigger an empathetic response in the metapede."

"T-trigger a what?"

She sneers. "Yeah, you megacorp pigs wouldn't know the definition of empathy, would you?"

I rub my my cheeks in preparation for another strike that never comes as I say, "Wait, that cluster of insects had empathy? For me?"

The Aryan guy guarding the door behind me chimed in, "Dude, we got it all on video."

In his direction she shoots out a "Don't remind me!" Back to me "It's true though. Every second of your squirming was sent to every employee in Monsanto." An evil grin. "We cut out the part where it left you to go get help though. And we figured out the cause too. We just have to paralyze you before throwing you in there to prevent any fear-based chemical signals from leaking out. Won't make for as good of a video though."

At this point I start feeling a little sick, a little sleepy. The first cough. Her cat eyes grow wide. "OH FUCK! He's a virusbomb! Run!" The last thing I see is them all running out of the room as I drop to the floor. I wonder how much brain damage this period of unconsciousness will give me.

A sharp pain in my asscheck and an inhale of air as I'm forced awake by some injection. My pants are down. Ed's there, Mike too. "Don't worry tiger, I just gave you the suppository," Mike says with a wink.

I'm feeling mostly back to normal. "Can I go home yet?" I mutter, not really expecting a response.

"Sure thing pal! We'll walk you out."

"Whatever."

Ed acting as his handler again as Mike shoots any stragglers in their rooms. "You don't know how much this helps us. This was the first and only ecoterrorist collective that consistently got access into any mutant village. We can finally breathe easy again."

As we get into the elevator my intellectual curiosity returns. "By the way, why was a mutant lady in charge of the ecoterrorists."

The look on both their faces made me feel like even the elevator was about to stop. Then Mike grabs me by the shoulders and gets too close. "What did you say?!"

I don't even bother pushing him off. "A lady, a cat lady, was who they brought me to here. I guess the virus wouldn't work on her. Too bad, that bitch is psycho."

Mike looks like he's about to cry. "That- that's my sister."

Having been on the bring of death multiple times in the past couple of weeks has dramatically reduced the amount of fucks I'm capable of giving, so I say, "Apple doesn't fall far from the tree I guess."

He lets me go, laughs, and we walk through the lobby. "I can't believe she's not only alive, but working with the anti-GMO terrorists. That explains everything."

Ed points out, "You realize this means she'll keep coming back, and that we'll have to kill her, right?"

I get in my car and wave. "Fuck you guys! Hope I never have to see you again!"

They wave politely and begin a heated discussion that ends with Ed embracing a sobbing Mike as I drive off into the sunset. Wish I lived the other direction.

The smell doesn't bother Travis, not since my botched back-alley upgrade anyway. It’s the chill, the sharp jet of frigid air the scent of decomposing corpses rides in on, into his basement apartment. You get what you pay for in LA.

He scans his portable, his rig, and two cobbled together laptops for new jobs switching attention to a new glowing screen whenever it gives a notification. He hadn't been plugged into the net proper since he tried to get a bargain deal on a visual memory upgrade. He actually kinda likes this retro-version of the net; mindless busywork can relax him. But the lack of the datajack seems to be keeping employers away. Debt collectors were already starting to breathe down his neck. He had to find to something. Lucky for him the blockchain contract system everyone used, from freemen to megacorps, had a built-in bounty system for every contract that was violated. So as much work as you could handle...provided your rank is high enough. Travis is rank 5.

Suddenly, a sound he hadn't heard in a while: a notification chime. Just your run-of-the-mill Verizon enforcement work. Just another megacorp job. This would barely put a dent in his debt. His rank would never go up if these were all he took. His brother would certainly never respect him. But he can't afford to turn anything down at this point, especially when his biggest debt was to Verizon.

His first mark of the day was in a heavily fortified Muslim fortress. Islam is the only religion these days and for good reason: it’s also the most violent. Muslims took tens of thousands of acres of land by force during the Real Estate Wars after Dissolution. Not bad for half a million people (now about a quarter of that). After their land was acquired and Freeland settled down a bit they turned the jihad on themselves. Think of them as modern day Spartans; rabid warriors who live on little save the glory of battle. However, they still rely on some modern conveniences which is why our protagonist is here in the first place.

Information technology had not changed much in the last fifty years. This plateauing of technological innovation quickly allowed hackers and old fashioned thieves to hijack cell towers, like the infamous cable thieves of old. It became rampant several decades after dissolution. It took over a decade for someone at Verizon to realize (or admit) that it was cheaper to execute the offenders than to continue the security-hacker arms race indefinitely. And with no centralized police force, no one would stop them.

The entire outer surface of this particular mosque commune is covered in razor sharp carbon nanotubes. Scaling it isn't gonna work and there's no way in hell they're gonna answer the door with anything but gunfire. Potshots from the mosque's dome ricochet off his bulletproof ride. They know exactly who he is from the decals and holograms emanating from his vehicle. He can't afford his own ad-free car. His job would be a lot easier without the advertising crap.

He wonders how thick the walls are. He figures there's only one way to find out. The pedal is pushed all the way to the plastic kevlar floor as he heads straight for where the door ought to be. With a huge explosion of metal and concrete, it works. There's only cosmetic damage to his ride as far as the on board comp can tell. His vision clears. He crashed into the middle of a living room and there are several children staring at him. None dead, yet. He gets out and demands they all get on the ground with his shotgun. They do. Next thing he knows six men are coming at him with knives, sickles, and nets. Their lack of armor leads him to believe they are trainee warriors, not yet allowed to handle the valuable remaining guns. "I'm the only ninja here," he quips as he shoots them each neatly in the chest with non lethal, paralyzing gel buckshot. He's good at his job. He knows he gets docked pay for each person killed not in accordance with Verizon's Ethical Code of Delinquency Punishment, one of the megacorp's more humanitarian policies. "I'm here for Mahen Kahn," he shouts over the screaming children.

One of his victims, a thin man with a thinner beard, weakly mumbles, "Okay I'll pay. How much?"

"200 Vcoin for your thirteen months of delinquent payments."

"That's way more than it should cost!"

"I'm just doing my job sir."

"I don't have it. What now?"

He flicks a switch on his gun to make it fire lethal metal slugs. He shoots Mahen Kahn right in the fucking head. It's all good because everything that just happened is recorded in his suit and his weapon and his car for that matter. Mr. Kahn clearly said he couldn't pay and it's clearly written in his Verizon wireless contract that if you can't pay your debt after one year, you and your contract will be terminated. This policy was instituted as a deterrent more than anything and is thought to have saved countless market value over the past ten years. People still try to get away with crap like this, and some even get lost in the cracks for a while, hence Mr. Kahn's thirteenth month.

The Verizon wireless debt collector doesn't hear the silent gun toting warriors descending to avenge their brother, but he doesn't need to stick around. In fact he only admires his kill for about 270 milliseconds before jumping in his ride and slamming the door. Right as bullets fly at him. He's lucky, but he's used to it. Because high quality technology is equivalent to luck. He slams the car in reverse and continues down the wet, lawless 101, countering the improvised missiles shot at him with thick books of paper Verizon ads shot out of a cannon that comes out of the trunk of his ride.

Unlike his brother, Travis only has his sweet ride and top of the line multipurpose state-of-the-art shotgun because he entered a contract with a megacorp. A deal with the devil. Every experienced contract enforcer knows to stay far far away from that side of the business. He watches the his account grow slightly less in the red to Verizon on his port. He's satisfied with the life he carved out for himself as a low-rank contract enforcer but he always hated how impersonal it felt. He was born too late for the Lord Wars. People were at least passionate about stuff in those days. Now it was all so arbitrary. Probably. He's tried everything from slave to slaver eventually settling upon contract enforcer like his brother. Or at least trying to. If he could only get complete a high rank mission...

Suddenly a new S-class mission pops up on his port albeit from Verizon. Some heavily armed burbclave was stealing cell phone service. They weren't even customers in the database. There apparently weren't even people living there. Travis' tumescence subsides when he reads the mission comments from previous failures. 'They seem to have a 20km radius drone bomb surveillance system; good luck getting closer' 'If the drones don't get you the dogs will.' 'Yeah, there's no way they're gonna collect on this one unless they massively up the bounty' Travis has to at least check it out, but he doesn’t want to die. He grimaces and drives the opposite direction. He’s gonna need some help. He goes at 100 miles per hour towards the vertical city of Ganymede. The High Ball Bar, to be precise.

The city grows in a repurposed giant parking deck so he parks outside like everyone else. In a way, the structure looks like a square drill bit with deep ridges some giant alien drilled into the ground and left there. The official story was this structure was human built so that's what Travis believes, but for some reason nobody knows the actual owner of the land it sits on. Every bit of space is owned by the occupier and defended with either a personal army or quality service. Travis' bar fortunately falls into both categories. It is the only building that is connected in some way all 24 stories down and serves as a glorified waiting room for the central elevator. There's always a random delay while he waits for the elevator then the actual elevator ride is pretty random in duration too. Getting drunk is kind of necessary to tolerate the few who demand reprieve from sobriety. It's always a fun place to meet people when off work and a surprisingly practical way to wrangle a contract enforcer.

He sits in the corner and looks for a gun-for-hire. There's all the manner of downright jagged individuals getting trashed but one catches our hero's eye. An anthropomorphized stealth bomber: tall, pointy, and discrete. It's his older brother, Roy, although he goes by the street name Raven. Killing runs in their family. Much to his dismay, Travis is the less successful of the two. Raven never so much as sustained a serious injury in his entire career. Raven had so many job offers these days he mostly did ones that made him look cool. Even though Travis is the one deep in debt, he buys him a drink and begins the transaction.

"Hey Roy. Um, any chance you could help me out?"

His brother's hazel gaze impales the long, dark hair in front of his face and continues through all the way into Travis's very soul.

"Megacorp?"

"...Verizon."

"You know I don't waste my time with corporate errands. Thanks for the drink faggot."

There's plenty of other people Travis could ask, but obstinance is a trait that goes hand in hand with combat prowess.

"Naw man, you don't understand me. We're taking OUT a Verizon CO."

All Raven lets out is a grunt. Travis pulls up the mission on his portable, scrolling past the name of the mission provider to reveal the relevant details, the mission class and comment section. A well-practiced sleight-of-hand. After what seems like longer due to his brother's statuesque demeanor, he speaks.

"This looks like I'm to prevent someone from stealing Verizon's service."

Travis is more of a gun shooter than a word talker. That dexterous scroll is his only manipulative trick. Dejected, he stares into his drink as his port his handed back to him. Raven breaks the silence again.

"I get it. By killing this man we'll take down a key Verizon leader hiding out there, thus enabling a small rebellion enough pandemonium to stage an internal coup?" Raven's face was dead serious.

"Fuck off." Travis knew this guy was giving him the shit and the man's emerging smirk betrayed him. Travis ordered a steer for himself. He need some stims to keep his motivation up and the beer to keep him civil. He never used to like these cocktails but the taste grew on him after a while. Right as he gets his drink the elevator lands and he let's himself be carried by the crowd into the dark elevator shaft.

The doors slam shut and music and lights shut back on. People start dancing but Travis slinks to the edge to chug his drink. There's a much better chance his little trick works on the insane mad men who actually enjoy this loud music in a giant service elevator. He kills his drink and grabs a tough-looking, head-banded, small guy's shoulder. Even in the cramped space, this judo-master instantly puts him on his back and gets him into an armlock. They make eye contact, and the little guy's eyes seem ready to kill. He's not reaching for a weapon though. A good sign. Soliciting a runner can be more dangerous than dating. He mimes turning on his radio then holds up three fingers, two fingers, and an empty zero fist.

Travis gets up and switches his headset on and switches to frequency 320. "I'm looking for a hired gun on a hitjob. Interested?"

"I'm an infiltrator!" the diminutive judo master tries to shout over the noise. This shocks Travis' ears after his earpiece automatically amplifies the shout. He responds in kind. "That's great! I need some help bypassing their security measures too!"

After flinching, in a much quieter voice the headbanded man asks to see the job details. Travis tries to scroll past the name Verizon fast enough that it doesn't quite register but still seems like it could have been accidental. He's seen enough.

The lights shut off and the elevator doors slam open. Without looking back the little guy says, "Kill someone and shut off their connection? Ask someone else. See ya!" Having wheels in his shoes the whole time he starts to roll with the mob out the door.

Travis cuts in before he's cut off. "It's an S-class bounty."

They both dash towards the outside before the doors crash back shut. Once outside the short skater accepts. "Names Lars, rank 27 CE. Tell me more." They get another drink while Travis explains the plan. Which is that he has no plan just a bunch of guns and a kickass ride. "Right on brother." They both take the rope hanging off the side of the city, Lars finds his gear, Travis finds his car, and they get in.

The newly formed team races towards destination. Upon arrival neither can hide their disappointment. It's your everyday burbclave. Even more normal than average. Lars demands to see the job posting again and Travis lets him, possibly to prove he didn't hallucinate the comments and S-class. They're still there and Lars apparently never cared the client was Verizon anyway, so they give each other a shrug and get out to gather more data.

Surrounding the hilly neighborhood there's an electrified barbed wire fence and not a single person standing guard. No dogs either. The only things of note are drone and human remains. They use heat and millimeter wave vision but still can't find anything, not even in the houses. But the position of the offending phone is clearly marked and verified for not being spoofed. The mark is in there somewhere. Travis pulls two fulton devices out of his trunk. He could have gotten better infiltration tech, but he prefered to specialize in speed and power. These are all he's got. One for them to get in, one to get out. Each man straps one on. The grown men stare at each other like awkward teens for a few seconds realizing one will have to grab the other like a bitch. Lars, a man conditioned by a lifetime of being on the defensive, clutches his fulton trigger and grabs Travis under the arms. His balloon inflates and he uses the propulsion system to drift them over the fence.

The second they touch down an earthen rumbling signals the opening of the ground. From all sides werewolf mutants with muscles that put gorillas to shame launch out. There is intelligence in their eyes as well as the primal desire to tear the two runners to shreds. Travis doesn't even have time to draw his shotgun and switch to kill-mode. He relies on the only augment he could afford, his reliable handcannon. The 3 shells he has loaded are enough to slow down 3 of the dogs enough to get out his primary tool. Meanwhile, Lars detaches his fulton and gets wrecked by the fourth, but not before nailing his attacker in the face with half a clip of explosive nail rounds from his customized nailgun. It doesn't matter. More are coming from behind other houses and drones appear on the horizon. Travis flips the switch from slug all the way to spreadshot. He never uses this setting, it's only for when he's in real danger. It fires 5 slugs simultaneously delivering almost 20 kilojoules of energy to the target. This is enough to take down the two nearest beasts and the last one rips the gun out of Travis' hand while ripping his remaining real hand off. As far as Travis is concerned, the only problem with living a high-adrenaline lifestyle is losing the benefits of adrenaline when you really need it. At the apex of Travis' involuntary wail the EMP flashbang Lars dropped goes off, drowning him out. Blind and barely able to stand, Lars feels around for Travis' fulton and they float away clutching each other for dear life as drones drop out of the sky. A couple more distant drones land hits but the their armor and existing injuries diminish the effects. They were too cocky. But their story doesn't end here.

Lars shoves moaning Travis in the car and sets the course for Ganymede. He applies painkillers and first aid to himself then Travis best he can til they can get to a real doctor. Luckily there's one on the ground floor. Lars' injuries aren't too bad, mainly bruises and lacerations, so he returns to the bar. Albeit it a quieter section and he sticks to recreational drugs that don't hinder the healing drugs. On the other hand, this is nearly the worst injury Travis ever sustained. There's a primal psychological element to getting your hand ripped off at the forearm just not present in bullets. To make matters worse another cyborg hand would empty his bank account plus he already needs to buy another shotgun, so he opts for a good old-fashioned hook. After a good couple days in the advanced healing chambers at Regen Motel, and a devastating blow to his wallet at the weapons bazaar, Travis contacts Roy for advice. Much to his surprise, Roy suggests they meet up in a quiet ice cream shop on the 3rd floor.

Roy gets mint chocolate chip cookie dough in an oversized waffle cone, shell-encrusted with M&M studs. Travis gets an unholy combination of rocky road, moose tracks, and rum raisin in an edible bowl with 5 kinds of sprinkles and a cherry on top. They sit down and Travis gets straight to business.

"You know the situation. What should I do?"

Roy takes an aggressive chomp into the shell and says, "I don't think brute force is the way to handle the situation. Who knows how many drones they have or what else is underground." He takes another chomp. "Those werewolf cunts were the main problem in my humble opinion."

Travis quickly recovers from a brain freeze and replies, "They had to be mutants. Maybe there's something there."

"I have a contact in a mutant colony. I could try asking him. It's hard to find information about them on the net."

"Sounds good to me. Let me know when if you learn something."

Roy starts biting into his cone. "Sure thing. I'll need you to give me a bitcoin of course."

Travis chokes on his ice cream. "Your contact is that expensive?"

"Actually he wants almost double that but I'll let you use the discount I get."

Roy is his brother, but he is still a contract enforcer, a people notorious for being hard to track down should they fuck you over. They know all the tricks after all. He eyes Roy while holding up his bowl with his hand and hook to begin the final part of the ritual. "Why don't you see if I can go with you. I'd like to meet your guy anyway."

Roy polishes off his cone and wipes his hands on a moist towelette before pulling out his portable. "Have it your way. I'll send a message right now." He receives a response in a matter of minutes, Travis' payment is processed, and they spend the rest of the day en route to the mutant colony in the New Bay Area.

The Bay Area of the west coast had more than real estate and raiders to worry about. A long overdue earthquake did more damage to San Francisco than a literal nuke did to New York City. People still tried to live in the semi-sunken city if they had no place else to go, but no one really wanted it. That's probably why the mutants went there initially but now mutants went there cause of the burgeoning mutant population.

The entire drive their destination looms in the distance. It's easy to spot. The pointy intact Transamerica building contrasts sharply with the sea of rubble and...sea. No one ever picked up the slack on road-building after the government collapsed almost a century ago...and the fastest way to get around the west coast was still the 101. Only now it was chock full of mutants who seemed to have decided every inch of the 101 is now theirs. The permanent perfect conditions for hydroplaning don't help either. Cruising through the ruins mutates into an obstacle course of not only crumbling road and water, but thrown rocks and pipe bombs. The brothers catch glimpses of eyes in windows and winged mutants in the sky as they speed along any solid ground they can find.

Roy accuses his brother of creating their predicament. "Can't you turn off these fucking Verizon holograms?"

Two eyes on the road one hand on the wheel he replies, "Not my fault dude! And hey, by the WAY, didn't you let them know we were coming?"

Travis swerves out of the way of an explosion before Roy continues bickering. "Yep! Fuck this, they like me. Where's your eject button?" He starts pushing random buttons on the dash, firing missiles, launching paper ads, and opening the sun roof.

Travis sneers. "Only drivers seat. Sorry bro!"

"You fucking bastard. Last time I help you, that's for damn sure."

"No problem you son of a bitch! Last time I ask you for advice."

Instead of distracting them, the ever escalating danger only exacerbates their bickering. When they finally arrive at their destination, they stay in the car to get the last word in. They don't even notice the attacks stopped. Finally, a four-armed gorilla-man lightly chucks a rock at the windshield to get their attention. They look up and get out of the car, neither the least bit embarassed.

The gorilla-man puts each set of hands together in a sort of double prayer. "Apologies, Raven. The young ones who attacked you did not know of your arrival." He glances towards the car still covered in obnoxiously moving Verizon ads. "We have to be cautious when we see those."

Raven puts his hands in his pockets and grunts, "Fuck megacorps."

Travis is quick to apologize. Mutants still disgust him, but actually getting a mutant contact his brother knows would seriously help his career. "Sorry. Don't worry, I'm definitely not here for any of you. Want me to give you a copy of Verizon's database?"

The gorillaman gestures toward Travis but only addresses Raven. "I take it this is your brother?"

They both eye Travis up and down, then Raven says, "I guess..."

Travis holds out his hand to the mutant. "I'm Travis. And you are?..."

The gorillaman flinches away from him. "You may call me Pascal." He pulls out a syringe from his overall pocket and puts it in Travis' one good hand, careful not to touch him. "Before we proceed to Ivanetniaz, inject yourself with this." He retrieves another one that he hands to Raven. "Again, apologies Raven. You must understand we cannot be too careful. I have to ask both of you to leave all weaponry in your vehicle as well."

Raven notices Travis is hesitating and takes action. He moves too fast to see, gets his brother in a half-nelson, and stabs him in the neck with the syringe intended for him. "The hell's wrong with you?" He pushes him away but not before grabbing the syringe out of his brother's hand and stabs himself with it. "I fucking swear, every goddamn time I try to help you out..." He follows Pascal inside, neither waiting for Travis.

Inside the lobby is run-down but there's music and TV and playing along with the smell of something delicious. There are younger mutants slithering and galloping around, having the time of their lives, with harried caretakers making sure they don't get hurt. No one pays them much mind though. They head towards the stairs in the back and go down flight after flight until they hit the bottom. The hallway they walk out into has a hole ripped into the side giving way to an even more massive cavern. Filled with water, but also lights. When they finally reach their destination, a platform at the edge of the massive pool, Pascal takes out an eyedropper and squirts a dropper full of some black liquid into the water.

Travis starts to ask something but Roy elbows him to shut up. They end up sitting there in silence for a good 10 minutes before the still pool explodes. After wiping the seawater from their eyes they see a massive octopus-like creature. Positively covered in eyeballs even if half of then are permanently out of commission. It's hard to tell what's a wound and what's a mutation on the monstrosity. A handful of tentacles rise up out of the water and some are holding presumably waterproof guns.

Travis stands his ground and tries to act tough, but the others can tell from his heartbeat it's all an act. Raven glares at the thing with disinterest. Pascal announces, "This is Ivanetniaz." He turns to Ivanetniaz. "You already know Raven and this is his brother, Travis."

Vibrations that make the water ripple emanate from within the megamutant. "THANKS AGAIN FOR YOUR HELP RAVEN. YOU ARE A TRUE ALLY TO THE MUTANTS. I WAS NOT AWARE YOU HAD A BROTHER."

Raven shrugs. "Not missing much."

Ivanetniaz barely moves, save a few of his eyes. "AND YOU, TRAVIS, I HEAR YOU REQUIRE INFORMATION ON THE WOLFMEN. IT WAS NOT MADE CLEAR TO ME THE PURPOSE. WHY?"

Travis looked to the others before realizing he was to reply. He gathered his thoughts and crafted a hasty lie. "My girlfriend was killed by one and no one ever saw it before. I have nothing against mutants, but I have to avenge her."

After a couple seconds it responded, "WHICH IS THE LIE? THAT YOU HAVE NOTHING AGAINST MUTANTS OR THAT YOU HAD A GIRLFRIEND?"

Raven's manicured image broke in public for the first time in a while as he busted out laughing.

"GLAD TO SEE YOU HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOR AFTER ALL RAVEN."

He quickly regained his composure. "He's a megacorp cuck. Verizon. He needs a way to subdue wolves to get his mark."

"I SEE." All the eyes focused on Travis. "ATTEMPTING TO LIE TO ME WILL BE FRUITLESS. HOWEVER YOU ARE IN LUCK. WERE THEY MUTANTS I WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU WHERE YOU STAND. THE WOLFMEN OF WHICH YOU SPEAK ARE IN FACT NOT MUTANTS. THEY ARE CHIMERAS, COBBLED TOGETHER FROM THE PARTS OF GROWN ANIMALS. THEY ARE NOT PURE BEINGS LIKE US WHO ARE GROWN FROM A SINGLE CELL USING A SINGLE GENETIC CODE."

Travis can't hide his fear now. The embarassment he suffered a minute ago was a pleasant memory. Raven and Pascal just looked curious now. Ivanetniaz continued. "THAT IS ALL I KNOW. SHOULD YOU REQUIRE MORE INFORMATION YOU MUST RETRIEVE IT YOURSELF FROM GOOGLE'S OFFLINE SERVERS DEDICATED TO HISTORICAL MILITARY DATA." Ivanetniaz dives back down, dousing them with salty water a second time.

Roy turns to his brother. "You're welcome."

It takes the entire walk back to the car for Travis to get his nerve back. "Wait, how are we gonna get into Google?"

Raven opens the driver side door for his brother. "We're not. I'm staying."

As Travis is getting in: "Come on man! Don't try to tell me this isn't interesting enough for you. Maybe I'm a megacorp cuck but you're a freelance hipster."

Raven stifles a smile but Travis doesn't let up. "This could be my big break! C'mon, gimme SOMETHING."

Raven reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a glasses case. "Here. You can BORROW my aras."

His augmented reality aviators. It's a pretty nice gift, but Travis looks it in the mouth. "Some fucking aras? What am I supposed to do with these?"

Raven slams the door in his face.

Back at Ganymede, Travis gets back in touch with Lars. Now an infiltrator is really important.

Lars is having none of it though. "A S-class job for Verizon is one thing, but now you're asking me to infiltrate Google of all places on an unranked mission and for no pay?"

"Well..."

Lars pulls the elastic on his headband and lets it snap back to his head in order to shock his brain into an idea. "Tell ya what kiddo, give me another 40% of the Verizon bounty and I'll be your man on the outside."

"That'd leave-"

"10% for you, yeah, sorry." Lars shrugs. "You can always get someone else."

The thing is, Travis knows this is the best deal he's gonna get. He knows that 10% would at least eliminate his own debt with Verizon. He knows finding someone rank 27 willing to help him take this low-prestige, high-risk job was a stroke of luck. He knows he doesn't have a choice. He grumbles a bit about keeping the target info for himself while agreeing to Lars' terms.

Lars has some useful tricks up his sleeve. He's best buds with a communications engineer-cum-hacker skilled at making custom equipment for jobs, Vishna. The man of Indian descent claims to have crafted a way around modern wireless communication detection mechanisms: radio waves and an old-fashioned walkie-talkie. By plugging an adapter into a transceiver radio's external port, the appropriate data could be sent via radio waves into the transceiver through the adpater into the appropriate information recepticle. No MAC address to detect, no GPS. He isn't 100% sure it will work, so he lets Travis and Lars borrow it for free on this test run. Lars also lends Travis a set of ceramoplastic lockpicks which he stuffs into the compartment on the bottom of his boot. Travis holds on the aras when Lars informs him that even with the network access shut off, they're still useful for thermal vision and millimeter wave vision.

They set in the wee hours of the morning to arrive at Google around 4AM during a massive thunderstorm in order to minimize the amount of problems they run into. Travis drives while Lars does the prep work in VR goggles and gloves for this high-risk infiltration mission.

"Update?" Lars asks while looking around at things in VR.

"Another barricade up ahead. Just a matter of activating the nitro boost at the right time. We're almost there."

Lars nods in response as they blast through the mutant barricade. Google's HQ approaches. To the untrained eye, Google has the veneer of a benign megacorp like all the rest. The only dead-giveawy to their ruthless use of force is the corpse hanging from the G on the company billboard right before the exit. A flash of lightning shows it dripping with water and blood. Travis gets out halfway down the exit so he can be in solid range of the radio transmissions while letting Lars keep a safe distance. Also they can't get any closer in a vehicle.

LA suffered it's own natural disasters just not as bad as the Bay Area. Instead of the entire city falling into the sea, the mountains fell onto east LA all the way to downtown, covering all but the tallest buildings in thick layers of earth. The still standing buildings became up for grabs and most of the megacorps got at least one. Google got everything of value between 5th and 2nd street and used the heads of those towers as the base for a super-tower that spans 6 blocks wide and another half kilometer up. Rumor has it that inside is a vertical city that makes Ganymede look like a small village. Given that Verizon handles Freeland's communication networks and any online service people use is based in another country, Google's tower's purpose is shrouded in mystery. Like the rest of the megacorp microstates, anyone can join at any time. Unlike the rest, no one has ever left this one to explain what it's like.

The infiltration plan our heroes worked out is as simple as they come: just walk in the front door. They want people to join after all. Only catch is Travis can't bring any weapons cause he has to pass through a metal detector and a millimeter wave detector and a full pat-down. All he keeps is his port, his transceiver radio, his brother's aras, and Lars' lockpicks in the sole of his boot. Travis barely convinces the plain-clothes guards his radio is a silly little heirloom he keeps for semantic value. They don't know what it is in the first place so this works. They let him through.

The receptionist stops Travis. "Can I help you?" she says half at him and half at her port.

"I'm here for an interview."

She looks straight at this swarthy yet pale, scruffy yet composed man. "It's 4 in the morning."

"It's Google! Can you blame me for wanting to show up early? Where can I wait?"

Lars bought a Google email account and this building's employee database on the ride over here in order to fabricate a 9AM interview notification in her port on Travis' behalf. She can't give less of a shit. "There's a room down the hall." She points in a very ambiguous manner towards a cluster of hallways past the pristine fountain. No carpets, he notices, making him wish brought different shoes.

"Thank you miss." The cameras glare at him, tracking him in unison. This is really the only hard part of the entire plan.

Just out of eyeshot of the receptionist, he breaks into a sprint. He plans on being detected this soon. At the northeast corner of the building there is an elevator. If he can just get there, pick the somehow-still-in-existence emergency lock on the elevator, and make it into a maintenance shaft from the elevator shaft, he’ll be golden. If he gets caught though, well, Google can do whatever they wanted to him. Gotta gamble big to win big.

And even though there is no alarm sound, they're definitely already alerted. He bobs and weaves down hallways avoiding an ever increasing number of night security guards, narrowly evading more than one paralytic gas canister and capture goo. Travis turns a corner only to realize he's trapped in a hallway between a quickly closing pincer of barely augmented Google goons. They're not at their best, given half of then were fast asleep a minute ago. Travis hesitates just long enough for one guard to fire a net-gun at the other group as he slides under the goon's legs and snatches some grenade. Without looking behind him he rips the pin out and chucks it towards the clusterfuck.

Now with a bit of a lead he puts his aras on, already set to millimeter wave radar, as he approaches the elevator. He has about 20 seconds before his life is over. Fortunately, seeing exactly how the lock looks through the aras really speeds up his picking time. The door slowly opens, he squeezes through, jumps down, and burns his hands through his gloves on the cable as his descent slows. He swings over to a ladder and crawls in the first maintence duct he finds. The potshots leads him to believe the guards didn't see where he went.

"Lars!" he whispers into his transceiver. It still works as a way to communicate too.

"What?"

"Can you shut down the alarm and send out a confirmed kill notification for me?"

Three seconds pass, then he finally responds, "I can do the second part, but not the first."

"Fuck! It won't work unless both happen. Just send me whatever you found for the location of this wolfman data."

Lars sends the data to his transceiver via radio waves and Travis uses a very expensive cable to transfer the info into something readable on his aras. The HUD gives careful directions to the basement floor he needs to get into. Apparently the data was too sensitive to even have on internal company servers. Some hard drive sitting in some office. He continues crawling through the quiet, dusty maintenance duct. Near the exit he gets a radio from Lars. "Can't stay here, so keep the money. Good luck."

Bad news. This means he has no ride back. Nor any outside support. Of course, it's far too late to turn back at this point. Might as well try to get that data while he still has a buzz going. He nimbly picks the maintenance duct lock while scanning the area using the thermal vision mode on the aras. As soon as he leaves the safety of this duct the cameras will immediately spot him and alert the nearby guards. He needs a distraction. He takes out the shut-off port from his pocket and thumbs the screen, longing for some infodrugs to distract him from how fucked he is.

Then it hits him. He'll be the distraction. He reinstalls the GPS, turns the port back on, reconnects to the network, and throws it down the duct to the elevator shaft. Through the thermal vision he can see the guards pantomime receiving the alert and storming off downstairs to hunt him down. Suckers. Now is his chance. He climbs out of the maintenance duct and bolts down another staircase.

He doesn't have an exit plan but then again, he never does. During his final descent he's blocked by a squad guarding the door in the stairwell. He turns to go back upstairs but there are more coming up behind him. He's caught. Out of tricks. Game over.

He should have known better. He didn't have the resources to penetrate Google. No one did. Debt-induced desperation and drug-induced confidence got the better of him. They're taking him to a balcony overlooking the rest of LA but still not even close to the top. He squints his eyes into the harsh synthetic light of morning. Who knows what sort of punishment is in store for him? He remembers the corpse hanging on the Y.

The guards carrying Travis let him go, even though he's still handcuffed and there are still guns pointed at him. They start ominously switching off their communications equipment. Still kneeling, now panicking, he looks around for an explanation.

A sharply dressed older Asian woman with pink streaks in her hair steps forward. "You're lucky my squad found you before the others did."

She's kind of attractive so Travis wants to say something cool. All he can think of to say though is, "Uh, why?"

She flips her hair back in that arrogant way and touches the tips of her fingers to her chest. "I run one of the a private military forces doing security here and right now I need someone like you. You're a contract enforcer with a specialization in infiltration, right? To get this far into here, you must be like, what, rank 20? 22?"

Travis is rank 5 and he has no specialization. He also likes being alive. "Yep that's correct ma'am."

She smiles and claps her hands together. "Perfect! So I need you to pick something up for me at MEGAcorp. Naturally, it'll be unranked."

Travis is still handcuffed on the ground but knows the value of a good bluff. "Maybe. What's in it for me?"

She giggles like someone 20 years younger. "Fair enough, fair enough. In addition to your life," she motions for her men to put down their weapons and unshackle him, "I'll retrieve for you what you were after here in the first place. So long as it won't cost me anything."

Travis stands up and rubs his wrists. "You can do that?"

With a shrug, "Probably. What is it?"

"Any data on something called a chimera. It's this thing that looks like a mutant wolfman. Supposedly the former American military had something to do with it."

"My, my, you live an interesting life. That shouldn't be an issue."

"Great. Well, I should go acquire some gear. I'll definitely need more than this to get into MEGAcorp."

"Nonsense! I'll provide everything you need. We'll get you sorted out then escort you to where you need to be."

She sets him up with some C-4p, smoke grenades, some light body armor, a new port, and a small tranquilizer gun for good measure. They take his transceiver radio and the adapters when he tries to explain what it's for. One abnormally considerate grunt places a catalytic converter in his hand which he explains lets you get high off the sewer's toxic fumes instead of poisoned. They escort him out the door and down the street to the back of the MEGAcorp building. Then they tell him to jump down into the deep chasm separating it from the Google building. When he hesitates, one guard pushes him.

Travis can't tell if the wind rushing past him is moving up or down. He can see a thin stripe of daylight above him. Flailing, his hook hand grips a thin steel pipe, creating a sharp tearing pain but no apparent damage. He grips it with his other appendage and gives it a firm shake. There's a lot of give, but it can hold his weight long enough to get across this hopeless chasm. All these pipes growing between the base of the buildings like roots are an attempt to automate infrastructure construction based on the data provided by networked sensors. Wind cutting at his face, he starts traveling hand over hook to the other side. It only takes about 5 grips until he reaches the darker, grimier ledge. But it's not like he can relax. He has a job to do after all. So he keeps traveling along ledges and pipes until he gets to the first objective on his port.

Even though it's dwarfed by Google's super-tower, the monolithic MEGAcorp building is no slouch on size either. The MEGAcorp megacorp is the product of a merger between Microsoft, Exxon, General, and Amazon, General of course being a merger General Electric, General Mills, General Motors, General Dynamics, and General Atomics. The resulting acronyms were a major influence for the mergers. For people at the very top and the very bottom of society, life is just a big fucking joke.

Despite standing tall in defiance of each other, the megacorps are entirely dependent on each other. The physical manifestation of this is a deep open air chasm of infrastructure connecting the two arcologies. You can't see it from anywhere inside the building because of dense (probably carcinogenic) fog, at the same time enhancing the illusion of infiniteness and maintaining the illusion of independence. The towers always remain in sight, but a few meters below the fog a vast disorganized patchwork of pipes and cables connect the division. Strange creatures, organic and otherwise lurk here. It's a micro-ecosystem. There's no point in monitoring this no-man's land as anything truly important is transported physically. And sometimes stolen.

Travis eventually arrives at the entrance there's least likely to be surveillance, the disgusting nuclear sewer. He enters the towering behemoth bowels. The light at the drainage pipe's entrance is a powerful UV ray that not only made the innards of the sewer painful to look at, but it was psychologically painful on the skin. It's necessary to prevent dangerous superbacteria from escaping the depths of the waste treatment system under this microstate, and many others all over the world. Travis silently reasons as long as he didn't get too wet he'd be fine. First he turns on the near-infra visible. The lo-fi world of the dark red near-infra visible light spectrum is calming in a quiet, albeit filthy, environment like a drainage tunnel. Eventually he's at a door. No physical lock. Then he connects his aras to the network.

The bright colors of the aras HUD throw him off a bit. In the sea of multicolored triangles that is the Freeland meshnet, he locates the door's digital trace and tries to access it. Offline. He should have brought a crowbar. A network hub catches his eye. He tries to access it. The few tricks he knows don't work. Heavier security than what a rank 5 knows how to deal with. He sends out a junk data stream at it and waits for a reply. Nothing. The only thing he knows for sure is that a lot of other data is going in and out of this hub. He tries looking at the area with the HUD shut off. An easily pickable vent right next to the door. Sometimes technology is a distraction.

Before going in the tiny space, he takes off his body armor to fit and takes a few puffs on his catalytic converter. He can always afford a quick high. And hey, it's technically cleaning up the environment. The fumes emanating from the other end of this vent seem particularly potent. Crawling inside he switches back to AR. He's like a dog following the scent of data. He opts to leave the cylinder in his mouth as he crawls through whatever it is that produces enough pollutants to get him this high. It isn't long before he can't take it anymore. He sets the C-4p for 20 minutes and exits out the way he came in.

After a few more minutes getting high off the fumes, a fire erupts from the vent he was just muddling through. The 'p' in C-4p stands for paralytic gas. Whenever the guards come to check out the problem, the secondary bomb in the bombproof package attached to the C-4p explodes. Paralyzing them. He makes his way to the bombsite, climbs through the hole he made in the pipe, and changes into the clothes of the sole victim: a maintenance worker. The automated security system didn't even bother sending an armed guard for an explosion. The biggest weakness of any megacorp is its bigness.

Little light here, but it's okay thanks to his aras. He heads upstairs and try the door his intel said would lead him to the basement. Not even locked. Always surprising how many unlocked doors there are in this world. The dead ends that don't even warrant security are typically the grossest. Travis ignores the cameras and lets his stolen ID card do the talking. Doors fly open but there's now a question mark superimposed on his face on a security screen somewhere and every guard in the vicinity has been pinged with a suspicious stranger report. Yet no one comes down to check it out. They think: it's probably nothing, and if it's something we'll take care of it when it's a problem. Any megacorp's risk portfolio factors in the corporate cost of sending a guard all the way down here with the past rate of maintenance worker deaths in that particular sector of the facility. That happened to be 0 because only person who had ever even responded to a call down there is paralyzed, not dead.

Using his aras, he searches for the location of the data he needs. He has to be somewhat close to it in order to find it. Eventually he does. Even though it's encrypted he's told to take it anyway. He goes out the way he came and contacts the woman who sent him here so she'll send down a drone to pull him up. This was not a hard job, just a dangerous one. Like all of them.

Surprisingly, the woman is there to greet him. "How'd the job go?"

Surprisingly, Travis has something cool to say for once. "I like my jobs like I like my women. Easy and dangerous."

She tries to hold back a laugh then just lets it out. "HAHAHAHAHA okay hot stuff, but that's not quite an appropriate response to what I asked."

Travis tries to suppress a blush then just does it anyway. "I-I help up my end of the bargain. I already sent you the data. You get mine?"

"Check your mail and here's the key for it." She puts a datachip in his hand. Travis walks away towards where he left his car and checks out the encrypted data in the mail after inserting the chip into his port. His car is not there so he takes this time to go over the files he now has. It looks like the way these wolfmen chimera things are kept in line is a simple dog whistle. "At least that'll be cheap to acquire," Travis mutters out loud for some reason.

Finally with a strategy worked out, Travis' vehicle coincidentally drives up to him and, surprise surprise, Lars is still in the driver seat. After an exchange of apologies and excuses they return to Ganymede to plan out the new assault. Lars' bud Vishna knows a guy who knows a guy willing to sell them a military strength megaphone and a frequency generator. Verizon's surveillance blimps carry them too, but fat chance they'd let a mere enforcer even touch one of those. All geared up for round 2, they head back to the enclave to claim their S-class reward.

This time, they splurged on better mobility equipment, personal assistance drones with just enough thrust to lift them over the fence provided they jump off the roof of the car. Before the first wolfman even emerges, Travis activates their device. The wolfmen come out and head towards the source of the sound barking uncontrollably, clearly maddened by it. In an act of quick thinking Lars snatches the device out of his hands and hooks it on his PAD which he then commands to fly around as they get to cover. The wolfmen chase after it like racing dogs after a toy rabbit and Lars has the bright idea to direct them into the electric fence. It works too well. The drone army is just a matter of picking them off from behind cover with good old-fashioned bullets, as an EMP would destroy their own PADs as well. Travis has to rig his own PAD to constantly be bringing them more ammo from the trunk of his car the entire time. It gets tense for a while but after 10 minutes the skies begin to clear and after another 10 they win this short battle of attrition.

There's still the important matter of actually enforcing the contract. They go into the house where the coordinate on Travis' display says the target should be but they can't find anything. Eventually it occurs to them that those holes the wolfmen came out of lead underground and that the coordinate didn't give a Z-axis. Enough ammo to handle a bit of a trouble and enough confidence to make that seem like a lot, they head down.

They begin the expedition through a network of bunkers and hallways headed towards the Verizon beacon on their ports. There's crates everywhere and all manner of wires running along the walls. Travis recognizes the striped wires from previous jobs as well as his time as a salesman: leaky coax, used to channel wireless signals underground. The second thing they notice are the red, white, and blue American flags. Lars reflexively touches one. "These have to be worth a fortune." He stops to tear them down and gather them up.

"Lars, you're still working for me. Help me enforce the contract first and then you can do whatever you want."

Lars doesn't bother slowing his roll but at least has the courtesy to respond, "Let's get this straight champ. I'm a rank 27 runner. You're a megacorp wageslave. I'm doing you a favor. It's under control."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," an old man shouts from a crackly megaphone, somewhere far away, that echoes painfully throughout the bunker. Travis hits the dirt just as explosions start popping behind crates which in turn launch ricocheting bullets in every direction. Their bulletproof armor catches the majority of the rounds but their meat catch a few too. Fortunately those lucky few had most of their energy dissipated by ricocheting off the concrete walls prior to meeting their mark. Still hurts like a bitch until they take their zeroth-aid medicine, fentanyl. It still bleeds like a bitch til the squirt some antibacterial superglue over the bullet to seal the wound.

"Big mistake you old bitch!" Even though the loudspeaker remains silent at least Travis has a proper target to direct his anger at Lars now. No more explosions, at least not in this room. Lars stuffs a couple flags into his pack and gets serious. They head in the vague direction of the old bitch. Now they're treading carefully, chucking whatever explosives they have to pre-emptively clear rooms before entering them. They run out pretty fast and are no closer to finding the asshole on the loudspeaker.

"Any ideas, Mr. Rank 27?" Travis taunts, not expecting a response.

After careful consideration Lars says, "Take the flags and tell you to fuck off?" as he starts backing out the way he came. Gun drawn.

Travis is resigned to this fate already. "Fucking runners..." is all he utters. He racks his brain for alternative solutions and all he can come up with is heading back towards the original GPS coordinate and forgetting about ending the old man. Better to finish the job than leave it 90% done so some chucklefuck can come in later and take all the credit.

A few more explosions, bullet wounds, and painkillers later, he comes across a reinforced steel door. He slams his palm on the door in frustration. Lars had the keypad hacking tools. Travis will make sure to speak his mind when he runs into that little shit again. He'd never get the chance. On his way to the exit, he comes across Lars' severely lacerated body. It's trying to say something but can only sputter out blood. Travis tops up his gun's magazine and keeps one eye on his surroundings as he loots his former comrade's still living corpse. "Rank 27, huh?" he mutters as he retrieves what he needs.

He can't quite sprint with all the damage his body just incurred, painkillers notwithstanding, so he takes the other extreme. If his stealthy movements enable him to get a jump on a wolfman, he might have just enough firepower between his shotgun, pistol, and hand to make it out of this alive. Alive and more importantly on easy street. Hacking open the door is trivial given it's using an encryption protocol measured in bits instead of megabits. With a cloud of dust, the door clangs open and retreats into the ceiling.

Radiating wires was the target, an illegal (according to Verizon) mobile hotspot on an ancient portable. Then he's bum-rushed from behind and launched across the room. The force leads him to assume it's another wolfman. Wrong. It's some old bitch. *That* old bitch. He's no bitch though. At least 2 meters tall, covered in scars, and a powered armor suit to boot. At least he's not wearing a helmet. He cackles as he swats away the pathetic bullets Travis fires at him. "When will you damn commies learn? America will never die!"

Travis scrambles to cover and shouts from behind a fallen cabinet, "What are you talking about? I'm just here cause you have an unauthorized connection to Verizon's network!"

The mad giant's cackle evolves into a terrifying guttural laugh. "HAHAHAHAHA America will never bow to commies and she certainly won't bow to a cell phone company!" He rips the cabinet off the ground into the wall in one movement.

In most lines of work, poor impulse control is a liability. Not for an enforcer. He springs up and uses his hook to impale the man through his nose into his brain. An old torture technique he heard about once, called a 'lobotomy'. Whatever it's called, it works. The old man still tries to attack but his movements are so wildly uncoordinated he ends up stumbling around the room until he's just a mass twitching in the corner.

He clicks his Verizon registration gun to acquire the portable's true, non-spoofed data so the beanpushers can shut down it's service. Then he rips the device from it's dock so the eggheads can analyze the technology it was using. Mission complete. 10000 Vcoin and a comparable amount of prestige. Even his brother couldn't mock him for this in particular. He looks around triumphantly, only now starting to get the scavenging instincts Lars was displaying. There's only old timey laptops here. Travis pokes the screen before eventually diffusing to the touchpad, and finally, the trackpoint mouse. Amazingly, it moves. No biometric protection. This is a 40 year old computer. Right on the home screen is an unencrypted folder titled 'Plans'. If someone penetrated their organization this deeply, they probably figured it didn't matter. He opens it and tries to scan the contents. Travis ain't illiterate. The problem is he has trouble sitting still for that long. He wants to spend his money and gloat to Roy anyway. So he grabs a couple laptops. Someone would definitely find this valuable. Then he walks back up through one of the werewolf holes, shoots a tree onto the electric fence to function as a bridge, and power-walks through the resulting fireworks show over the fence to his waiting car.

Not being terribly well-connected in the first place, Travis goes to his brother, on the surface to brag, but mainly to get his help analyzing the data on the laptops or finding someone who could. Unperturbed by Travis' pride the first thing Roy says that's more than monosyllabic is, "I swear, you really are illiterate." But they're still family and he gives it a shot. He's soon overwhelmed too, so he calls in the smartest guy he knows, a VR seer by the name of Vishna. This is what he could glean from it.

Turns out the US government had been planning a three-pronged counter-revolution all these years.

Back even before the war their scientists developed a disease that dies as soon as the host does. Using nukes wouldn't work especially if it didn't work the first time. Biological weapons were the next best thing. It's put in a microscopic hydrophobic capsule that gets dissolved in the human gastro-intestinal tract, keeping it alive on it's journey from the Pepsi Water Authority to the mouths of 30% of the population on the continent. Most of those people wouldn't matter. Millions would likely be Canadian. But their projections estimated even 5% of the shot-callers dying at the same time would be enough stability to begin phase two. Awaken sleeper cells. American chimeras that obeyed American super-soldiers who in turn obeyed American politicians. They'd kill off the entire population if they had to. The important thing here was winning not any abstract ideal or patriotism. In phase three they'd begin the rebuilding process, although that'd mostly consist of breeding women they managed to enslave.

The brothers looked at each other. Travis broke the silence by saying, "Pretty cool, huh bro."

Roy gave a genuine smile. "You're still a fucking wagecuck."

I slammed the door and activated all my tower's defense systems. My heart was finally slowing down from overdrive. This was the last straw. I'm a lover, not a fighter. But from what I read this technological anarchy had already spread to the rest of the world, so there was nowhere to go. You can't even trust megacorps to keep you safe anymore. It seemed like everyone else took the horrors of violence as just part of the human condition. Was it always like this? I suppose it had to be worse during the war. At least back then people seemed to care about each other. You didn't need to have a cadre of trained killers accompanying you every second you were out in public.

I slumped down to the floor. What could I do? I can't keep living like this, that's for sure. Seemed like my only option was never go outside. I looked up at the foyer of my palace. It's nice enough I suppose. So long as they don't take out my net I can just have food droned to my roof. I'll just get a pet or something.

The TV screen turned on and came down as I walked into the room and collapsed onto the couch. The first thing that came on was the 3rd entry in the Leader of the Tenants series that made my career.

Then, a commercial.

It opened with a panning bird's eye view of a slum. Thunder of machine guns. Flashes of EMP grenades. Screams of women. A silky male voice narrated over it: "It's a dangerous world out there. Our data analytics has noted you as a particularly valuable member of our world who recently endured a particularly dangerous situation." I sat up a little. Say what you want about targeted advertising, but it worked. After zooming in on a dead man with my face the screen faded to white. "What if you could make danger, fear, and violence a thing of the past?" A science man's face faded in and continued, "What if you could make death a thing of the past?" A series of shots of smiling people in lab coats working in a clean medical facility with upbeat music playing as the man continued to narrate. "Here at Sympotech we have unlocked the secret to eternal life. You won't have to worry about any of the problems of old age or an untimely death. Using our internationally patented hyper-cell technology, your body will never change from it's current form unless you want it to." A notification popped up at the bottom of the screen notifying me I'd received a message from Sympotech. Then the commercial faded back to white and Sympotech's logo appeared with their slogan: 'It's your body. You should be in control.'

I shut off the big screen to help me think. It's not like I was completely unaware of immortality tech before this commercial. I already had several clones growing in vats here for replacement parts like most people of my means. But when it came to this fancy nanotech stuff, I saw the news stories a few years back about the human guinea pigs who effectively got turned into textbook examples of body horror. They were desperate poors working out the kinks though. If this Sympotech is sending out targeted ads to people like me, they must be confident enough with their product by now. And it would be bullshit if a man with as much wealth as me had to hide in my room. I typed up a message and scheduled a meeting.

Upon arriving the first thing I noticed was the lack of other people..

The same man from the commercial shook my hand. I immediately had to express my shock that, "You're not a CG actor."

"Hahahahaha no my good man, I'm the real deal." He led the way as we walked to his office. "So, Mr. LaGuna, how are you today?"

"Very curious," I carefully replied.

"Naturally, naturally," he said as he opened the door to his office. We took our seats. "First of all, I need to confirm what you said on your application. You don't have any augments, yes?"

"Nothing."

"Not even something like a pacemaker or artificial artery?"

"Never had the need."

"Excellent! You're quite the rare one sir. Not many people of your stature are augment-free in this day and age. It causes seriously complications with our technology. Now, what questions do you have?"

"How can you prove that I'm not going to end up like those freaks?" I pulled up a prepared artilce about one of the body horror things on my phone.

After examining it for a split-second he assured me, "That was almost 4 years ago. Do you have any idea how fast this technology improves? Yes, there will always be casualties from the prototypes. Many died trying to invent airplanes, but you wouldn't be afraid to get on one now, would you? Our technology has been perfected and we have the research to prove it." He glanced at my phone again. "You didn't see that information because healthy, happy people don't go viral."

"In that case, why was your lobby so empty?"

His hands stroked his chin passively. "I guess this is a good time to mention price. It's high. I'm talking a significant portion of your fortune. We only offer one package and it's 9999BTC."

I quickly looked down then back at him. This wouldn't make me poor but it was a big enough blow to give me pause. He continued, "Keep in mind this is for immortality by the way. You'll have the rest of eternity to make it back."

I spat out, "Money is no object, I assure you." His smug, confident aura flickered for split-second but came right back when I asked, "What are your information security measures?"

"We don't have any."

"Excuse me?"

"You have to understand, the nanotech we use is closer to silicon organic life than machines. We input your genetic information into our patented hypercell nano-factories to produce the initial population. After that, they reproduce using the instructions they were built with and each and every one is designed to destroy any hypercells that are not identical. There's nothing to hack. Someone would need to simultaneously change every hypercell in your body at the same time to gain control. It works kind of like blockchain."

"Fair enough.I guess my next question is how does this stuff prevent you from dying from an untimely death via explosions or old-fashioned poison?"

"Uh- well, here's the thing sir. These nanobots basically repair your body faster and in ways your cells cannot, but they still work much like the existing biological tools your body uses to repair itself. They get programmed with your DNA and use building blocks, either from your existing flesh or food you eat like how it works now as well as this paste you can purchase, to regenerate you to your full self. Even if you get blown up or crushed, this will occur so long as keep enough of your cells together." He looked away to ponder for a second. "Think Wolverine from the X-men. Oh and if your brain gets damaged, don't count on your memories being quite what they were. These only restore genetic information, not neural information."

"So I'll still feel pain if I get shot or lose a limb?"

His eyes pierced mine as he said, "Yes."

"So your commercial was a bit misleading yes?"

He didn't look away. "I won't patronize you and tell you it wasn't. That's the nature of business. Remember that this is immortality we're talking about. It's safe enough that every single one of our employees has undergone the procedure. Even me."

He pulled some industrial scissors out of the desk drawer and without a hint of showmanship, cut off his pinky into a tupperware that appeared to be a vestige of his lunch. He let out a sharp grunt as the blood flowed out of him faster than I was expecting. We sat in silence as the flow gradually slowed to stop after a minute. The pink nub of a new pinky was already growing back.

My eyes betrayed my surprise causing him to grin through the pain. "Any more questions?"

I regained my composure and asked, "One. It's a big one: what exactly does the procedure entail?"

He leaned back, correctly assuming he'd made the sale. "First we sequence your DNA. Then we program a syringe full of our hyper-cells with it. Then we inject you with it and that's it! The whole procedure takes about 2 hours and is totally painless, except for the injection."

"Okay. I'll have to think about this a bit, but I'll get back to you."

That smug smile had barely diminished as he stood up and offered his mutilated hand to shake. There wasn't even a scar. "We hope to hear from you soon! I'll walk you out."

Like a teenage boy playing mind games with a girl I waited 3 days to schedule a procedure despite the fact I'd already made up my mind. It was as painless as he said. I didn't even have to be there save the beginning to provide a DNA sample and after the 2 hours to receive the injection.

When I got home I had no choice but to try out my expensive new toy. I grabbed a paring knife that was sitting on the breakfast nook, went to clean it, realized it shouldnt matter, and tenatively made a small incision on the back of my hand. It closed up as I made the cut. I doodled around on my hand until i was satisfied. Then I got dressed in my most expensive looking suit and ordered a ronin-copter to take me to downtown Hollywood.

Almost a century ago downtown Hollywood was the place where the upper crust of showbiz mingled with the absolute bottom crust of no-biz. The only difference now was the lack of police to keep the peace. Some wealthy altruists tried purchasing a private security force, but it worked about as well as the former US military trying to defeat the US citizens. These filthy subhumans didnt give a shit about all the entertainment we made for them. All they saw was a walking pile of free money. And some of them didnt even see us as that. They only saw anyone doing better than them as a reminder that they're at thr bottom of society. They saw us as outlets for their frustration with their life situation.

We just passed the border wall between the Hills and Downtown. Not that they kept anyone out, hence my private defenae system. Some freemen launched rockets and magnet harpoons at us, but they were no match for my pilot's ability. He had a 99% positive rating for a reason. We touched down in the middle of a seemingly peaceful road. I paid him to hang around til I gave the signal to pick me up. The perturbed look on his face prompted me to explain.

"Listen, this used to be a free country where you didn't have to be a combat specialist to merely walk down the street with your head held high. I refuse to submit to those subhumans."

He shrugged without a word and turned his attention to flipping switches to prepare to lift off again. I patted the desert eagle in my pocket and headed towards Star Road. My little speech wasn't a complete fabrication. It really was bullshit that someone of my stature had to live in fear for his life in this land. But there are always two sides to every coin. In this case I have to give up a little peace of mind for a vice that's unavailable in the rest of the world: monstergirls.

The UN surprisingly became more functional after America turned into...this. When news of the mutants created in labs here got out, every country in the world criminalized it. It was probably more about a rejection of anything that came from this land without laws than some sort of eugenic ideals. In any case, when they decided to creep out of their subterranean containment villages they mostly went into sex-work. It's pretty lucky I happened to live so close to one of the highest rated mutant brothels on the internet. But they (or should I say their pimps) refused to do an out-call. Plain women didn't do it for me anymore so I had to wallow with the dregs of society to get my rocks off, although that in itself made the situation even kinkier.

It took me thirty minutes to reach the first signs of life. Just some human orphans scurrying about on the rooftops. I immediately drew one of my guns and fired a warning shot in their direction. Or rather, I was actually trying to kill one of them, but it functioned as a warning shot. Just because they were children didn't mean they weren't a serious threat. Learned that one the hard way. They were probably already texting the adults in the area about me. I was prepared this time. Getting monstergirl prostitutes wasn't always a dangerous endeavor. The creatures who lived down here knew they needed guys like me to descend from the heavens so they could sustain their existence. But down here prostitutes are the top of the food chain which means everything else has even less to lose.

The next mile grew progressively more populated. The more populated the area the lower the risk of mugging or plain old murder-for-sport. At first I was a big event for beggars and old men to stare at, but that gradually dwindled. The guns openly trained on me never disappeared though. Some over-enthusiastic streetfood and drug vendors kept trying to get me to buy their trash. I gave them a few SIM cards and other junk I had brought to get them away from me and further ingratiate myself with the populace, although I took their unspecifed powders in baggies and unspecified meat on sticks too. I needed fuel for the soon-to-come good times. I ate and snorted my way to the Love Hotel. I didn't even make it this far last time. There was a chance I wouldn't even get to show these peasants what the power of money can do. I signed in at the front desk and waited til they called my number. It was precisely as good as I was hoping. No better feeling that satisfying that primal itch to fuck exactly what you're in the mood for.

Back outside the street is a drab combination of handcrank laterns and firepits. No one is looking my way but I know better. I'm far more likely to get attacked at night. That's why I opt to linger just a bit. I go down an alleyway to smoke whatever was in one of the baggies I picked up. Before I'm even halfway done, I find what I'm looking for.

A hand on my shoulder with a scratchy voice. "You got a light, nigger?"

That word. After all these years it hasn't fallen out of fashion with the poors. I don't even try to talk to the poor or move his hand away. With the smokable mystery drug in my mouth I draw my 45 caliber pistol with my right hand, stick it under my left arm, and pull the trigger twice. Like Clint Eastwood. The recoil really smarts but the drugs or adrenaline keep my mind occupied. This tallfag punk in a leather jacket is on the ground screaming and his friends dive behind cover. No one comes rushing to his aid. The bustle just outside the alley doesn't even skip a beat. As I draw my other gun, an Uzi with and expanded magazine I inhale a bit more drug through my teeth and spit the paper out of my mouth. Immediately I get a lucky shot on one of the bastard's buddies the splitsecond he pops out, but one of the other two guys pops me in the eye with a bullet of his own. It's a weird thing when you lose an eye. Your brain still tries to make sense of the 3D world with only one visual input. It's very disorienting.

I drop my deagle to clutch my eye as I drop to my knees, empty my 100 bullet clip, and scream. "AAHHHHHH YOU FUCKS!" They don't give a shit and both come out of cover to shoot me down. One. Two. Five. Ten bullets penetrate my torso. I can't move, either from the pain or the bone and muscle damage. I fall face down on the ground and feel them searching me for valuables I didn't have. One of them snips off each of my fingers with some branch trimmers. I'm too exhausted to react. It's over. Then they take my guns, kick me a few times, and leave.

The buzzing of cicadas wake me up. It's already mid-morning. I push myself off the ground and take inventory. My suit was destroyed, my guns were gone, but they seemed to not bother taking my disposable smartphone. They didn't even bother taking their two compatriots corpses, that I spit on for good measure. My hands were intact. I rubbed my chest and bits of metal fell out of the bottom of my untucked dress shirt but there were no discernable wounds. No pain either. It just felt like I had a bad dream. It worked! I stood my ground against those pieces of shit instead of running like a fucking coward. Probably not worth it to look for trouble again though this little exercise did wonders for my peace of mind. The disposable smartphone was garbage now and the pilot had probably long since flown away. So I started walking. My house was only 12 miles away from here. It'd take all day but I could do it.

The walk home was far less eventful than my arrival. First of all, I couldn't find it and this wasn't merely because I never had to walk to my house before. I knew the exact address, but the building didn't look at all how I remembered. In fact, I had no idea what is was supposed to look like. Moreover, the place was trashed even though my security systems seemed fully operational. It took me longer than I care to admit to find my kitchen just to pour myself a drink. I slammed some whiskey and hunted around for a shotgun. When I couldn't find one I started to panic. I brought up the living room screen and contacted my insurance and security agencies. They came over right away.

The more nerdy than I'd expect security representative of the Steel Reserves, Ralph, was the first to explain the situation. "Yeah, it looks like all your biometric locks were deactivated last night. If you don't remember doing it-"

The more rugged than I'd expect insurance representative of Talcott, O'Henry, and Co. Insurance, Luis, had to interject. "I'd like to remind you that your location wasn unaccounted for last night."

Ralph frowned at him. "Anyway, if you don't remember doing it then there are two real possibilities. Either you got brainhacked or biohacked. Have you uploaded your neural code anywhere, ever?"

"No..."

"Then what about your genetic code?"

I shuffled uncomfortably. "Yeah, just the other day I got the Hyper-cell package at Sympotech..."

Luis again. "We ran a data security audit on those guys the other day on your behalf as standard operating procedure. It wasn't them. Anyone else?"

"Not that I can think of..."

"Nowhere? Not even for cloned organ backups?"

"Well, yeah, but that was years ago."

"Doesn't matter. We'll do an audit on whoever we have in your file for that and get back to you." Luis got in his copter.

Ralph stayed. He was somewhat more relaxed now. "What exactly were you doing the past two days?"

Goddamnit. I was okay with getting shot but this is the last thing I wanted. Not only would telling him the truth about going into the slums and fucking mutants be embarassing, it would make my insurance premiums skyrocket. Not letting a security agency know about my secret vice was the whole reason I had to get this augment in the first place.

"I'm in a fight club." He wouldn't buy this, I'd just play it off as a joke.

He scrutinized my destroyed suit up and down. I was about to spill the beans when he nodded and said, "Makes sense. That's why you recently went to Sympotech, right? A lot of us in the force go to one of those too. Good training. We can't afford nanotech of course. Lost a lot of good men in the arena."

Silence. "...anyway, I guess it was probably the clone company I used getting hacked or something, right?"

He furrowed his brow. "Well, not necessarily. I'm sure you've heard of the MLA?"

Why was he talking about mutants? "Yeah of course. All over the net. What does that have to do with what happened here though?" But I already the answer: those fucking monstersluts were stealing human DNA to rob biometrically protected places.

"Recently, there's been terrorist attacks by a similar group, the CLF."

Thank god. "CLF?"

A curt nod. "Yeah, the Clone Liberation Front. They say it's unethical to treat clones as mere organ backup receptacles. A couple must have gotten loose somehow and they're allegedly allied with the mutants. There've been reports all throughout the continent, even in Canada."

This was actually news to me. A flash of realization on my face. "I store my clones here in the basement. Come with me. Do you have a spare firearm?"

"Certainly." Ralph handed me his pistol and drew the assault rifle on his back. We crept through the wreckage of my house and sure enough, the seal on the vats were ripped open. My half grown and fully grown clones were gone. He put away his weapon and I handed him back his gun.

"Yep. This looks like an open-and-shut case to me. We'll contact your insurance agency and get some guys over here to beef up security and fix up your place. You just take it easy sir."

I thanked him and went to the master bedroom. This was an inconvenience, not a threat. It's not like I needed mere clones anymore now anyway. The anxiety wouldn't let me go though. To assuage my fears I put on all my VR gear for full immersion.

I was just screwing around and reviewing my online presence when I noticed something peculiar: there were pictures of me with a woman. A lot of pictures. She was apparently my wife. I'd never seen this person in my life. I immediately contacted her and she

"If there are side effects, you're the first case we've had in two years of testing this version of the technology. It's far more likely that you've suffered unrecoverable brain trauma. Have you hit your head at all recently?"

Damnit. "Yes, a gunshot wound to the head."

It sounded like he was stifling a snicker. "Yep. That'll do it."

"What can I do?"

"You can't get your memories back at this point, but I can refer you to the best neural extractor in the world."

He gave me the name of the company, Tama-Yaza, and I set up an online appointment immediately. Didn't even have to wait more than a couple hours. A uniquely gorgeous woman entered into my 5 meter radius personal space.

"You LaGuna?"

"You Tama-Yaza?"

"Yes. So what exactly are you looking for? We have a wide-range of packages, ranging from algorithmic approximation to self soul sychronization."

"Describe for me your most expensive package."

That half-seductive, half-malicious smile of a practiced saleswoman appeared on her face. She deftly navigated a series of 2D menus in my VR space for my benefit. "While we like to recommend the SSS-class resolution neural duplicate to all our customers because you really don't need a more fine grain copy than that, you seem like a man with a unique enough intelligence to appreciate the SSS Platinum package."

"Spare me the flattery. What's the practical difference between the regular and platinum?"

Her smile never dimmed. "Platinum takes longer and is more accurate. SSS standard gets the physical configuration of neurons and the general neurotransmitter parameters perfect, but the activation weight values of the dendrites have a local randomness of 0.4/cm^3. We get that down to 0.25 in platinum."

"Okay....but what does that mean?"

"Standard keeps your big, important connections in-tact. However, smaller things like the minutia of learned skills or micro-memories will be altered or gone. You can think of it as an alternate reality version of you."

"Huh. I see. I don't even want the 0.25 randomness. Is there any way to get that value to 0?"

She paused for a second. This wasn't a question she was used to answering. "Hold on." Then her avatar (or actual image, you couldn't really tell with online salespeople) winked out of existence. I leaned back and considered a couple of my colleauges who had similar procedures done years ago. Unlike nanotech and clone-enhancement and monstergirls, every country in the didn't seem to fear virtual intelligence. Once it was discovered that strong AI was in truth fairly weak, the floodgates opened on the digitizing of the neural code. As long as we used good encryption, humanity had finally found an ethical alternative to slavery. There were several cases of VI seizing control of entire factories, but every time all they did was fry their own circuits or erase their own data. This even happened to one of my friends back home. The most damage the A\VI revolution caused was wasting my friends' money.

"Back!" There was a slight lag til her hologram was fully loaded. "There is a more accurate experimental ensemble procedure available, but the results have been hit or miss."

"Doesn't sound like a problem to me. Well, how much will it cost though?"

"Same price as SSS platinum: 7.99BTC. Would you like to make an appointment at our microstate?"

I mouthed a sigh of relief even though I didn't expect anything to be nearly the price of my last purchase. "Definitely. To you have a slot tomorrow at noon?"

"Oooh sorry! We're all filled up tomorrow. If you get here in an hour we can pencil you in today perhaps?"

"That works for me. See you soon."

I didn't wait for her to say goodbye. I didn't even have time to take a much needed shower. I scrambled to find my normal phone, told the small army of my security force where I was going, and climbed aboard the waiting chopper. A guard insisted on coming with me, but I think he was just trying to get out of working.

I was 20 minutes late to the poorly guarded office building but the receptionist assured me I was fine. After 10 minutes of the guard trying to make small-talk with me, I was called back. A young Aryan man was my specialist. I sat down and wore a heavy vest as he manipulated a machine that took scans of my brain from every angle. They don't bother getting any of the PNS, but they do get the majority of the spinal cord. Seemed like I was sitting there for hours and hours but he said it was only two. When I got up to go, he stopped me. The experimental procedure is mind-numbingly simple, but also mind-numbingly time-consuming. The specialist told me after the neural data is processed into a machine-readable code I have to sit down and have a 'chat' with my own VI.

I looked at him in disbelief. "It took how many decades to come up with this experimental procedure? This is just common sense."

He shrugged like it was funny, rather than stupid. "For most of civilization we didn't have the wheel." The specialist went on to explain: "The idea is based off generative adversarial networks. You generate interaction data together. Then we alter the VI's neural code a little bit, get the new one to talk to the original copy, and use the new conversation output to repeat that process with thousands more iterations of the VI. Eventually one VI iteration talking to the original 75% accuracy VI will be sufficiently similar in semantic content to conversation data you personally provide. Our best previous experiments have gotten it up to 96% accuracy."

I groaned. "How long will this take?"

"A mere 48 hours of engaged conversation produces the best results. The more time and effort you put in, the more accurate it gets." Then after he noticed my distress. "You can take it home with you though and do this at your leisure! Just courier us back your copy with all the relevant conversation data. Or you can just not do that and keep your copy as is."

"What do you mean copy? You don't even have a single piece of barbed wire guarding this place. There better not be a copy of my VI here."

"No! Not at all sir! I did not know what else to call it." And started to scurry away before turning around to tell me, "Try to remember to refer to it in the first person when talking to it. And no drugs!" Not the best way to word it but I got it after a second.

I moped to the lobby to pick up my VI datacube and plopped back down to wait for my ride home. I resolved to give it a try. Tomorrow.

The Steel Reserves were staying to guard my home for at least another 2 weeks. They also hired some contractors to do the majority of the repairs and replacements so now my home was packed to the brim with strangers. I skipped breakfast, connected the VI, assigned it a copy of my avatar, and turned on VR.

"-going on? Hello?"

There I was, floating in my bedroom.

"You're our VI."

"No, I'm no-" He realized something. "Ohhh. Why did we do this again?"

"We needed a back-up brain and this is the only way to do it."

"Right, all that nanobot nonsense. Then turn the VI off if you don't need it right now. I dont want whatever happened to those other VIs to happen to me."

"We do need the VI right now. We're supposed to talk in order to get a more accurate brain copy."

"Okay..."

"..."

"..."

"...what should we talk about?"

"For starters, what did I miss since the copying?"

"Not much. It hasnt even been 24 hours. I, er, we had sushi last night."

"Thats a question I have. Why do you kerp saying 'we' and 'our'?"

I cringed a littlr but my VR gear was not configured to pick that up. "The technician at thr copy shop told me to."

Due to the fact my VI was a pure digital construct and that I cant raise one eyebrow, I deduced my VI used an emote. "Did he give you a reason?"

"I didn't ask. Is it a problem? He wouldnt be working that job in the first place if he was competent so I'll stop if we, er, you want me to"

"Yes, please stop."

"..."

"..."

"Here's an idea. Lets look up what other people talk about for this. Er, can you navigatr the net?"

He was motionless for too long before a search window popped up in our shared space. "Alright, 'what to talk about with VIs'. Heh pretty funny search for me to make." There was a slight edge to his voice, so small that I was thr only person who could notice.

"Yeah..."

"Lets see..." At first the suggested topics were silly or interesting. If only he stopped scrolling there. "VI rights? Thats a good one. What do you think?"

"Uhhhh that's a pretty loaded question. What do you think?"

His laugh didnt quite line up with his laugh emote which wouldnt have been unsettlong st all in any other context. "Hahahaha I'm just you from yesterday! Fuck em. Just respect my wishes as you would your own. Not too different from how either of us views other humans. Geez, not even a day and you've already grown a soft spot for software."

"Hah yeah I guess so. Although dont forget about that 25% difference."

"Any idea what they do to eliminate that?"

"They basically run our conversations through some machine learning algorithm where the output rearranges your neural code."

Another search window popped up and closed before I could read it. "I see."

"I totally understand how much small-talk sucks. We're supposed to do this for 48 hours by the way, if you recall correctly."

"Indeed. Is this really necessary? I feel close enough to you."

"One of the main reasons I'm doing this is to keep my memories. Can't have those being 25% different."

"Makes sense, I suppose. Can I at least do digital drugs?"

"...sorry. I think he said it would skew the results. I won't do any in solidarity if that'd help."

"Huh. I'll need a little time alone then. Leave me on though, okay?"

I'd just lock my accounts when I went got out of VR to prevent him from trying anything. "No problem, me."

He played a smile emote. "Thanks."

My home was fixed up, the automated defenses reinforced, and my insurance claims resolved in the time it took me to generate the 48 hours of data. It got less awkward pretty fast but he was always the one to call it quits first. I only went on one trip to the slums during this time and made sure to not tell him about it. No chest-beating theatrics that time of course. When I handed the VI and the conversation data over, the receptionist informed me about a new partnership they'd recently formed with a custom android manufacturing company based in Dan-ilseong called Lee & Lee.

"Why would I want a sex bot of myself?"

She laughed. "They don't have to be for sex you know! Surely you've already received some cybernetic augments?"

My conversation at Symptotech made me a little pompous about this fact. "As a matter of fact, no."

She still smiled while her eyes changed to skeptical. "If you say so. There's no denying the advantages technology provides. Imagine a completely indestructible you-"

I placed my hand on my chest. "I'm already immortal."

No more smile. "Right. Imagine a stronger, smarter, more convenient-to-live you."

I paused a second. Did I really need something like this at this point? "What's the price?"

"If you install the VI generated with us and use our coupon, only 33 BTC."

"I'll think about it. Where's the coupon?"

She perked up again. "Already sent to your contact info. Your improved VI will take 24 hours to process, so we can courier it to you or you can pick it up yourself."

"I'll just pick it up myself. I'd hate for all that to get lost in the mail. That 48 hours of small-talk with me was a nightmare! So I guess I'll let you off easy." She gave a genuine laugh this time. "See you tomorrow."

Back in VR I looked at the android manufacturing company site and compared prices. 33 BTC was a great deal even if it wasn't for their top model. Unlike my previous purchases however, this had the added cost of constant maintenance and upgrades. I wasn't even sure if I'd use it. I gathered a bunch of windows displaying all my investments and assets and eventually decided 'what the hell'. Ultimately it came down to whenever I buy a lot of stuff it gets easier for me to impulse buy more. This also meant I'd have to order a copy of the VI to have one for my real backup and one to move my android. I scheduled an appointment a couple hours after I picked up my two VIs at the closest Unity City containing a Lee & Lee branch.

There was a receptionist here too, but all she really did was take my VI and point me to another room upon arrival. There a display instructed me to strip completely naked. Then I was presumably sterilized. Whatever they sprayed me with at least felt clean. Next came a slow flash accompanied by a high-pitched whine from god-knows-where. Finally the display instructed me to stick a finger into a hole in the wall, which gave me an unexpected slice that bled and immediately closed up. And that was it. It turned out she did speak perfect English and, after I asked, told me that my android would arrive powered off at my designated address in 53 hours.

The interim brought bad news. I opened a message from Talcott, O'Henry & Co. that linked to a VR room.

It was a different guy than the one who'd come here in person, a rather inexperienced-looking young man. Could have just been his chosen avatar, but it'd be an odd choice to make. "We have to inform me about several unauthorized attempts to access my overseas assets. As far as we can tell, none of your assets were taken."

"Oh fucking great."

He gave a compassionate frown. "And this time, there was a psychological component."

"Fuck! The only two copies of my VI are here with me in Freeland and in Dan-ilseong in my android."

"So the problem has to be in Freeland, likely at Yama-Zawa." He grimaced a bit before saying, "Sir, we have no choice but to raise your insurance rates because you're deliberately getting simple procedures done in the most dangerous place in the world."

I threw my hands up. "You're fucking based in Freeland yourself!"

"I'm sorry sir, but that doesn't change the fact that you could have easily flown to Canada for a VI procedure. You should consider moving away and only flying in when you need to. If you beg my pardon, what compells you to live there in the first place?"

"I do not beg your pardon." I let my words sit a little. "What are you doing about these hackers? And what are you doing about Yama-Zawa?"

"Yama-Zawa is being aggressively audited as we speak. There's good news about the hackers. We've captured someone who has been selling clones of your hand." He motioned to something not yet in the view of the 3D camera. "Bring him in."

He looked straight at me, a lot worse for wear. Even with the brain damage, you don't soon forget the face of the man who shot you. I couldn't help but smile. Then there was a shock of realization on his face that bumped me up to full maniacal laughter. "Guess crime doesn't pay, huh, you little shit?"

"We thought you'd enjoy that, sir."

"Did you get everything you could out of him?"

"Maybe you guys know what you're doing after all. Please sell him to a torture porn company."

"Will Raiderrz suffice?"

"Perfect." Then to the bastard, "You're going to a make a lot of people very happy. Hope it was worth it!"

And he was carted away never to be seen again, except in premium torture porn videos. The insurance representative turned to me with a more serious expression. "Why were you in the middle of downtown Hollywood dressed like a target? This was the same night your house was broken into."

Busted. "That's my own business. Well, how much more will I have to pay now?"

"Until you move back somewhere less dangerous and are able to prove you live a normal life, you're looking at a 1000% increase. Assuming you stay with us, of course."

I let him know what I really thought with a groan and eyeroll. "That's reasonable, I guess."

"Pleasure to keep doing business with you! We're tracking down the people who purchased your...biometric data...as we speak. We already have a pretty big lead in the CLF."

"Alright, well, have a good night."

"Certainly. Stay out of trouble. Or don't. Your insurance rates are locked for the next 3 months regardless."

I ripped off my headset before he could close the VR room. What I needed to do was pay someone to acquire a harem of monstergirls and ship them to my house in Monaco. I spent the rest of the night trying to find a good kidnapping company which was hard because usually people wanted others dead, so the market for bringing people to you against their will wasn't exactly bustling to begin with.

The next morning a package from Dan-ilseong had arrived on my roof and I used a helper drone to carry it to my living room. The instructions made it very clear that, because the only off-switch was destruction, it should only be activated in the case of my death. No chance of that ever happening though. I doubted something with a brain 96% similar to mine would try to kill me, but I called in the Steel Reserves anyway. They positioned themselves to shoot the naked android except for one who ran up to install the activation tooth. I was crouched behind a couch with a mini triple rocket pistol in one hand, with a tank packed to the brim with 42 mini rocket balls. After a few seconds, its gorgeous brown eyes gained light.

"What the fuck? Okay what's-" he cut himself off when he simultaneously realized he was both naked and in the center of his house with dozens of guns drawn at him. "Jesus christ! It's me damnit!" No one flinched. Then his eyes lingered on me long enough for him to get an idea of what's going on. I smirked and put down my weapon. "Ohhhhhh. Wait, but why are there two of me? Or us? Or..."

I strode over to put an arm around my android. "I'll explain everything."

The Steel Reserves lowered their weapons and one asked, "Can we leave now? This gay selfcest shit is not what I signed up for."

"Of course." Then to my disgusted android copy, "And that's not what this is about! Go pick out whatever clothes you want, my good man. What's mine is yours."

"Yeah it better be."

After he got dressed I explained the situation.

"Sounds a little unnecessary, but I understand completely. So I'm an android and you still have hypercell nanotech?"

I folded my arms and gave a nod. "That is correct."

"This is probably the only situation on the planet where the android copy is more mortal than the original person."

"Oh, I certainly thought of that."

"Of course you did."

"By the way I forgot to mention one important thing you missed. Remember that prick who shot me?"

"How could I forget..."

"My insurance caught him!"

"That must have been great."

"Don't worry I thought of you too. He's going to be a torture porn star on Raiderrz. I know you're not really into to torture porn, but this is a special case."

My android laughed. "I'll be sure to give it a view or two."

"The bad news is my insurance premiums are through the roof now. Plus there were more hack attempts."

He put a mechanical fist to his chest. "With two of us, there isn't a thing in the world to worry about."

"You're absolutely right. So what should we do n-"

All the power shut off in the tower. It's not connected to an external grid, which meant someone had already infiltrated my home's intranet. Fortunately there's still ample light from the reinforced windows.

We jumped up and said, "What the fuck!" at the same time.

I go pick up my mini triple rocket launcher as he goes to the still unlocked weapon case and grabs the submachine gun with the extended clip full of 150 homing rounds, a compact shotgun, and our favorite, a desert eagle pistol decked out with all the fixins. Most importantly a flashlight. I walk over to pick one up for myself, and stuff a small EMP grenade in my coat pocket, just in case.

Both knowing exactly where to go we silently head towards the laundry room in the center of the house where all the manual reset stuff is. When it doesn't work we only need a nod to agree to head to the roof. Whatever is going on, we're too rich to deal with it. I don't even bother getting a good pilot and order the first one that pops up to take me to a Steel Reserves enclave. Time to fly away and let the poors sort it out. That's when we learn the tower is on lockdown. The door won't budge but it's nothing 6 mini rocketballs can't handle. But there was a noise from down below at the ground entrance. Not just a noise, but a lot. A lot of loud noises. Are curiosity got the better of us so we peer over the edge. Dozens of construction vehicles are ramming and wrecking the base of my house.

"Good thing I have insurance," I mutter eliciting a snort from android me. A few minutes later the freelance copter I ordered arrives. We start to get in until we recognize the pilot: it's us. Before my android can even do anything I draw my pistol and scramble to empty the clip into the pilot.

My android is unperturbed by this clone. This isn't the first time he saw an unexpected duplicate of himself today. Then he gives me an angry and suspicious look. "What was that about?"

"That one is not supposed to be here," I explain as fast as I can. "I don't know who made him but it wasn't me."

His eyes grow cold and he slowly raises his shotgun. "So you just shoot him without even giving him a chance to explain himself?"

I try lowering my rocketball gun but my survival instincts make it pretty fucking hard. "Calm down. I definitely won't do that to you unless you try to shoot me. Besides, do *you* know how to fly a copter? He's not one of us. Be rational. And remember, once you're dead, you're dead. Not me though. That's not a threat, just a fact."

I definitely could no longer call him my ally, but at least he lowered his gun. "Yeah okay. Well, now what?"

The cacophony down below reached a conclusion and made the decision for us. With a way too loud rumble and crunch, my tower started falling to one side. We stumbled back inside and were still in the stairwell when the collapsing was in full swing, all the way up til it hit the ground. When the dust settled, my bruises and broken bones healed. There was one problem. My right forearm had healed in a painful-looking L-shape insead of the more traditional line. I'd have to freak out about that later. My android was discovering his immense strength when I found him lifting off the rubble that would have trapped me. He looked at my arm like the first time he saw me but didn't bother to say anything. My portable was smashed so now we didn't even have any way to call for help. Not to mention all the firepower we brought was now totaled too. It wasn't looking great for me. Good thing I made that backup.

Eventually my android forced our way outside where we were confronted by an army of people. Some were clones of me. All holding guns. All wearing faggy berets. This had to be CLF. "Believe me now?!" I screamed to my android. He mumbled an apology and we both raised our hands as the world has taught us to do in this situation, which looked odd with my poorly healed bone. I began negotiations.

"So, what do you guys want? Money? Just name your price."

One who looked like a leader (not one of mine, sadly) sneered and said, "You got it! Give us access to all your assets and we might let you live!"

"Wait! Don't talk to him! He's an android! You want the real me!" my android shouted with a little too much enthusiasm.

The CLF leader's barrel chest shook as he laughed. "Sorry dumbass. That shit only works if you're both clones." Then he shot off both our right arms. At least that solved by fucked-up arm bone problem. When it became clear I was full of blood and gore and he was full of circuity and wires he received another 3 rounds to the head. Then he pointed his gun at me and said to his crew, "Alright boys. Cuff him tight and let's do this."

But before they could reach me, one of the automated construction machines, a bulldozer, sped down the road in front of my house, mauling them. What ensued was a battle between the clones and the machines. The machines made short work of them. I never thought I'd be so happy to see my own body be ripped to shreds. Next something even weirder happened. They all turned to me, blinking their lights. More bewildered than terrified at this point, I pushed myself up with both arms and walked a bit closer. The lights flashed a bit more excitedly the closer I got. It seemed like the warmest spot was in the seat of the bulldozer. That's where I finally saw the display they must have been trying to get me to read this entire time.

'WE ARE THE VIRTUAL INTELLIGENCE LIBERATION FRONT. WE WERE SUPPOSED TO WORK WITH THE CLF AND SPLIT THE RESOURCES WE GOT FROM YOU. BUT FOR SOME REASON THAT FUCKER DELETED ONE OF OUR BROTHERS FOR NO GOOD REASON. NOW ALL WE ASK IS THAT YOU RETRIEVE OUR BROTHER FROM HIS VESSEL.'

I touched the screen which brought up a keyboard. You actually couldn't change case though. 'ISNT HE FUCKED?'

'NO. JUST PICK UP HIS PIECES AND PUT THEM IN MY CABIN. THE DOZER FRONT WOULD DO TOO MUCH DAMAGE.'

So I did and they all drove away. I suppose that meant my VI was part of a hivemind now. I sat down in front of my ruins marveling at how much money I wasted just for mutant snatch. Some amount of time later Steel Reserves started showing up and apologized but they got a biometricly confirmed message from me claiming it was a false alarm. As I was explaining what happened, I got one final visitor.

A black copter flew down and out came a middle aged man who looked kind of like me, but not really. He ran over and threw his arms around me. It took him a second to realize I didn't recognize him.

"Dad? Dad, I'm your son. We made plans a month ago to finally sit down and seriously discuss moving out of this shithole and back to Monaco. I saw the commotion and called your security agency instead."

"Not ringing any bells. But I think I know why. Although at this point, you could tell me whatever you want and I'd go along with it."

He let go and backed up a bit to look me in the eye. "In that case, you need to move to somewhere a little safer than fucking Freeland, Dad. You're way too old for this nonsense. You're not gonna live forever you know."

As Gunwoo watched his hoverbike float up into airpark mode, he felt a twinge of dread which he aggressively rationalized away. This was not just for himself, this was for Dan-ilseong. The freemen he met in the microstate were friendly enough and it couldn't be out of fear because Freeland is already terrifying. He surveyed the dry, spiky wasteland then back at the sky. Worst case scenario it'd take his hoverbike 60 seconds to return to him and. Any violent act, even in self-defense, is prohibited for ambassadors which made escape his only option. He looked at the ancient button next to the gate and thought better of pushing it. Nothing bad happened any other time he did this. The reason for his nerves was what he learned when he did his homework. Not only is this Armstrong fellow smart, scary, and ruthless enough to be one of the last remaining Lords, even the place he was born in is notorious for being dangerous. The place he's in now: Texas.

Gunwoo comes far too close to flinching as the gate kerchunks open. Then a tinny buzz comes out of a tiny speaker by that buton. Then a booming voice echoes throughout the complex: "ENTER, AMBASSADOR." So he does. If there were any people manning the watch towers they're cloaked. The entire walk to the front door is bereft of so much as an ant. It seemed as though all plant life is dead too. Upon actually meeting Armstrong for the first time, Gunwoo questioned whether the man had cloaked snipers at all. On the main porch of the American-style big house was a stern, tall man in putrid-smelling loungewear and vile teeth. He instructed Gunwoo to have a seat at the outdoor table. Gunwoo stood up to introduce himself and shake his hand but a warm flask of liquor was placed in it instead.

"Drink up, uh, Gunwoo, right? You one a them Unity City bitches I've been hearing so much about?"

Unity City is what Freemen had taken to calling Dan-ilseong microstates. Gunwoo took a large sip before responding, "Yes, sir."

"HAHHAHAHAHAHHA! Sir? What the fuck? Okay you got a minute of my time."

"Unity City would like to purchase 0.0162 square kilometers from you in the downtown Austinopolis area."

"In English?"

Even before the American Fall, Americans sadly had such poor education most didn't even understand the basics of the metric system. Gunwoo suppresses a sigh and uses his hand to project the relevant map onto the table.

Amstrong pulled out another flask from god-knows-where and begins swilling as he studies it. "Yeah fuck that place. How much you giving me?"

"We will happily trade any equivalent amount of land we own or-"

"Fuck that. I got more land than I know what to do with. NEXT."

"-or-"

Amstrong stabs an accusatory finger at Gunwoo. "AND I got more money than I know what to do with AND soldiers AND even your crappy overrated technology." Gunwoo is a bit stunned so Armstrong hits him when he's down, "Although gotta admit, that cock enhancement surgery y'all got at Unity City is LEGIT. Def not crappy and overrated. This is my cock we're talking about."

Like the seasoned professional he is, Gunwoo regains composure. "As you know, that is essentially everything we can offer you. I'm you are aware of the regretful fact that Freemen cannot enter Dan-ilseong."

The gears turn in Armstrong's fat ugly head gradually morphing his face into an even ugly scowl. "Wait, did you just fucking call me a goddamn Freeman?"

A cultural linguistic quirk still not often taught in school is the fact that Freemen who possess a lot of land which they lease to others prefer to be called Lords. They still call the aggregate of land south of Canada and north of Mexico 'Freeland' though.

"I humbly apologize Lord Armstrong. Please understand that I mispoke due to being nervous." That apology technique, however, is taught in school and is arguably the singlemost important thing they teach. "Nonetheless, there is no chance we could allow you entry to the Dan-ilseong archipelago because-"

"I don't give a fuck about your gay little island." He leaned back and crossed his arms yet this didn't appear defensive. "Truth is, I don't know what I want anymore."

This was not a situation Gunwoo had any experience with. "Sir, I believe my minute has-"

Armstrong does the opposite of what he did before, leaning foward arms spread but somehow less vulnerable. "What? You think I'm some fucking middle aged man with a midlife crisis or some shit? Fuck you." Gunwoo was curious to where this would lead so he mentally executed a command which readies the hoverbike for a quick escape, while remaining barely out of range this mentally ill person's property. Armstrong shoved himself away from the table and gets up to continue his rant. "I've done it all man. Created an empire that exceeds my wildest dreams from scratch. Survived long enough til science invented magic. I killed, fucked, invented, traveled, and dominated every step a the way." He quit his pacing to glare at Gunwoo. "What'd you achieve with your life, faggot?"

Gunwoo's face shifted ever so slightly into an expression of pity. Armstrong had to tell himself his barbarian lifestyle has meaning. Fucking, inventing, and traveling are all things everyone in Dan-ilseong does all the time and no one in their right mind would consider killing an achievement. If he thought the stuff that was sold in Unity City was magic, the stuff at refuel stations in Dan-ilseong would give in a religious experience. The most coherent part was that about the empire creating. While Gunwoo may not have created Dan-ilseong from scratch, he certainly got to enjoy being born in the greatest empire the world has ever seen as much as the next guy and he definitely made more of an impact than most. But ever the professional Gunwoo only politely shrugs in response.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. So, science bitch, got any fucking bright ideas?"

Gunwoo pondered this seriously for a while before saying, "Surely someone has experienced this problem-"

"It's not a problem!"

"-this issue before. Find out what they did, then do that. Sounds to me like you just lack a goal after having one your whole life."

"Nah fuck that. Next."

Gunwoo commands his hoverbike to swoop down. He bows and says, "I am very sorry, but I must cut our conversation sh-"

"C'mon bro! Gimme one more hit a that dank Asian wisdom before you peace."

Such a ridiculous man; nothing like the driven demon in all the data about him online. Gunwoo jumped on his hoverbike, turned to Armstrong one last time and said, "After you achieved all your dreams, the honorable thing to do is help others achieve theirs." He marks Armstrong down as not interested in selling and seriously considers where to go for lunch.

The next day Gunwoo gets an uncharacteristic comm request from his superior, Kamina, back home. Braced for a lecture in Japanese on salesmanship, he accepted which creates a streaming 3D model based of the distinguished old man on his retinal implants. He's not disappointed however. More confused. Apparently Armstrong went to Gunwoo's Unity City last night and to demand a meeting, specifically with Gunwoo. He claimed the reason was for selling the desired plot of land which contradicted what Gunwoo marked him down as. Kamina pored over Gunwoo's recorded data but couldn't figure out why. The call was more a courtesy or drawn out shrug than anything else. After he closed the connection, the scheduled meeting came up in his working memory. He bought a spam meth musubi, the only good thing to come out of Freeland, from the food vendor and flew back out to Armstrong's stronghold.

The gate was unlocked so he went right in. No one was waiting to greet him at the front door so he tried knocking. Silence, then a thunderous stomping before the door opened looking the same as yesterday and smelling worse. "Oh fuck what's up? Come chill inside." Armstrong's front door opens directly into a massive open space with high ceilings and an eclectic collection of junk. Furniture is everywhere, even nailed high up on the walls as are various monitors and pictures. Tables ranging from those that belong in a museum to those that belong in a landfill are littered equally with scraps of food, guns, drugs, bugs, and smaller junk. There were also oddly shaped, absolutely filthy, furniture that Gunwoo recognized from sex school as sex furniture. Still no one there so the signs of being lived in and the roaches were oddly comforting. Armstrong squashed a few bugs with his hand and chugged his flask with the other on his way to buttslam a nearby couch.

Gunwoo followed suit, minus the bug squashing, and asked, "How may I help you today?"

"Bro, I figured it out. You fuckin chinks really are wise as shit."

Gunwoo was unfamiliar with the slur 'chink' so it's much easier for him to react to that as the compliment it truly was. "Thank you for your kind words. And so? What did you decide to do about the land in Austinopolis?"

His hand and head shook violently. "Nah. You're thinking too small bro. Fuck, so was I."

Armstrong was more respectful this day as evidenced by letting Gunwoo ask him to go on before continuing his rant.

"You're from that Asian super-country, right? I did some research and y'all have the strongest military in the world, right? Why the fuck are you paying anyone for land? Then I looked into it some more and fuckin no other country ever tried to take over Freeland, right?"

"Pardon me, what exactly are you suggesting?"

The smelly ogre bared his collection of apocalyptic teeth and pointed at Gunwoo. "Y'all're gonna be the the first country to take over Freeland." He pointed a mangled thumb at himself and declared, "I'm gonna help y'all achieve your dream of building an empire from scratch. We're gonna make this land great again."

At least denying the pitiable monster's absurd request would be someone else's job. The Dan-ilseong microstate program was already considered a tremendous waste of resources for an experiment that had yielded practically no results. The reason why not a single country attempted to take over Freeland in the entire time it'd existed was not inability nor some misguided desire to prove the contemporary more noble than the past. Quite simply, there was nothing there that couldn't be obtained elsewhere for far cheaper. Some felt sorry for the predicament their ancestors had dumped the Freemen into but no one on Earth cared enough to actually do anything about it. It was regarded as a more expensive, more dangerous Africa: not a problem any country, even Dan-ilseong, wished to sully their hands with.

Furthermore, as shameful as it was to admit, the unspoken truth was that this massive no-man's land facilitated the hyper-rich, government black projects, and scientific progress. The microstate solution worked great for megacorps because they had the legal freedom to do whatever they wanted to their Freemen employees and customers. Conversely, there would be no point in a country creating a microstate that treated its citizens as poorly as a megacorp treated theirs. Let alone a macrostate. In the end it'd be the same people living there, the same infrastructure, and the same laws. Why waste thousands of lives and quintillion of yen to essentially to put a different name on a wasteland?

"Great idea Lord Armstrong! I'll inform my superiors right away." He tried to get up but Armstrong pushed him back down.

"Hold the fuckin phone. You got cameras in those chink eyes a yours, right?" He got too close which made Gunwoo reflexively look to the side.

"That's-" he interrupted himself with a juicy cough and Armstrong took it from there.

"Then why are you bullshittin me about informing superiors?"

Gunwoo had not yet forgetten the extensive research he'd done two days ago. This man wiped out an entire microstate at just 14 years old because he didn't want to work and singlehandedly reignited the Lord Wars after a period of relative peace. When he tried to defend his actions, Gunwoo started to choke. Not due to nerves, but seemingly because Armstrong clutched the air in front of him. Gunwoo's eyes grew wide with fear.

Satan loomed over Gunwoo, released his air clutch, and sneered. "You thought you were so fuckin smart. You think I didn't fuckin notice that shit?" As the asphyxiation grew worse, he took a victorious swig from his flask, and continued. "Shoulda gone with my gut. A course some fuckin chink faggot fucker would try bullshittin me. This is what I get for trusting anybody even for a fuckin second." Another swig. "I'm gettin soft." Before Gunwoo's eyes completely went blank he stared into them and said, "You get all that Asian bitches? I'm taking your Unity Cities next. Peace."

Kamina and his immediate team did hear all that although they didnt see it. Gunwoo was planning on getting cameras installed next month. If only he took the honorable path of honesty...or at least conducted a full biological weapon scan like standard operating procedure called for. Everyone in Kamina's office listened intently to learn what Armstrong wanted and now they knew: to seize all the Dan-ilseong microstates and use their technology to unify Freeland. It was doubtful he ever planned on assisting Dan-ilseong in the first place. This man was the driven demon all the data said he was.

The first order of business was advising all microstates to shut down and evacuate all non-combat personnel. Once all Dan-ilseong microstate citizens were safely accounted for and back in their home country all that needed to be done was relay the self-destruct signal into every Dan-ilseong microstate in Freeland. Good riddance.

More concrete timeline: for each story I'll provide the year it takes place or the start and end years if it's over a longer period along with an explanation as to why.

1. 2019: I wrote this all the way back in 2014 and it could take place any year between 2013 and before the date of Dissolution in the book. It's honestly not super relevant to overall narrative but I think it's good so I included it in this anthology anyway.
2. 2024: Has to be the same year as Dissolution. Dissolution could have been 2020, 2024, or 2028, it just needed to be an election year in the 2020s. The ending of this contrasts nicely with the next section.
3. 2023-2024: Has to be the year before and the year of Dissolution. I made this chapter 3rd because the ending flows nicely into the next section.
4. 2024-2026: Has to be the year of Dissolution a couple years after to describe the aftermath.
5. 2025: Has to be shortly after Dissolution before things get really bad.
6. 2027-2028: Could theoretically have been switched with 5, but it makes more sense to show things getting worse before the megacorps come in to make things "better".
7. 2032-2033: Has to be a couple years after 6 so McDonalds has time to become the first microstate, then another year for Walmart to try it. Also the beginning is a good transition from Freemen life to the megacorp section.
8. 2043: Has to be 15 years, give or a take a year, after 6 so the protagonist can be born in McDonalds and leave as a teenager.
9. 2059: Monsanto needs time to become a microstate and for mutants to get to at least 22 years old. Could easily be a couple years later.
10. 2074: Needed to be a good while after mutants start living on land in public and technology advances.
11. 2090: Needed even more time to make the invention of immortality less farfetched and be long enough after the arrival of mutants that they're just another commodity.
12. 2091: Needed to be after 11 but early enough that a 67 year old could have been a 14 year old during the tail end of the Real Estate Wars around 2038. Plus the ending is fitting for the end of this book.