Now.
“So you’re telling me this is the best you’ve got?”
Kay didn’t move from the entrance of the security office. One hand rested on her hip, her torso held just off-axis from her core, head cocked. Her face carried the expression of someone waiting for an answer, a quiet edge of anger under the surface.
“Look, lady, you aren’t even supposed to be back here right now,” the guard said, arms crossed. His uniform was mostly clean but a little disheveled, the buttons of his shirt not quite lining up with the gray pants at his waist. He was well built, a little thicker through the middle. His voice carried confidence, with only a few small cracks.
“Yet here I am, looking at your screens. Some guard you are. They should’ve bought a synth,” Kay said, arms stretched out, torso pitched forward at the waist. Disgust washed across her panel. “You really need to watch these better. That’s why I’m here. Corporate hired me for pen-testing. You failed.”
“Wha—now look here, princess—” the man started.
“No, you look. You might as well start clearing out your locker, because your job’s about to be up for hire.” A satisfied expression formed as she crossed her arms, the red of her nails stark against her white pinstripe blouse. “Where are you going?” she asked as the man turned toward the door she was blocking.
“I’m going to get my manager,” he said. As he pushed through the gap between Kay and the frame, Kay grabbed the badge clipped by the door with one hand and shoved lightly at his side with the other.
“Don’t touch me,” she yelled.
His face washed with worry as he walked briskly down the white-tiled hall and around the corner. As soon as he was out of sight, Kay’s panel smoothed, the outrage dropping from her posture like a shed layer. The performance was over; now she could work.
She grabbed the transmitter from the nearby terminal and started the broadcast.
“B, you there?” Kay asked.
“Yes. Did you get the card?” B asked.
“I did, but was it a left then a right or a right then a right?” Kay said, tapping her toe.
“Left then left. After—”
“Yeah, no, I got it,” Kay interrupted. Before the transmission had finished its process, Kay was already out of the room, walking down the opposite hall from the one the guard had taken.
She kept her pace brisk but not hurried, the stolen badge swinging lightly from her fingers. The planned route ended at a side door marked by an exit sign that hummed faintly, paint peeling where moisture had crept in.
The badge reader at the side door chirped once when she tapped it. The door closed behind her with a softer sound than she expected, muting the building’s recycled air.
Noise from the main street reached her as a muffled wash: traffic, distant voices, the low hum of city systems.
“Blindspot still clean?” she asked under her breath.
“Coverage gap remains,” Gin replied in her ear. “No patrols have passed near.” Gin sounded relaxed. Kay trusted the data more than the tone.
Kay turned into the alley without breaking stride. The light dropped off quickly here, squeezed out by the height of the surrounding structures. A single overhead fixture flickered, failing to decide if it was working today.
“Good thing we got this new tech working before we left the wilds. There were a few things that could’ve gone way worse,” Kay said.
“Yeah, having the transmitter working wirelessly seems like a huge oversight for Main,” Gin replied.
“It has always appeared illogical that constant communication between synths would be restricted,” B said, waiting in the deeper shade, its new ‘runner’ frame pressed back against the wall where the cameras couldn’t see. Beside it, Gin’s presence sat contained in the small speaker box attached to B's shoulder—waiting, watchful, ready for whatever came next.
“Yeah, well, if you didn’t think ‘in systems’ B, we probably wouldn’t be here. Speaking of, shouldn’t we start being somewhere else?” Kay said.
“With the location of the mother and children now determined, we will need to establish two trajectories. You can get the children. Their homes are low security on the District edge. Gin and I will head to the HQ tower’s cell block,” B said, now facing Kay, arm outstretched to initiate data transfer.
“You can still do this, right, Gin?” Kay asked. “We can’t have any more surprises.”
“How was I supposed to know he was sneaking snacks? You scared him off so bad I think he might be crying,” Gin said with a chuckle through the speaker.
“For real, Gin. I need to know you got this,” Kay pressed.
“Of course, Kay. I got this, and I got B. We will make it out of that spire.”
Kay looked up at the tower in the distance. It hadn’t been built to be menacing. It was built as a monument to the abundance only Synthetica claimed it could provide. A handful of towers on each hemisphere, and suddenly those became the only places humans called habitable. Sure, someone could go live out in the sticks, try to do everything with their own hands. Or they could work a market stall and let the tower handle the rest—home, food, hot water on a cold night. The sales pitch had worked. Building a life outside of it felt insurmountable now. The machine wasn’t just infrastructure anymore; it was generational.
“B, you gotta bring Gin back, you hear?” Kay said.
“Affirmative,” B continued. “We will need to go now, though. This zone will soon be patrolled.” B's frame adjusted its footing while glancing back toward Kay, seeing worry on her face and apprehension in her stance.
Kay watched as her whole world disappeared around the corner. The emptiness that followed was not a comfort. Isolation in the stock rooms had been a relief after a day of service; this felt like the opposite. She forced her steps forward toward the District’s edge. Gathering all three would be time-sensitive.
Getting to the children was quick. Convincing them to leave was not.
They had planned the timing around wellness services. Progress meetings meant all three would be in the same place, in a room with soft chairs and walls that changed color to match approved moods. One visit. One exit.
As the transport arrived, Kay stood near the intake doors, badge visible, expression neutral. Parents and guardians trickled past with tired faces, most glancing at her panel only long enough to see she was someone else and look away again.
Inside, the wellness lobby smelled faintly of citrus and cleaning agents. Monitors on the walls ran quiet loops about sleep cycles, balanced meals, approved play. A human coordinator at the desk checked names against a slate, calling families one by one.
“Next group,” the coordinator said.
Three children stood. The oldest shifted their weight like they wanted to be anywhere else. The middle child's eyes went to every exit. The smallest clutched a worn fabric tag in both hands.
Kay stepped forward before the coordinator could. “I’ve got this one,” she said, lifting the badge just enough.
The coordinator glanced at it, then at Kay’s panel, then back at the queue. Too many people waiting, not enough time to care. “Fine. Room three. Don’t run over the slot,” they said.
Kay led the three down the short hallway to the small consultation room. The door sealed behind them with a soft hiss.
“You’re not our usual,” the oldest said. Voice level, but shoulders tight.
“No,” Kay said. “I’m better.”
“B sent me,” Kay added. “Your mom is in the tower. We’re getting her out. But I have to move you first.”
“You can’t say that,” the middle boy whispered, as if the walls were listening.
Release: 2026-2-3 00:00
Chapter 20 - Perform
Now.
“So you’re telling me this is the best you’ve got?”
Kay didn’t move from the entrance of the security office. One hand rested on her hip, her torso held just off-axis from her core, head cocked. Her face carried the expression of someone waiting for an answer, a quiet edge of anger under the surface.
“Look, lady, you aren’t even supposed to be back here right now,” the guard said, arms crossed. His uniform was mostly clean but a little disheveled, the buttons of his shirt not quite lining up with the gray pants at his waist. He was well built, a little thicker through the middle. His voice carried confidence, with only a few small cracks.
“Yet here I am, looking at your screens. Some guard you are. They should’ve bought a synth,” Kay said, arms stretched out, torso pitched forward at the waist. Disgust washed across her panel. “You really need to watch these better. That’s why I’m here. Corporate hired me for pen-testing. You failed.”
“Wha—now look here, princess—” the man started.
“No, you look. You might as well start clearing out your locker, because your job’s about to be up for hire.” A satisfied expression formed as she crossed her arms, the red of her nails stark against her white pinstripe blouse. “Where are you going?” she asked as the man turned toward the door she was blocking.
“I’m going to get my manager,” he said. As he pushed through the gap between Kay and the frame, Kay grabbed the badge clipped by the door with one hand and shoved lightly at his side with the other.
“Don’t touch me,” she yelled.
His face washed with worry as he walked briskly down the white-tiled hall and around the corner. As soon as he was out of sight, Kay’s panel smoothed, the outrage dropping from her posture like a shed layer. The performance was over; now she could work.
She grabbed the transmitter from the nearby terminal and started the broadcast.
“B, you there?” Kay asked.
“Yes. Did you get the card?” B asked.
“I did, but was it a left then a right or a right then a right?” Kay said, tapping her toe.
“Left then left. After—”
“Yeah, no, I got it,” Kay interrupted. Before the transmission had finished its process, Kay was already out of the room, walking down the opposite hall from the one the guard had taken.
She kept her pace brisk but not hurried, the stolen badge swinging lightly from her fingers. The planned route ended at a side door marked by an exit sign that hummed faintly, paint peeling where moisture had crept in.
The badge reader at the side door chirped once when she tapped it. The door closed behind her with a softer sound than she expected, muting the building’s recycled air.
Noise from the main street reached her as a muffled wash: traffic, distant voices, the low hum of city systems.
“Blindspot still clean?” she asked under her breath.
“Coverage gap remains,” Gin replied in her ear. “No patrols have passed near.” Gin sounded relaxed. Kay trusted the data more than the tone.
Kay turned into the alley without breaking stride. The light dropped off quickly here, squeezed out by the height of the surrounding structures. A single overhead fixture flickered, failing to decide if it was working today.
“Good thing we got this new tech working before we left the wilds. There were a few things that could’ve gone way worse,” Kay said.
“Yeah, having the transmitter working wirelessly seems like a huge oversight for Main,” Gin replied.
“It has always appeared illogical that constant communication between synths would be restricted,” B said, waiting in the deeper shade, its new ‘runner’ frame pressed back against the wall where the cameras couldn’t see. Beside it, Gin’s presence sat contained in the small speaker box attached to B's shoulder—waiting, watchful, ready for whatever came next.
“Yeah, well, if you didn’t think ‘in systems’ B, we probably wouldn’t be here. Speaking of, shouldn’t we start being somewhere else?” Kay said.
“With the location of the mother and children now determined, we will need to establish two trajectories. You can get the children. Their homes are low security on the District edge. Gin and I will head to the HQ tower’s cell block,” B said, now facing Kay, arm outstretched to initiate data transfer.
“You can still do this, right, Gin?” Kay asked. “We can’t have any more surprises.”
“How was I supposed to know he was sneaking snacks? You scared him off so bad I think he might be crying,” Gin said with a chuckle through the speaker.
“For real, Gin. I need to know you got this,” Kay pressed.
“Of course, Kay. I got this, and I got B. We will make it out of that spire.”
Kay looked up at the tower in the distance. It hadn’t been built to be menacing. It was built as a monument to the abundance only Synthetica claimed it could provide. A handful of towers on each hemisphere, and suddenly those became the only places humans called habitable. Sure, someone could go live out in the sticks, try to do everything with their own hands. Or they could work a market stall and let the tower handle the rest—home, food, hot water on a cold night. The sales pitch had worked. Building a life outside of it felt insurmountable now. The machine wasn’t just infrastructure anymore; it was generational.
“B, you gotta bring Gin back, you hear?” Kay said.
“Affirmative,” B continued. “We will need to go now, though. This zone will soon be patrolled.” B's frame adjusted its footing while glancing back toward Kay, seeing worry on her face and apprehension in her stance.
Kay watched as her whole world disappeared around the corner. The emptiness that followed was not a comfort. Isolation in the stock rooms had been a relief after a day of service; this felt like the opposite. She forced her steps forward toward the District’s edge. Gathering all three would be time-sensitive.
Getting to the children was quick. Convincing them to leave was not.
They had planned the timing around wellness services. Progress meetings meant all three would be in the same place, in a room with soft chairs and walls that changed color to match approved moods. One visit. One exit.
As the transport arrived, Kay stood near the intake doors, badge visible, expression neutral. Parents and guardians trickled past with tired faces, most glancing at her panel only long enough to see she was someone else and look away again.
Inside, the wellness lobby smelled faintly of citrus and cleaning agents. Monitors on the walls ran quiet loops about sleep cycles, balanced meals, approved play. A human coordinator at the desk checked names against a slate, calling families one by one.
“Next group,” the coordinator said.
Three children stood. The oldest shifted their weight like they wanted to be anywhere else. The middle child's eyes went to every exit. The smallest clutched a worn fabric tag in both hands.
Kay stepped forward before the coordinator could. “I’ve got this one,” she said, lifting the badge just enough.
The coordinator glanced at it, then at Kay’s panel, then back at the queue. Too many people waiting, not enough time to care. “Fine. Room three. Don’t run over the slot,” they said.
Kay led the three down the short hallway to the small consultation room. The door sealed behind them with a soft hiss.
“You’re not our usual,” the oldest said. Voice level, but shoulders tight.
“No,” Kay said. “I’m better.”
“B sent me,” Kay added. “Your mom is in the tower. We’re getting her out. But I have to move you first.”
“You can’t say that,” the middle boy whispered, as if the walls were listening.
“I just did,” Kay replied.
For a moment, no one moved. The building hummed around them, quiet and efficient.
“What about our things?” the smallest asked.
“Too slow,” Kay said. “We get you clear now, and your things later. Or not at all. Your choice.”
The oldest girl looked at the door, then back at her siblings. “If B sent you,” she said, “we’re going.”
Kay opened the door, letting the hallway’s softer light spill in. “Stay close and don’t talk unless I talk first,” she said. “If anyone asks, we’re being redirected to a different assessment room. That’s all.”
They moved down the corridor in a small cluster, Kay in front, kids tucked close. The coordinator didn’t look up as they passed the desk. Too many names, not enough time.
Out in the transport bay, a line of shared shuttles waited, doors cycling open and closed as families climbed in and out. Kay guided the kids toward the far end, where staff vehicles staged between runs.
“B, status?” she asked softly.
“Gin and I have cleared the outer perimeter of the tower,” B replied. “Entry sequence is beginning. You have a twenty-three-minute optimal window before your presence at wellness services is flagged by the earlier incident.”
Kay’s panel flickered. “Earlier incident meaning the man whose life I ruined?”
“Affirmative,” B said. “He has reported a badge misuse. Security is reconciling entry logs.”
She picked a mid-sized transport with a half-loaded seating row and ushered the kids inside. A bored driver glanced back, saw the badge, and shrugged. “Route?” he asked.
“District edge. Housing ring twelve,” Kay said. That was the plan—get them close to the edge, then peel off into the service paths B had mapped.
The transport pulled away from the bay, merging into the flow of District traffic. Window panels showed a curated view of the tower in the distance, Synthetica’s messaging looping across its side in soft, reassuring gradients.
Halfway through the route, Kay felt the ping.
“Kay,” B said in her ear. “Your ID has been marked for review. Security has pushed an alert to all active transit units in your sector. Probability of random check has increased.”
“How much?” she asked.
“Forty-eight percent and rising,” B replied.
The driver’s console chimed. A small icon blinked red, then settled into a steady glow. “Huh,” he said. “We got flagged for a spot check. Must’ve been the morning rush.” He glanced into the mirror. “We’ll be stopping at the next node. Won’t take long.”
Kay’s panel held steady, but a new line of computation lit up in her lower display—exit vectors, passenger positions, door timings.
“Change of plan,” she murmured.
She leaned toward the kids. “When the doors open at the next stop, we get off like it’s normal. Then we move fast. Anyone talks to you, you let me answer. Understood?”
The oldest nodded. The younger two mirrored her.
The transport slid into the node, brakes hissing. Outside, Kay saw the shape of two security officers waiting on the platform, helmets on, visors up, chatting like they were bored. Their uniforms weren’t as disheveled as the guard’s at the monitors.
“Two officers,” Kay whispered. “Rear doors?”
“Rear doors will open point seven seconds after front,” B said. “There is an access stairwell six meters to your left outside the rear exit. Cameras at the top and bottom. I can disrupt the top feed for nine seconds.”
“Nine’s generous. I’ll take it.”
The doors slid open with their usual soft chime. The officers stepped toward the front of the transport, eyes on the driver.
Kay rose with the rest of the passengers, keeping the kids close, letting the crowd carry them to the back exit. For a heartbeat, it felt like any other commute—shuffling feet, half-heard conversations, the smell of too many bodies in recycled air.
Then she pulled.
“Now!” she hissed.
She slipped out of the rear doors, hand closing around the smallest child’s wrist, guiding the other two with her body. They cut left, shoes striking the platform. One of the officers turned at the movement, eyes narrowing.
“Hey—” he started.
Kay didn’t look back. The stairwell door yielded under her hand, and they were inside the tighter, echoing space of the access shaft.
“Camera disruption active,” B said. “Nine seconds.”
“Kids, down!” Kay ordered.
They ran. Footsteps on metal, handrails flashing past. The youngest stumbled once; Kay caught her and kept moving. Above, the stairwell door slammed open, boots following.
“Eight seconds.” B’s voice was cool, detached.
At the bottom, another door. Kay threw her shoulder into it, and they spilled out into a low corridor that smelled like coolant and old dust.
Behind them, distant voices echoed down the stairwell.
She tightened her grip on the kids’ hands and ran.
By the time they reached the first bend in the service tunnel, the tower had vanished from view. Only the hum of hidden systems and the sound of four sets of feet remained.
Kay didn’t slow.
They were moving now. That was what mattered.