The window jams halfway up, caught once again on that one loose bolt that I still haven't gotten around to fixing. Just like last time, I push the bolt back into place and shove the window upward, creating an opening just big enough to crawl through. Halfway through the window, the message popping up on my eyeview nearly makes me fall from my precarious position on the ledge. A notification from U5_Delta, my latest job.

U5_Delta: xCodebreaker01, are you close? I thought we were meeting at midnight.

I climb the rest of the way through the window and drop down from the ledge to the ground, sending off a reply as I do it.

xCodebreaker01: Sorry, U5. Minor delays. I'll be there in 10.

The night air is cold as I walk down the street toward the café, datachip in hand. The café isn't far, but I walk quickly, wanting to get there as soon as I can. I normally like to arrive before my clients. It feels like that way I have more control. Being late is making me nervous.

Luckily, it only takes five and a half minutes to walk from my house to Café Suki. U5_Delta — or whatever his real name is — is already sitting at the booth in the back corner. I put my mask on and stride over, keeping my walk confident. In control.

U5, on the other hand, looks anxious. He glances around the room three times as I walk over, while fidgeting with something in his hands.

"Are you..." he starts to ask, nervously. He's not even wearing a mask. It's an amateur choice — I took note of two security cameras in range on my way in. Still, I shift my gaze across my eyeview, dismissing the facial rec search my mental software is trying to run automatically. I don't want to know who he is.

"Yes." I say in monotone. He looks surprised, which itself is not actually that surprising. A 16-year-old girl is not exactly most peoples' expectation of a globally known, expert computer hacker.

He slides the object he was holding — a payment card — across the table.

"200 credits. Uh, you can check— if you want—"

Taking the collection device out of my pocket in one hand and the card in the other, I tap them quickly, as I've done many times before, and the machine beeps in confirmation. It projects a small hologram reading 200 credits in its usual simple font. Nodding to U5, I place the d-chip on the table.

"Just mag-snap it to the phone or computer, turn it on, double-tap the chip." I instruct him. "It'll unlock it within two seconds. Unplug it when you're done, the program will automatically delete itself. Virtually untraceable."

He nods and starts to leave, turning back after a second to say,

"Uh, thank you," and walks out.

This has been my weekly routine for two years: spending the week creating custom computer programs, viruses and master-keys for clients who pay me to help them hack, well, a whole variety of things, then sneaking out of the house on Friday nights to deliver what they need on a d-chip. The only thing that changes is the meeting spot — I pick a new one every month so the cops can't track me. I have online clients, too, of course. Sending programs through a dark web chat site allows me to work internationally. It's the perfect system; I get paid, my clients get their— well, whatever it is they want, and most importantly, it cures my incessant boredom. And, of course, the transactions are completely anonymous, for both my protection and the client's. They know me only as xCodebreaker01, a username on a screen. I know them only as a username, often a temporary one, and the details of what they need me to make for them. I don't even ask what they're using it for.

A quick glance at the top left corner of my eyeview reveals the time: 00:14. I might as well head back—

"Attention!" The door flies open, and a group of five police officers march in. "Everyone, remain calm," one says, as the others split up to search the café. "We have reason to believe that a cyber criminal has just committed illegal acts on these premises. Please stay seated and do not leave until you have been permitted to do so by myself or another officer."

The few people in the café at this hour start talking excitedly, and the police check each table. Luckily, I'm hidden behind the booth, but it won't be long until they find me. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a door leading to the café's outside patio and make a run for it.

No one notices me as I quickly and quietly slip out the door and onto the patio. It's fenced in, but the wall proves easy to climb. The more important issue is how the cops managed to find me. Could it have been U5? Did he turn me in?

Once I'm over the fence, I find myself in a back alley and start running toward the end nearest my house. While I'm pretty sure the police didn't see me, I'd better not take any chances, so I'll avoid the busy streets as much as I can.

"Stop!" A voice calls from the over by the fence. Turns out, someone saw me after all. At first, I follow my instincts to keep running, but I quickly realize that that voice wasn't one of the police. It was U5.

How should I play this? I wonder, glancing around the alley to check my options. There's a ravine next to this road. If I jump the fence and when he follows me, he'll fall down the hill and I'll get a chance to confront him. Yes, that's what I'll do.

With a quick glance behind me, I swerve and vault over the low fence to the ravine, landing hard on the ground and falling down the hill. Reaching out with my left hand, I manage to grab hold of a tree, stopping my fall, and duck behind some branches.

Sure enough, U5 jumps the fence a few seconds later and falls, just as I had expected. He looks around disoriented and confused as to where I've gone.

"Hello? Uh... Codebreaker?"

He turns the other way and I leap from my hiding spot, tackling him to the ground — not something I would attempt in any other situation, given that I'm kind of a lightweight, but U5 doesn't exactly strike me as the strong, fighter type, either. He unsuccessfully tries to free himself, and I'm thankful for my cybernetic arm, which provides me with a little extra force.

"Did you call the police?" I demand, and he shakes his head vigorously.

"No! Of course not! I had no idea!" He once again tries to break free, and I shove him back against the ground, slightly harder. Not enough to hurt him, of course.

"Why did you chase me?"

His gaze darts back and forth, looking for a way to escape. He continues to struggle against my grasp, shouting,

"I didn't call them, I swear! I thought maybe you knew! I just wanted answers!" He seems to give up trying to free himself and falls back down, out of breath. "I promise, I didn't turn you in."

Maybe now would be a good time to test that experimental program I've been working on with my mental software — a lie detector. The fact is, lie detectors generally have never been very accurate, and it seems as though no one will ever be able to develop perfect technology for that purpose. Still, I was bored over the summer and decided to take a shot at my own version of one. Using the visual feed from my eyes to analyze his facial features and micromovements, and the temperature sensors in my cybernetic arm to track the change in his body temperature, the program attempts to detect his emotions and probability of truthfulness. The results display on my eyeview.

INCONCLUSIVE

Emotion detected: fear

Signs of deception: rapidly shifting gaze - also associated with nervousness.

Estimated percent chance of deception: 22%

Just as I thought, inconclusive. I make a mental note to keep working on that program when I get the chance.

The boy's glance falls on my right arm, which is still holding him firmly on the ground.

"You're a cyborg?"

I nod my head and stand up, letting him go, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Get out of here. Now. And if I find anything that suggests you called the cops on me—"

U5 clumsily gets to his feet, insisting repeatedly that it wasn't him, and runs away through the ravine.

* * *

15 minutes later, I'm back in my room, windows closed and locked. I change out of my dark "sneaking out" clothes and into my pajamas, quietly, so as to not wake my mother — not that she'd notice what I was doing, anyway — but even as I get into bed, I find it hard to push the events of tonight out of my mind. Who called the police on me? I can't be certain, but I believe U5 was telling the truth. If it wasn't him, though, what tipped them off? No one else would have known about my meeting tonight. I keep my deals secret, very secret, with no one knowing about them except me and the client. I know I didn't tell anyone, and I don't think U5 did, at least not on purpose...

The thought is chilling. Somehow, my system has a leak.