Tossing my hair off my shoulders, I glance at my reflection in the window as I walk by, checking that the two blue streaks in my hair are tucked out of sight. Sure enough, they are, and the notification in my eyeview confirms that my facial concealer is turned on.

The facial concealer, a small device clipped to the corner of my sunglasses, is a short-range infrared light emitter that I designed to hide my face from security cameras when I need to. Humans can't see infrared light, so to passers-by, I just look normal. To cameras, on the other hand, my face is masked by an abstract blob of light. Yes, it might look a little suspicious if someone were to actually review the footage, but they'd probably just think it was a weird lens flare, and at least they won't be able to identify me with FaceRec. Now certain my disguise is right, I walk into a Daintree-owned clothing store called New Seasons.

"Hi, how are you doing today?" A perky employee greets me moments after I step through the door.

"Oh— I'm fine, thank you." I smile politely and walk toward a rack that catches my attention.

"Might I say, I love your skirt!" She says, not getting the hint that I was walking away.

"Thanks." I reply, trying to be polite but silently wishing she'd leave.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"Oh, well, something that's good for travel, I guess." Why did I answer? I should have just said I was looking around. The woman continues to make conversation while showing me a hologram-selection of comfortable-yet-stylish-looking clothing. I gesture over the image of a light grey top with a geometric pattern of green lines on the shoulders, expanding the picture.

"Ooh, that one would look great on you," the clerk says.

"Thanks... Allie," I answer, reading her nametag.

She smiles. "What's your name, by the way?"

"I'm Xaria."

Xaria Clarke is an alias I made up so that I never have to transfer payments from my hacking jobs to my actual account, which could raise some questions. While she mostly exists online, I occasionally dress up in this disguise in order to buy the things I need, usually just d-chips for my programs and sometimes upgraded computer equipment.

So, what am I doing in a clothing store? Well, call me overly cautious if you want to, but ever since the UNBI raid a week ago, I've been thinking a lot about my escape plan. And by that I mean I've been worrying about the fact that I don't have one. What if the UNBI figures out who I am? My best course of action would be to leave the country, in which case I'd need a new identity. Xaria isn't good enough, either — she can still be traced back to xCodebreaker01 through payment records, with a little work. Creating a whole new identity is no easy task, though, and honestly, I'm not even sure where to start. I figured a simple enough first step would be to buy some new clothes. In order to make the alter-ego seem totally different from me, she should have a different style.

Allie stayed beside me while I browsed the selection for a few more minutes, eventually choosing the grey shirt I was looking at before as well as a white blouse, comfortable black jeans and a dark blue jacket. The clerk unlocks a drawer to retrieve the clothing, and I consider my choices while searching my pocket for my payment card. I think I'm doing a fairly good job in changing my style. The light grey and white are noticeably different from my usual clothing, which Roxanna once described as — what was the term she used? — "neo-grunge", I think. I'll miss my ripped jeans, dark colours and the crop-top-plus-jacket combination I wear probably a little too often, but I think I could get used to this style, too, whatever it turns out to be. After paying for the clothes and saying a quick thank-you to Allie, I head out the door, shopping bag in hand.

There's one road behind my house that has no street cameras, so I take that route, changing out of my disguise in the shelter of the unlocked storage room in the greenspace facilities building. As an extra precaution, I walk one block farther and loop back around to my street, so it looks like I'm coming from the opposite direction. To anyone watching the cameras that I did have to pass by, Xaria Clarke's trip to New Seasons and Kalix Raven's walk home will seem like totally different events.

When I open the front door, I'm met with sounds of mellow conversation coming from the living room, and a familiar voice.

"Kalix, you're home," Idra calls, walking toward the door.

I hug her, while slipping my shopping bag under the bench in the entryway. "Hi, Idra."

"Mom and I were just having tea, why don't you join us?"

I follow her to the living room, watching her walk as if I could somehow decipher her intentions from her steps. Why is she here? A few days ago I tried to design an algorithm to predict the likely cause of her visit, but it drew a blank. I guess the program is only as good as the programmer, and I was never an expert in human behavior. I really should've asked Roxanna about it.

"So, how have you been? How's life at the Peace Department?" I ask my sister once I've poured myself a tea and sat down in a comfy chair.

"Oh, I've been doing fine. I've had to work slightly longer hours because of the upcoming political summit with the United European Kingdom, but other than that, the usual. How about you, how's school?"

"Y'know, same old. Boring history classes and stuff. What brings you home?"

"Just thought I'd drop by. I don't need a reason to visit my family, do I?" She does that perfect smile of hers, and for a second, I believe her.

From the sofa across the room, my mother speaks up. "Last time you visited you said you were applying for, uh, a promotion, right? Did you get it?"

Hold on, did my mom just actually remember something? Funny, she can barely remember the things I say when she asks about my life, but something my sister told her months ago is still fresh in her mind. While I know it isn't true, part of me wonders if I'm just not important enough for her to remember. If she just doesn't bother. Doesn't care. But that can't be true...

Right?

"Oh, of course, I almost forgot about that. I'm now the Assistant RDD. That's the Relations Department Director." There's that smile again. Innocent. Humble. Perfect, without looking like she's trying. I don't know enough about the Peace Department to know what that job title means, but it sounds important. Also, I can't help but notice that the ID badge around her neck now lists a clearance level of 4, a rank up from the last time I saw her.

We continue to make conversation for a while, with a few awkward silences, until Idra gets up to go make dinner, a plan that had apparently been made before I got home. Not that I'm complaining. My mom doesn't cook — not anymore — and while the supermarket ready-meals I usually make are pretty good, I've missed actual cooking.

The 30-ish minutes it takes my sister to make her signature synth-chicken stir fry goes by quickly, and I pass the time scrolling through my SocialConnect feed, checking the dark web chats, and working out an error in a program I was designing earlier. Before long, she came back to the living room to let us know dinner was ready. My mother muted the TV, which was still on the news station Idra had set it to earlier, and everyone sat up at the kitchen table.

While keeping a suspicious eye on Idra and my mother, I take a bite of food. Delicious. I should really learn to cook.

We eat in silence for a few minutes, none of us knowing what to talk about. It's been so long since I've had to make conversation with someone over dinner — my mother rarely has anything to say.

Idra glances at the TV in the next room as she uncomfortably tries to think of a subject. "So, what do you think of the XCB case?"

"XCB?" I ask.

"You know, xCodebreaker01, that hacker who they've been talking about on the news. You must've heard."

"I didn't know people were calling her XCB. Why not just Codebreaker? It's the same number of syllables."

"What difference does it make?"

"XCB sounds stupid."

"I don't know." She shrugs. "What do you care, anyway?"

I turn back to my food.

"So, the police think she's a girl. Not that I've watched that leaked footage or anything."

Of course not. Perfect Idra would never watch illegally leaked footage from a crime scene. Also, while I can't be sure, I think I detected disapproval in her voice when she mentioned that Codebreaker's a girl. Across the table, my mother just stared passively.

I'm bored. Time to stir up trouble for no good reason.

"Personally, I like that she's a girl," I declare.

Idra gives me a look. "She's a criminal, not some heroine from one of those action movies you're so obsessed with."

"What can I say, I like a badass villain. Like Harley Quinn."

"What's she from, again? That early 21st century movie, Predatory Birds or something, right?"

"It's called Birds of Prey, and yes, that one," I inform her.

"I don't understand how you can watch that stuff. It's so old. You don't even like history."

"I don't know, the late 20th, early 21st century just had some good movies I guess. Better than the boring ones nowadays. Feels like they just write that stuff from a formula now. Besides, Birds of Prey kind of made me want to be an assassin." I get a glare from Idra, and raise my hands in the air with a laugh. "I'm kidding! Obviously..."

From across the table, my mother forces a small chuckle.

"Who do you think she is, anyway? XCB, I mean. Sorry, Codebreaker." Idra overemphasizes the name.

I shrug. "Some random person, probably. It's not like I'm going to say she's, I don't know, Jessica Love or something," I say, noticing Idra's bracelet with a Jessica Love song lyric on it — 'when the cold air hits you, rise above'. Where'd she even get that bracelet, anyway? It seems like every time I see her she has new clothes and jewelry.

My phone chimes and I reach for it, but stop when I catch Idra's disapproving stare. Before the car accident two years ago, my parents had a strict rule against phones and devices at the dinner table. After my cybernetic surgery, I started using my eyeview instead, thinking I was so clever to have figured out a way to use technology without her noticing. Of course, as it turns out, the reason she didn't notice wasn't that I was a master of deception, but rather the same reason she barely notices anything that goes on anymore.

Still, I guess I'll humour my sister and obey the long-forgotten rule...

We shift conversation away from the news, and instead I ask her more about her job. She tells me about the upcoming political summit, and the work she does for the Peace Department, though a lot of it I don't understand. She asks me about school, but when I try to answer, I feel, like always, inadequate compared to her. I'm doing well in school, I guess, but not as well as she did. I don't have a 98% grade average. I'm not the head of Model UN, or MVP of the debate team, or president of the student council for the third year in a row. Not like she was at my age. When she asks about school, what am I supposed to say?

The conversation continues, Idra and I chatting about my classes, her job, and current events, while my mom listens mindlessly, occasionally showing a subdued reaction. There are a few awkward pauses, when we run out of things to say about Cortland acquiring Forward VR, or the upcoming peace talks Idra's preparing for, or the federal election in the African Constitutional Monarchy. Usually these silences are filled by a random fun fact or a comment on the food. Eventually, we finish dinner, having talked about hardly anything of substance and leaving me no closer to finding out the reason behind my sister's visit.

* * *

2:15. The time is displayed in the corner of my still-on eyeview. The middle of the night. Idra left hours ago, to go sleep at a hotel. I don't think she can bear to sleep here, in this fractured household with the broken family — or what's left of it — that lives inside. I don't entirely disagree. With my holo projector on my lap, I try to focus my attention on some programs, to control my drifting mind, as if working out lines of complicated coding will ever help me to understand my real problems.

But, what even is the real problem? My mother? She's certainly part of it, but I don't think she's the only thing that's wrong. My sister?

To an outside observer, I'm sure it would make no sense why I don't always get along with her. It's not like she brags about being perfect — I don't even think she knows how amazing she is. But everything she does, she excels at. I'm just the useless little sister who will never be as good as her.

My words from before come back to me. I like a badass villain. Like Harley Quinn. But xCodebreaker01 isn't a badass. She's just a lonely, bored 16-year-old girl who thinks she can drown all her problems in the sleepless blue light of a computer screen.

...

No. Don't.

...

I said, don't do it, Kalix.

...

With nothing else to do and no desire to go to sleep, I navigate to the chats panel.

xCodebreaker01: Hey, are you online?

My eyes begin to unfocus as I stare at the screen for what feels like 10 minutes, but according to my computer, was less than one. And then...

Ping.

OutlawResolve: Yeah, what's going on?

Aaaaand that's when it hits me that I have no idea what I'm doing, why I'm randomly messaging someone I don't know in the middle of the night, or... did I mention, what the heck I'm doing?? Shit. Shit. Why did I message him? I don't know what to say.

OutlawResolve: Are you still there?

xCodebreaker01: You know, nevermind. It's nothing.

OutlawResolve: Are you sure? I don't think you would've messaged me about nothing.

OutlawResolve: Hold on, isn't it like 1 in the morning in Japan?

'Oh shit', part two.

xCodebreaker01: Maybe a little.

He's judging me. I can practically feel him judging me from almost 10 000 kilometers away.

OutlawResolve: I can understand that one, actually. Sleep and I don't have the greatest relationship, either.

Huh.

OutlawResolve: So, are you working on anything?

xCodebreaker01: Nothing interesting, really. My jobs have been pretty boring lately.

OutlawResolve: Even the one where an entire police squad barged in on your meeting? You have a strange definition of boring...

xCodebreaker01: Hey, you don't know that was really me.

xCodebreaker01: And I meant the programs were boring. Same old password crackers and stuff. Too easy.

OutlawResolve: Yeah, those are the worst. At least they're not much work, leaving time for other stuff.

Other stuff? This seems like an opportunity to get more information about him — from a competition point of view, of course.

xCodebreaker01: Like what?

OutlawResolve: Are you really asking me about my hobbies?

xCodebreaker01: What can I say, I get curious easily. It'd certainly be interesting to find out the ~infamous~ OutlawResolve is part of a knitting club on Sunday afternoons.

OutlawResolve: So I'm not the only one who noticed the "infamous" thing! Is that the press's favourite word or something?

Once again, huh. I thought I was the only one who noticed that.

xCodebreaker01: Right? They could really use a vocabulary upgrade. Ironic, given that writing is their job.

OutlawResolve: Anyway, sorry to disappoint, but I am part of no such knitting club.

OutlawResolve: Cross stitch, on the other hand...

xCodebreaker01: :laugh:

OutlawResolve: I'm kidding, of course. Honestly, I don't really have many hobbies. I tend to just experiment with coding when I'm bored.

OutlawResolve: What about you?

xCodebreaker01: Hah, now who's the curious one.

OutlawResolve: Just keeping up-to-date on my competition.

xCodebreaker01: And why exactly would you need to know your competition's favourite pastimes?

OutlawResolve: Why would you?

xCodebreaker01: OK, fair point.

xCodebreaker01: I don't have many hobbies either.

OutlawResolve: I guess that's why we're both here, right? Something to do.

xCodebreaker01: Yeah... and a way to break free from the ordinary.

xCodebreaker01: ...If that makes any sense.

OutlawResolve: Escape from analog, unchanging lives where people just follow the pattern and blend into the crowd of what are basically sentient blips in spacetime?

OutlawResolve: Makes perfect sense to me.