Breakfast is nothing more than a shotglass of tablets, a sad splotch of rice, a splash of orange juice and a shameless can of VeggieSoup—the moist, mucilaginous version of the VeggieBytes Simon is so disgustingly fond of.

Simon.

I haven't seen him in the last twenty-one hours and forty-eight minutes, but I'm sure that he will show up soon enough. I have, however, tried to reach out to him myself, but the virus had managed to delete all of my contacts on the Neuro-Circuit. So, while half of the chip is infected and damaged, most of its anti-malware programs having been totally torn down, the other half is just as helpful as a pair of glasses would be to a blind person.

I angrily stab my spoon into the can of soup; the plastic utensil barely breaks past the surface of the intimidating muddy-green mass. I reluctantly open my mouth to the disgusting glob, but the cold slime accumulates in my throat like an immovable clump.

How has my life resorted to this? I wonder dejectedly, eyes already watering.

"The trick is to starve yourself, child."

I look up and blink several times, a circular brown face framed with long purple braids swimming into view.

"Try it," the woman whispers from across the table. "And when the nurses pick up on the fact that you're not eating, they'll at least serve you something decent."

I spit out the sludge. "You've actually done that?"

"For a while, yes. But they eventually caught on to me."

"Well, then, I'll have to give it a shot," I declare, defiantly pushing my meal aside.

The woman lets out a chuckle before extending her hand. "Symphony. But you can call me Finny."

I shake her hand. "Sierra. But you can call me... well, Sierra will do."

A smile eases onto Symphony's lips. "So, what brings you here?"

"The morning schedule."

Symphony snorts. "You know what I mean. Why were you admitted into this old age home?"

"Same reason as to why all of us are here—the Neuro-Circuit... the virus."

"Yes, yes. But what did you do to end up—"

A loud bang crashes into my right ear as someone slams their wooden tray onto the table, making me flinch. Without a word, the guilty party drops down into the seat beside me and immediately starts to chew through her soup.

"That's Greta," Symphony says with a sigh. "She arrived about two weeks ago."

I nod absent-mindedly, staring at the ignorant intruder with an expression others would probably not describe as approachable.

After slurping up five mouthfuls of the savoury semi-fluid, Greta turns to me with a trouble-free grin. "Sorry there, cupcake. Hope I didn't scare you."

I attempt to return her warm smile, but a sweet, subtle scent drifts from her mouth and straight into my face. I instantly recoil, my nose wrinkling at the familiar fragrance. My eyes snag on the slender object half-hidden in her breast pocket.

Greta follows my gaze, her features lighting up. "Ahh, this—" she carefully removes the e-cigarette—"is the LuxLung-37. She's elegant, sexy and offers the best throat hits while maintaining an impeccable battery life."

The fact that any of the employees here would even allow their patients to inhale such toxic substances makes my eye twitch with disapprobation, but I don't say anything.

Soon enough, I won't have to deal with Greta and her unhealthy addiction...

Because I think I know exactly how I'm going to break out of this horrible place.

↻↻↻↻↻↻↻

That won't work.

I lock my teeth together tightly, trying to quench the anger threatening to tear through the seams of my composure. "Why not?"

Zora is one of the most painstaking professionals in her field. How exactly do you expect me to find a breach in her shields?

"Can't you at least try?" I urge desperately. This is the only plan I have. If I can somehow convince the Virus to latch onto the nursing facility's access control software, if it can manage to immobilize Zora's warning system, then I can sneak out of here tonight.

But I can almost hear the Virus's exasperated sigh as it speaks into my ear.

Directing your thoughts to one of Zora's firewalls is the equivalence of sending me across a burning bridge.

"You're only making the idea sound all the more pleasant."

Okay, then. I'll have a crack at it—but don't blame me when the sirens go off before I can even get a door open.

"No, wait!"

The virus stills, probably expecting me to throw in the towel.

But I'm way too determined to ditch this idea.

"So... let me get this straight. You can hijack the Neuro-Circuit and intercept my thoughts and brainwash an entire population—but you simply cannot slip past a stupid security system?"

Oh, I can certainly squeeze through any one of the available entry points—but not without setting off the alarm, the Virus clarifies.

"But you're a Trojan, right? Won't you be able to remain undetected?"

Being an impersonator does not mean I'm invisible. Unauthorized access will still trigger the alarm before I even get a chance to step over the digital threshold. And then, as if to drive its point home, the virus adds, Imagine what would happen if Iron Man were to stroll through a metal detector.

I drag a hand down my weary face. "Then what can you do, exactly? Besides being a niggling spectator, that is."

I'm not your sidekick, Sierra. If you seek assistance, please consult someone else.

"Fine, then," I grit out, ripping back the blanket and thrusting myself into bed. "I'll get out of this place eventually—and I'll do so without your help."

[967 words]