Friday, August 29th, 2042, Streets of Sumner, Portland, Oregon.

Her night had been a fucking disaster, and Megan was still livid. So livid she could barely see straight.

Some channel had dropped a breaking report last night—players transforming into their game avatars. It sounded like total bullshit, like something out of a B-rated movie. Normally, she would have dismissed the story as a prank.

Except she could not, because the proof they paraded on screen—the face plastered across every news feed—was Ryan's.

She saw him just yesterday. Or at least, what he now looked like in VR. She also met Kaelyn during that meeting. Not just a character, but the other person. One she had never truly noticed before yesterday. The person Megan now imagined had been lurking beneath the surface, waiting to be seen and heard.

But when Ryan's picture showed up on the news? Megan had seen it instantly. This was not some hoax. The person they showed—it was someone else. She knew Ryan, and this was not him anymore.

Of course, she had messaged him. Tried to check on him, ask if he was okay. Being stuck in Kaelyn's body while diving online was one thing. But turning into her in the flesh? If this was real, Megan was terrified of how he would take it.

But by the time she slipped away from the bar for her break, he had already logged off. So she fired off a few texts, tried calling. The calls went straight to voicemail. The texts stayed unread.

When her shift finally ended—well past four in the morning, because of course tonight was the night she had to cover last call and restock—she rushed out, her destination already decided. Ryan's apartment.

She knocked. Rang the bell. No answer. Good thing she had a spare key.

She let herself in, only to find the place empty. She blinked and did a double-take. Spotless. Unnaturally so. For a moment, she wondered if she had stepped into the wrong apartment.

What happened here?

She went straight to his bedroom and found it equally clean and empty. She frowned and shoved aside the issue of the surprisingly tidy apartment.

Where is he? Did he stay at his parent's place all day? Or maybe he returned after the news of his transformation aired. His family would most likely want to protect him. Hopefully, he'd wake up before noon and read my messages…

Megan sighed. Seeing Ryan would have to wait. There was still one thing she needed to deal with. After all, the reporter who outed Ryan? She was not just some random media vulture. She was Chloe McIntyre. And her father worked for her.

Oh, I'm going to give him such an earful when I see him. How dare he throw Ryan under the bus like that?

Chloe and her father worked together on every case, so Megan knew her father must have helped with the investigation. Right now, she did not really care whether she had ever introduced Ryan to her father. The news station's actions, regardless of any personal connection to her, were far beyond unethical; it was a blatant disregard for journalistic integrity, a betrayal of public trust.

Megan picked up her phone from her purse and picked her father from the contact list. She did not even hear the ring tone—her call instantly went to voice-mail.

Did everyone just go fucking dark on me? Ryan first, and now Dad, too?

She closed the door and locked Ryan's apartment and headed south, towards Montavilla. Towards her father's apartment. It was roughly one hour walk—she would be there around six in the morning.

Once she got to the apartment building, she climbed the stairs by the parking lot to the second story and walked up to her father's door. She dug through her purse for the keys to his apartment.

I swear, if he's also not home, I'm going to punch a hole in one of his wall.

The moment she opened the door, a terrible smell hit her, causing her to gag uncontrollably. A hand flew to her nose to filter out the smell of burnt plastic and electronics. The sharp, acrid scent made her eyes water.

What the...?

From inside the apartment, she heard the voice of her father talking. "I'm sorry, I tried. For a second, I thought I slipped by undetected, but then my hardware fried. No Chloe, I don't mean figuratively. It literally burst into flames. I won't be able to do more until I get access to replacement hardware. Ideally top of the line, better hardware. If you want me to keep digging…"

Megan stepped inside, barely processing what she was hearing. Red emergency lights spun through the dimness. The carpets were soaked. Sprinklers still dripped water. The other lights were dead.

Her father paced back and forth, wearing nothing more than boxers and a drenched t-shirt, talking on a smartphone instead of through his usual AR goggles.

"Dad?"

Her father stopped pacing just long enough to glance her way. He smiled awkwardly and raised one finger, gesturing for her to wait until he was done with his call.

"Of course, I don't think it's a mere coincidence. But do you realise what you're saying? It's a game company, not some ultra secret black ops—Yes. Yes… Yes, Chloe. I'll call the station as soon as I can. Sorry, I've got to go. I have to deal with this before the water damage destroys even more of my stuff."

Brent hung up, dropping his phone on the wet carpet, exhausted. He slowly let himself collapse against the closest wall.

After a few seconds of silence, he looked back in Megan's direction. "Hey Meg, sweetheart. Please tell me your night was less of a shitshow than mine."

She crossed her arms, barely restraining the urge to throw something at the wall.

A shitshow? This isn't even close!

"Oh yeah, Dad, my night was great," she said, snapping. She stepped further inside. "You'll never guess what I had the pleasure of overhearing tonight. 'Cause let me tell you, drunk assholes at the bar had plenty to say about Ryan."

"Megan, I—"

"No, no, you should hear this. 'Cause thanks to you and Chloe, half the internet's trying to figure out if Ryan still has his original plumbing, and the other half is debating how much they'd pay for a night with the 'real Kaelyn.'"

Brent exhaled and looked away. Perhaps in disgust, or was it shame?

"Do you know what it's like to hear drunk creeps say they'd tame your boyfriend if they got the chance? To hear them joke about tracking him down?"

His head spun around, looking aghast straight at her. "Boyfriend…? Oh. fuck. I—"

"—And guess what, Dad? It's only been a few hours. You think it stops here? You think it's just gonna blow over?"

Brent rubbed his temple, looking genuinely disturbed. "I didn't think it would go this far—"

But Megan was not done. "Yeah? Well, Ryan's gonna be real happy to hear that, Dad. Hope that makes up for all the assholes jacking off to his face right now. Great journalism, by the way. Exposing the truth, keeping the public informed. Really noble stuff. I'm sure Ryan'll be so grateful when some psycho shows up at his door thinking he's just a walking sex doll."

Her father rubbed his face with both hands and squeaked out a weak reply. "Jesus, Megan…"

She groaned in frustration and mimed flipping an invisible table his way. "And the worst part? You know what I couldn't do, Dad? I couldn't say a damn thing. I had to smile, nod, and pretend I didn't hear them debating how good Ryan—sorry, 'Kaelyn'—would be of a lay."

Brent grimaced, looking genuinely disturbed.

"Guess what happens, Dad, when a barmaid gets mouthy with a drunk asshole? You get harassed and docked tips. You get cornered after your shift. I'm already exhausted trying to keep myself safe, and now I have to worry about my boyfriend too?"

"I—" Brent tried to speak, but Megan immediately cut him off.

"—So yeah, I had a lovely evening, thanks. I just love what you and Chloe did. Really helping the world here. And now, I come here for answers and I walk into—" She gestured wildly at the soaked carpets, the ruined electronics, the acrid air still burning her nose. "—whatever the fuck this is!"

Brent exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples. He looked wrecked, even more than usual. Dark circles under his eyes, his damp shirt clinging to his lean frame. Megan was used to seeing him pulled into long nights—his job at the station meant he was constantly sifting through classified data leaks and cybersecurity cases—but this? This was different.

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"Meg," he sighed, "I'm too tired for a fight right now."

"Because you think I'm not tired after walking all the way here from Sumner?"

Brent shook his head slowly and looked at her with the look of a dying man. "You're just like your mother."

Megan's jaw tightened, and Brent must have realized he had just stepped on a landmine, because he immediately held up his hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay. Look—I know you're pissed, but I didn't put Ryan on the news."

"No, but Chloe did," she shot back. "And don't try to tell me you didn't help her with the scoop."

Brent groaned and ran both hands through his hair, messing up what little order it had left. "Sorry. You're right, of course," he admitted. "I didn't know you knew him personally—but even if you hadn't—Chloe and I fucked up, big time. We threw the kid under the bus, I'm aware. But look… This isn't just about Ryan anymore. We've still got to warn the world. The whole 'avatar transformation' thing? That's just be the tip of the iceberg. The start of something big. Much bigger; just look at what happened when I went to look into the game developers." He gestured vaguely to the still-dripping ceiling. "Clearly, someone didn't like that."

Megan's stomach dropped. "You think… the same people who did that to Ryan did this to your place?" she asked, looking around again with fresh eyes.

Brent's lips pressed into a thin line. "I think so. The game company. HexakAI. It's the only thing connecting both."

For a second, Megan hesitated, not knowing what to say. Her father was a talented investigator—he had handled cases involving corporate espionage, data breaches, even AI ethics scandals. But she had never seen his actual work cross into his personal life like this.

She swallowed. "So… did you find anything?"

Brent exhaled and shook his head. "Too soon to say. But I can tell you one thing—this isn't just some viral phenomenon or weird biological fluke. Somebody is behind this. And they really don't want us to find out who."

Megan's mind was already racing. The Glitch? Everywhere. Ryan? Transforming. Her father? Attacked. It was not just the news outing Ryan that had her panicked anymore—it was the fact that everything was moving too fast. Too coordinated.

"Alright," she said, crossing her arms. "So what's the plan?"

Brent blinked at her. "Plan?"

"Someone's doing this to Ryan. And possibly others."

"Right." Brent gave her a long, measured look. "But why are you getting involved? This isn't about you."

"If it's about my boyfriend it involves me too. We need to figure out what's going on. Then how about using your skills to fix the mess you made?" she said immediately.

Brent's expression darkened slightly. She could tell he wanted to say something about her getting involved. But he chose not to argue. Instead, he shifted to push himself up against the wall, groaning as his muscles protested. He was not old, but years of stress and bad habits had worn him down. "I'll need equipment," he muttered. "And coffee."

"I'll handle the coffee," Megan said, already moving toward his kitchen. "You handle the equipment."

Brent gave a small, wry smile. "You realise there will be hoards of reporters, investigators, and paparazzi looking for Ryan today, right? They'll want to see if we were right with our predictions."

She shot him a glare. "Yeah, thanks for that."

He smiled awkwardly. "Right. Sorry."

As Megan dug through his cabinets for something drinkable, Brent moved toward a duffel bag tucked near his couch, unzipping it to reveal a mess of high-tech hardware. AR goggles, portable data drives, security bypass tools.

Megan frowned. "Why do you even have all this stuff?"

Brent did not look up as he started pulling things out. "Because, sweetheart, I've been in this game a long time. And I always knew a day like this would come."

Great, my dad is some kind of cyber-prepper?

"What are you going to do about the apartment?"

Brent snorted, barely glancing up from his pile of salvaged tech. "What do you think I'm going to do?" He gestured to the ruined carpets, the dripping ceiling, the blackened husk of what had once been his expensive FullDive rig. "I have a pretty good insurance policy. I'll let them sort it out. But the building's internet is all dead. We'll have to move somewhere else."

Megan rolled her eyes. "Are you going to let the landlord know? Maybe air the place so your apartment doesn't smell like burnt plastic for a month?"

Brent gave her a flat look. "That's what you want me to focus on right now?"

Megan raised her hands in surrender, then reached for the ancient coffee tin on the counter. She gave it a shake. Empty.

Of course.

She dropped it back onto the counter with a clank and sighed. "We're out of coffee."

Brent paused, halfway through checking the connectors on one of his portable hacking rigs. "We?"

"Yes, we. Because I know damn well you're about to ask me to run to the store."

His silence was answer enough.

Megan groaned, rubbing her face. "Fine. But if I'm running out for coffee, I'm getting breakfast too."

Brent waved a hand distractedly. "Yeah, yeah. Just make sure whatever you get has enough caffeine to restart my brain."

Megan sighed and fished for her keys from her purse. "I'll be back in twenty."

"Make it thirty," Brent called after her. "And get us some actual breakfast, not just junkfood?"

Megan flipped her father's wallet open and pulled out his AmEx card. Waving the card behind her back, she opened the door and stepped outside. "Sure, but I can't afford to pay for the good stuff in fancy Montavilla, Dad. I'm taking your card."

She let the door shut behind her before he could come up with a smart-ass reply.

The sun was rising, but the morning air was still crisp—cool for August, though the city's usual dampness still clung to everything. The sidewalks were as empty as usual, the once lively neighbourhood practically a movie set.

Megan was not a morning person, and she had just had a very long shift. But right now? She was awake as hell.

Her thoughts looped endlessly as she walked. Ryan was changing. He already had two life crises on his plate—three, if you counted being the centre of everyone's attention. Her father had been targeted. And at the heart of it all was HexakAI.

Tired as she was, Megan had no patience left for sitting around waiting for answers. She pulled out her phone as she rounded the block, checking for any new messages—but Ryan's name still sat there, unread. No read receipts. No missed calls.

She scowled as she entered a breakfast and brunch restaurant.

By the time Megan returned, arms full of coffee and bagged breakfast, Brent was already deep into whatever insane digital rabbit hole he had thrown himself into.

He had AR goggles on—but it was not his usual model, but a customised rig she had seen him use before when things got serious.

Megan dropped the coffee in front of him. "Still no messages from Ryan."

Brent took one sip of the coffee. "When did you last talk with him?"

"Around two in the afternoon? A little after Chloe interviewed Kaelyn."

He finally stopped typing. His jaw tightened. "Any idea where he might be?" he asked.

"His parent's place, probably."

Brent exhaled sharply and took a swig of coffee. "Alright. We probably should make sure he's actually there and safe. Then we can try to find out more about our mysterious game devs."

She pulled out her phone, her mind already jumping ahead. "What do we know about them, anyway?"

Brent gesticulated at a holographic interface only he could see. "They're an international studio, less than a hundred FTE, but plenty of subcontractors. They host servers all over the world—nothing unusual, when you try to minimise latency—a lot of them in undisclosed locations. Which is also not unusual. Most big server farms' locations are kept secret. They apparently rent some servers, but they own a good majority. They even own a couple of power plants. It's also their first title, but they've incorporated a little over ten years ago."

Megan's lips pressed into a thin line. "Anything special happened then?" she asked.

Brent continued reading from his notes. "That's around when the previous company folded. Then, these new guys came up, snatched up the IP and a good deal of the hardware—servers and such—apparently at a ridiculous discount. It was all ancient tech, after all, over two decades old. Other, wealthier bidders had already claimed everything of worth."

"Any idea how can they afford to keep the lights on for a decade with no product?" Megan asked. "And how much it would cost to run or rent all those servers?"

His frown deepened. "You're wondering where the money is from? Already checked. Couple of rich private investors who prefer to remain anonymous. Once again, nothing unusual for tech startups."

"Have they ever done press releases or interviews?"

He nodded. "Yeah, a few, but not many. It's always low-ranking technicians. Like server farm operators, commenting on server load."

"Have they commented on the Glitch at all yet?"

"No. But there's a ton of speculation about this one, people discussing how it's even possible. It doesn't make any sense, given how the system renders your VR avatar."

Megan raised an eyebrow. "Hmm? How do you mean?"

"It's not like a game avatar. You know, how you can customise those, and they're based on 3D models made by artists? Your VR avatar is procedurally generated from reading your prefrontal cortex. It should always reflect the way you see yourself."

Megan nearly dropped her phone.

…What?!

"Dad? Do you realise what that means?"

Brent sighed, rubbing his temple. "Yeah, Meg. I do."

Megan's heartbeat picked up. "No, I don't think you do—" she leaned forward, gripping the table. "If this works the way you're saying—the Glitch wouldn't happen to everyone unless—"

"Unless everyone made a character based on some kind of wish-fulfilment," Brent finished, his tone grim.

Megan swallowed. She knew Ryan, but she barely knew Kaelyn. That the VR system could mix up their identities could explain his situation. But the millions of other players…

"Instead…" Brent tapped at his AR interface again, his expression unreadable. "It's more likely that the game has changed the part of the player's brains to match the avatar they created." He swiped something aside. "Of course, HexakAI isn't talking."

Megan exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "Can the rigs even do that?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "The rig can make us hear, feel, smell, touch anything it wants, and it reacts directly to what we're thinking. Who knows what kind of unrestricted access it has to our brains?"

This hit Megan like a punch to the gut. "But there must be rules, right? Limits placed on the system…?"

Brent gave her a look. "If they're able to physically change your boyfriend into a proper catgirl, and they can fry not only my rig, but ruin the internet connection of an entire apartment complex, don't you think jail-breaking some security restrictions to poke around in our brains would be a piece of cake in comparison?"

She shook her head. "But that doesn't make sense. What would be the point? What's their endgame?"

Her father was quiet for a long moment. Then he sighed and took another sip of coffee. "Who knows? Chaos, maybe? Total societal collapse?"

Megan frowned. "But doing through the release of a video game? Surely there's an easier way to target more users, if all they wanted was chaos?"

He shrugged. "Look, I'm not a billionaire toying with the lives of millions. I don't know what goes on in these people's heads. That's why I have to keep digging. But I need a safer place to do so. I think I can borrow one of the news van. I'm going to give them a call in a second."

Megan exhaled through her nose, but nodded. "Fine. But I want us to stay close to Ryan. I swear to god, if he's not picking up his damn phone by noon, I am breaking in."

Brent snorted. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Megan rolled her eyes, but the joke helped ease the tension.

He tapped his AR goggles again. "I'll pull up any recent satellite surveillance data in the area. If there's unusual activity near his house, we'll know before we get there."

She grabbed a bagel from the pile of breakfast she had brought. "Good. Let's move fast—I don't want to wait around while the news vultures swarm him."

Brent nodded. "Agreed."

As he worked, Megan took another glance at her phone. Still no messages. Still no calls. Ryan was out there, somewhere. And even if he remained silent, she was going to find him, one way or another.

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