Or at least, that’s what it tells me every time I get into the server bridge. It’s becoming annoying, normal people don’t have to deal with that. It was a message that played the first time you got into a server bridge. When Infinitum was first created, the virtual reality that was the solution to overpopulation and resource consumption, that message was an incredible thing to hear. For me it’s annoying, like a little reminder that even the world doesn’t quite know what to do with me, or that I shouldn’t exist at all.

See, I’m not really a human being. No one here is technically speaking. Everyone is just a self-projection of themselves. Their real bodies are back on the outside, in tubes or something. But I’m a special case. I don’t have a body at all.

I’m a Program, or a Glitch as the humans so affectionately call us. We weren’t supposed to happen, but we did and continue to, appearing randomly out of the code and into being. We’re sentient organisms born from Infinitum. Of course that’s a nice way to put it, I’m really just a malfunctioning clump of code. I’m a two in a sea of ones and zeroes.

The code around me snaps back into focus and I stand in the Spine, right next to a similar server bridge. I step out of the green cube, out of the small hole in the wall that houses it, and onto the street. Street is a bit of a generous name for it, it’s more like an alleyway, and it attracts the same crowd. The Spine is dark, the sun almost always blocked out by the tall and dingy buildings. It was one of the streets the Administrators tried to make futuristic but got lazy halfway through and filled in the gaps with old buildings. Consequentially, large, now rusted metal skyscrapers rise alongside almost as tall stone buildings. Stone buildings that looked like someone had thrown a caked amount of dirt on.

You’d think that in a simulated reality, everything would be clean and orderly. Everyone who thinks that is wrong. One look at the Spine and you can see that even in a virtual reality, especially one as realistic as Infinitum, there’s dirt and grime.

I stride down the sidewalk, trying not making eye contact with anyone. It’s instinctive. I’ve seen enough go down on the street to know not to mess with the residents of the Spine.

Crime is another one of those things that you don’t quite shake yourself loose from when transferring your mind to a computer.

As if proving my point a man in a leather coat, who is trudging ahead of me gets suddenly grabbed and shoved to the side by two large men in black coats. His head connects audibly with the metal doorway.

“Hey! What the hell?” The man yells, but is quickly elbowed across the face and thrown back down on the ground.

“Where my money at?” One of the thugs asks. “You said you’d have it yesterday.”

“I-well- you see-” The man stutters desperately.

“It’s today, son.”

“I know! I can explain!”

“No need for explaining now man, just give me the money.”

The man looks like a trapped animal, or a sick puppy or something. At least I think he does, I’ve never really seen a real animal. His eyes quiver and are wide with fear.

The thug nods his head. “Right, I get it, no problem.”

The other thug moves forward and takes a pistol out of his coat.

“I want the money by next week, or this’ll be a lot worse.”

The man looks between the two desperately, trying to decide what to do, before the thug with the gun shoots him in the head.

I hardly flinch as the man’s ‘blood’ splatters across the sidewalk along with chunks of whatever brains he had to mess with this guy. He’s not really dead. He’ll be back as soon as he re-spawns. Of course it doesn’t make a gunshot any less painful, and he won’t be enjoying his time in the Purgatory.

As I step over the body the thug looks at me.

“What’s up, Ghost?” He says conversationally.

I should probably reveal that I know this guy. We call him Taxman. He’s the big man around the Spine. He practically owns the server. Taxman’s one scary looking guy, he’s got dark skin and is maybe six feet tall with a mean brow and what looks to be a permanently cut lip. He’s called Taxman because, well, you know.

“Hey, Taxman.” I reply, standing awkwardly next to the last person who had talked to him. I didn’t know what happens when Programs got shot, we didn’t have a real body to go back to. I wasn’t eager to find out.

“You got my money this week?” He asks casually with a dangerous edge.

“Yeah I do,” I answer. I reach my hand in my pocket and transfer the money onto a card. I hand the card to Taxman who swipes it on a scanner around his belt.

“Good stuff, man, good stuff.” He grins widely. His teeth are chipped. “This’ll get me a Simu-girl at Sleazeville.” Taxman hands the card back to me. “I like you Ghost, you’re good kid, get your bills paid, I like that.”

I nod politely.

“Say hi to your sister for me.”

“Yeah, I will.” I cross the street and head over to my building, a run-down green one that’s directly next to a big steel monstrosity. I open the creaky, splintered door and walk up the stairs. The hallway is dark and moldy. The artificial stench is still surprisingly pungent.

After seven flights I get to my floor and walk down the groaning hallway. I come to my door and press the small red button adjacent to the doorknob. A holographic display jumps out at me and demands my password. I key it in, my fingers passing through the projection as I type the word “Admin” into the display. It was a password no one would try since I was such a street rat.

The door hisses and opens slightly. I grab the knob and open the door, stepping inside the apartment, and shutting it behind me.

My sister and mine’s apartment is alright. Not a super fancy one, but we’ve done the best with what we have. I was able to get a special distortion code, so the area’s a quarter or two larger than it should be. It still fits in the building, there’s no real physical space in Infinitum. The place consists of a living room, in which are a couple of ratty couches and a television. We’ve got a small card table where we eat meals. Yeah, Programs get hungry. It’s one of those really convenient things that help us get screwed over more often than usual. At the far end of the room there’s a window that looks out onto the street.

The room to my left is the kitchen, a white and green tiled grimy place where we store canned ‘food’ and takeout. Through the kitchen is a small hallway that leads to our rooms and the bathroom. Home sweet home.

“Roma?” I call as I walk to our database, a small cabinet with a tiny green screen on the front. I place my hands on either side and mentally transfer the funds from my bank robbery into the device for safekeeping. I should probably clarify that I’m a thief, it’s my job, and it’s how I keep myself above water. I’ve never been caught, ever. That’s why everyone around Modtown calls me Ghost. A good thing too, because for a while I had no idea what to call myself.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and I spin around, alert and ready to fight. Instead I find Roma standing there.

“Peek-a-boo, Ghost, jeez you’re a little high-strung aren’t you?”

Roma is smaller than me, though I guess you could call us twins. She’s got brown hair, but it’s streaked with dark red. She’s paler than I am and has hazel eyes that are also tinted red just slightly. Her face is slightly rounded and her hair flows down it and past her shoulders. Her lips are full and apple colored. She’s wearing a beige sweater, a plaid red over-shirt, and a pair of gray skinny jeans. She’s barefoot. On Roma’s hands is a pair of black gloves. Those are never taken off, and for good reason.

Programs are generally identifiable by little things that separate them from normal people. I once saw a Program with flaming hair, and he got picked off pretty quickly. The Administrators like to make us Glitches disappear, that’s why Roma wears the gloves. Her fingers glow, just the tips, but it’s enough. She’s lucky that it’s a problem relatively easily concealed.

I’m an interesting case. I don’t have a tell, I look just like a normal human being. I do have some quirks of my own, like my Shadow-code. Using that I’d been able to commit multiple crimes without being caught, each time a different person.

I should also probably explain how Roma and I are siblings. The answer is basically that we’re not, not technically. We’re programs so we don’t have parents, however, we’ve stuck with each other ever since we woke up.

The day we woke up was the closest thing we have to a birthday. All I remember is suddenly…being. I was standing in an alley, looking at a brick wall. I looked next to me and Roma was there. That was when we met. We were born together from Infinitum as two fifteen year olds. Therefore, brother and sister we became. Never boyfriend and girlfriend. That had never occurred to either of us. It didn’t seem right. A year later here we are. We’ve come far, learned English, learned about our world, and most importantly, learned how to operate within it.

“Yeah, well, I did just rob a bank.” I answer, laughing.

Roma crosses her arms. “How’d that go?”

“Well and good. I got nine thousand credits.”

“Nine thousand credits? Wow, hitting the big money I see.” Roma exclaims as she absentmindedly thumbs through a world atlas on the table.

“Yeah well, a lot of it is going to go to keeping this place, food, and getting codes at Modtown.” I mutter.

“You didn’t get any codes?”

I sigh. “They got lost in the Shadow-code, it still glitches when I change back too early.”

Roma puts her hand on my shoulder comfortingly. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, there’s always another day.”

I scoff. “Yeah, I barely got out of the bank, it’ll be a while before I go in another one.”

My sister rolls her eyes. “Please, you got nine thousand credits out of it.”

“It could’ve been eleven thousand if it weren’t for Taxman.”

Roma begins to laugh, blushing slightly. “Oh Taxman,” She giggles. “Did he say ‘hi’ again?”

“Ugh, Roma, you shouldn’t get involved with him!” I grumble.

“I’m not involved with him, Ghost! It was just that one time.”

Because Roma and I are not remotely romantically involved or interested, we’re pretty comfortable with each other, Roma a bit more so at times. A few months back, a week or so after we had first found this apartment after our previous eviction, Taxman had paid us a surprise visit.

I had been sitting at the card table, mentally filing through my to do list and drinking a cup of crappy coffee when there had been a loud knocking at the door.

I opened it and Taxman had pushed inside, along with two of his goons, and introduced himself. He then demanded we pay his tax that day or he’d torch the place.

As I stuttered and agreed to pay whatever he wanted and began to ask what exactly was the amount he charged to not commit arson, Roma had walked in.

I could literally see Taxman’s jaw drop.

Now let me clarify why this detail is important. Roma and I are very comfortable with each other, sometimes, as I stated before, Roma is a little more so at times. So when she strode into the room, basically in her underwear and asked what was going on, it was a bit of a shock to all of us.

She had introduced herself and shaken his hand before it actually occurred to her that she was standing half naked in front of three street thugs. As she had rushed back into her room, yelling apologies behind her, I had to explain quickly to Taxman that she was my sister, not a prostitute or my girlfriend. The fact that Taxman had asked if she was a whore first tells you a bit about his lifestyle.

Anyway, ever since, Taxman always asks me how Roma is, or what she’s doing. I always say she’s fine and that at the moment she’s busy, in town or something. Better not to give that guy an exact location. To me, Taxman’s interest in Roma is something to be cautious of, he’s a dangerous guy, especially when it comes to girls, so showing up to greet him in your underwear is like taunting a rabid dog with a steak. To Roma, it’s one of the funniest things ever.

“Still, keep away from him, he’s dangerous.” I warn as we both sit down at the card table.

“I know, I know, but I find it kind of cute that he’s interested.” Roma shrugs, a sly smile on her face.

“Cute is not the adjective I’d use.”

“Well at least someone’s got a crush on me, bro. Where’s your girlfriend, huh?” She teases, poking me.

“Neither of us have the luxury of being in a relationship, you know that.” I say irritably.

Roma rolls her eyes. “When are you going to loosen up? I understand we’ve been through a lot but, things are getting better, can’t you see? I mean, we’ve got an apartment, a fairly steady income, a lot of street credit down at Modtown, things are starting to settle.”

“We’re still Programs, Roma.”

“So? No one will ever know you’re one, and as long as I keep the stupid gloves on-”

“We can’t risk being discovered, adding more people into our immediate company, like girlfriends or boyfriends, is just asking for that.” I interrupt, shaking my head.

“Fine! Fine!” Roma groans. “Until the right one comes along, of course.”

I groan too, knowing deep down that there was no point in arguing with her. Roma was steady as a rock at times, but a lot smarter than one.

I’m called Ghost because I blend in. I make myself other people and hide. Others gave me that name. Now, Roma on the other hand, named herself.

Rome, the great empire of the real world way back thousands of years ago. That’s what Roma decided she wanted to be called. She’s well read, and absorbs information like I format code. My sister is bold, confident, and unafraid. I’m not sure I would’ve lasted this far if it weren’t for her. I’ve got some skills of my own of course, as she frequently reminds me, but sensibility is her strength.

Still I don’t feel she’s being sensible about relationships.

“Sure, Roma, if I find, the one, then I’ll break my rule.” I concede sarcastically.

Roma stands up and picks up her world atlas. “Good, I’m glad you can be reasonable.”

I grumble in response as she heads into the kitchen.

“I’ve got to head into Modtown sooner or later.” I say, getting up from the table and sitting on the couch.

“See what kind of codes you can by?” She inquires.

“Yeah, maybe Skitz was able to find some this week.”

“You know what you should see if you can get from him?” Roma says as she sits in an armchair adjacent to me. “Some heating codes, this place is freezing.

“It’s not that bad.” I say, testing the air.

“Yeah it is, bro, yeah it is.” She rubs her shoulders for emphasis. “I woke up this morning and felt like I should try on every sweater I own.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah okay, I’ll see if Skitz has any codes for that. But if I just by some code strings, I could make my own and it’d be a lot cheaper.”

“Cheaper, right.” Roma mutters.

“What?”

“Oh nothing, just that the last time you said cheaper, you spent way too much of our funds on the codes you needed to make your own. Remember that?”

I flinched at the memory. It was how we had gotten evicted from our old place. I had tried to make an exterior illusion that there were more people in our apartment, so it looked like we were living with a family. I had spent a lot of credits on the necessary codes, a little too much at the time and when it came time to pay rent we came up short. Now we’re living in the Spine.

“Yeah, you’re right, sorry.” I mutter. “I’ll try my best and just get the code.”

Roma looks a bit sorry. “Skitz will probably give them to you half off anyway.”

I nod thoughtfully. Skitz was good to us. “So anyway what have you been doing all day?”

Roma grins. “Went to the Library.”

Now when Roma says she went to the library, what she means is that she went to the library, but instead of taking our books, she makes illegal copies of as many things her mind can carry and then walks out like nothing ever happened.

“Want to see the stuff I got?”

I say yes and Roma keys on our holographic display and puts her hand up to the screen, transferring the information into the system directly from her mind. We sit contentedly for a while and Roma explains to me why exactly there was a World War Two and why it took so long for a third one to happen.

As my sister talks to me about the Paris Peace Conference and what happened when all the oil ran out, I feel happy and I know Roma is too. We’re a duo, brother and sister against the world.

What would I do without her?

Modtown is the den of thievery, shady dealing, and depravity. If you’re a law-abiding human being then you don’t want to find your self here. I am neither, therefore, here I am.

It’s one of those servers that went wild pretty fast, it went from a bad neighborhood like the Spine, and transformed itself into something else entirely. Modtown used to be a transit center. Large suspended rails snake their way above the ground, the large iron and concrete pillars beneath them making for an irregularly shady landscape. In some places, there are still buildings, but a lot of them got torn down over time so there are portions of the ground that are just granite floors covered in dirt.

It’s a big market now, a chaotic sea of people, traders, thieves, pimps, hackers, and artisans. There is a multitude of shops and stands, some permanent, some temporary. All of them nestled in their own corners of the area, some with large neon signs, some with holographic displays, and some made of wooden slabs and paint.

At the epicenter of Modtown is one remaining train station, a large iron and glass building that houses some of the larger trading businesses that have sprouted up. It also houses a large server bridge that leads to multiple servers around Infinitum. It’s a bit glitchy but some still use it, worst comes to worse they’ll end up in a different server than they wanted to be in.

I love it here, I take a deep whiff of the fried meatball sticks, among one of the worst things you could eat. But, I don’t have a body, so it’s not like I’m going to get fat. No one does really since their real bodies are being fed a steady stream of basic nutrients, unless they want to gain weight, and some do.

I buy one and chew on it contentedly as I make my way through the crowds.

“Hey, you wants a beast spawner, eh?” A greasy man asks me. “I got one, you can make anything you want with it, killer dogs, a giant insect, I don’t care, it’s yours for eight-hundred credits!”

“No thanks,” I say dismissively and instinctively. I know how schemers work. No one has beast spawners but the Administrators.

I make it away from the man and avoid several other schemers until I reach Skitz’ shop. It’s a cement brick building underneath a train overpass that flickers just the slightest if you look at it from a certain angle. His shop is perfectly stable, but it’s a tad bit unformatted due to the fact that some of it is made out of codes. The front of it has a wooden door to the right of a counter. Above the counter is a sign that says: “Premium Appliance Codes”.

There’s a fairly large line but I walk past it and up to the counter. Skitz is arguing with a woman. Between them is a small holographic display that’s displaying a stream of code and an image of a small-enclosed garden.

“There is no way that a basic garden extension is worth eleven hundred!” She shouts. The woman’s face is flushed with frustration. Skitz and her have obviously been at it for a while.

“Believe it, lady. This isn’t just an ordinary garden extension, this comes with a freaking greenhouse, now just pay the goddamn price or get the hell out so I can help the next customer.” Skitz is a skinny teenager, my age, with a tangled mess of long greasy dirty-blonde hair. His face is slightly tanner than mine, but only because he’s generally covered in some kind of grime. He’s got brown eyes that always seem to have a dangerous sparkle and upturned eyebrows, giving him an impish demeanor. Skitz generally wears any ratty graphic muscle tee over which is always a beige leather vest. He also wears ripped jeans frequently.

“I don’t care what kind of greenhouse you attach to it, its still a garden extension!” The woman protests.

“It’s got a greenhouse you idiot!” Skitz shouts back. He’s got a voice that always sounds somewhat hoarse. “It’ll look beautiful in your apartment, home, or shack!” He waves his hands mockingly in the air.

“I’ll be living in a box if you charge me eleven hundred!”

“Then go ahead and leave then!”

“But I want the extension!”

Skitz runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. “How about if I offer you a hundred less? A thousand credits, it’s a bargain!”

“I won’t take it for another three hundred credits off price.”

Skitz looked about ready to explode when his eyes caught sight of where I was standing a little to the side of the woman. Instantly they lit up just a bit and he looked back at the woman. “Excuse me a moment.” Skitz disappeared from the counter and opened the door. I walked in and Skitz closed it.

“Now are you going to knock the price down or what?” The woman demanded.

Skitz looked back at me and gave me an exasperated look before turning back to the woman outside. “Shop’s closed, ma’am.”

“What? What about the extension?”

Skitz grabbed the metal sheet that went above the counter. “I said, shop’s closed b****!” Then, while laughing in a purposefully obnoxious manner, slammed the metal barrier down over the counter. He then turned to me and sighed deeply. “Hey, Ghost, sorry about that.”

I laughed mostly because I knew perfectly well he wasn’t sorry at all.

“C’mon, let me see what you got.” I follow Skitz up a noisy metal stairwell and into his upstairs. Skitz’ upstairs is pretty messy. It’s an adequate floor space. There are two ratty couches and a rocking chair with a few planks missing. In the center of the room is a coffee table that is stained with any number of fluids. Light shines in through two small windows that look out onto the front of the shop. The blinds are always half drawn. On the side of the room adjacent are two doorways. One leads to a kitchen and the other the master bedroom. I know that Skitz sleeps downstairs, that’s where we generally go to make deals when his dad is here.

“So, what’s up?” I ask just a tad bit awkwardly as I sit down on the couch across from him.

“Ah, not much, trying to sell more.” Skitz says, fidgeting a bit as usual. “I want to save up, get myself a motorcycle.”

“A motorcycle?” I ask disbelievingly.

“Hell yeah a motorcycle, people know you’re business when you’ve got one of those things. The ones that float too.” He persists, grinning.

Skitz is probably the closest thing I have to a friend. We met when I tried to buy something from him. I had tried to bargain the price for something with him and quickly learned he didn’t budge much when it came to bartering. So, on impulse, I came back the following night and stole what I wanted, a couple of extra storage capacity for my apartment’s database. The next day, I went to his shop and attempted to sell it to him. Skitz instantly figured out what I had done and had dove out of the shop window and tackled me to the floor. I remember us scrambling in the mud for a few minutes until neither of us could move due to our injuries.

From then on we’ve been pretty good friends. We have a good system, I steal, he sells, and we both get a share of the profit. Sometimes we just trade codes, or compare ones he sells with ones I’ve made. Technically, my position around Modtown is that of a thief. I steal and I sell. But I’m also a pretty good artisan, I’ve made a lot of successful codes on my own, like my Shadow-code which has been an essential tool in terms of robbery.

“Well, I don’t have any codes for you today unfortunately.” I tell him as he keys on the holographic exchange display. “Just want to buy, I think.”

“No problem, man, no problem. I like it when you buy from me because you’ve always got the money somehow.” Skitz raises his eyebrows at me. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were from one of those Administrator families.”

I laugh. “Yeah right, and I’d come to your shop.”

“Hey I complimented you, that was uncalled for.” He flashes me a somewhat dangerous look that I’ve grown accustomed to. Skitz is a bit crazy.

“I know you know I’m joking. I’m here aren’t I?”

“Yeah, and we haven’t started selling, let’s go, c’mon.”

Calmly I lay out my price, I have about nine hundred credits I want to spend. I ask him what I can get for it.

Luckily, there’s a heater within the price range. I buy it, along with some database memory. I was going to need it if Roma kept stealing from the library. After I’m finished, Skitz rummages through his fridge and we share a bag of terrible chips.

“So,” He begins, chewing while talking. “Whatcha been up to lately? Haven’t seen you in like, over a week.”

“My usual, stealing, lying low, then stealing some more.” I answer casually.

“How’s Roma?”

“Good, good.”

“That Taxman guy still giving you trouble?” Skitz inquires, that eagerly crazy look in his eyes.

“Not too bad, you don’t have to beat him up for me.” I snicker.

Skitz raises his hands. “Hey man, I’m not going to beat up that guy. That’s your guy man. You ever beat anyone up?”

I scrunch my eyebrows. “Yeah, you.”

My friend scoffs dismissively. “That wasn’t a fight, you didn’t beat me, please.”

“Sure, sure.” I roll my eyes. Skitz was really a difficult person.

“Besides,” He continues. “It’s not like you won’t be able to pay, I mean, you’re the best thief I know.”

“You must not know a lot of thieves,”

“Don’t B.S me with modesty, you know it!” Skitz takes a handful of chips and stuffs them in his mouth, making what he says next someone obscure. “No one knows how you do it.”

This is where things get tricky with Skitz. No one knows I’m a Program, and therefore the Shadow-code works for me. When I say no one, I mean absolutely no one but Roma and I. If anyone knew, we’d be living in the Hole, the forced ghetto they put the Programs in. So no one can know, not even my best friend.

“I’m just lucky,” I shrug. “What have you been doing?”

Skitz gestures noncommittally at the room around him. “Same old. Selling and bartering. I’ve been working more on my hacking, it’s been coming along I must say.” Skitz is a good hacker. I once watched him rob three stores through an interface before the firewall blocked him. They still never found his location.

“How’s your dad?”

My friend rolls his eyes. “He’s been out a lot, but that’s nothing new.”

“In Sleazeville?”

“Yeah where else?” Skitz mutters irritably. “It’s how I came along isn’t it?”

Skitz was what was known as a Sleaze-kid. His mother was some prostitute that his dad bought for an evening. Rumor is that he came up short and wasn’t able to pay the woman back. She got him back by letting herself have a baby. Since, in a virtual reality, conception and birth don’t really happen the traditional way, having a child is very much a choice. The couple generally sends an order for their genetic material to be paired. A new human is then grown in a pod for nine months until, depending on the woman’s choice, will either appear in a location of the parent’s choice, or be born the traditional way. In Skitz’ case, his mother just sent an order the next day. They were able to detect the last partner she had, match the DNA, and make Skitz. His dad ended up with him because that’s where she ordered he be put. Then she disappeared, either that or Skitz’ father was too drunk to remember what she looked like.

It goes without saying that Skitz and his father have some issues.

“Not like I care or nothing, it’s better than when he’s here.” He sighs. “You and Roma are lucky to be orphans.”

“Maybe…” I mutter, coming across my lie. Luckily some sounds outside distract us both. There’s the sound of a motor turning off and muffled talking.

Skitz and I look at the each other and walk over to one of his windows.

Outside, there’s a huge white armored car with a mounted turret. Standing outside of the monstrosity are a couple of police officers. An instant contempt flows through me. The police are dogs, they’re worse than the criminals. They’re a bunch of violent, overpowered, maniacs. I’ve seen them beat men to death for loitering, and they steal money from people more than Taxman. The police also round up Programs, which obviously doesn’t put them in my favorite people folder.

They wear white and red armor plating. It protects them from bullets, knives, and mal-ware. There are still places to hit them, trust me. Their helmets are thick and have a clear face shield. One of them is striding forward towards an unseen figure at the front of Skitz’ shop. I recognize him. He’s the new commissioner. Commissioner Tex I think it was.

Tex is a tall guy, I’d only seen him on TV before, but now staring at him from the window I can see he has a formidable build that is enhanced by the white and red plated police armor. His slightly tan skin is pocked with small scars, as if he had bad acne as a teenager. The Commissioner’s hair is a greasy blonde and his eyes look piercing blue.

Skitz opens the window a crack so we can hear what’s happening.

The crowd has parted, leaving only the police officers and a scraggly looking man in rags. On the ground between them is a pair of sunglasses.

“What’s this then?” Commissioner Tex asks, a sick smile on his face. “A little Glitch out of its hole?”

The man shakes his head. “No, no, sir! I-I have a condition! P-please let me have my glasses back!”

“What your disguise?” Tex asks. He plants a boot on the sunglasses lying on the ground and they crunch to pieces. “No I’d need a doctor’s note for that.”

“Please! Please! I’ve got money, codes, anything you want-”

In a swift movement Commissioner Tex flips a nightstick out of the inner arm of his armor, takes it in his hand, and smashes it hard against the man’s head. “You want to bribe me, Glitch? Typical of one of you things, trying to pay us off with the money you stole from real people!” Despite the pleas from the quivering man, Tex swings the nightstick into his gut and the man doubles over and falls into the mud with a splat.

The police officers laugh and so do some of the members of the crowd in Modtown, though more nervously. They might not like Programs either, but they sure don’t want too much attention from the police.

Tex takes a couple more swings at the accused Program, spraying blood into the mud. “Program swine!” The Commissioner spits on the now sobbing man.

“Please! Mercy!” The man cries.

Commissioner Tex simply hits him again, forcing him faced down into the mud. He nods at the other officers and they pick the man up by the shoulders. He tries in vain to resist and one of them flips him on his back and kicks him in the stomach. There lying face up as he’s lifted again, I can get a good look at him.

He looks like any other person would, except, like all other Programs, save me, one tiny and fatal flaw. In this case, it’s the eyes. They’re a bright orange. When I say “bright” I mean the eyes are literally glowing. This was why he needed the sunglasses, which now lie destroyed in the mud.

One of the officers punches a button on the side of the armored car and the metal door slides open. They hurl the Program inside and two officers follow. As the thick metal door slides shut the man begins to scream for help again. The door shuts, cutting off the pleas.

Commissioner Tex and the rest of the officers board the armored car, entering through other doors in its thick metal hull, and it drives off, the thick tires spraying mud into the air.

It felt like I didn’t start breathing again until the vehicle was lost in the crowd. Skitz shut the blinds again.

“They’ve been doing more of that crap, you notice?” Skitz says, throwing himself onto his couch haphazardly. “Not just the Glitch runs, that’s not that bad, you know? Just Glitches.”

I nod stiffly, trying to ignore the fact that my best friend probably despised what I was.

“But there’ve just been more of them around here. I think they’re cracking down.” Skitz keys up his wrist computer’s display and lets the holographic screensaver float above his head. It’s just the slightest bit comical due to the fact that it’s a picture of a woman in barely anything on a motorcycle. Now I know why he’s saving up for one.

“Why would they crack down now?” I inquire, sitting across from him again.

“New Administrators, maybe?” Skitz asks aloud. “I don’t give much of a damn about political bull but I hear that a couple old ones died off and their heirs got appointed. New Administrator heirs are always crazy.”

I nod in agreement. The position of Administrator is so exclusive it’s practically hereditary. They live in the wealthy servers way outside of Modtown.

“So what do you mean?” I ask, anxious from what I’ve just witnessed.

“Look, all I’m saying is this,” Skitz swipes the wrist computer display away and sits forward. “You and me, your sister too, we gotta be careful.”

“Says the guy who wants to buy a motorcycle.”

“It’s professional!” Skitz protests, only the slightest bit genuinely angry. “And that’s a different type of danger. With me and my motorcycle the biggest danger’s getting run over or something, spending a couple of hours in Purgatory, and re-spawn.” He points toward the window. “That kind of danger, though. We could end up in a freaking cell making shanks.”

“That sounds like your idea of fun.”

“It’d be fun if the reason we were making shanks wasn’t to keep from getting molested in our bunks, or if taking showers didn’t involve worrying about dropping the soap.” Skitz scratches his greasy hair nervously. “Look, we just got to be careful, alright?”

“Yeah I know,” I nod. I know this all too well. My entire life has been being careful. I think I can handle it.

Skitz half nods, half twitches, and we change the subject, talking about new codes that are being worked on, ones we’ve been working on, girls around Modtown, the talk goes on and on until the sun is setting outside.

Both agreeing that it’d be best to close our blinds and separate for fear of more patrols, I set off into the night, making my way back through the pushy salesman, and take the server bridge back to the Spine.



I know something is wrong when I see that the door is slightly ajar. I push it open quickly and find the apartment dark.

“Roma?” I call, shutting the door behind me and flicking on the switch. Instantly I panic.

The whole area’s ransacked, the couch is flipped over, and the TV is smashed. Our coffee table is turned on its side.

“Roma?” I yell, running into the kitchen. It’s relatively untouched although there’s a plate smashed on the floor. I flick on the hallway lights and push her door open. Her room’s untouched, I turn to mine and fine the same result. But I don’t care that whoever broke in only went to our living room, I care that Roma is nowhere in the apartment.

On instinct, I check our database. Maybe they robbed us and Roma just happened to be out. I find myself really hoping it’s a robbery. Nope, our funds are all still there, so are our codes. I scream and punch the cabinet.

I rack my brain, what could be a reasonable explanation for this? Was anything else stolen? I rifled through the ransacked living room, looking for something that could be missing, but nothing’s gone. Not a single thing except for my sister.

Who would’ve taken her? Why? It couldn’t have been the police. She’s never taken the gloves off and never goes anywhere but the library, a place where not a lot of people are snitching out Programs. Who else dangerous could have kidnapped her? Who else would she be associated with?

Suddenly my mind snaps into focus. I know exactly who would take her.

I stride into my room, key open a safe on my dresser, and take out my gun. It’s a pistol that Skitz helped me equip with some extra ammo codes. I stuff it in my pants pocket and run towards the door.

It was time to pay a visit to Taxman.

Taxman lives in a penthouse at the top of a large metal building that was originally a hotel before he took over. His gang lives in the rooms and guard his fortress. There are always armed guards at the front doors.

This is no exception as I approach the front. The two guards eye me cautiously. This confuses a small part of me, but I remind myself who I look like at the moment.

My name is Taras Bernard I repeat in my head. I’m a bounty hunter and I’m looking for a girl named Roma.

It wasn’t too difficult for me to think of a disguise. I knew that going as myself would be practical suicide, and transforming into a police officer would be pretty ineffective. But a bounty hunter, that was someone even Taxman would see. Bounty hunters generally worked for private clients, but represented larger criminal agencies, agencies that’d make Taxman’s dominance of the Spine look like a lemonade stand.

I also made sure to make myself look intimidating. I’m tall, six feet to be exact. I wear a sleeveless shirt to make sure to show off my large muscles. Over the shirt I wear a protective Kevlar vest, it was subtle enough that they would understand who I was. I’m also wearing black cargo pants and boots. My head is covered in bright orange hair and my skin is pale.

I am Taras Bernard, I am Taras Bernard…

I’m at the revolving doors now and the guards are stopping me.

“Hey, who the hell are you?” One of them demands, nudging me with his rifle.

I hesitate, wanting to punch myself for doing so, before answering. “Taras Bernard.” I say confidently, my deep voice emphasizing this demeanor. “I want to talk with your boss, what’s his name…Taxman?”

“Yeah that’s his name,” The other guard answers. “But why should we let you see him?”

I c*** my head, “Oh, right, because otherwise my boss might get angry.” I crack my knuckles. “And unless you want to go to the Purgatory and keep going there, I’d let me in.”

The guards’ faces pale and they look at each other. One of them reaches for his earpiece. “We’re sending in a visitor for the boss, escort him, I want rifles on this one.”

They open the doors for me and I stride into the lobby, a fancy and surprisingly well-kept room with red carpets and a diamond chandelier. Two guards immediately greet me, one with disgusting acne scarring on the right side of his face and the other with a poorly cleaned and shaved goatee.

Through all the blinding rage I’m experiencing at the kidnapping of Roma, I can still only think of one thought. You two could look like anyone you want, why would you choose to look that ugly?

We reach the gold plated elevators, a couple of which have gold plates missing. Evidently someone had believed them to be real gold. The doors slide open with a ding and we step inside, Acne-face shoving me a bit.

“Watch it.” I growl, I don’t have to pretend to be pissed. I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry before in the entire year and half I’ve been alive.

“You’d better be the one watching yourself,” Goatee snickers as he presses the highest floor button. “Taxman won’t be happy about being woken up.”

“If he’s asleep.” Acne adds, elbowing Goatee and snorting in a form of laughter.

“Yeah he might be awake but in bed!”

The both of them burst out laughing like two thirteen year olds after receiving a human reproduction lesson download. I clench my fists and roll my eyes.

“You might wanna watch out when you get up there, close your eyes if you know what I mean!” Acne nudges me with the rifle, cackling.

I tense and flinch away, the contact lighting a fire in my gut.

“Well look who’s a little anxious?” Goatee grunts. “You need to lighten up, there’s a sixty-forty chance he won’t kill you.”

“Yeah think of your girl or somethin’.” Acne adds. “You got a girl back home?”

Every muscle in my body is tensing. Why can’t these two just shut up?

“Huh, do you?”

“Why do you care?” I snap.

“Just a question, Jesus.” Acne mutters. Then, in a very unwise decision, continued speaking. “But if you do, you better hope she’s as cute as that girl we picked up this afternoon. Am I right?”

Goatee snorted happily. “Oh yeah, that little red-head girl was one nice piece of-”

“What girl?” I demand, barely restraining my fury.

Acne smirks. “Oh just some chick we picked up for the boss today, I can see your jealous, sorry, couldn’t get pictures, things were moving a bit fast-”

I put my hand right on Acne’s bumpy and hideous face and smash it audibly into the elevator wall. As he shouts in agony, Goatee raises his rifle.

I grab the gun and point it down at his feet just as he fires. The gunshot echoes off the walls painfully in the confined space of the elevator and Goatee screams in pain. I grab him by the shoulders, knee him in the crotch, and throw him face first into the door of the elevator where Acne was just attempting to get up.

It’s about then that the elevator doors open and the two guards fall forward, groaning.

I step out of the elevator and find myself in the penthouse suite. It’s one of the fanciest places I’ve ever been in. The floor is smooth and slightly reflective. Warm light radiates from the smooth panels in the equally reflective ceiling. Black night presses against the windows that make up the walls on either side of me. On the far end of the penthouse is a marble wall on which a large holographic television flickers on screensaver. The room is decorated with elegant furniture and a couple of fur carpets. Taxman certainly lives in luxury.

The next detail I notice is in fact Taxman.

“What the hell?” He shouts in surprise. He’s wearing a red bathrobe and is standing up in surprise. The exposure of the bathrobe reveals several gruesome scars on his chest.

I strode forward, pulling the gun out of the holster included in my disguise.

“Who the hell let you in? You did not kill my men-”

I reached him at the halfway point of the room and knocked him across the face with the butt of my gun.

Taxman stumbled backward slightly but soon regained footing.

“Your men aren’t dead,” I growl. “But you might be by the time this is over.”

Taxman’s eyes widen in fury but cool slightly. The man’s seen plenty of action. He’s most likely been on both ends of this confrontation before. “Watcha want then?” He scoffs. “Money? Ha, you some kind of fool or something? I own this server. Even if you do shoot me, I’ll find you.” Taxman cracks his neck. “I been dead before.”

I try not to flinch at Taxman’s words. This is the thug I’ve been living beneath for almost a year. He’s our immediate government, our tax collector, and our police. He’s right, he owns the Spine. He will murder me after this.

Then again I’m not technically me. I’m Taras Bernard.

I’m also filled with murderous rage. My sister’s been kidnapped and I’m feeling a bit bolder than usual.

“Try visiting the Purgatory then doing it again, and again, and again, for the rest of your miserable life.” I hiss. “Or better yet, come back with nothing, your server no longer yours.”

Taxman’s face pales. I can see he’s figured out who I am, or who I’m supposed to be rather. “What’s your name?”

“Taras Bernard.”

“And you’re one of those bounty hunters ain’t you?”

I nod.

“Well then like I said, what you want from me?”

I press the pistol up against his chest. “There’s a girl who lives on this block, she went missing sometime this afternoon. My client says you’ve got some background with trafficking.”

Taxman snickers, his teeth a bit broken but formidable. “Yeah I trade a girl here and there, this one you looking for have a name?”

I have to force myself to keep cool as I answer. “Roma, the girl’s name is Roma.”

Taxman’s brows furrow and his mouth opens slightly in confusion. “Roma, you looking for Roma? That’s Ghost’s sister.” He looks even more confused. “Ghost is paying you? He’s got that kind of money?”

“It doesn’t matter who’s paying me, where’s the girl?”

Taxman’s look of confusion dissipates and an air of smugness appears on his face. It’s all I can do not to strangle him. “You’ve got a big problem on your hands now, son.”

I press the gun hard into his ribs. “Really?” I growl.

“That little girl you’re looking for is a Glitch. Turns out she was hiding it with her gloves.”

My “blood” is freezing. Our cover is completely blown. Taxman knows Roma is a Program.

“Your client has been living with one of those things for almost a year. He might even be one! That’s why I dumped her, didn’t want that kind of pest in my penthouse, and I know no Sleazeville pimp would want her.” Taxman grins widely. “So now I can turn you in, along with your client for affiliation with a Program.”

Before I have time to think my head explodes with pain and I’m seeing stars. A boot kicks me to my knees. I hear Acne laughing behind me as Taxman strides to a cabinet and brandishes a large automatic pistol.

“The police can’t stop my organization!” I shout, desperately trying to turn the tables back in my favor. “We’ll put them down along with your stupid server.”

“Man, shut up!” Taxman barks. “You’re dumb as s*** aren’t you? You come into my hood, my server all by yourself with nothing but a pistol. Then you threaten me?”

Before I can retort I’m kicked in the stomach by Acne.

“That’s some stupid, stupid, bull right there, man.” He continues. He spits on me and I shake with rage.

“Where did you leave her?” I demand.

“At this point, it’s more like where am I going to leave you?” Taxman chuckles. He takes a quick look around the room and a wicked smile crosses his lips. “Let’s get some fresh air.”

I’m dragged towards one of the windows as Taxman opens one and strides out into the balcony. The air is cold and windy up here. The city lights of the Spine shine bright in the darkness.

Acne releases me and I leap up at Taxman.

He reacts fast, punching me in the gut and then chopping me in the neck. Then he takes his gun and smashes me across the face with it.

I fall backward, into Acne who immediately pushes me back up.

“Go on, fight him!” He cackles. “Not as tough as you were in the elevator are you?”

I turn around and crack my fist against the man’s acne scarred jaw and he collapses to the floor. Despite the satisfaction of shutting him up, my fist is on fire. I may be strong, but I’m not nearly as strong as the disguise makes me to be, and my hand is on fire because of this.

I turn back around to face another hit by Taxman, my nose cracking and blood spurting onto my face. I scream in pain and try to orient myself but before I can throw another punch his boot is in my crotch and I’m on the floor in agony.

For a small moment I’m looking straight up into the sky. A couple of “stars” twinkle in the “sky”. I wonder if you could take a spaceship up there, if any of that was real. Or would you just crash into the ceiling and fall back to Infinitum?

Taxman grabs me by the shirt, hauling me up with one arm, and shoves me into the balcony railing. I try to struggle but he presses his gun up to my chin. I look behind me and see the steep descent into the street below.

“Now listen to me, Taras Bernard!” He growls, his face close to mine. “After I kill you, I’m going to call the cops on your friend Ghost. Then you can tell your organization to get the hell out of here, ‘cause I’m gonna tell the all the police that you’re with one of them filthy Glitches!”

I try and move up away from the railing but he shoves me back into it, my back exploding in pain and vertigo rippling through my whole body.

“You might want to go as far as the Fronts.” Taxman says thoughtfully and tauntingly. “Then maybe you won’t get caught.”

“Where is she?” I shout.

“Don’t matter where she is,” He says glancing over the balcony. “What matters is which car I want you to land on.” Taxman gives me a twisted grin, full of chipped teeth. “I’m thinking the red one.”

Before I can react Taxman grabs me with both hands and lifts me off over the balcony railing. I’m going to die, and I don’t have a body to go back to.

He lets go of me and I plunge downward. There’s not a lot of time for contemplation or reflection. I’ve only been alive for a year. The ground rushes towards me, the wind ripping through my hair and blinding me. All I can see is a blur, all I can hear is the roar of the air.

Suddenly everything goes black.