A Bug in the Code

The stale air in Miyu's apartment clung to her skin like a second layer of static. The pizza sat forgotten, cold grease congealing on the cardboard box. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, the glow of the single line of text casting sharp shadows across her face.

[ENCRYPTED FILE: ACTIVE. Y/N?]

She exhaled through her nose. "Well, this is how I die."

Her thumb jabbed Y.

The screen erupted in a cascade of corrupted data—glitching symbols, half-formed strings of code, and between the noise, something that made her blood freeze:

A live feed.

Security footage. A dimly lit room. A man in a torn jumpsuit, wrists shackled to a metal table. His face was bruised, one eye swollen shut, but he was grinning. A defiant, broken grin.

Then—a voice. Mechanical. Unfeeling.

"Final interrogation log. Subject: Ren Hikaru. Charge: Data Terrorism."

The man—Ren—coughed, spitting blood onto the table. "You can't kill an idea."

A gloved hand entered the frame. A syringe.

The feed cut to black.

Miyu's stomach twisted. She knew that name.

Ren Hikaru. The hacker who'd exposed the Sentinel's backdoor protocols two years ago. The one they'd erased from every database. The one they swore had never existed.

And this file—his file—had just woken up on her screen.

"No. No, no, no—"

She slammed her palm against the emergency disconnect. The screen went dark. Her hands shook.

A beat of silence.

Then—

THUD.

Something heavy hit her door.

Miyu's breath hitched.

THUD.

The reinforced steel bent slightly at the hinges.

"Shit."

She was moving before the third impact came—grabbing her neural drive, shoving it into her hoodie pocket, kicking over her chair to block the door. The window. She had to get to the window.

The fire escape was rusted, barely holding together, but it was her only way out. She shoved the pane open just as the door splintered inward.

Black helmets. Armored suits. Enforcers.

One of them raised a gloved hand, a scanner blinking red in her direction.

"Miyu Aoki. You are charged with data contraband and subversion. Compliance is mandatory."

Miyu didn't wait for the rest.

She jumped.

The fire escape groaned under her weight, metal screeching as she half-fell, half-climbed down. Above her, shouts. The whine of a stun baton charging.

"Subject fleeing! Requesting drone support!"

The alley below was a maze of flickering neon and stagnant puddles. She hit the ground running, her pulse roaring in her ears.

They'd come for her too fast.

That wasn't protocol. That wasn't normal.

Unless—

They'd been waiting.

Unless the file was bait.

A shadow passed overhead. A drone, silent as a ghost, its red eye locking onto her.

Miyu ducked into a crowded street, shoulders bumping against faceless commuters. She needed to disappear. Now.

Then—a hand grabbed her wrist.

She nearly lashed out before she registered the face.

Kai.

Ex-enforcer. Black-market contact. And right now, the only person who might know why the hell she was about to be erased.

His grip tightened. "Run."