Darting through narrow alleyways in the dark, I search for Zephyr's lair. A heavy downpour has already ruined my chignon and gray business suit. That's what I need when I meet some criminal overlord--to look like a drenched rat.

A scruffy calico huddles beneath the tattered awning of an abandoned corner shop, their ears lying flat against their head. They scowl at me in disgust and give me a guttural growl.

I agree. Why the hell do they simulate crappy weather?

The faint glow from eco-lamps barely illuminates the abandoned streets. Half-broken shutters clatter in protest with each powerful gust. Caved-in roofs have sunk in the middle like collapsed cakes.

Lovely neighborhood.

Drunk old flecks slouch against the crumbling brick wall of a seedy bar from the late 1900s with neon signs boasting of cheap draft beer. Retro bikers, I guess, judging by their leather gear. These old flecks can't seem to let go of the past.

"Hey, Ninah, wicked haht," they drawl in a heavy Bostonian accent.

Nice stereotypes. Probably some jackass programmer from New York.

Leering at me as I march past, they blow me kisses and catcall. They don't come after me, though. It must be part of the background scenery, similar to the cackling tavern patron in a medieval fantasy game.

Can't be too careful, though.

I speed up with confident strides in case any show of fright triggers some latent subroutine in this neighborhood. Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating the dark streets, along with a deafening clap of thunder.

There it is.

Interestingly, Zephyr has chosen the shattered ruins of a mall as their secret base. I size up the reconstructed bomb site with both shock and amazement. It's hyperrealistic. Complete with shattered glass doors and the gaping hole in the far west wall. Never have I seen such a perfect re-creation of the holographic scenes in our interactive history textbooks.

Dozens died here. It's one of many terrorist attacks by Econo-Warriors in the late forties, protesting against the automation of retail and gastronomy.

All the giant outdoor letters have fallen away apart from three: S-O-B.

Real classy, Zephyr.

As I step through the ruined entrance and tread on broken glass, a digital assistant springs to life as a staticky hologram. It looks like something out of a horror film. Old, half-broken tech.

What a weird choice for a superstar hacker.

The androgynous greeter flashes me a wide smile and laser-scans me for weapons. "Welcome to South Bay, Tara Walters."

I take a surreptitious look around me, but no one else is there.

They speak in a mechanical voice. It wouldn't pass the Turing test without thirty years of upgrades. "You can find Zephyr in the food court, located on the second floor."

"Uh, thanks?"

They gesture towards the escalator in the middle of the foyer, covered with a layer of dust and ash. "You're most welcome."

My steps crunch on broken glass, more simulated debris from the initial blast. Giant puddles of muddy rainwater spread across the tiled floor.

They mix with pools of congealed blood.

Every consumer item worth pillaging has long since vanished, leaving behind empty showcases and broken display cabinets.

Love what you've done with the place.

Grime and blood cover the ruined walls like macabre paint. Dead bodies lay strewn against the walls, some missing limbs or even their heads. With a grimace, I look away and cover my mouth. It doesn't stink. It's a reflex.

Why would anyone choose this as their skin? A shiver traces down my spine even though the bodies aren't real. Maybe I should turn back.

"Horrific, isn't it?" calls down a deep voice from the second floor balcony. "It reminds me what we fight for."

Lightning flares across the sky, illuminating the upper level through the glass ceiling. It reveals the shadow of a tall, bulky figure leaning over the railing. They sport the physique of a wrestler slightly past their prime. Powerful trapezius and shoulders. But a core like an oak wardrobe.

Another flash.

Weird hair! It's a closely cropped buzz cut apart from thick, dark waves along the top, held in place by wax. An eccentric retro-chic style. One my dad would have worn as a young man.

Must be a bodyguard.

But the third bolt of lightning reveals the truth. They're wearing a uniform I'd recognize anywhere: raven-black kevlar mixed with black leather with an aggressive eagle identity patch on the upper arm.

Steeltoe armor.

My eyes widen. It's a trap!

"Don't be afraid," they say in a booming voice. "I stole this off a dead fleck."

Shit, you can die here?

Run!

"Tara, wait!"

Screw you!

"Tara!"

My boots stomp. Gotta get away from this flicked mausoleum made of twisted metal. Dead bodies. Broken glass crunches beneath my feet.

No story is worth dying for. Not even to avenge Stella. She wouldn't want me to risk my life for her. If this fleck kills for armor, he'll kill me, too.

There's the exit!

Racing too fast, I trip on the broken metal door jamb. Fall on the concrete. Hard. The impact knocks the wind out of my lungs. Stuns me.

Get up!

Scrambling to my feet, I sprint as fast as my legs can carry me. Ignore the burning! My palms sting. My knees scream in pain with every footfall.

Doesn't matter! Run!

"Aila, nearest exit?"

"South Bay Center in 200 yards."

Please, please, please!

The scary soldier appears a few yards in front of me. Out of nowhere. This might be the freaking Matrix, but how the hell did they do that?

I dart left. Then right.

No matter where I run, they block me like a giant tank. "Stop, Tara!"

"Move!"

"I won't hurt you." They hold their arms out to their sides. "I'm Zephyr!"

I freeze.

No, that's impossible! Paul said they go way back. The streetlight clearly shows this fleck is only a little older than me.

"Bullshit!"

"Paul told me about Stella."

I balk. Gotta be a trick.

"What's his favorite quote?" I demand.

"'Whoever saves a life, saves the world.'" No hesitation. "Paul practices his faith even though religion is dead because it helps him not to fall prey to hatred."

They've told me Paul's deepest secret. Not even his wife knows for sure. No way would a random Steeltoe know.

Stunned, I brave a look in Zephyr's eyes. Their eyes glint like icy-gray steel, but they don't give me the cold-blooded gaze of a killer. The color is striking against their bronze complexion. 

"I'm sorry I scared you," they insist with a grim smile, "but I want to help."

"You're Zephyr?"

I stare at their uniform. Why the flick are they dressed like...Steeltoes?

They knock on the tough breastplate. "Hard to find full ballistic body armor. In Darkwebs, you steal whatever you can find to survive."

Surprised, I draw back. Can't they afford it?

Hmm...maybe they did give all their money away like Paul said. If so, kudos.

Still not sure I can trust them.

Zephyr grimaces with disgust. "It takes a flicking long time to hack their gear, so I'm stuck with the logo. Probably it means I'll survive another day, though. I mean, I hate it here...but it's not like I got a choice."

This has to be the most surreal moment of my life.

If Zephyr doesn't like working and living in Darkwebs, why have they stayed? Are they an addict? On the run, perhaps?

Have they forgotten it isn't real? It can happen with over-exposure.

"Why don't you go back?"

They give me a mirthless chuckle, as though I'm clueless or some shit. "Just like that, huh?"

"Yeah..."

"Lead the way, and I'll show you how 'easy' it is." They gesture toward the train station with a gun almost as big as me. "Don't worry. I'll shoot anyone who tries to attack you."

"You do know this is virtual, right?" Poor Zephyr must have lived here for so long they've lost their grip on reality. "No one can kill us."

"Is that so?" They cock the semi-automatic laser gun and point it at me. "Shall we test your theory and find out?"

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" I hold up my hands in surrender, my heart thundering against my ribs. "Put down the bazooka, Robin Hood."

Their weapon might not kill me, but it'll leave one hell of a bruise. Probably a broken rib.

Another mirthless chuckle as they disengage. Only then can I breathe a sigh of relief. I cast them an evil glare that could kill a small elephant.

"The flick is wrong with you?"

"Robin Hood." They frown in thought. "Yeah, I like it."

Sweet sun! This fleck's a nut.

Probably not a Steeltoe. But still a nut.

Once we reach the defunct train station, a shimmering vertical pool of azure glows on one of the grimy platforms, beckoning me to come home. I scan my digital wristband. The panel pings and shows the location of my physical body, lying in stasis at an anonymous VR arcade downtown.

Great, thanks for revealing my location. Jeez.

Zephyr shoulders their gun. "Well, Niner, this is where we say good-bye. If you do decide to brave another visit, make sure you come armed."

"What do you mean?" I give them a puzzled frown. "Come back with me."

"I can't."

"Downtown stations accommodate everyone, even Ones."

Zephyr casts their gaze aside.

"What?"

"I'm not a One, Tara." They readjust the heavy weapon across their back. "I'm a Zero."

An awkward chuckle falls from my lips. "Good one."

"What?"

"There's no such thing as a Zero. One is the lowest rank."

"In your world, maybe."

Furrowing my brow, I stare at the digital panel while Zephyr scans their wristband. It buzzes in protest, refusing them access.

"Insufficient level," it says.

"What? I don't believe it. This portal's for everyone."

"Not everyone."

Zephyr projects and enlarges their public profile in mid-air until I can see it. They scroll down to their rating, and there it stands like a shameful badge.

Rating: 0.00
Employment status: property of AlphaGalaxy

This isn't possible. Zeros don't exist. And property? The system never classifies human beings as property.

Zephyr sure as hell isn't AI.

What the hell is going on?

___

Word count: 1,712
Total word count: 8,391/8,000 (YAY! We just made the milestone!)

This project has required a lot of time and effort (and a lot of patience from you all). :D But it's so worth it. I think this story is coming together quite nicely even if it still needs a crap-ton of editing. ♥ Thank you for all your help and encouragement.

The ONC project has helped me to meet so many lovely new readers and writers. I've even made a few friends. Love you all. ♥