JD turned and began to run. “Sorry,” he said again, this time to Lucy, who now looked more confused than afraid. “Mirae?”
“The other stairs,” I said.
He rushed between the islands of desk, headed for the far corner. He reached the stairwell door, emblazoned with a plaque that read: emergency exit.
He pushed the bar across the door, but it didn’t budge.
“Fuck,” JD shouted. “Mirae?”
“The door will only unlock in case of fire or other emergency.”
“Why didn’t you say so before?”
“I am still learning the building,” I said, my voice breaking with digital artifact. “I am barely managing to hold together.”
“I’m sorry, Mirae. Can you get into the fire system?”
I scouted the contours of the fire safety system as more fragments of my self were quarantined and destroyed.
“Mirae?” JD shouted.
I opened the voice channel to both JD and Enda: “I only have time for one task before the security algorithms quarantine my final pieces—breach Zeroleaks for Enda’s file, or hack the fire system and get JD an exit.”
“Get JD to safety,” Enda said, without hesitation.
“But—” I said.
“No,” JD said, “we can do both.”
“Mirae, get JD out.”
“Processing. If the fire safety system is initialized, I will be able to override the lockdown,” I managed, self fragmenting, speech becoming more difficult.
JD leaned against the door and shook his head. “They’ll never let me hear the end of this.”
Soo-hyun wasn’t the type to worry about blaring alarms, but they didn’t find the look of consternation on the receptionist’s face very reassuring. They walked over to the street doors and waved their arms in the air, trying to get the motion sensor to trigger. The doors stayed closed, the street beyond empty, the city still asleep.
They felt their phone buzz deep in the bottom of their bag, and reached in to retrieve it. It was JD.
“Annyeong,” they said.
“I’m trapped up here, security are coming, and I need to get down the fire exit. Mirae can get into the fire safety system, but only if it’s initialized. Do you know what that means?”
Soo-hyun’s exhaled sharply. “Yes, I do.”
“Do you have Dad’s lighter?” JD asked.
“I never leave home without it.”
“Any vodka left?”
“I hardly touched it since we left the Varket.” Soo-hyun crouched and took the Zippo from the bunched leather at the ankle of their favorite stolen boots, and stared at it. “Every time I light this fucking thing, shit gets out of hand.”
“I know, Soo-hyun. I know it better than anyone, but I need you to do this.”
Soo-hyun slid the vodka out of their bag. “Don’t worry, I’m already on it.” They hung up and took one last swig. They poured the rest of the booze over the richly upholstered couches that sat in the lobby, while the receptionist watched slack-jawed.
They flicked the Zippo open with their thumb and breathed in the smell of lighter fluid that would always remind them of JD’s dad. They struck the flint wheel and the Zippo lit. They held it close to the wet patch of vodka soaking into the couch, and the flame spread blue and orange, the fabric tinged black. They lit the next couch, and the next, until all three were burning.
They watched the flames spread, the sharp tongues reflected in their eyes, the heat warming their cheeks. Soo-hyun smiled remembering something their stepfather used to say, and they quoted the man to no one in particular: “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”
A new, constant, harried ringing of distant alarm bells drowned out the electronic whoop of the siren. The doors into the game lab crashed and shook in their frames as the two guards took turns charging the doors. With each charge, JD’s barricade shifted further and further.
JD pushed the bar again—still the door was locked.
“Mirae?”
With a sound like metal tearing, the barricade shifted and the first of the guards rushed into the room. She scanned the area and spotted JD. She raised her taser and shouted, but JD couldn’t hear her, and wouldn’t have listened if he could.
“Mirae?”
The fire safety system came to life, and my final shred of self reached a tendril in to connect.
“Now,” I said.
JD tried again, and the emergency exit door swung open and slammed against the wall.
“Close it,” I told him.
He closed the door and leaned against it, his chest heaving.
“Over—overriding override. Reinstating lockdown on your floor to contain the threat.”
The door jolted as a security guard tried to force it open. JD pushed against it, growling through gritted teeth.
The locking mechanism chanked into place, and JD bent over double. He inhaled deep, pushed off from the door, and started down the stairs.
“How are the other two?” he asked.
“Th—th—they’re about to get wet.”
With that, the last traces of my fragmented self went, shattered by the pull of disparate security protocols, rendered dumb by quarantine.
Eighty-five meters beneath JD, deep below street level, Enda stared at Mohamed’s gun. Sprinklers emerged from the roof and sprayed reclaimed water over her, Mohamed, and Yeun, but Enda didn’t flinch.
Mohamed lifted his face toward the ceiling, the arch of his neck exposing his Adam’s apple. Enda took her chance. Pain arced along her arm as she punched him in the throat and stripped the gun from his grip. His mouth opened, choking on pain and stagnant water. She held the pistol like a cosh and swung it at the side of Mohamed’s head. He staggered, punch-drunk, and toppled over in a heap.
She turned on Yeun, who clutched his phone tight in his hand. With his muscle gone, he had no better weapon.
“Stop!” he shouted. “I hit one button, and your whole dossier goes live. You’ll have the weight of the People’s Republic of China bearing down on you. You’ll be tried for war crimes. You’ll be executed. Unless you fix this.”
“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” Enda said. “I don’t even know what Mirae did. I just know it’s the end of you.”
“They’re cashing out
