By: Margaret McCoy

Penn State Student

I had no trouble engaging in conversation with Zero, even after witnessing her rendezvous in the office. I’d needed money at the time to pay off my loans, and I’d been fired from my previous job due to a misdeed that I was framed for. I told Zero in detail that one of my coworkers had tried to rape me, and I’d impaled him to the wall with a ruler through his
eye. Her eyebrows raised at that explanation, and then she asked me, “How much do you still need?”
“110,307.20,” I replied plainly.
“What institution did you attend?” She had begun scribbling on a piece of paper.
“Malegoran and Michaels.”
“Profession?”
“Intellectual in cybertechnology, chemistry, and arts.”
“Arts?”
“More of a hobby.”
“What do you do?”
“Pickpocketing, parkour, cliff jumping, illegal acts.”
“Such as?”
“Robbing banks, stealing expensive cyberware and tinkering with it, destroying drug corporations-”
“That was you?”
“Wait, wha-”
“So, that’s where my shipment of LSD went.”
“I’m- huh?”
“How’d you do it?”
“Simple explosives made from radon and rubber, activated with water. It was going to rain that night. I’d planned it.”
“And just when we thought that the weather would provide some cover.”
“I hate drugs. The very purpose of them. I might be insane, but the very existence of them ruined my life, and then made my condition worse.”
“What condition?”
“Bipolar mania and anger-induced split personality disorder, with a side of insomnia.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Take this.” She had handed me two things: a chip attached to a black leather cord and a check with the exact amount of currency that I needed to pay off my debt.
I pocketed it, and asked, “What’s the job?”