Soaked in the red and purple neon lights of Santa Monica Boulevard, I checked my phone— Friday, March 17, 2090, 12:05 a.m. Only twenty-four hours to get Gavryn’s password from, steal the electronics, and fence them: no room for do-overs.

A hubbub of techno music pounded me as I darted between patrons, hungry for preacher-forbidden thrills. Utop’s ten-story high wall and its AI-operated sentry guns breathed soul-crushing gloom unto my neck. xxI passed Giant Panda, an outdoor greasy spoon selling illegal real chicken and dope strong enough to make you fly above your grim existence for hours. A dude suckled on deep-fried chicken feet at a tabletop, cramming bird bits into his bare, bulbous belly. To his right, a girl wrapped in a tulle tutu walked a middle-aged man on a leash on all fours along the slimy, bloody, chicken-bones-and-needle-infested street.

The harsher the life, the wilder the sin.

I spotted Untamed. Its signage read TAMED; the UN had gone dark two years ago. How poetic … The megacorp’s shills had vouched that taking down corrupt governments would lead to more freedom. Every master in history took power dressed up as a savior. Megacorps tamed us without sticks. Simply by controlling every life necessity, they had us wag our tails as we jumped, sat, and pawed for them.

The king is dead; long live the con.

I waited in line for the watering hole’s virus-detection boot, shifting my weight from left to right as if preparing to enter a boxing ring.

The buff guy in front of me, who wasn’t wearing a face shield, coughed into the crook of his arm—twice. My plastic hoodie was not foolproof, so I stopped breathing and stepped to the side. No traces of blood on his face or arm.

I slouched, feeling relieved.

A metallic din approached. A troop must be tramping up the street behind me. My shoulders tensed.

Pulse racing, I stepped back in line and stared down. I didn’t dare check, but knew Utop’s troop never circulated without at least six guards in combat exoskeletons and machine guns. Last time I was coming so close to the border wall.

They turned the corner, but my hands were still shaking.

Great … Gavryn would never trust me if I looked nervous; I needed a distraction to calm my jitters. I slid my index onto the screen of my cell phone coiled around my forearm. The dodgy screen remained black and stuck on ‘cuff mode.’ I frenetically repeated the motion until the bloody junk finally straightened to tablet mode, one tick at a time, like the second hand of an antique clock in 2D movies. I searched my feed and found a video of Olivier Rousseau that had gone viral.

The chief marketing officer had been caught making out in the swanky VIP section of LA Star Club with his new flavor of the month—no other than Wylo, whose pop songs had been crooned by every teenager worldwide. Her ice-blond hair cascaded onto the sofa as Rousseau nipped at her neck with his teeth and burrowed one hand under her sequin skirt, aware they were being filmed from every possible angle by their fans. Each replay pushed more heat into me. Upper management in his early thirties and the body of a gladiator, no wonder Rousseau had been Utop’s most eligible bachelor six years in a row. He was every girl’s wet dream and had inspired most of my solo sessions.

I inched to the front of the line, lifted my face-shield hoodie, and blew a long breath into a metal tube sticking out of a booth defiled by graffiti. A green light completed a circle.

“No virus detected. Utop thanks you for your cooperation,” the virus breath monitor’s speaker claimed. “Utop, where dreams begin.”

Dreams, sure …

Untamed was considered a dive bar, even by Outsider standards. Watching a video of LA Star Club, with its posh leather furniture and shimmering crystals, made clear both establishments couldn’t belong to the same category. Untamed had more in common with a dumpster sogging in a stew of tobacco, beer, and piss. Strings of blue and green Liberation Day lights (most of the bulbs dead) hung on the stained yellow walls year-round among posters of local rock bands. A vape cloud loomed above a group of five men. One of them locked eyes with me and huffed a smoking kiss.

I spotted a bearded guy at the bar with a red Dragon Watchers t-shirt clinging to his back rolls and a golden fringe covering his left eye—Gavryn.

I held my phone to my mouth. “Manny.”

From my phone popped the foot-high hologram of Manny, my AI’s avatar. He slouched wearing a sweatshirt with Chillax University printed in bubble font the color of mac and cheese. Not even his cotton shorts and sock-sandal combo could taint his hotness—that was how bonkers his bone structure and physique were. Manny yawned and said, “What?”

“Tell Gia to text Gavryn about being late to their date,” I shouted to cover the five-foot high column speakers blasting the place with dubstep. “And stay deactivated for the next hour.”

“Nuh-uh. You won’t receive urgent notices.”

“You need to appear dead for my plan to work.”

Manny raked his fingers through his shoulder-length messy hair. “Fine but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I circled my head with a finger, kissed my pendant, and sauntered toward the seat next to Gavryn. As I dragged the stool toward me, the metal legs whined against the cracked tiles.

Gavryn held onto one of the legs. “Sorry, this seat is taken. My friend should be here any minute.”

“Your friend isn’t here now, is he?” I yanked the stool, forcing him to let go, then removed my leather jacket and threw it on the bar. I slumped on the cushion, both palms holding my chin, and pouted to appear defeated, which, given the circumstances, didn’t require too much acting. “I’m sorry. I promise I’m not normally that rude.”

Gavryn checked his phone. Gia’s running-late text message, I hoped.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Gavryn asked, his gaze going straight to my cleavage.

Male ape in seed-planting mode—check. I leaned closer to his ear so he could hear through the techno music. “I said I’m sorry for being rude. I’m having a bad day.” I exhaled loudly.

“Let me buy you a drink, and you can tell me what happened. What do you like?”

After watching Rousseau and Wylo’s sizzling tryst dozens of times, I yearned for two heavens, to finally finish my booty call with my boyfriend, and a good night’s sleep. But a tramp would scare him off. A nerd like him wouldn’t make a move on a girl unless she was giving him a born-yesterday, softy vibe. I gazed up and twisted my lips. “Hmm?” I bent toward him. “I don’t usually drink. I’ll try what you’re having.”

“Oh, that’s their in-house IPA. It’s decent. Excalibur, order an Untamed IPA for the nice lady.”

A foot-high hologram of a knight cartoon hovered next to his phone. “It is always a pleasure to serve you, Sir Knight,” Excalibur said, overpronouncing every syllable.

Gavryn skedaddled to the distributing machine stamped by Vipers graffiti tags and pried the beer from its pick-up box. He bent into a half bow and bestowed the cylindrical plastic bottle pearling with condensation in a grandiose arm stretch. “My lady.”

“You’re so sweet.” I sipped some as if I were tasting beer for the first time and grinned. “Mmm.”

A Viper restrained a guy with a swollen eye and bloodied nose while another pummeled his gut.

“Please, I swear I won’t sell anymore,” the manhandled dude shouted.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Gavryn shouted through the ruckus.

“I got fired,” I yelled.

His eyes and mouth took a genuine downturn. “Oh no … Let’s talk somewhere quieter.”

We strolled past the squabble with our beers.

I slumped into a booth at the back of the bar. “So, yeah, Feast Fast fired me because I wrote their password on my phone. How else was I supposed to remember a twelve-digit code? Ridiculous.” I drank more beer, praying he’d take the bait.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Electronix Empire has the same policy, but I never had a problem memorizing the password.”

Krut. How would I get his password if he hadn’t written it somewhere? Don’t panic. There must be another way. “You, too? But how do you remember it?”

“It’s easy. They use silly sentences instead of random digits.”

“Like what?”

“Last week was mosquito dance on a mushroom.”

I laughed, the outburst genuine. “And the week before?”

“I love big butts and pink zebras.”

I laughed even louder. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Gavryn drew an X shape on his chest. “Cross my heart.”

I gulped more beer. “It’s late. I should tell my folks not to wait for me. Manny, call home.” I drummed my finger on the screen. “Darn it. My phone died. It’s like everything’s going wrong today.”

He detached his phone from his forearm. “Here, use mine.”

I grinned. “Thanks, that’s really nice of you.” The wolf in sheep’s clothing had lured its lamb.

“Nah, don’t thank me. What am I if I can’t help a damsel in distress?” He winked. “So, you picked the lead from Chillax University as avatar, huh.”

While chit-chating with Gavryn about that 3D show, I scrolled through hundreds of contacts in one fast swipe. Thanks to my speed-reading ability, I immediately spotted the name Nycos, a “buddy from work” according to Gavryn’s Twinksy posts. I texted him.

Me: What’s the password again???

Me: I love big butt and pink zebra

Me: Or mosquito dance on a mushroom?????

Come on, Nycos, reply to your texts. I sent an urgent notice.

Gavryn squinted at his phone, then at me. He opened his mouth as if he was about to ask for it back.

“Is it okay if I keep it until my parents answer?” I asked. “They get mad each time I make them wait for my reply. They’re crazy strict.”

“I get it. I had to sneak out while mine were asleep.”

A real bad boy, huh? I giggled, my hand in front of my mouth, and held his gaze with a shy yet cheeky smile.

Gavryn gulped down his beer, his gaze dipping to my chest once more.

Still no text. What if Nycos’ phone was dead, or he wouldn’t bother replying? What other option did I have? I wiped the sweat from my forehead and clenched the phone so tight I might crack the screen.

I waited and waited and waited. Any longer and Gavryn would become suspicious, so I sent another urgent notice.

Cian, one of the Vipers’ girls, leaned on Gavryn’s boot, her eyes half-closed. “Hey, handsome, looking for a date?”

I used to see her at the temple on Sunday, dressed in a floor-length skirt and a cardigan. Now, the track marks on her arms and on the webbing between her fingers told me she’d run out of places to shoot meth.

“I’m good, thanks,” Gavryn said.

Cian lurched to the next booth housing two couples and repeated the exact words to a guy who was clearly with his girlfriend, only to get rejected and do it all over again to the next one.

If Nycos didn’t reply now, I’d become Cian. A heat wave washed down my back.

Gavryn reached for his phone. “Can I—”

“Why has Sinopax never considered battery life a priority?” I said. “It’s been their flagship product for fifty years, but I’ll probably die before I see my phone last a full day.”

“Right, but can—”

“I mean insane 10K 3D resolution is great, but what’s the point if your phone’s dead and you can’t even text?”

“The point is to sell more battery packs.”

I laughed. “True, true.”

“Can I just check my phone quickly?”

“Of course. Let me check if they’ve replied.” I perused the blank screen. “Oh, they’re typing right now,” I lied.

Nycos was a bust. I had to find someone else fast. I clicked on Gavryn’s contact list and scrolled. Spotted another work buddy—Livie. Began typing.

Me: Something’s wrong with the keypad

Me: I keep entering this week’s password and it’s not working

I sent an urgent notice.

Gavryn extended his arm. “Now, can I—”

“I’m Rane, by the way.”

“I’m Gav.”

“Nice to meet you, Gav. How about I give you my number? I’m new here and could use a friend like you.”

His face lit up. “Sure,” he said nonchalantly, but his cheeks spelled out heat in bold red.

Typing a fake phone number into his contact list pinched my gullet. He’d been nothing but nice, yet after we’d ransacked Electronix Empire with his face and phone ID, he would get fired and realize both Gia and I had used him.

“Sorry for hogging your phone like that. Here.” I reached forward, dropped the phone in a beer-swamped ashtray, and snatched it out, pushing aside buoyed cigarette butts. “I’m so clumsy. I’ll clean it up.”

“It’s fine.”

“Your phone will be good as new.” I hurried to the bathroom.

“Rane, wait.”

I heard footsteps pursuing me as I entered the only bathroom and closed the door behind me. The toilet bowl was so filled with shit that the pungent green chemicals had spilled over the side. I dry heaved.

“I said it’s fine—you don’t need to clean it,” Gavryn said from behind the door.

“Oh, I thought you meant fine as in go ahead. Sorry … I’m such a klutz. Hang on a sec. I … I need to finish doing what people do in bathrooms, you know?”

“Got it.”

I checked the text message feed. Come on, come on, come on.

I’d been acting shady, and Gavryn could wise up any minute and report it to his boss. I had to be hundred percent sure he trusted me before leaving or our crew risked walking into a trap and getting killed. If one of his colleagues didn’t respond in the next thirty seconds, I’d have to abort the plan.

I sent a bunch of urgent notices to Nycos and Livie.

With the needles adrift in piss puddles and blood splatter in the mirror, mere breathing would thwack me with hepatitis. I swooned and leaned against the wall to stop myself from falling but immediately wanted to boil my hand.

I focused on the phone’s screen.

Nycos was typing. Finally!

Nycos: Those are the passwords from the last 2 weeks bonehead

Nycos: You know we aren’t allowed to write the password

Me: Please, just give me a clue

Me: If I’m late, they’ll fire me

Nycos: We’ll both get fired if I tell you

My thumbs jittered as I typed.

Me: Please!!!!

Me: ☹☹☹

Nycos: It’s about a dog

Me: Right!! Thanks, man!

I deleted the conversation, the fluster in my fingers unchanged. The heist had to take place tonight, and a quantum-force search would need days to find a sentence-long password, even with that hint.

Zee’s slit eyes and scaled face flashed before my eyes, and bile rose to my mouth. I swallowed it hard.

“Is everything all right?” Gavryn asked.

“No, actually. I feel dizzy. It’s the smell. I’m going to throw up.”

“Let me in. I’ll hold your hair.”

“I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Not to put pressure on you but people are waiting to use the bathroom,” Gavryn said.

“Move,” a man said in a deep voice. Bang bang bang. The door wobbled after each knock. “Get out, twat, or I’m busting it open.”

“One minute,” I said.

The raging dude unleashed his wrath on the flimsy particle board, and the screws came out of the top hinge.

Krut krut krut. I sent a bunch more urgent notices to Livie.

Livie: WTF

Livie: You just woke me up! Don’t send me UN for that kind of krut!!!

Me: Please help me out

Me: My shift is starting

Livie: Sorry

Livie: Can’t help

Livie: Going back to sleep now

I had to guess something.

Me: Is it the dog is pissing on a tree?

Livie: It’s surfing on a tree not pissing!!! BUTTERBALL!!!!

The door flew open. Mr. Tantrum pushed past me, treating me to a view of his hairy butt cheeks as he aimed heedlessly at the toilet, pee pooling at his boots. I deleted the conversations and returned to Gavryn, delighted to have escaped the bowels of hell.

Gavryn perked up as I gave him the phone.

I squeezed my hands into my back pockets. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. Let’s say my parents weren’t the most understanding.”

He frowned like a kid whose lollipop had fallen on the ground. “But we’re just getting to know each other.”

“My number’s in your phone. How about you invite me on a proper date next week?”

“I’d love to.”

“I know.”

He tilted his head and frowned.

I smirked, chugged the rest of my beer, and picked up my jacket. “Log out, Gav.”

Gia and Mac would have understood the reference. It wasn’t even in Lawrence Kasdan’s script; Harrison Ford came up with the most iconic piece of dialogue:

I love you.

I know.