The bedroom was the first real clue he got that the owner of the apartment hadn’t meant to leave for long. There were clothes scattered all around the place. There were piles of what he was assuming were freshly laundered ones on the bed, and then a smaller pile of dirty clothes tossed in the corner. The clothes scattered about had come from the closest that stood open along the wall.

Trace had never seen so many clothes in his life before. Why did a person need so many outfits? He had managed all his life with only a couple of different changes of clothes. Sure, they were ragged, but that was life.

He dragged himself to the screen, opened the port beside the bed, and plugged in.

Activating the system breaching module, he set it on the task of breaking through the apartment user’s credentials. Breaking through the building’s security would be impossible with the pre-built module he had. However, cracking the locks on the apartment owner’s information should still be within its capabilities.

The module Stick-Point had given him wasn’t exactly high end, but it wasn’t something ultra-cheap either. He would be wanting it back after the job was over.

It took less time to breach the apartment’s security than it had for the module to enter the computer. Obviously, the designers of the system couldn't care less about account security from inside the apartment.

Once he was in, he began checking the logs and going through all the information he could find.

The last time the front door had been opened was nineteen days earlier. Before that, the owner would regularly enter and leave multiple times a day at random times. They had to be working from the apartment somehow. He would take a look at the room where the office had been in the target’s apartment. So far, both apartments followed the same layout, so there would likely be an office there as well.

He did discover that the apartment was paid up for the month and was set to renew automatically with the credits being taken from a pre-assigned account. In other words, even if the owner had died, no one would notice until that account ran out of money at some unknown point in the future.

There was no name listed anywhere that he saw. Instead, it used an identifier code in its place. After a moment's thought, he added himself to the apartment account using a new identifier code.

With that done, the apartment would now recognize him as one of the owners of the apartment. He had full access to the doors, locks, and everything. Which meant the first thing he, of course, locked was the balcony door. There was no point playing with fate by leaving it unlocked.

He wouldn’t likely stay in the apartment for long, but it could serve as a safe-house or something if he needed it.

This wasn’t the type of place he wanted to live in full-time. It was far too upscale for someone like him. There was no way he would be able to haul his junk into the apartment without causing a ruckus. No, it definitely wasn’t the type of apartment he would personally live in long-term.

For a few days while he healed, assuming the proper owner really wasn’t coming back, yeah, that he could manage.

***

‘Made a mistake on the job and turned off the cameras in the apartment too soon. They must have alerted the target that someone was in his apartment. I got everything from the computer and managed to escape. But hurt myself in the process. It will be a couple of days before I can get everything to you.’ Trace sent the message to Stick-Point with a grimace and then began a new one to Devko.

‘You wouldn’t by any chance know of a way to help heal damaged ligaments, would you?’

‘I thought you were staying away from the scavs. Did they find you?’ She sent back with minimal delay.

He grinned, yup she had saved his contact information. There hadn’t even been a question as to who he was or hesitation there, nothing. It felt good to be memorable for once.

‘I was on a job for Stick-Point and messed up. I alerted the target that someone was in his apartment when I disabled the cameras he had in his bedroom. Anyway, I escaped, but it involved jumping down to a lower-floor balcony.’ He had no real idea why he was telling her all of that, outside of the desire for something to be there between them.

Trace just hoped he wasn’t forcing it by giving her all the extra details. He had never been in a relationship before, and before laying eyes on her had never even really wanted to either.

‘You are lucky you survived…’ He nodded his head in agreement but was confused by the dots at the end.

The two continued trading messages back and forth for a while longer before ending the chain. She had given him a few ideas for items that he could get from the pharmacies. However, his best option was to come in to get checked out again.

His stomach was empty by that point, and he quickly downed the entire contents of the food-in-a-can. They were normally something he drank over a few minutes, but not this time.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Almost immediately, a new notification appeared in the corner of his vision.

- High levels of synthetic chemicals related to brain chemistry found within food

- Breaking synthetic chemicals down to prevent mind-altering effects on the user

The corner of his eye twitched several times as he read that. No wonder he had always felt weird after drinking several of those things. They were actively putting mind-altering substances in them.

He wondered what other foods did something similar, just in lower dosages.

At least that was one less thing he needed to worry about now. Sliding off the bed, he scooted along the floor toward the office. Time to find out what sort of business the owner of this apartment was in.

Sliding along the dusty floor, the door to the office sprang open on his approach and immediately answered his question. The owner had been in a dangerous line of work.

Trace doubted they were an edger, but they had certainly been something. There were several guns or openings for guns of each type hanging along the wall. Sniper rifles, scout rifles with scopes, semi-automatics, pistols, revolvers. There were even spots for a couple of swords, throwing knives, and regular knives.

It was a decent collection for a personal armory. It was too bad at least half of them were currently missing.

Looking at the wall opposite the armory, he saw a large screen with information spread across the entire thing. All of the visible space was devoted to tracking the various high-level workers of a corporation by the name of ‘Sekmore Snak-Co’. The name didn’t ring a bell for him, but then again, he had never had the disposable credits for snacks either.

He wondered why the owner of the apartment was targeting this corporation in particular. They weren’t a large corporation that was pretending to be more than they actually were. As far as he could tell from the quick surface-level search he ran, led him to believe the place was a fairly small company.

It wasn’t until he reached the news articles that everything began to snap into focus.

It was a small company, at least compared to other corporations. Its influence was mainly centered around the Mountain Collective and hadn’t really expanded beyond their borders. At least not beyond a few small merchants.

Like any ‘good’ corporation, however, it wasn’t without its negative headlines and there were plenty. He hadn’t realized there could be so many negative things said about a snack company until that. Apparently, they were lacing their foods with mind-altering substances.

Yeah, considering what he’d just experienced with the food-in-a-can, he’d believe it.

These substances were meant to make their snacks irresistible, to the point that they were addictive. He guessed the idea had been to guarantee sales by ensuring their customers were addicted to their products. It had worked a little too well, apparently.

There were reports of people fighting in stores over snacks, stabbing each other, and even one case where some lady bit another woman’s nose off because she stole the last pastry.

All of those brought the company into the spotlight, and not in a good way. Corporations ruled society, but they still had to maintain a certain image. If they didn’t, other larger corporations would sanction them. It seemed as though that was what had happened this time, and it had only made things worse.

The substance, drug, whatever it was, got removed from their snacks, and their customers went into withdrawals. A few died, and many turned to other drugs to scratch that newfound itch, but all of their lives were ruined in some way.

The latest article he found on the corporation was also the most interesting. Someone had attacked their main headquarters in Denver, Colorado. The assailant had been heavily armed but had sustained severe damage and been fought off. They had no current information on the identity of the attacker. The first three reinforced floors of the Sekmore Snak-Co headquarters had been destroyed during the attack.

It wasn’t a bad result, Trace supposed, though it was a little lacking. Honestly, considering how much planning the owner of the place had put into tracking everyone, he had expected something more precise. This had been a sledgehammer attack, not a surgical precision that the wall in front of him led him to believe the owner was capable of.

Had something changed suddenly?

He guessed he would never know unless the owner suddenly made it back. It was possible, he supposed, but also a little unlikely. The attack had happened three weeks ago, and while the assailant might have gotten away. They had gotten away severely injured. If the apartment owner was still alive, it was likely in a sewer drain slowly rotting away.

Well, at least he no longer needed to worry about using the apartment. He had an idea who the owner was now, and why he hadn’t come back. Even if they were alive, and by some miracle not rotting away in a drain, then they would be smart enough not to come back to their apartment so soon. They would go to a backup place until the heat died down and they could guarantee no one was following them.

At least that is what he would do if he had the kind of money to afford all of this.

Trace scooted his way over to the desk and then carefully lifted himself into the chair. Every slight pressure on his legs hurt, but it was his ankles that were the worst.

The computer here wasn’t nearly as customized as the one in the apartment above. Unfortunately, this was something more normal. It was still far outside Trace’s budget, but it didn’t quite get his blood flowing the same way the other one had.

Plugging in his data cable, he used the system breaching module to gain access to the system. Only once he was in and had added himself as a user to the computer did he unplug the cable. This time, he also pulled out the module and carefully stored it in his bag.

Cracking his slightly stiff neck, he began to go through the information on the computer. There wasn’t much on there. Most of the saved information pertained to searches on the corporation and digging up dirt on the employees. In other words, it was everything he had already seen on the wall.

There were no extra applications or games anywhere on the machine. The owner of the apartment lived for a single thing, and then he had botched it up in the end.

Staying on the much more comfortable computer chair, Trace wheeled himself around the room. There were plenty of drawers that he hadn’t had a chance to open yet. The ones closest to the arsenal were filled with ammunition and cleaning supplies.

The next couple of drawers had various grenades and explosives. Then there were a whole lot of empty ones.

The drawer closest to the computer is where Trace struck it rich in a metaphorical sense. It was filled with modules, and at least half of them, maybe more, were teaching modules. They were exactly what he had been needing, although some of the subjects were a little specialized for his taste. The owner had apparently really liked his explosives.