Thirteen-Twenty-Seven. One. Three. Two. Seven. The combination to Knuckles’s safe, stashed away in his room closet. I’ve watched him on many occasions enter those numbers on the typepad. I’d pretend I was on my phone playing something or faking that I was dozing off after our alone time.

  For the last two months that I’ve been , I could think of nothing more than finally becoming her. So, with that, I tried to make money on my own, but in the back of my mind, I knew that all I was doing—the distributing of Neb and the sex work—wouldn’t add up quickly enough for me. My backup plan had always been to rob Knuckles when he wasn’t looking. Knuckles has more than enough protons to help me Upload into False Lyfe.

  But with Sylvester offering me the opportunity of a lifetime… what use is Knuckles to me then?

  The shower hisses with hot water as Knuckles stumbles about in the bathroom. Our plane leaves in less than two hours, and we both overslept. I waste no time repacking my bag, scurrying across the room to collect the

  that I wore for last night's sexcapade. The one-piece lace lingerie is tattered, ripped from my body by Knuckles as I teased him with a dance that I made up.

  “Hey, you getting in?” Knuckles pokes his head through the rising steam filling the bathroom. “The water will get cold soon.”

  “Give me a moment,” I say, stuffing my bag with the sand-coated swimsuit I wore. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Alright.”

  Once Knuckles vanishes within the steam, I hear his sigh of relief as the water hits his body. I give myself three minutes to complete Sylvester's task before Knuckles becomes suspicious.

  Slinking like a thief, I head to Knuckles’s unzipped duffle bag on the bed. I fish my hand inside, searching for the alleged second phone I’ve yet to see. It’d make a heck of a lot of sense if Knuckles did have a second phone, but I’ve never seen him with it. I spider-walk my fingers between delicately folded clothing until I hit something sturdy—a phone. I pull my hand up and out of the duffle bag to witness the plain grey celly. The screen illuminates with light at my touch, and the lock screen fills my vision. A picture of Knuckles and two people, an older man and a woman with whom he shares the same features.

  Hand shaking, I plug Sylvester’s flash drive into the phone's charging port—the flash drive lights up, emitting a greenish hue as the celly screen warps. A red bar overtakes the family photo, indicating that the flash drive is downloading everything it needs.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this, but here I am actually doing ! I’m betraying Knuckles in the worst way, but if this saves me prison time and offers me the chance to become , I’ll do whatever it takes.

  Carefully, I replant Knuckles’s phone back inside the duffle bag. With the flash drive in hand, I bury the device under the clothes I have messily shoved into my bag. Forcing my nerves to quiet, I finally join Knuckles in the shower.

  ***

  Back in Emerald City, Knuckles drops me off at my apartment. I had wanted him to take me back to his place, but he said he’d hit me up later. I don’t want to be home, honestly. I’m afraid I’ll run into Sylvester—or, better yet, that he’ll find his way to me—and ask me to hand over the evidence.

  Before I left Knuckles, he pulled me in for a deep, passionate kiss that made me tingle down to my toes. I don’t know what that was about, but I didn’t want it to end.

  I did think I’d fall fast asleep when I got home, but I did, right on my loveseat. I awoke with a jump, having heard a phantom knocking at my front door. I checked to see if anyone had come, but no one was there.

  I find myself questioning where Sylvester is. I have everything he needs! Now, where is he?

  Picking up my VR headset, I start False Lyfe and allow the game to connect to the cloud as it loads all assets and other things I don’t understand. As I wait, I check my phone and see an unread text from Knuckles. He sent me something that reads, “One final job.” I take it that he needs me to be part of whatever delivery he has planned.

  I hate texting, so I call Knuckles.

  “Yo!”

  “What did your text mean?”

  “I attached a file to that message,” he says. “Open it. Do it while I’m on the phone.”

  I open the file and read the plan for the delivery. “Woah! Jhonny Valentine? The infamous guitarist from? He’s having a VR party? I had no idea he was a client of yours?”

  “Has been for a long time.” Knuckles clears his throat. “You and a few others will deliver all my remaining supply.”

  “So, you’re really doing this?” I feel almost happy for Knuckles when I remember that he will soon discover that I can’t be trusted.

  “And we can live happily ever after in sunny San Diego.” Knuckles sounds genuinely excited, more than when he gushed about all he desires to do when he calls it quits in the drug game. “I love you.”

  I choke back tears at the words he speaks to me. “I-I love you too.”

  “Be ready by seven tonight.”

  “Will do.”

  escape?

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  I pick up the stashed flash drive from behind a loose panel on the shared dryer in my apartment building. I had thought that it would be an excellent location to hide it just in case Sylvester tried to get one over on me. Unluckily, that stupid Investigator has forced me to reconsider my original plan of stealing money from Knuckles. But I have no time to waste now, and I can only assume Sylvester is waiting for me to emerge from my apartment building so that he can haul me away from the life of my dreams. I cannot allow him to win.

  I exit my building in a tossed-together outfit of a long-sleeve shirt, skinny jeans, a baseball cap sporting a team logo I don’t know the name of, and a small backpack with my VR headset inside. Keeping my head down, I walk opposite where I usually go to take the tram to Knuckles’s place. A glance over my shoulder helps settle my quivering heart. No one is following me. But that’s no reason to celebrate just yet, though.

  Hailing a cab, I give the driver an address two blocks from my destination, then slip down the leather seats so my face isn’t exposed to the City as it passes me by.

  At this time, Knuckles is at the “spot” where everyone who works under him will meet to do pickups. The “spot” is an ever-changing location that keeps the Narc agents on their toes as they take stabs in the dark, guessing where the criminals are meeting. I know if I head there with Sylvester somewhere watching, I’ll put everyone in danger. The least I can do is give them a heads-up… but that’ll come after I have the money I need, and my consciousness is seventy-five percent uploaded into Eve.

  After tipping the cab driver, I plead with my mind, heart, and legs to be calm and steady. Upon departing the cab, I dip my head low and merge with the aimlessly meandering City folk, swerving around the melting pot of people from all walks of life.

  I’m going to miss Emerald City. But I’m not going to miss it enough to abandon When I moved here, I held a vision of my life that was one of prosperity and love. Emerald City is where the fragmented yellow brick road Dorothy traveled many years ago led. However, when she arrived, she realized everything was smoke and mirrors. There’s a false sense of security in this City that lures you in with the promise of a fabulous life.

  My life was far from anything fabulous. And I will fix that mistake soon!

  The entrance to Knuckles’s high-end, high-rise building requires a code to gain access inside. Waving to the doorman seated on a stool within the building, I enter Knuckles’s specific code, one that I swore I’d never use when he wasn’t home. The luxurious foyer of sparkling crystal chandeliers, metallic fleur-de-lis wallpaper, vibrantly green potted elephant ear plants, and elegantly dressed tenants lounging in a bar make me feel out of place amongst all the glittering things around me.

  Ignoring everything and everyone, I take the elevator to the penthouse. As the doors close, my mouth goes numb as Knuckles enters the building, and his perplexed look meets my wide, fear-stricken eyes.

  I bang my fist on the penthouse button, hoping that my anxiety will somehow rocket this metal bucket a little bit faster. Once the elevator doors part, I scurry like a mouse fleeing a keen-eyed hawk.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur to myself. “I’m so sorry, Knuckles.”

  Inside Knuckles's home, I waste no time heading for the safe in his room. Stomach bubbling something awful, I burst through his bedroom door and nearly rip the closet door off its hinges. Tossing aside Knuckles’s neatly folded clothing that conceals the safe, I input the code I’ve memorized and secretly watched Knuckles punch in to deposit his excess cash. One. Three. Two. Seven.

  The typepad glows green, indicating that the code is good. Thank goodness!

  I jump as heavy, thunderous footsteps approach the room. Like a tornado, hellbent on destruction, Knuckles tears through his bedroom like a gloriously burning blaze. His hands are on me, snatching me away from his safe. Before I can react, Knuckles pins me to the bed, all three hundred pounds of him on top of me. Under less stressful circumstances, I wouldn’t have minded being in this position because I always felt safe whenever Knuckles was on top of me.

  What I feel now is a mix of petrifying fear and a dreadful, dizzying swirl of panic.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” His face, the same face I’ve stared at longingly as I tried to figure him out, is set with such barbaric rage that I feel myself getting smaller and smaller. Shrinking into the mattress, hoping the bed swallows me whole so I don’t have to look into Knuckles’s loveless eyes.

  “Get off of me!” I struggle against the press of his body. It’s a pitiful attempt at escaping, but I try to, nonetheless.

  “Answer me!”

  “I’m sorry.” Tears slip down my cheeks, unwarranted and unexpected. “I’m sorry! Please let me go. Please,” I plead.”

  As if his unbearable weight wasn’t enough, Knuckles adds more pressure to my body. His knee is planted firmly on my stomach as precious breaths sputter out of me. “Why were you trying to steal from me?”

  “Please let me go—”

  “ANSWER ME!”

  "I—" I wheeze, my vision blurring. "I need to Upload into False Lyfe. Or I'm going to go to jail for what I've done. For what I've been doing."

  The heft of his body persists as he looks at me, truly looks at me as something clicks into place. "You snitched on me?"

  Shrinking under his hellish gaze and attempting to conjure a stern look of disbelief, I answer him, "No. I didn't snitch on you, Viliami—” I spit his name out like a wad of phlegm. Fear treads behind Viliami’s eyes. A truth uncovered that I was never supposed to find out. “You're pretty much cornered. You've been cornered for a while now—"

  "Shit." Slight relief inflates my lungs once Knuckles lifts his knee from my gut. "I screwed up big time. But you… You were the biggest screwup I've ever made. You're a liar and a thief."

  "I'm the liar, Viliami Alofa?” The sound of his name on my lips forces the big man to step away from me and back himself against a wall. “I never knew your real name until a detective showed up at my door and told me. Not that I was ever dumb enough to believe that your real name was ever , but it hurt me to hear your name—your

  name—spoken for the first time by someone who knows more about you than I ever did.”

  “You never asked.”

  “You stupid mother—” I scream. A hoarse sound from the depths of my being because I am so sick of this shit. “I… I need to go. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be near you.”

  “You betrayed me in the worst way possible, Jaime.” Viliami dips his hand behind his back, and I know his intentions too well.

  He’s going to kill me!

  Hoisted in his hands, Viliami points a polished silver ray-gun at my face. “My heart is broken, Jaime. After all we’ve been through, after everything I’ve done for you—this is how you repay me?”

  “I had no other option.”

  “There’s always another option,” he shouts. “You could’ve told me about the detective, and I would’ve handled it. But, no! It was always about looking out for yourself, wasn’t it? All you care about is that stupid game and living a life that will never be real.”

  “That game is real to me,” I say. “False Lyfe is everything to me…”

  “That life you want so bad,” he starts, shaking his head, “is something you could’ve had with me. I would have given you everything your heart desired. I would have paid for any surgery, hormone pills—ANYTHING! All you had to do was ask.”

  “Viliami.” I caress his name on my tongue because speaking it allows me to witness more of who he truly is. “There is no life for us. Never was. Eventually, you would’ve been caught. And there is so much you’ve yet to share with me… so many lies between us. We’re… we’re not good together.”

  Viliami’s jaw tightens as he turns his head away, shutting his eyes. “Goodbye, Jaimie—”

  A rasping set of hurried knocks pound the front door. “Emerald City Police,” someone shouts from behind the door. “We have a warrant for your arrest, Viliami Alofa. You can either come peacefully or kicking and screaming. Your choice.”

  Viliami mutters a silent swear, pivots on his heel, and heads toward the door. “I don’t like pigs—” a round of shots peals through the penthouse as Viliami roars with an ungodly rage.

  “Shots fired! Shots fired!”

  A whirlwind of ray-gun shots echoes through the home, shredding holes into the walls and knocking portraits off the walls. I duck, flying to the floor with my hands over my head.

  I have to get the hell out of here.

  Shaking, I lift my head, cringing as more shots resound around me, and notice that the safe is still open. All the money I need to live and breathe as glares at me from the stacks of protons inside the safe. On my hands and knees, I dash-crawl over to the safe, take out my cell, and open the Emerald City Bank app on my phone. I position my phone's camera at the money, tap upload, and watch in panicked-glee as the money dematerializes into strings of code.

  My next step: find a safe place to Upload.

  As Viliami’s penthouse evolves into a warzone, I plan my escape route to an emergency fire exit on the balcony outside the bedroom. Red and blue lights greet me as I step onto the balcony. Fifty stories down, from one end of the street to the other, a horde of police cars swarm the block. Quickly, I rethink my plan because going down on the emergency exit lift will only land me in the awaiting officers' arms.

  Plan B: scale to the roof to Upload.

  Inhaling, I prepare to balance myself on the balcony’s steel railing. On my exhale, I leap onto the railing and turn away from the abysmally long drop. I then reach my fingers over my head to grab the steel rods of the rooftop balcony encompassing the entire roof and climb like I’ve never climbed before.

  “Don’t look down,” I repeat my new mantra, tossing myself over the balcony and into a bed of decorative pebbles.

  Staggering to stand, I wave politely at the poolside patrons imbibing on alcoholic drinks and shooting me bewildered looks. I hurry to the nearest unoccupied chaise lounge chair and collapse into it. Upending my backpack, my VR headset and the flash drive fall out. I pick up the flash drive first, grip it tight in my fist, and then chuck it over the side of the building. I don’t want that thing on my conscience—on my person—after I leave this body behind.

  Taking up my headset, I place the goggles on my head and start up False Lyfe. The False Lyfe start screen glimmers in its alluring golden font before my eyes. Soon, I’ll be

  and never have to worry about this life again! I’ll be free—

  “Hands up, Jaime!”

  I slip the headset up just enough to see Sylvester casually walking towards me, a ray-gun pointed at me for the second time in my life.

  “I need everyone to evacuate this rooftop lounge right now!” Sylvester demands, gesturing for the bikini-clad women and shirtless men to skedaddle.

  Stumbling out of the chair with one hand on my headset and the other gripping the railing behind me, I shriek, “Get away from me.”

  “Hands where I can see them.” Sylvester keeps his focus on me as a rush of people scatter around him, fleeing for their lives.

  My headset vibrates with the soothing greeting from the monotone female voice I hear each time I log in.

  “Upload,” I say. “I want to Upload.”

  “I accept!” I tilt over the railing with each step Sylvester takes.

  With one eye covered by the headset, I flick a finger to select the newest version of that I created. As I hurry toward the life of my dreams, I swipe aside all the legalese the game spits at me.

  the voice says.

  “JAIME! Hands up, or I will shoot you.” Sylvester glowers at me, ray-gun poised to shoot me dead.

  A dizzy, wobbling sensation makes me lose footing as the world blurs at the edges. This is one of the side effects of Uploading. I should be seated in a comfortable position, not teetering near the rooftop's edge.

  Sylvester lunges for me, his arm overextended to grab me—

  I pull the headset over my eyes, forcing my unsteady body away from the detective.

  The wind whistles in my ears, comforting me like a mother’s lullaby as her child falls into the comforting darkness of slumber.

  Seconds later, that child awakens in a lucid dream world of light, sound, and color. A dream so effortlessly beautiful that the child desires to wake no more.