Illuminated by the circular light on the edge of the round mirror, I watch my reflection while moving a metal-handled infrared laser wand across my teeth to disintegrate the plaque.

In the reflection, I see his room at the end of the hall where the door was left open. Mark was reading a vintage paperback book on his bed, his sleeve rolled back to accommodate an IV drip connected to a blood pack, the scorpion tattoo visible on his inner arm.

I turn. "Can I ask a question?" I call down the hall.

"Didn’t you already?" he notes.

"Well...why did you also pick a scorpion tattoo?" I ask. It had been there even when I lived with my mom. I vaguely felt that I had seen it and asked for one, but why would a mother agree to their child getting a tattoo? Knowing about my strange blood, it was even more suspicious.

"Don’t you know? The scorpion is one of the most common marks for a medical tattoo that indicates you have a condition. They can scan it for the details."

Could I do that? Scan it for details?

“Are you going to be alright?” I asked aloud instead.

"Sure. It’s worked for me until now."

"Was it worth cutting off your supplier?"

"He was a liar anyway. Considering the search for you, you seem more important. I'll find more drugs."

"But you said it's rare. Does it have a name?" Maybe I know of it.

"You wouldn't know."

"So what is it?"

"It's keta...the drugs name is keta. But knowing won't help much."

Of course, I knew since I distributed drugs. There were new drugs coming out all the time, many of them the same under different catchy names. But I also knew a major seller this guy might overlook.

I put the toothbrush down and gently held the phone pendant. A green projected list hovered in the air. I scrolled down looking for a name and stopped at–

My dad's number.

I had almost forgotten. I was tempted to call it just the same as before. But my dad isn’t on the other end anymore. What's left is like a void into another world. My finger numbly presses and holds the number. Then the following delete command. It snuffed into the void. Maybe one day...I would join it.

I finally found the address info for Donnie's small private lab that he used for special commissions. The name of the drugs changed so I needed a tool to identify them.

"Can I go out for snacks?" I ask cautiously down the hall.

"Truly, Janie. You aren't even trying with that lie,” Mark said while turning to the next page. “I’m not one to keep people locked up and I see you have some sense to disguise your looks. Just don't return here if you get caught. I can only rescue you if I'm free…and if I feel like it."

Damn. He was actually a nice guy, wasn’t he. If helping me was only about my value to the government, I’m sure he would not allow me out of sight. "Will you be here when I get back?" I ask.

He reluctantly turned his head from the book to stare me down tiredly. "I'm not you. I have money and connections to find answers for me. Don't get caught."

"Ya, ya. I'm putting on the contacts," I dismissed. I feel a little nervous and a little bad about this.

Snapping open a black box of lenses, I fitted the gold contacts over my eyes. I place a leafy mask over my face and take a final inspection of my star-covered leggings, purple bob-cut wig, and band shirt. I look like a perfect oddball. Satisfied, I head to the door.

My hand is about to pull the door shut when the robot butler holds it open. The cheap bracelet replacing my wrist phone, so I can feel somewhat normal, falls ungraciously down to my elbow. I notice the silver card being passed to me by the robot, a credit card. I’m honestly grateful. How did I get so lucky and unlucky at the same time as to get a ritch-yet-cursed possibly-mafia boyfriend?

"Madam. My master reminds you to return at a reasonable time," it iterates.

***

I grazed my thumb over the raised letters of the silver credit card that spell out a fake name, testing how easily it would rub out of existence.

"Hmmm. I hope I'm not stuck with it."

It had started with a card then too. But this time I knew how bad my plan was. I didn't even owe this guy, but how could I get help if Mark died? I had nobody else who knew what trouble I was in. And I was wanted. Wasn't this serious? Even staying at some homeless shelter was sure to put me in the hands of the government.

I leaned into the seat and turned my head. At least these public travel pods were private. The journey took me past near-identical apartments, the glow and flash of screens fracturing reality into dreams, children playing with robots, and people jumping and running across buildings using grappling gear and gripping boots.

In a large transparent arena, players from around the world were projected on a life-sized playing field as they kicked a digital soccerball- slowly turning what remained of reality into a hollow reflection.

The dashboard, which had been displaying a map alongside advertisements, faded out as we arrived. A glowing blue tower endearingly nicknamed The Relic sat in the center of a spiderweb network of stacked houses. This relic was the directory and transportation hub to all locations in the city. Its pillar of aerial walkways contained numerous plugs for vehicles and phones of all eras to connect to its database detailed region maps and basic information. Teleport booths ringed the lower levels.

I observed my final destination on the car hologram accompanied by the words ‘take Teleporter B12, walk straight until you reach apartment 34’.

*

Apartment 34.

A blue bar light hung above the door of silverish metal. A key card reader and number pad were fastened beside.

I nervously grip my new communication necklace. I flipped it open, one side containing a small mirror that reflected my disguise…

Now an onlooker might say, ‘Janie are you crazy? This is someone's house. Of course they are home.’ or ‘This is a sci-fi world. They have alarms and cameras.’ and ‘Really, a pin lock in these modern times. Anyone could dust the keys to figure out the numbers.’ To all this Janie had one answer… ‘Yes, Mark. I will be careful.’

Because while Janie was getting dressed and making notes in her phone, typing the address into the cab hub, and teleporting to the apartment…her new ‘boyfriend’ Mark was luring Donnie from the apartment with fake videos and triggering an electronic surge to fry open the door because he had been keeping tabs on her messages and browsing history the entire time. Such a stalker.

The door was slightly smoking and stinking up the hallway. “Is this necessary? I have the passcode,” Janie spoke to her necklace as she held it up to her mouth.

“The old one,” he responded.

“So…you had the new password and still did this.”

“It was linked to a text message alert. This was easier. Get moving before he returns.”

I let the necklace drop, gave one suspicious look at the door, then gently pulled the handle to step inside, and shut the door behind me to get a nice view of the backside of the door. Well, I wasn't going to stay in the hall to get caught. Where were we?

Inside. I glanced over my shoulder. There were a few mismatched desks in the main kitchen and living room topped with computers connected to a setup of wires, tubes, beakers, and containment units. It looked like the work of a smart kindergartener.

“Somehow, I'm not impressed,” Janie said.

“I must agree. Your taste in men is awful. He is so thin, like an unstuffed teddy bear,” a voice emanates from the phone locket that I was sure I turned off.

A picture frame showing Donnie and me at an amusement park rests nearby on what was the kitchen counter.

“I don't think the literal lady killer who I've known for a week gets to comment on my life choices,” I say, opening drawers in search of a drug tester. “Unless, maybe you also want to be a mere distraction for this girl.”

One drawer was entirely full of instant coffee. I picked up some packets of vanilla and stuffed them in my pocket before moving on. “And this teddy bear, as you rudely call him, made me feel safe. He gave me respect. And it's not his fault I choose to be part of his business.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Hmmm…I mean…apology accepted. I still want to f- you later.”

A cupboard of old CDs and video games got my attention next. Hard copies were rare and were still appreciated for creating a balance of escapism and not being fully plugged.

“Would you mind…” Mark’s voice sounds again.

I closed the cupboard. “No. I'm not stealing games for you. You, sir, should think of how to present yourself when I get home with your cure.”

Finally, there on the table was a drug test machine in a cute pink colour. I couldn’t decide if this colour was deliberate or not, considering these were illegal to own.

“Found it,” I said. “Just-

A mechanical noise jolted me. I turned to watch the equipment in the room go through a chain reaction, combining powders, liquid, heat, and cold into a familiar drug capsule. Like 3D printing for drug manufacturing.

“Janie…” Mark poked.

“It was nothing. Just one more stop. Like the junkies often say, ‘time to slam’.”