Mara didn't want a way out that required someone else to fall in.
That was the oldest trick in the world: build a door, then make the lock someone's throat.
Her phone sat on the kitchen counter beside her mother's—two rectangles of quiet violence. The timer on Mara's screen kept counting down with indifferent patience:
66:41:18.
Beneath it, the new lines glowed like fresh ink:
GUARDIAN LINK ACTIVE.LIABILITY REASSIGNMENT NOW AVAILABLE.
Her mom's eyes were red. She kept rubbing her palms on her jeans like she could wipe off whatever had latched onto her.
Mara opened Notes and typed, then turned the screen toward her.
DON'T TAP ANYTHING. DON'T SPEAK ABOUT IT. BREATHE.
Her mother nodded too fast, like a drowning person agreeing to anything.
Her mother's phone buzzed softly anyway.
A new notification appeared, polite as a hospital pamphlet:
ELIGIBILITY SERVICES: Guardian stability may require recalibration.ELIGIBILITY SERVICES: Would you like to protect your dependent?
Two buttons:
[PROTECT][LATER]
Mara's stomach twisted. The system had found the oldest lever in the world too: parental guilt.
Her mom's hand drifted toward the screen—pure instinct, the reflex to fix.
Mara caught her wrist gently and shook her head hard.
"No," Mara mouthed without sound.
Her mother's breath hitched. She pulled her hand back and clenched it into a fist, pressing it to her mouth to keep any word from escaping.
Mara's phone buzzed once—soft, pleased—like it approved of the restraint.
She hated that the system could make her feel relief.
Back on campus, the club met in their usual glass-walled study room, because Halcyon didn't believe in private fear.
Mara didn't speak. She didn't even try. She walked in, placed her phone on the table, and angled it so everyone could see the new option.
Nina's face tightened the second she read it.
Theo's eyes went wide, bright with the terrible energy of a person who was about to find proof.
Jace went very still.
Lark leaned forward, careful, like the words were a snake.
Mara opened Notes and typed in block letters:
LIABILITY REASSIGNMENT IS LIVE.
Theo typed back instantly in the group chat, then shoved his screen toward them:
Theo V.: IF THIS IS REAL, THERE'S A CLAUSE. THERE'S ALWAYS A CLAUSE.Theo V.: GIVE ME 10 MINUTES.
He didn't wait for agreement. He bolted—out the door, down the hallway, toward wherever he kept his breach archives and obsession like spare organs.
Nina's hands trembled as she typed a message on her phone and turned it to Mara:
DON'T. THIS IS HOW IT SPREADS.
Mara swallowed hard. She typed back:
MY MOM IS LINKED. IT'S PRESSING HER TO "PROTECT" ME.
Nina's expression cracked—not sympathy, exactly. Recognition. The kind that came from living under family pressure so long your body didn't know what "choice" felt like.
She typed slowly, deliberate:
IT'S USING HER SIGNATURE AS A WEAPON.
Jace finally moved. He reached out, stopped himself from touching Mara's phone, and instead tapped the table with two fingers like he was checking if the world was solid.
He typed:
THIS ISN'T A WAY OUT. IT'S A WAY TO MOVE THE PROBLEM.
Lark typed next, words neat and controlled:
OR A WAY TO BUY TIME.
Mara's throat tightened. Time was everything.
Her timer ticked:
66:12:03.
On Lark's phone, the pristine 71:19:44 still ran—untouched, terrifying in its freshness.
Mara wanted to ask how. She wanted to demand it.
Instead, she typed the question in Notes and slid it across the table:
WHY DO YOU HAVE A COUNTDOWN WITHOUT THE APP?
Lark stared at the words for a long moment, then typed back:
BECAUSE SOMEONE ELSE SIGNED FOR ME.
Pre-signed kids.
Legacy packages.
Mara felt her jaw clench until her teeth hurt.
Then her phone buzzed.
A system-service notification, OS-clean, no branding:
ACCEPT ALL (System Service): Transfer available.ACCEPT ALL (System Service): Choose an eligible recipient to reassess liability.
A button appeared.
[VIEW ELIGIBLE RECIPIENTS]
Nina flinched like the phone had barked her name.
Jace's eyes were fixed on Mara's screen with a look that wasn't fear exactly.
It was knowing.
Mara hit VIEW ELIGIBLE RECIPIENTS because not knowing was how people died in this system—quietly, politely, in paperwork.
A list loaded.
Not her contacts.
Not her friends.
A very specific category:
PRIOR CONTACT DEBT (ELIGIBLE)Recipients must meet one (1) requirement: previously ghosted or blocked.
Mara's stomach dropped.
The system wasn't offering a random sacrifice.
It was offering punishment dressed as policy.
Under the header was a scrollable list of names. Some she hadn't thought about in years. Some she recognized instantly in the same way you recognize a bruise when you press it.
Kira S. — Blocked (2 years ago)Evan M. — Blocked (3 years ago)"Dad" — Blocked (unknown)Asha P. — Ghosted (no closure)
Mara's breath caught at the last one.
Asha.
Middle school. Lunch table. Shared earbuds. The night Mara stopped replying because things got complicated and Mara's brain decided silence was safer than saying the wrong thing.
She hadn't meant to ghost her.
She'd just… vanished.
The irony made her nauseous.
Nina's eyes flicked over Mara's face, then down to the names, and she understood without being told.
She typed, furious:
IT'S TARGETING PEOPLE YOU HURT.
Mara's hands shook. She typed back:
IT CALLS IT "DEBT."
Jace's gaze didn't leave the list.
He typed one line, and for the first time it looked like it cost him to write:
I'VE SEEN THIS SCREEN BEFORE.
The room went cold.
Nina's head snapped up. Lark's eyes narrowed. Mara stared at Jace like the words were a slap.
Theo wasn't here to turn it into evidence. There was no laugh to soften it. Just the truth sitting there, typed and undeniable.
Mara's fingers hovered over her phone. She forced herself to type carefully, because anger wanted to become sound.
WHEN?
Jace's jaw worked like he was chewing glass. Then he typed:
MONTHS AGO.
Nina typed so hard her screen shook:
YOU TRANSFERRED?
Jace didn't answer for a beat.
Then:
ONCE.
Mara's throat burned. She wanted to ask who. She wanted to demand proof. She wanted to scream at him for making the choice that now existed as precedent, as pattern.
Instead, she typed:
WHO DID YOU SEND IT TO?
Jace's eyes flicked up—just once—meeting Mara's.
Then he looked down again and typed:
I CAN'T SAY THEIR NAME.
Mara's timer buzzed softly, curious. The system liked this.
Nina typed with shaking hands:
SCREENSHOT YOUR HISTORY.
Jace hesitated, then unlocked his phone and opened Student Perks—like opening a wound in public.
He navigated fast, too practiced.
PERKS HISTORY (CONFIDENTIAL)Fear Removal (permanent) — ACTIVESocial Amplification (minor) — ACTIVELiability Reassignment — COMPLETEDRecipient: [REDACTED]Status: Accepted
Mara's skin went cold.
Accepted.
So the transfer worked only if the other person opened it.
Only if they watched.
Only if they agreed.
Jace took a screenshot and dropped it into the group chat.
The image sat there like evidence of a crime they were all now capable of.
Theo's absence felt like a missing limb.
Mara typed, slow and vicious:
YOU MADE SOMEONE ELSE HOLD IT.
Jace typed back immediately, and the words were uglier because they were honest:
I DIDN'T HAVE TIME.
Nina's eyes flashed wet. She typed:
YOU DIDN'T HAVE THE RIGHT.
Lark typed, quieter, almost sad:
NONE OF US HAVE RIGHTS HERE.
Mara stared at her own list of eligible recipients.
Asha P. — Ghosted (no closure)
Her thumb hovered over the name, hovering like a blade held over skin.
Her phone buzzed again.
ACCEPT ALL (System Service): Guardian stability decreasing.ACCEPT ALL (System Service): Recommended action: transfer liability to preserve dependent bond.
Recommended.
Like it was a wellness tip. Like it was choosing oat milk.
Mara's chest tightened until breathing hurt.
She opened Notes and typed, turning the screen toward the others:
MY MOM IS LOSING MEMORIES. IT'S PRESSING HER TO "PROTECT" ME.
Nina's face softened for half a second, then hardened into anger.
She typed:
SO IT WANTS YOU TO BECOME HER.
Theo burst back into the room at that moment, breathless, hair sticking up, eyes bright with the terror of proof.
He didn't speak.
He threw his phone onto the table and turned it toward them.
A screenshot of a clause, sharp and unmistakable:
TERMS & CONDITIONS — CLAUSE 7.9 (EXCERPT)"Liability may be reassigned to a prior contact subject to unresolved communication debt.Eligible recipients include: blocked or ghosted accounts.Reassignment requires recipient acceptance through viewing."
Theo's fingers flew over his Notes:
IT'S REAL. IT'S BUILT-IN. IT'S A FEATURE.
Nina typed back instantly:
FEATURES ARE JUST WEAPONS WITH UX.
Mara stared at the clause until the words stopped being words and became a shape.
A funnel.
A pipeline.
A machine that turned guilt into consent.
Then Mara's phone lit up with one more message—this time not a recommendation.
A countdown inside the countdown.
TRANSFER WINDOW: 00:59:59
A minute timer began to run beneath her 66-hour timer.
As if the system had decided she was taking too long to be moral.
Beneath it:
If no reassignment is selected, Guardian Link penalty will apply.Penalty type: MEMORY CONTINUITY (major).
Major.
Not a smell.
Not a joke.
Something that would leave a visible hole.
Mara's hands went numb.
She looked around the table: Nina shaking with fury, Theo trembling with the thrill of evidence and the horror of what it meant, Lark watching like someone who'd lived their whole life inside pre-signed walls.
Jace staring at the red "Accepted" status on his own history like it was a confession that wouldn't stop bleeding.
Mara's thumb hovered over Asha P.
Asha, who had done nothing wrong except be someone Mara once loved enough to hurt.
Her transfer window ticked down:
00:59:32.
And Mara realized the system wasn't asking whether she'd become a monster.
It was asking what kind.
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2025
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