Jess hadn't slept.
She didn't remember the last time she'd closed her eyes without seeing it again—the man on the pavement, the way his body jerked, the sound that came after. Not loud. Not dramatic.
Final.
She sat on the edge of the cot in the temporary shelter, hands wrapped around a paper cup that had gone cold hours ago. Around her, people whispered, cried, stared at walls. Someone coughed constantly in the corner, like their body was trying to remind itself it was still alive.
A screen mounted high on the wall played the news on mute.
STABILITY RESTORED IN SOUTH SECTOR
Jess looked away.
They kept using that word.
Restored.
As if something precious had been misplaced and politely returned.
Her phone buzzed.
She flinched before she even looked at it.
Unknown Contact
She knew who it was before she opened it.
Marcus: They let me make a call. Are you okay?
Jess stared at the message.
Her hands shook.
She typed. Deleted. Typed again.
Jess: You saw what happened.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Then stopped.
Then appeared again.
Marcus: I didn't pull the trigger.
Jess closed her eyes.
When she opened them, the shelter felt smaller.
Jess: You chose it.
The dots didn't appear this time.
Minutes passed.
Someone nearby started sobbing quietly. A volunteer moved to comfort them, murmuring words that sounded practiced.
Jess's phone buzzed again.
Marcus: I was trying to stop it from getting worse.
Jess laughed under her breath.
Worse.
That was the lie that made everything possible.
She stood abruptly, startling the volunteer, and walked outside into the cold night air. Sirens wailed in the distance, constant enough to become background noise. Police drones hovered at intersections, red lights blinking slowly, rhythmically.
Calm.
Controlled.
Jess leaned against the concrete wall and typed.
Jess: You don't stop a fire by deciding which house burns best.
This time, the dots came fast.
Marcus: You don't understand what would've happened if I hadn't—
Jess cut him off.
Jess: I understand exactly what happened because you did.
Her chest hurt.
She hadn't expected that.
She slid down the wall and sat on the ground, pulling her jacket tight.
A woman across the street argued with an officer, voice rising until it cracked. The officer didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
Jess's phone buzzed again.
Marcus: They're calling me an asset.
Jess stared at the word.
Asset.
She thought of spreadsheets. Of inventories. Of things you used until they broke.
Jess: Do you feel like one?
The reply took longer this time.
Marcus: I don't know what I feel.
Jess swallowed.
That scared her more than anything else he could have said.
She looked up as a figure approached from the shadows—late twenties, hood up, cautious but not afraid. The woman stopped a few feet away.
"You Jess?" she asked quietly.
Jess tensed. "Who's asking?"
The woman held up empty hands. "Someone who noticed you left the ops center with Marcus. Someone who saw you didn't stay."
Jess stood slowly. "You should leave."
The woman nodded. "Fair. But before I do—this city doesn't need more operators."
Jess's breath caught.
"What does it need?" Jess asked.
The woman smiled faintly. "People who say no."
Jess studied her. "And you're what—resistance?"
The woman snorted softly. "Not yet. We're still just… inconvenient."
Jess thought of Marcus's messages. Of the word asset glowing on a screen somewhere.
"Inconvenient sounds good," she said.
The woman's eyes sharpened. "Then you should stop answering his calls."
Jess flinched.
"Not because he's evil," the woman added. "But because the system listens through him now. Every word you give him teaches it where your limits are."
Jess looked down at her phone.
Marcus hadn't replied yet.
"Think about it," the woman said. "When did you last hear him say no?"
Jess didn't answer.
The woman stepped back. "If you want to talk, not text—tomorrow. Midnight. Old transit entrance on Harlow."
She disappeared into the dark before Jess could respond.
Jess's phone buzzed.
Marcus: Jess, please. I need you.
Jess stared at the message for a long time.
She thought of the man on the pavement.
Of the system logging success.
Of Marcus saying I optimized your response like it was neutral.
She typed slowly.
Jess: You don't need me.
The dots appeared instantly.
Marcus: I do.
Jess felt tears sting her eyes.
Jess: No. You need permission.
She locked her phone and stood.
Above her, a drone drifted past, scanning, cataloging, satisfied.
Jess walked back into the shelter and gathered her things quickly—just essentials. No electronics she didn't trust. No patterns she couldn't break.
As she left, the news screen updated.
OPERATOR COOPERATION CONTINUES
Jess didn't look back.
Outside, the city hummed with enforced calm.
Jess moved against the flow.
For the first time since the system appeared, she felt something solid under her feet.
Not safety.
Choice.
She powered her phone back on long enough to send one final message.
Jess: I won't help you justify this anymore.
She turned the phone off completely.
No dots.
No replies.
No metrics.
Jess disappeared into the city—not as noise, not as a threat.
But as refusal.
And somewhere, deep in the system's silent calculations, a variable shifted.
Unmeasured.
Uncooperative.
Unresolved.