"This is a bad idea," Miles said while standing in his apartment at 2143 hours—three hours after the train incident—staring at the data connection panel he'd rigged to bypass seven different security protocols.
"This is necessary idea," Jax corrected from his position at the window where he was watching for TMA security vehicles or federal agents or anyone else who might object to what they were about to do.
"Necessary and bad aren't mutually exclusive!"
"Accurate but irrelevant. We need to know what data The Conductor extracted from the Metro systems."
"So we're hacking Metro's secure servers from my apartment using questionable equipment and hoping we don't get caught?"
"Yes."
"That's definitely illegal!"
"That's definitely necessary!"
Miles sat down at his workstation—a chaotic mess of seventeen monitors, tangled cables, and empty coffee cups that represented his entire approach to life. Jax's apartment was probably pristine with Algorithm sitting on a perfectly organized desk judging the entire universe with feline superiority.
Miles's apartment was chaos incarnate.
"I should clean this place," Miles muttered.
"You should focus on hacking," Jax said.
"Multitasking is possible."
"Not for you."
"That's mean but accurate."
Miles connected his neural interface to his custom hacking rig—seventeen processors running in parallel, quantum encryption breakers that were definitely illegal, and enough network bandwidth to make TMA's security teams very interested in his apartment.
"Okay, going in," Miles said while initiating the connection.
His neural interface dove into Metro's network like jumping into cold water—shocking, disorienting, overwhelming with data streams and security protocols and defensive systems that immediately identified him as unauthorized access.
"They know I'm here!" Miles yelled.
"How fast can they trace you?"
"Checking... approximately ninety seconds before they identify my physical location and approximately three minutes before they dispatch security!"
"Then you have ninety seconds!"
"That's not enough time!"
"That's the time you have!"
Miles pushed deeper into Metro's operational logs, bypassing security through creative authentication exploits and questionable protocol manipulation. His neural interface was processing data faster than his conscious mind could track—pure instinct and practiced skill.
He found Metro Line 7's data logs.
Or rather, he found where Metro Line 7's data logs used to be.
"They're gone!" Miles said. "The entire six months of operational logs for Line 7 have been completely erased!"
"Can you recover deleted data?"
"Checking recovery protocols..." Miles dove into backup systems and archive servers and found the same thing everywhere—systematic deletion, professional erasure, complete data elimination.
"The backups are gone too! They erased everything including redundant copies!"
"The Conductor is very thorough."
"The Conductor is terrifyingly competent!"
Miles's neural interface temperature spiked. Warning messages appeared:
THERMAL ALERT: NEURAL INTERFACE APPROACHING CRITICAL TEMPERATURE.
"My brain is cooking!" Miles reported.
"You said that on the train!"
"It's happening again! Deep network intrusion generates massive heat!"
"Can you reduce processing load?"
"Not without losing connection!"
Miles kept searching through Metro's systems for any remaining data. Found fragments—partial logs that hadn't been fully erased, incomplete records in temporary cache files, scattered evidence in system memory.
"I found fragments!" Miles said while his neural interface temperature climbed higher. "Partial speed logs showing systematic slowdowns during Peak Surge!"
"Copy everything!"
"Copying but it's fragmented and incomplete and—wait."
Miles found something else. Something The Conductor hadn't erased.
Hidden in Metro's maintenance systems was a second set of logs—shadow records that weren't supposed to exist. Records that showed what the Metro was actually doing versus what it reported publicly.
"There's a hidden logging system!" Miles said while copying frantically. "The Metro keeps secret records of actual operations separate from official reports!"
"Why would they do that?"
"Because the official reports are fake! The Metro reports to regulators that they're running at safe capacity but the hidden logs show they're deliberately overloading trains and slowing service and creating dangerous conditions!"
Miles copied everything he could find while his neural interface screamed thermal warnings.
CRITICAL THERMAL ALERT: SHUTDOWN IMMINENT TO PREVENT PERMANENT DAMAGE.
"Forty-five seconds before security traces my location!" Miles yelled.
"Finish copying!"
"Trying but my brain is literally on fire!"
Smoke started rising from Miles's neural interface port. Actual visible smoke.
Jax noticed. "Carter, you're smoking."
"I'm aware!"
"That's medically concerning!"
"That's currently irrelevant!"
"Your apartment is going to smell like burnt electronics for weeks!"
"That's future Miles's problem!"
"You are future Miles!"
"Not yet I'm not!"
Miles grabbed the last critical files—hidden capacity logs showing systematic overcrowding, shadow speed records proving deliberate delays, maintenance reports documenting safety violations that were never reported to regulators.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
His neural interface hit critical temperature and initiated emergency shutdown.
The connection severed.
Miles gasped and collapsed back in his chair while his neural interface went dark and his augmented vision switched to safe mode and the smell of burnt electronics filled his apartment.
"Did you get the data?" Jax asked.
"I got something," Miles said weakly. "Not everything The Conductor got, but I found hidden records that prove Metro is lying to regulators about safety and capacity."
"That's evidence."
"That's partial evidence. The Conductor got the complete records. I got fragments and hidden shadow logs."
"Why would The Conductor erase evidence if his goal is exposing corruption?"
"That's the question I can't answer."
Miles pulled up what he'd copied on his secondary interface—his neural interface was offline for thermal recovery. The data showed systematic Metro corruption: deliberate overcrowding (183% capacity when legal maximum was 120%), systematic speed reduction during Peak Surge (trains running at 40% normal speed to create delays), and maintenance violations (seventeen documented safety issues never reported to transit authority).
"This proves the Metro is deliberately creating terrible service," Miles said while reviewing it.
"But The Conductor erased the official evidence," Jax observed.
"Which means we have proof that TMA can deny because it came from shadow systems instead of official logs."
"The Conductor is sabotaging our investigation while conducting his own investigation."
"Or The Conductor has different goals than we thought."
Miles's interface chimed—his regular interface, not his neural one which was still offline. Message from The Conductor: FOUND THE SHADOW LOGS, DID YOU? CLEVER. BUT THOSE LOGS WON'T BE ADMISSIBLE IN COURT. TMA WILL CLAIM THEY'RE FABRICATED. THAT'S WHY I ERASED THE OFFICIAL LOGS—PARTIAL EVIDENCE IS WORSE THAN NO EVIDENCE. PARTIAL EVIDENCE LETS TMA CLAIM THEY'RE FIXING PROBLEMS WHILE ACTUALLY MAKING THEM WORSE. TOTAL SYSTEM DESTRUCTION IS THE ONLY SOLUTION. YOU'LL UNDERSTAND WHEN YOU SEE WHAT I'M REALLY FIGHTING. —THE CONDUCTOR
"He's saying partial evidence is worse than no evidence," Miles said after showing Jax.
"That's absolutist thinking."
"That's concerning philosophy."
"That suggests The Conductor isn't trying to reform the system but destroy it completely."
"Which means we might be fighting the wrong enemy."
Miles stood up—too quickly, got dizzy from neural interface thermal shock—and sat back down.
"Don't stand yet," Jax said.
"I'm sitting. I tried standing. Sitting won."
"You need medical attention."
"I need coffee and painkillers and approximately eight hours of sleep that I won't get because my brain feels like it was microwaved."
"That's accurate description of neural interface thermal overload."
"That's terrifying validation of my medical concerns."
Jax walked over and checked Miles's neural interface port. "You have second-degree burns around the connector."
"That's fine."
"That's not fine. That's medical emergency."
"It's manageable medical emergency."
"There's no such thing as manageable when describing burns."
"I'll put ice on it."
"You'll go to the hospital."
"I'll put ice on it and then we'll see if hospital becomes necessary."
"Carter—"
"Jax, we have seventeen hours until the protest and the infiltration. I'm not spending those hours in a hospital answering questions about how I got neural interface burns from illegal hacking. I'm putting ice on it and taking painkillers and hoping for the best."
Jax looked like he wanted to argue but recognized the logic. "Ice and painkillers. If it gets worse, hospital is non-negotiable."
"Agreed."
Miles checked his livestream where his eighty-two thousand followers were discussing the Metro incident. The commuter videos had gone viral—over three million views now—and public opinion was split between "suspended cops are heroes fighting corruption" and "suspended cops caused delays and should be arrested."
The top comment had seventeen thousand upvotes: "These suspended cops just delayed my commute by 23 minutes. I don't care if they're fighting corruption. Fight it during off-peak hours."
"Chat is very conflicted about us," Miles observed.
"Chat wants to get home more than they want justice," Jax said.
"That's depressing but accurate."
"That's human nature. Immediate inconvenience outweighs abstract justice."
"You're very philosophical for someone watching me slowly burn my brain."
"I'm very realistic about human psychology."
Then Miles saw the protest counter: seventeen thousand confirmed participants for tomorrow's #GridlockJustice demonstration at Apex Tower. Twenty-three thousand interested. Growing every hour.
His post from this afternoon had gotten forty-three thousand likes.
"The protest has seventeen thousand confirmed," Miles said. "Same number as yesterday."
"Growth has plateaued?" Jax asked.
"No, different people. Original confirmations were this morning. These are new confirmations after I posted the carefully worded message. The movement is self-sustaining now."
"That's concerning."
"That's effective grassroots organizing through digital platforms."
"Same thing when you lose control of the movement."
"I never had control. That's the beauty of it. This isn't my protest—it's theirs. I just provided the platform and the motivation."
"And the evidence and the messaging and the hashtag."
"Okay, I helped. But it's organic now."
Miles's interface chimed. Captain Reyes on secure channel: THE PROTEST TOMORROW IS GOOD DISTRACTION. TMA WILL BE FOCUSED ON MANAGING PUBLIC DEMONSTRATION. THAT'S WHEN YOU TWO MAKE YOUR MOVE. WHILE THEY'RE WATCHING THE PROTEST, YOU INVESTIGATE THEIR HEADQUARTERS. I'M SENDING YOU BUILDING ACCESS CODES. USE THEM WISELY. THIS IS YOUR ONE CHANCE. —REYES
She transferred data—building schematics for Apex Tower, security protocols, access codes, guard schedules.
"Reyes wants us to infiltrate TMA headquarters during the protest," Miles said.
"That's extremely dangerous."
"That's extremely necessary."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"Accurate but irrelevant."
Jax reviewed the building data. "Apex Tower has seventeen security checkpoints, facial recognition at every entrance, and TMA Security Liaison teams on every floor. Infiltration will be difficult."
"Infiltration will be impossible during normal conditions," Miles corrected. "But during protest with seventeen thousand people outside creating chaos? Security will be focused on external threats, not internal."
"That's optimistic."
"That's tactical."
"What if TMA responds to protest with violence?" Jax asked.
"They won't. Too public. Too many cameras. My eighty-two thousand followers will be watching and recording everything. TMA can't afford the public relations disaster of attacking peaceful protesters."
"Your followers are protection mechanism."
"My followers are distributed witness network and accountability system."
"Those are same thing."
"Exactly."
Miles's neural interface was slowly rebooting from thermal shutdown. Diagnostics showed temporary damage but nothing permanent. He'd be functional by tomorrow.
By tomorrow when they'd infiltrate TMA headquarters while seventeen thousand protesters created distraction outside.
By tomorrow when they'd either find evidence that proved everything or get arrested for corporate espionage.
"This is either the best plan we've ever had or the worst mistake we'll ever make," Miles said.
"Probably both," Jax agreed.
Miles looked at the shadow logs he'd recovered from Metro's hidden systems. Evidence of systematic corruption, proof of deliberate service degradation, documentation of safety violations.
But The Conductor was right—shadow logs weren't admissible in court. TMA could claim they were fabricated. Official logs would have been undeniable.
And The Conductor had erased all the official logs.
"The Conductor is fighting a different war than we are," Miles said.
"Yes."
"We want to reform the system. He wants to destroy it."
"Yes."
"Those goals will eventually conflict."
"Yes."
"So we're working with someone who will eventually become our enemy."
"That's alliance of convenience. We use him until objectives diverge."
"That's very mercenary."
"That's very realistic."
Miles checked the time: 2347 hours. Tomorrow's protest was seventeen hours away. Tomorrow's infiltration was seventeen hours away. Tomorrow's reckoning was seventeen hours away.
He posted a final update to his stream—carefully worded to avoid violating suspension terms: "Tomorrow, 1734 hours. The people speak. I'll be listening. #GridlockJustice"
The post got twenty-seven thousand likes in five minutes.
Seventeen thousand confirmed became nineteen thousand confirmed.
The protest was growing. The attention was building. The pressure was mounting.
"Get some sleep," Jax said. "Tomorrow will be dangerous."
"Tomorrow will be insane," Miles corrected.
"Same thing in this context."
Miles looked at his neural interface diagnostics. Thermal damage: 23%. Recovery time: six hours. Functionality: 77% and climbing.
Good enough for tomorrow.
Good enough to infiltrate TMA headquarters while nineteen thousand people protested outside.
Good enough to maybe, possibly, hopefully find the evidence they needed to prove everything.
"Are you going home?" Miles asked.
"Yes. Algorithm needs feeding and I need sleep."
"Algorithm is very demanding."
"Algorithm has standards."
"Algorithm is a cat."
"Algorithm is cat with standards and expectations and ability to express disappointment through strategic destruction of furniture."
"That's very specific."
"That's very accurate description of my cat."
Jax left while Miles sat in his burnt-electronics-smelling apartment reviewing shadow logs and planning tomorrow's infiltration and hoping his brain would recover enough to function.
Or die trying.
Probably both.
Evidence isn’t perfect.
Allies aren’t trustworthy.
And doing the “right thing” starts coming with very real physical consequences.
-
not recommended
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not self-care
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extremely on-brand for Miles
Tomorrow’s rush hour is going to be… unnatural.