So, uh, hi?

What’s up?

How you doing?

I mean, how do I address this current situation?

The fact that I’m pinning down to the ground the Social Media Killer, Jones Burrow.

“Get the hell off me!” she shouts.

In any other situation, I would be attacked on the spot by any onlookers, because this is an extremely compromising position I am in, holding down what appears to be a defenseless girl while she screams for help. It’s not exactly a good position to be in.

Very uncomfortable too, with the way I have to hold her arms while making sure she doesn’t try to headbutt me in the face. Doing this all while my left arm is currently healing from a traumatic injury two days prior? Ill-advised, to say the least.

But I’m much more worried about the fact that there were armed thugs chasing after and attempting to kill her just moments ago.

Who is Jones Burrow?

“I need to ask you some questions,” I say, keeping a flat tone.

“You’re lucky I’m not going to spit in your face.”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask.

She won’t answer.

To be fair, that was a very big question.

“Maybe not, then. What about… Does your family know what you’re doing? Do they approve of you becoming the most infamous criminal in the city?”

“Be careful where your words tread, Morgan Harding,” Jones says. “If you ever mention them again, I won’t hesitate to slit your throat.”

Bold words for someone who currently can’t move.

But…

Morgan Harding… she knows my name. She took my wallet after knocking me out, I forgot about that. That means she may know more about me than I’d ever want anyone else to know. Does the video store keep a rental history on record? Could Jones ruin my life by exposing it?

I shudder to think of it.

“I’m not answering your questions,” she tells me. “What, did you think I was going to give you my life story because you captured me?” She laughs.

“Well, I already know you think Chameleon Twist rocks, so I know quite a lot about you, I think,” I say, using literally the only fact I know about her as my only trump card. It’s not a very good trump card.

She ignores the remark. “Who the hell are you, anyway? Why do you care about any of this?”

“I’m Morgan Harding, and because of your hacks, some men came to my apartment, destroyed my home, and beat me up, all in the thought that I was you.” Her gaze flickers for a moment, her eyes darting to the right side as if not to meet mine. “And in the end… I want to get you to stop getting yourself hurt,” I say.

“You don’t know a thing about me. Why should you care what happens to me?”

“I don’t care what happens to you. I just want to get all this over with and get back to living a normal life.”

“It would be faster to kill me now, then.”

“Yeah, it would.”

I couldn’t bring myself to even consider that, though. In all honesty, I’m worried I really do care about what happens to this young woman. All she’s done for me is cause grief and annoyance but… I don’t want her to get hurt or worse.

“You know, you don’t have much of an online presence,” Jones says. “It was frustrating, really. I was lucky your sister has a lot better of a record for me to tap into.”

Marge…

Shit. “What did you do?” I ask.

“I delivered justice.”

My cellular starts vibrating.

Obviously, I am not able to answer it at the moment, seeing as my only working hand is being used to hold back a vicious cyber-killer.

“What are you going to do, Morgan?” she jeers.

“I mean, I’m obviously not going to–”

She spits in my face.

I reel backwards and furiously wipe my face off– With my cast, which scratches against it–

And before I can react, Jones pushes me off her and runs off again.

The door to the roof slams shut.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

So gross!

The cellular is still ringing. I answer it.

“Hey, Harding, buddy,” the voice says. “I want to talk Dreamtech.” It’s Larkins. “Do you have a moment?”

“I… I’ll have to call you back.”

That’s all I say before I hang up.

Jones got away.

Now that she realizes she’s exposed she probably won’t be going to anywhere I could ever locate. Of course, why was she going here in the first place? It’s a dead-end.

The only thing I have left to go on is–

Ha.

She actually did it.

In all the things that go wrong in my life, it’s typically because of sloppiness. I’m too lazy to do the dishes, and so I have to eat out, which drains my bank account and forces me to work more, so then I have to spend more time with Larkins and get sucked into his schemes. That’s one pretty good example. It’s the Butterfly Effect in action.

I’m just glad the tables have turned on someone else.

Because in the rush of escaping from me, Jones made one sloppy mistake– she hadn’t picked up her backpack. And now it’s here next to me, ready to pry open for all its secrets.

That could mean there was nothing useful in there.

But it’s not exactly light– at least ten pounds. I open it up to see what’s inside.

Oh my.

Oh shit.

I know who to contact about this. And we need a meeting now.