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body div#devskin0 hr { }

JN113 studied her own face on the missing person poster. She almost wanted to laugh at the waste of time it represented – even if the world at large cared about a runaway Default, there were hundreds of people wearing the exact same face in this city alone.

She raised her hood as rain started to shower from the misty neon heights. As much as her new friends tried to tell her otherwise, until she could afford the surgery, she'd always be a missing person. A blank space where something unique and beautiful should be.

She ran into her father on the way to her boyfriend's apartment, and the guilt was almost overwhelming. He looked exhausted, and appeared have been searching tirelessly, putting up posters on every surface. His heartbreak was clear to see.

“May I?” he asked, as he'd likely asked dozens of people already. She rolled up her sleeve and let him scan her fractacode. She'd had it altered, obviously, but she was nervous; it hadn't been tested in practice.

Her father looked disappointed. He hadn't recognised her.

“If you hear anything about JN113, please, please call me,” he said, pointing to the vox number on the poster in her hand.

She nodded, and turned away quickly before the welling tears could spill. Her parents had made themselves identical and submitted themselves to a system that would manage their lives, loves and jobs with objectivity and holism. It was easy to see the appeal of a lifestyle that prioritised safety and the illusion of providence.

Janey screwed up the poster and dropped it to the wet pavement. She had made her choice, and it would be the first of many.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

JN113 studied her own face on the missing person poster. She almost wanted to laugh at the waste of time it represented – even if the world at large cared about a runaway Default, there were hundreds of people wearing the exact same face in this city alone.

She raised her hood as rain started to shower from the misty neon heights. As much as her new friends tried to tell her otherwise, until she could afford the surgery, she'd always be a missing person. A blank space where something unique and beautiful should be.

She ran into her father on the way to her boyfriend's apartment, and the guilt was almost overwhelming. He looked exhausted, and appeared have been searching tirelessly, putting up posters on every surface. His heartbreak was clear to see.

“May I?” he asked, as he'd likely asked dozens of people already. She rolled up her sleeve and let him scan her fractacode. She'd had it altered, obviously, but she was nervous; it hadn't been tested in practice.

Her father looked disappointed. He hadn't recognised her.

“If you hear anything about JN113, please, please call me,” he said, pointing to the vox number on the poster in her hand.

She nodded, and turned away quickly before the welling tears could spill. Her parents had made themselves identical and submitted themselves to a system that would manage their lives, loves and jobs with objectivity and holism. It was easy to see the appeal of a lifestyle that prioritised safety and the illusion of providence.

Janey screwed up the poster and dropped it to the wet pavement. She had made her choice, and it would be the first of many.