Page 121 of Fatality

Most everyday ailments—headaches, stomachaches, muscle pain, fevers—can be treated with injections.

They’re fast, effective, and ridiculously expensive.

Moments like this make me grateful to be rich.

The more serious stuff, though, is left to professionals. Broken bones, internal injuries, surgeries—those aren’t things you fix yourself, no matter how much money you have.

For that, you go to a clinic and let the experts handle it.

For everything else, there’s a syringe waiting in the freezer.

In Kairo-9, medicine is so advanced that getting sick is almost optional.

There’s a cure for nearly everything.

STIs have been eradicated for decades, and getting pregnant is just as easy to prevent.

At the start of every month, anyone who doesn’t want to get pregnant—or get someone pregnant—gets a contraceptive shot.

One shot lasts a month with no hormones. No side effects and no messing with your period.

I have no idea how it works, I just know it does. I get the shot every month because it’s simple, and it works.

Suddenly, a message pops up on my Glass Panel screen. Slowly, I lean forward and open it.

An unknown sender.

A knot forms in my stomach. The screen flickers, and messages appear.

UNKNOWN: “Looking for a hacker?”

UNKNOWN: “Here I am.”

UNKNOWN: “Funny finding someone like you looking for someone like me.”

UNKNOWN: “So, what can I do for you?”

My pulse spikes.

For a moment, I just stare at the words.

No way. No fucking way.

I’d spent hours digging through government files, searching for a ghost, and somehow the ghost had found me first.

Couldn’t he have shown up before my headache?

I roll my eyes and type out a reply, telling him I need information. Enough information to sabotage someone’s business.

The response is immediate.

UNKNOWN: “I see.”

UNKNOWN: “Well, I’m glad you found me.”

UNKNOWN: “Actually, I found you.”

UNKNOWN: “I’ll need a name, a location, and the kind of information you’re after.”