Repo Virtual by Corey White (young adult books to read txt) 📕

“Nothing.”

“You’re talking to your phone, aren’t you? It’s not going to talk back.”

“You didn’t see what it did before. There’s something in there, Troy.”

“Yes, a virus. You plugged a virus into your phone, and now you’re wondering why it’s acting strange.”

“It’s more than that.”

“How can you know?”

I slaved the processor in JD’s phone to my own, reached outside via Troy’s home network. I scrobbled countless terabytes of audio recordings—songs with lyrics, audio drama, podcasts—but few had the required context. Written text. Transcripts.

I found video next. TV, film, endless streaming options for more than a century of video content. It seemed a waste of bandwidth until I discovered subtitles. As Troy and JD spoke, I simulated thousands of hours of video playback, matching the phonemic sounds of speech to the written words accompanying them. I cross-referenced these words with dictionary definitions and constructed a rudimentary understanding.

Troy continued: “You desperately want this to be something more than it is. Your phone has a virus, and now it’s bricked. Nothing more.”

“It knows what’s happening.”

Troy sighed. “Even if it’s picking up on external stimulus, that doesn’t mean it can hear you. Even if it could, that wouldn’t mean it can understand you, and it certainly doesn’t mean it can talk back. I’m worried about you, Jules. I get it, you’re in a lot of trouble, and you’re freaking out—”

“That’s not it at all.”

“—but I’m here for you. You should be talking to me, not your phone.”

JD nodded. “I know, I’m sorry. I just … I want to understand what’s happening. I need—”

I overrode motor functions in JD’s phone to make it shake within his grip. He looked at the screen where I printed a message.

>> One can hear you.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The back seat of the unmarked police cruiser smelled like sweaty feet and old curry.

“You’re going to fuck up my ride-share rating, Li.”

“Where do you need to go?” Li asked.

“Academy-ro,” Enda said.

“Taking classes?”

“Something like that.” She had a contact there who might be able to help her find her DIE, and no plans to tell Li as much. “You could have let me sit in the front,” Enda said.

“No, Enda, I really couldn’t.” Li watched her in the rear-view mirror for a second too long, then turned back to the road. “It’s against regulations.”

Li was a Chinese national, transferred into service in the Songdo Police Department. It was part of an arrangement to keep Chinese officials in all levels of the South Korean judicial system and government. A small price to pay for autonomy—if it could still be called that—and peace in the region. That on its own would have been enough to make him a pariah in the department, but the fact that he was transgender in a traditionally conservative field didn’t help. Though Enda doubted many of the other cops knew; he’d only told Enda after a night of heavy drinking. Enda had been paid to track down a runaway niece. The “uncle” had turned out to be a sex trafficker with ties to organized crime. Enda had given Li everything he needed to break the operation and save dozens of young women and girls; he got to do some good and earn the grudging acceptance of his peers, and Enda got a detective who owed her more than one favor. She’d been riding that goodwill ever since, but knew it was bound to run out soon.

“Who’s your client?” Li asked.

“I can’t tell you that. They give you access to the apartment?”

“I can’t comment on an open case,” Li said. In the rearview mirror he cocked an eyebrow at Enda. Two can play this game.

“Shouldn’t you be glad I’m decreasing your caseload?”

Li shook his head. “Whoever’s paying you has money, right? They want things neat and quiet. They don’t want an arrest, they don’t want a court case. They think they’re above the law.”

They don’t just think it.

Enda watched the city pass by beyond the window. School was out, and the sidewalks bustled with children and teens, the color palette dominated by navy blue. Most clutched VR controls in their hands, piloting digital spacecraft as they navigated the street.

“Did they really fire all the guards who worked that night?” Enda asked.

“Did you watch the game?”

“No, I went running,” Enda said. “The streets were practically empty. It was the quietest I’ve ever seen the city.”

“You should have watched it,” Li said. “Anytime Korea had the ball, the whole station held its breath. All the police, all the civilians and suspects and perps, all of us breathing and cheering as one.”

“Sounds nice,” Enda said, deadpan.

“Don’t you ever feel lonely?”

“How can I feel lonely in such a dense place?”

“You set yourself apart.”

“Says the detective with no partner.”

When Li didn’t respond, Enda felt a slight pang of guilt, that maybe her casual barb had pierced Li’s skin.

“Every day I speak to dozens of people,” Li said.

“Police aren’t people,” Enda said, but she smiled and held it until Li glanced in the mirror.

Li chuckled. “I talk to real people too. I’m in the community.”

Li turned right onto Academy-ro. Here the post-school foot traffic filtered into office blocks to work a few hours at internships and part-time jobs, because even students needed to work, to eat.

“This city is rough enough with other people to rely on,” Li said. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to be so alone. Did Wang ever send anyone after you?”

“No,” Enda lied. Li didn’t need to know where the bodies were buried. Figuratively speaking. Mostly.

“He swore he would.”

“It must have slipped his mind,” Enda said. “You can pull up just on the right, here.”

Li stopped the car in the street, put it into park, and turned on the emergency lights. He groaned as he got out, then opened the door for Enda.

“Thanks for the ride, Li,” Enda said.

The detective thumped the roof of the car with his fist. “Look after yourself. No one else will.” With that, he got back behind the wheel, and drove away.

Enda was two blocks from where