Chapter 9 Part 2: I Became a Hacker Loved by AIs

To a Higher Place (1)

The air outside was, as expected, disgusting.

Not the kind of comment you’re supposed to make your first time walking outside freely, but facts were facts.

Svetlana had even put a gas mask on me, but neither she nor the people on the street were wearing one.

It must be something like, if I get sick, I can't meet the chairman.

Still, with how bad the air was, I didn’t even feel the urge to resist.

Seeing the outside world for real, not through a window, was honestly exciting.

After a lifetime of dull uniforms and charcoal suits, I was seeing vivid, colorful fashion.

Instead of dormitory walls plastered with praise for ImmuneWire, I saw graffiti spitting hatred at the company.

Civilians glaring at Svetlana with open disgust.

Police officers nervously scanning the crowd.

Yeah, life definitely hit different outside the glass.

“Can I try one of these?”

I picked up a grilled chicken skewers being sold on the street.

“Hold on a moment, Miss.”

Svetlana’s pupils lit up—her cybernetic eye system kicking in.

She scanned the food like a spectrometer.

“Microplastics, cadmium, lead, chromium, arsenic, nickel… 57 other compounds. Miss, I’m afraid this is—”

Before Svetlana could explain, I put the chicken skewer back down.

“Oh, did you change your mind?”

“...those names sound kind of unsettling.”

Even if the air’s polluted, can’t they at least make the food safe to eat?

I glanced at the guy next to me, happily chewing his skewer.

He no longer looked like a person.

More like a beaker in a chemical experiment.

“Are we really—”

“Rest assured, the food provided at your dorm is personally guaranteed clean and safe by ImmuneWire.”

Svetlana, sharp as ever, must have noticed my concern and answered before I even asked.

That’s a secretary chief for you.

For the first time, being sold as a corporate slave didn’t feel all that bad.

Well, if they’re planning to exploit my labor, it’d be a waste to let me break down from toxins in childhood.

We continued walking, passing by one toxic street food stall after another, each a heavy metal cocktail stand.

It wasn't a long walk, just a stroll, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

I wasn’t walking through the world of 2077 where I lived.

This was the world of 2160, and I was walking it for real.

Everything was new.

…Except for one flaw.

There were scary-looking men with guns glaring at me from the street corner.

“Why do they keep—”

“They’re not the kind of people you want to associate with, Miss. Let’s move along.”

Svetlana’s hand had quietly drifted toward the pistol holstered at her thigh.

[Criminal syndicates: extremely common in 2160.]

There were police around, too — but these guys were still strutting like they owned the place.

Well, it’s none of my business.

***

The day to meet the chairman was approaching.

There were two days to spare before the actual meeting day.

They said we’d be leaving early so that nothing could interfere with the chairman’s schedule.

On the rooftop of the Paris branch building, two hoverids were waiting for me and Svetlana.

“From here, you’ll take the hoverid and fly to our HQ in Israel, Miss. I’ll follow in a separate one and depart an hour after you.”

“Separately?”

“For security reasons. You said you were looking forward to riding one, right? Enjoy.”

As expected of a VIP hoverid, the interior was absurdly luxurious.

“Whoa... It’s like a flying limousine.”

Leather reclining seats, an actual bed, gaming console, TV, computer, etc. There was nothing missing.

There was even a personal maid aboard, assigned to take care of me during the flight.

“I’ll make sure your trip is as comfortable as possible, Miss Neige.”

So this is what it means to be someone “the chairman wants to meet.”

Well then, if I’m going to meet a big shot anyway, I might as well milk it.

Let’s make the most of it.

“We’ll be taking off shortly.”

“Okay~.”

The excitement of riding a hoverid naturally softens my voice.

This whole “princess” treatment was surreal.

Princess...

I carefully looked down at the dress I was wearing.

Svetlana had dressed me up for the occasion, and there was no other way to describe it but ‘cyber-princess.’

What’s with the glittery stripes…?

...If I’m going to live as a girl from now on, I’ll have to get used to this stuff, right?

[Super cute. Absolutely pretty.]

‘Don’t tease me.’

[Repeating 5 times: Super cute. Absolutely pretty.]

There it goes again, message spam.

Is there no mute button for this thing?

“We’re taking off now.”

Hearing that we were taking off, I scrambled into my seat and looked for a seatbelt, but the maid, as if finding my appearance cute, smiled and said.

“Is this your first time riding a VIP hoverid?”

“Yes… actually, it’s my first hoverid ever.”

“You can stay standing during takeoff, if you like.”

So the VIP hoverid had that kind of capability?

God-tier. VIP hoverid, best ride.

The hoverid lifted off smoothly, and I pressed my face to the window with a childlike excitement and looked outside.

Anyway, my appearance is 5 years old, so it's not embarrassing even if I'm acting like one.

Ahh, the shrinking city skyline.

It would’ve been better at night with the city lights, but still, not bad.

The speed picked up as we left the city behind.

Soon, the barren outskirts came into view — a dusty desert landscape.

The outside of the city looked like this… My birthplace wasn’t much different. Just a junkyard of rusted metal.

As I was soaking in the scenery, something unusual caught my eye.

A glint, like a beam of light, rapidly approaching from the distance.

Even under the blazing daylight, it shone through the sun, sparkling like a blade.

“Whoa, Maid, what’s that?”

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“That shiny thing over there.”

“Where…”

The maid leaned toward the window, then immediately turned pale and screamed:

“Incoming missile! Incoming missile!”

...What?

Did she just say missile?

The hoverid swerved violently, and the maid hugged me as I stumbled.

[Electronic warfare initiated. Deploying flares. Evasive maneuvers, evasive maneuvers, evasive maneuvers.]

The in-flight announcements were not at all reassuring.

“Uh… Maid, is this thing safe?”

“This is a VIP hoverid. It’s very sturdy.”

Yeah, that tracks.

(TL: Baseball, huh?)

There’s no way a megacorp like ImmuneWire would build a janky ride for their VVIPs.

“But… a missile is still, you know... a missile...”

Oh no.

Maid, don’t say such ominous things with that tone.

A huge impact hits the hoverid.

That was the last thing I remembered.

***

When I regained consciousness...

Raspy voices were chatting nearby.

“What’d I tell you, boss? That corpo chick was guarding her really seriously. All that ‘Miss this’ and ‘Miss that’ in that smooth-as-silk voice? Her sweet voice reeked of money.”

“This dress alone... she must be from a family at least at the executive level. We can probably bleed a ransom outta this one.”

I opened my eyes to see a bunch of thugs giggling and crowding around me.

Maybe a dozen or more.

“Hah! Good call with the EMP missile. Cost us a fortune, but worth it, huh?”

My body was tied up.

Next to me were the hoverid pilot and the maid — also bound.

‘Did I just get kidnapped?’

[Correct.]

‘Thanks for the fact-check.’

Honestly, if I were a lucky person, I wouldn’t have died from spine cancer and gotten resurrected as an AI experiment in the first place.

Ha, nothing goes smoothly for me.

“Oh? She’s awake.”

One of the muscle-heads locked eyes with me and swaggered closer.

“So, ‘little missy’? You gonna tell us whose daughter you are?”

Okay, I get the picture.

These dumbos are a criminal organization that makes money by hijacking corporate hoverids.

Because corporate transports are usually loaded with expensive goods.

Then they saw a VIP hoverid and shot it down hoping for a jackpot.

And in 2160, street gangs can just casually launch missiles.

Bravo, humanity. You’re doomed. I’m rooting for extinction.

“...Huh?”

I played dumb to stall for time, acting a bit flustered.

They can’t kill me if they want ransom anyway.

And if they’re just maniacs? Well, then I’m screwed either way.

Funny how the fear of being kidnapped evaporates so fast when you're used to worse.

“Aww, look at that. All sheltered and slow, huh?”

But more than anything, I had backup.

Svetlana.

She left an hour after me. I’m betting everything on her.

The gang guy aimed a gun at my head, trying to scare me.

Didn’t really scare me, but I pretended to be scared.

“We’re gonna have a little chat with your daddy, alright? You don’t wanna get hurt now, do ya?”

“Daddy’s gonna punish you all real bad!”

“...What? Yo! You guys hear that?!”

A burst of laughter exploded through the whole group.

“Missy, we’ve done this plenty of times, y’know? Go ahead, call your daddy’s soldiers. A month, a year… think your dear ol’ dad can hold out while you’re stuck with us?”

Okay.

I roughly get a sense of how big their organization is.

These guys aren’t some full-blown warlords, they’re tactical.

They’ve got just enough firepower to poke a corporation, not fight one head-on.

They go for the slow bleed — keep the hostage, squeeze out the cash, then run away.

ImmuneWire has thousands of executives scattered all over the world.

When this kind of thing happens, it’s cheaper for them to pay ransom than to deploy elite squads.

Or better yet, they flip the script by buying the gang off, turning them into privateers to attack rival corps.

So, from the corporation's point of view, it's a good "business."

A dirty one. But one that works.

But the problem with these guys right now is that their whole plan hinges on a long game.

And I'm not even the "rich man's daughter" these guys are thinking of.

I’m the one who got her direct meeting with the Chairman moved up on the schedule.

The Chairman himself even sent a VIP hoverid just for me.

I don’t even know why I’m that important, but clearly, he thinks I am.

And Svetlana staked everything on that meeting.

So just imagining what she’s thinking right now?

Kind of thrilling, actually.

The gangsters were still giggling, happily turning on their happy circuits, while running their little fantasy-ransom calculator.

Meanwhile, I was biting my cheek, holding back the words bubbling up in my throat.

You're fucked.

Run, idiots.

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