# CHAPTER 1 — THE ONE THING THAT STILL DOESN'T WORK Reyes's first reaction to the incoming holo request was not panic. It was annoyance. The small agent resting beside her normal one vibrated once against the table. A moment later its display unfolded above the casing. **PANAM** Underneath the name: **HOLO REQUEST** Reyes looked at it. Then at herself in the dark window beyond the table. Red hair. Her own face. Her own eyes. A loose shirt. No face mesh. No copper-grey hair. No very light brown contacts. No bright, higher voice waiting behind her teeth. In other words: Reyes. Completely, unmistakably Reyes. The agent vibrated again. She reached over and declined the holo request. Then she opened the message channel. **BIRGITTA:** Can't. With a client. Reyes sent it. There. Perfectly ordinary. Perfectly true to Birgitta's life. And, more importantly, absolutely impossible for Panam to question without becoming extremely interested in details Reyes suspected Panam did not actually want while driving. The reply arrived less than ten seconds later. **PANAM:** Oh. Reyes smiled. Then: **PANAM:** Right. The smile widened. Then: **PANAM:** Sorry. Reyes leaned back in her chair. There was something deeply entertaining about Panam occasionally remembering that the woman she had spent a week hauling cargo with charged twenty-five thousand and one eddies an hour for a profession Panam normally managed to forget about until reality placed it directly in front of her. Reyes typed: **BIRGITTA:** You're fine. A pause. **PANAM:** Didn't interrupt anything? Reyes glanced around her apartment. One pistol lay disassembled on a cloth in front of her. Coffee sat beside it. Her boots were under the table. The most intimate thing currently touching Reyes was gun oil. She looked back at the message. **BIRGITTA:** Nothing I couldn't survive. Three dots appeared instantly. Stopped. Returned. **PANAM:** I'm not asking what that means. Reyes laughed. **BIRGITTA:** Coward. **PANAM:** Professional boundaries. **BIRGITTA:** That what we're calling it? **PANAM:** Yes. **BIRGITTA:** Adorable. There was a longer pause after that. Reyes could almost see Panam's expression. The tiny narrowing of the eyes. The slight pull at one corner of her mouth when she wanted to argue and knew perfectly well doing so would only encourage Birgitta. Eventually: **PANAM:** You done later? Reyes stared at the question. There it was. The problem. Not the excuse. The excuse was excellent. The excuse was almost annoyingly good. Birgitta was a working joytoy. Sometimes she genuinely would be with a client. Sometimes she would be between bookings. Sometimes she would be at Lizzie's. Sometimes she would simply be unavailable. Panam knew all of that. A declined holo call required no elaborate cover story. No technical explanation. No sudden emergency. No suspicious behavior. Just: **With a client.** Done. Except Reyes was not with a client. She was sitting alone in Watson cleaning a pistol. And if Panam called again in two hours, Reyes would still look exactly like Reyes. The problem would still be there. Reyes typed: **BIRGITTA:** Maybe. **PANAM:** Maybe? **BIRGITTA:** Clients are unpredictable creatures. **PANAM:** You say that like you're studying wildlife. **BIRGITTA:** Sometimes I feel I should be taking notes. **PANAM:** You've definitely had worse company. Reyes paused. **BIRGITTA:** True. The answer carried more weight than the joke deserved. Panam knew it too. The next message came more slowly. **PANAM:** Call when you're free. Reyes looked at the words. Not _message me_. Call. Almost certainly holo. Panam had become used to Birgitta being physically present. That had changed things. Before the courier week, text had been enough. Messages could carry flirting. Planning. Jokes. Questions. The occasional sentence that landed harder than either of them probably intended. But then Panam and Birgitta had spent days together. Not a booking. Not a few hours. A week. Roads. Deliveries. Cargo. Fuel stops. Roadside food. Motel rooms. Mornings. Arguments over routes that were not really arguments. Panam driving while Birgitta watched the desert move past. Birgitta learning exactly how long Panam could tolerate silence before deciding it needed to be filled. Panam learning that Birgitta could sleep almost anywhere except in a badly sprung passenger seat. Shared coffee. Shared meals. Hundreds of miles of ordinary proximity. Then the farm. Two steaks. One final evening before Night City swallowed them again. After that, text felt thinner. Still useful. Still natural. But thinner. Panam knew what Birgitta's face did when she was amused. She knew what happened to her eyes just before she said something deliberately outrageous. She knew the particular smile Birgitta used when she was about to pretend innocence and had absolutely no intention of being convincing. And Birgitta knew Panam. The quick glance away when something hit too close. The way irritation and affection could occupy the same expression without fighting. The rare softness Panam almost always tried to bury under a practical sentence. Holo was no longer decoration. It was part of how two people who had spent enough time together naturally wanted to communicate. Reyes looked down at Birgitta's agent. Then at her normal one beside it. Two small devices. Nothing remarkable about either. That was intentional. Birgitta having her own agent made perfect sense. Separate contacts. Separate messages. Separate history. Separate identity. If anyone saw Reyes carrying two agents, Night City offered hundreds of mundane explanations. Work line. Secure line. Burner. Client device. Different network. Temporary hardware. Nobody cared. The problem was not the agent. The problem was what happened when its camera turned on. Reyes picked it up. Opened the camera. Her own face appeared. Red hair. Her. “Hello, Panam.” Reyes's own voice came back through the test monitor. She stared at herself. “Very convincing.” She closed it. The absurdity of the situation had been growing for weeks. Physical Birgitta was astonishingly complete. Reyes could become her and remain her through conditions that would destroy most improvised covers. The face mesh moved naturally. The voice did not require Reyes to consciously maintain pitch. Lena's styling held. Victor's work held. Reyes could laugh. Sweat. Turn too quickly. Wake up tired. Eat. Drink. Spend days on the road. Stand near people who knew Reyes. And still be classified as Birgitta. The cover had survived life. But Reyes could not answer a fucking phone. She leaned back. “That,” she informed the empty apartment, “is ridiculous.” The pistol on the table declined to participate. Probably sensible. Birgitta's agent buzzed. **PANAM:** And don't charge me 25,001 for the call. Reyes stared at the message. Then laughed. **BIRGITTA:** Obviously not. She waited. Added: **BIRGITTA:** Remote rates are different. The response came immediately. **PANAM:** Fuck you. **BIRGITTA:** Now THAT costs extra. Reyes was still smiling when Panam replied. **PANAM:** There she is. The smile faded just slightly. Not because anything was wrong. Quite the opposite. That was why Reyes cared. Panam had not fallen for a manufactured personality. There was no synthetic Birgitta for her to fall for. Birgitta was Reyes. A different presentation. A different social register. A different face. A different voice. But every decision underneath remained Reyes's. Every joke. Every boundary. Every moment of interest. Every choice. The relationship was real. The identity was constructed. Those two facts did not cancel each other. They merely made the engineering inconvenient. Reyes set the agent down. The obvious answer would have been to schedule holo calls only while physically in cover. That worked. It was also stupid. Becoming Birgitta physically was not difficult in the sense that it was unreliable. It was difficult because it was an actual cover transformation. Hair. Eyes. Face. Voice. Wardrobe. Time. Planning. Sometimes Victor. Sometimes Lena's preparation. Sometimes both. That made sense for days with Panam. For work. For Jig-Jig. For social exposure. It did not make sense because Panam wanted to talk for twenty minutes. Reyes had already tested alternatives. Most were garbage. Some were sophisticated garbage. Entertainment holo filters could alter faces convincingly under ideal conditions. Ideal conditions were not a standard Reyes recognized. Others were built for recordings. Some worked live but could not handle fast movement. Others handled faces but not voice. Some generated impressive results until the user turned too far or moved a hand across her face. One product had looked almost perfect until the person demonstrating it laughed. For less than a second the mouth had belonged to the wrong woman. Reyes had deleted the package immediately. Most people would never notice. Reyes would. Panam might. That was enough. Close enough was not close enough. The agent buzzed again. **PANAM:** Driving again. **BIRGITTA:** Then stop texting me. **PANAM:** Stopped. **BIRGITTA:** Good. A few seconds. **PANAM:** Later. **BIRGITTA:** Later. Reyes watched the conversation settle. Then she looked again at the missed holo request. The correct cover excuse sat immediately above it. **Can't. With a client.** Perfect. Simple. Believable. Reusable. And suddenly Reyes hated it. Not because it was weak. Because it was strong enough that she could use it forever. Every time Panam called while Reyes was physically Reyes: Client. Busy. Working. Bad connection. Not dressed. Later. Tomorrow. Some other perfectly reasonable explanation. Panam might never question any of them. Reyes could maintain the cover indefinitely by lying around the limitation. That was exactly the kind of solution Reyes disliked. A good excuse was not a fix. She picked up her normal agent. Opened a folder. She had been collecting possibilities for a while already. Commercial systems. Netrunner recommendations. Software packages. A few black-market tools. Several were marked: **NO** Two: **MAYBE** One: **ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT** Reyes opened the MAYBE folder. The first system could replace a live face locally. Good. It could build from a fixed target profile. Better. It handled moderate movement. Acceptable. Voice processing was external. No. Deleted from MAYBE. The second was more interesting. Designed for remote corporate appearances. Local visual rendering. Full expression mapping. Depth support. Very good. Then Reyes found the architecture notes. Receiver-side component required. She stared at the line. “No.” Panam was not installing software so Birgitta could fool her more effectively. That would rather undermine the point. Delete. Reyes opened a new note. Typed: **Requirements** Then underneath: **ONE SOURCE** **ONE TARGET** **LOCAL PROCESSING** **NO RECEIVER SOFTWARE** **VOICE + VISUAL** **NORMAL MOVEMENT** She considered. Added: **LONG CALLS** Then: **FAIL CLOSED** That one mattered most. If the system lost tracking or processing failed, Reyes did not want raw camera input suddenly replacing Birgitta. The safe failure was: broken connection. Frozen image. Dropped holo. Anything except Reyes. She stared at the requirements. This was no longer a consumer application. Probably never had been. Reyes opened her contacts. Scrolled. Stopped. She could ask Kiro. The thought lasted perhaps three seconds. Kiro could probably attack the problem until either the problem surrendered or nearby electronics requested political asylum. But that introduced another issue. Birgitta. Reyes's secret was still hers. Shammy knew. Victor knew what he had needed to know. Lena knew what she had needed to know. Expanding that circle because Reyes wanted better phone calls was not her first choice. And Kiro had already done specialized work on Dalia's agent. That implementation had required physical modification. Reyes knew enough about it to respect what Kiro had built. But Reyes's problem was larger. Visual. Voice. Live. Automatic. And preferably without touching the hardware. She did not need Dalia's system copied. She needed something different. Reyes continued scrolling. Her network was large. Not socially. Functionally. Merc work created strange directories of human beings. Drivers. Fixers. Weapons people. Surveillance specialists. People who knew how to erase things. People who knew how to find things. People Reyes would trust with her life but absolutely not invite to dinner. People who knew other people. She selected one. Started typing. Deleted the first attempt. Started again. **REYES:** Need a specialist. She paused. Then continued. **REYES:** Real-time holo identity replacement. One user. One fixed target. Visual and voice. Local processing. Long calls. Normal movement. No receiver-side software. Prefer no hardware changes. She reread it. Added: **REYES:** Needs to fail closed. Send. The message vanished into Night City. Reyes returned to the pistol. Slide. Spring. Barrel. Routine movements. The agent remained silent. She worked for several minutes. Then checked. Nothing. “Good.” She set it down. Another five minutes. Still nothing. Reyes frowned. “Also good.” She put the final part of the pistol into place. Function check. Safe. Done. Then she looked at the agent again. Nothing. Reyes leaned back. “You know, most people respond faster when I don't want them to.” The universe declined comment. She picked up Birgitta's agent instead. Opened Panam's conversation. Read the last few lines. **PANAM:** Later. **BIRGITTA:** Later. Reyes tapped the edge of the device against her palm. She could become Birgitta tonight if she wanted. That was not impossible. It was also not the point. The relationship had grown past requiring physical proximity for every visual conversation. The technology simply had not caught up. Yet. Her normal agent chimed. Reyes put Birgitta's down and opened the reply. It was short. **How good?** Reyes smiled faintly. That was the right question. She typed: **If the other person notices the software, it failed.** A pause. Then she added: **Target already exists physically. I don't need generated identity. I need live translation from one known person into one known cover.** Send. This reply took longer. A minute. Two. Reyes got up, carried the coffee mug to the kitchen, discovered the coffee had gone cold and drank it anyway. When she came back, the agent had a new message. **That's not off-the-shelf work.** Reyes typed: **I know.** The answer: **You paying custom?** Reyes almost laughed. **REYES:** Yes. A pause. Then: **I'll ask around.** Reyes put the agent down. That was enough. Not a solution. Not even a lead yet. But better than another product page. She returned to the table. Two agents waited beside the cleaned pistol. Reyes looked from one to the other. Her normal agent. Birgitta's. Two lives separated by a few centimeters of tabletop and one unresolved technical problem. She picked up Birgitta's agent. No new message from Panam. Good. Panam was driving. Reyes hoped. She set it back down. The missed holo request was still in the history. She opened it once more. **PANAM — HOLO REQUEST — DECLINED** Underneath: **Can't. With a client.** Reyes smiled. It really was the perfect excuse. And that settled it. She was never going to use it as the permanent solution. Reyes closed the history. Somewhere in Night City, somebody knew someone. Eventually one of those chains would lead to the right person. And when it did, Reyes intended to make sure the next time Panam pressed **HOLO**, Birgitta could answer. --- # CHAPTER 2 — STILL LOOKING By the following afternoon, Reyes had six answers. Four were useless. One was insulting. The last one was interesting enough that she did not delete it immediately. She sat in a booth at the back of a small Watson café with her normal agent in one hand and Birgitta's tucked inside her jacket. The coffee was bad. Not offensively bad. Just disappointing in a way that suggested nobody involved in making it had ever once cared whether coffee could be good. Reyes drank it anyway. On the table in front of her, a compact holo window displayed the first recommendation. A commercial identity package. Again. She closed it. Second recommendation. A braindance performer tool designed to keep a user's visual presentation consistent across multiple recording systems. Recorded. Not live. Closed. Third. A netrunner who apparently specialized in blackmail. Reyes read the description twice. Then looked at the contact who had sent it. **REYES:** Why? The reply came: **He does face replacement.** **REYES:** For extortion recordings. **Yeah.** Reyes stared at the screen. **REYES:** Do I strike you as somebody making a ransom BD? A pause. **Sometimes.** Reyes closed the conversation. That one went under insulting. She returned to her search. For most people, the problem would already have been solved. Night City had thousands of ways to make someone appear to be someone else. Filters. Masks. Projection systems. Synthetic faces. Voice overlays. Real-time beauty processors. Celebrity packages. Fantasy skins. Corporate representation suites. Avatar systems. Whole industries existed because people were willing to pay extraordinary amounts of money not to look like themselves. Very few of those systems were designed for someone who actually knew the target. That distinction kept killing everything. Reyes opened another test. A woman appeared in a live feed. Her face transformed into another woman's. Good mapping. Excellent expression transfer. Voice replacement integrated. Interesting. Reyes watched. The subject leaned forward. Fine. Turned left. Fine. Turned right. Still fine. Laughed. Fine. Reyes leaned slightly closer. The woman lifted one hand and brushed hair away from her face. For a fraction of a second the target's cheek shifted half a centimeter too far. Reyes paused the feed. Rewound. Played it again. There. Tiny. Most people would never notice. Reyes marked the system: **NO** She continued. Another one handled occlusion beautifully. It also introduced thirty-two milliseconds of variable voice latency. No. Another was nearly perfect visually but rendered hair as a separate layer with a slight delay under fast movement. No. Another had excellent voice conversion. Reyes listened to the sample. Then listened again. Not because it was bad. Because it was too good. The target voice remained perfect under every sentence. Too stable. Real voices were not stable. People breathed differently when amused. Pitch shifted slightly under fatigue. Speech tightened under annoyance. A person's voice was not simply a sound profile. Birgitta's certainly was not. No. Reyes closed it. She took another drink of bad coffee. The problem had become oddly satisfying. Not enjoyable. She was not going to give it that much credit. But satisfying in the way some jobs were satisfying once they stopped being vague. The first few weeks of looking had been annoying because Reyes had not known exactly what she was asking for. Now she did. Not a fake face. Not a filter. Not a disguised voice. Not an avatar. Not synthetic conversation. A translation layer. One person in. One known identity out. Everything underneath preserved. The software should not decide whether Birgitta smiled. Reyes decided that. It should not decide whether Birgitta sounded amused. Reyes did. It should not create gestures. Reyes moved. The system's job was brutally narrow. Take whatever Reyes did. Render Birgitta doing it. Nothing more. Nothing less. She opened her notes. The requirements had grown since yesterday. **ONE SOURCE** **ONE TARGET** **LOCAL PROCESSING** **NO RECEIVER SOFTWARE** **VOICE + VISUAL** **NORMAL MOVEMENT** **LONG CALLS** **FAIL CLOSED** Underneath she had added: **EXPRESSION MUST TRANSFER, NOT GENERATE** And: **NO AUTONOMOUS CORRECTION** That last one had come from another product she had tested that morning. The system had automatically softened expressions it considered unattractive. Reyes had discovered this when she deliberately frowned. The rendered target had looked mildly concerned. She had tried again. Angrier. Concerned. She had then flipped the camera off. The target had smiled politely. Reyes had deleted the software. No machine was going to decide Birgitta's personality needed improving. The normal agent vibrated. A reply from yesterday's contact. **Got two names. Neither fits exactly.** Reyes opened it. First name. She recognized it. Competent. Good reputation. Wrong specialty. Second. Unknown. She searched. Mostly data reconstruction. Interesting skills. Still wrong. She typed: **Neither.** The reply: **Thought so.** **REYES:** Then why send them? **Because you asked.** Reyes looked at that for a moment. Fair. She closed the chat. Birgitta's agent vibrated against the inside of her jacket. Different sensation. Different device. Reyes reached inside and glanced at it below table height. Panam. Text. **PANAM:** Free yet? Reyes smiled faintly. Yesterday's excuse was still sitting between them. Client. Panam clearly remembered. **BIRGITTA:** Currently between disasters. **PANAM:** That mean yes? **BIRGITTA:** Temporarily. **PANAM:** Good. A few seconds passed. **PANAM:** Where are you? Reyes looked around. Cheap Watson café. Three customers. A bored employee wiping the same section of counter for the fourth time. Nothing Birgitta-specific about any of it. **BIRGITTA:** Getting coffee. **PANAM:** Good coffee? Reyes looked at the cup. **BIRGITTA:** No. **PANAM:** Then why are you drinking it? **BIRGITTA:** Principle. **PANAM:** That's not a principle. **BIRGITTA:** It's mine. Panam replied: **You people in Night City are broken.** Reyes smiled. **BIRGITTA:** Says the woman who considers sleeping in a truck normal. A pause. **PANAM:** Truck has better coffee. Reyes actually laughed. The employee glanced toward her. She ignored him. **BIRGITTA:** That is depressingly believable. Another pause. Then: **PANAM:** Holo? There it was again. Reyes's thumb stopped. No danger. No pressure. Just one word. A completely normal request. She looked at the café around her. Even if she had been physically alone somewhere private, it would not matter. She was Reyes. She typed: **BIRGITTA:** Can't right now. Panam answered almost immediately. **PANAM:** Client again? Reyes stared at that. Then smiled. There was no suspicion in it. If anything, faint teasing. Yesterday's explanation had already become ordinary. Reyes could use it again. Easy. Too easy. She typed: **BIRGITTA:** No. Stopped. Deleted it. Typed: **BIRGITTA:** Public place. That was true. **PANAM:** Ah. Then: **PANAM:** Later? Reyes leaned back. **BIRGITTA:** Maybe. **PANAM:** You say maybe a lot. Reyes looked at that longer than she should have. Not accusation. Observation. A tiny one. But there it was. The limitation beginning to create a pattern. Reyes typed: **BIRGITTA:** Occupational hazard. Panam sent: **Sure.** Reyes frowned slightly. Not suspicious. Still not. But Panam had noticed the repetition. That was enough. Reyes put Birgitta's agent back inside her jacket. The coffee suddenly seemed even worse. She picked up the normal agent. Opened the folder again. Search. Another package. Another forum. Another dead lead. Then another. She worked methodically. Not frantic. Not desperate. This was what Reyes did when something irritated her enough. She kept pushing until the problem became specific enough to break. Two hours later, the answer had not appeared. But the question had become sharper. She no longer searched: **real-time identity replacement** She searched: **custom live holo transformation pipeline** Different results. Better vocabulary. Still mostly wrong. She found a forum discussion from several years earlier. Most of it was technical masturbation. People arguing about frameworks. Processing chains. Latency. Hardware. Which architecture was theoretically superior under conditions nobody involved had ever encountered. Reyes skimmed. Then stopped. One comment: **If you're doing fixed source to fixed target, universal reconstruction is a waste. Calibrate both ends and narrow the problem.** Reyes read it twice. That. Exactly that. She opened the account. Deleted. Of course. She copied the sentence into her notes. Underneath: **CALIBRATE BOTH ENDS** That changed the search again. Birgitta already existed. Physically. Completely. Why would software need to invent anything? It could be shown both women. Reyes as source. Birgitta as target. Same person underneath. Different external identity. That should make the problem easier. Or at least narrower. She returned to the search. Another hour. Nothing. But now she knew what she wanted well enough to reject things before downloading them. Progress. Her normal agent buzzed. A new message. Not one of the usual contacts. A man Reyes had worked with twice. Long enough ago that she had nearly forgotten he still had her number. The message contained no greeting. **Heard you're looking for someone who does weird holo work.** Reyes's eyes narrowed. Information moved fast. Sometimes too fast. She typed: **Depends who's asking.** The reply: **Nobody. Heard from someone you asked.** Better. **REYES:** You know someone? Pause. **Maybe.** Reyes hated that word when other people used it. **REYES:** How maybe? Longer pause. Then: **He doesn't advertise.** Reyes sat slightly straighter. That did not mean competent. Lots of incompetent people did not advertise. Sometimes because prison had made advertising inconvenient. She typed: **What does he do?** The answer arrived: **Depends what you need.** Reyes looked at it. Unhelpful. **REYES:** That's not an answer. **It is with Him.** Reyes stopped. Capital H again. Not the same contact as yesterday. Interesting. She typed: **Name.** No answer. Thirty seconds. Then: **Don't know one.** Reyes frowned. **REYES:** Handle? **No.** **REYES:** Then what exactly do you call him? The reply came instantly. **The Man.** Reyes stared at the screen. Read it again. Then slowly leaned back. Of course. Night City could never simply provide a normal answer. She typed: **You're serious.** **Yes.** **REYES:** **“The Man.”** **That's what people call Him.** There it was again. Reyes looked down at the words. Not _a man_. Not _some guy_. Not a handle written like one. The Man. Him. Apparently everyone involved understood this arrangement except Reyes. She typed: **What does The Man actually do?** The reply took longer. When it came, it was almost irritatingly simple. **Tell Him what you need. He'll tell you if He can do it.** Reyes read it. Then: **REYES:** **Holo identity rendering?** **Ask Him.** Reyes exhaled through her nose. **REYES:** **Where?** The answer appeared. **Megabuilding H10.** A second message. **Sublevel 4.** Reyes did not move for several seconds. H10. Not a data fortress. Not some corpo tower. Not a hidden Badlands bunker. Megabuilding H10. Watson. One of the most aggressively ordinary answers possible. She typed: **Contact?** **No public number.** Of course. **REYES:** **Then how do I get in?** A pause. **I'll tell Him you're coming.** Reyes frowned. **REYES:** **He know my name?** **Only Reyes.** That was acceptable. Then another message arrived. **If He doesn't want the job, He'll tell you.** Reyes looked at that. No pitch. No recommendation speech. No guarantee. No promise that The Man was the best in Night City. Just: Go ask. For the first time since the search began, Reyes felt genuinely interested. She saved the location. **MEGABUILDING H10** **SUBLEVEL 4** Then closed the conversation. Birgitta's agent vibrated again. Panam. Reyes pulled it out. **PANAM:** You still drinking terrible coffee? Reyes looked at the cup. Cold now. She typed: **BIRGITTA:** Unfortunately. **PANAM:** Holo when you get home? Reyes stopped. Then looked at the address sitting on her normal agent. H10. Sublevel 4. The Man. She looked back at Panam's message. And smiled. **BIRGITTA:** Not tonight. Three dots. **PANAM:** **Tomorrow?** Reyes's smile stayed. This time the answer felt different. Not because the problem was solved. It was nowhere near solved. But for the first time, Reyes had something that was not another package. Not another demo. Not another almost. A person. Maybe. She typed: **BIRGITTA:** Soon. Panam answered: **PANAM:** You keep saying that. Reyes looked at the address again. Then replied: **BIRGITTA:** I know. She slipped Birgitta's agent back into her jacket. Finished the cold coffee. Stood. And decided that tomorrow, she was going down to Sublevel 4. --- # CHAPTER 3 — THE MAN Megabuilding H10 did not care that Reyes had come looking for someone called The Man. That was probably a good sign. She entered through one of the ordinary public access levels just after midday and immediately disappeared into the building's normal rhythm. People. Vendors. Food. Arguments. Cheap music bleeding from somewhere it had no right to be that loud. Children cutting between adults with the suicidal confidence of people who had not yet discovered how much mass grown humans carried. A delivery drone complaining audibly about an obstructed route. Somebody shouting from an upper balcony. Somebody else shouting back. H10 being H10. Reyes stopped just inside long enough to check the directions she had been sent that morning. Not a map. That would have been too civilized. Instead: **Public lifts to maintenance level.** **Left past utility junction 3C.** **Service lift.** **Sublevel 4.** And, helpfully: **Don't take the red-marked stairwell unless you enjoy walking back up.** Reyes looked at that last line for a moment. Then put the agent away. “Good to know.” She followed the flow toward the lifts. Nothing about the route suggested a hidden technical specialist. That was what interested her. People who wanted to look secret generally tried too hard. Encrypted directions. Blindfolds. Changing vehicles. Abandoned industrial buildings with one suspiciously clean door. This was a megabuilding. Thousands of people. Thousands of apartments. Thousands of reasons for someone to be somewhere. The perfect place to disappear was not always somewhere empty. Sometimes it was somewhere nobody could be bothered to notice you. The public lift took her down. Not far. The doors opened onto a maintenance level where H10's public face began to thin. Still people. Still movement. But different people now. Workers. Utility techs. Two women hauling replacement ducting on a low cart. A man in dirty coveralls sitting against a wall eating noodles from a container balanced on one knee. A service drone with one side panel missing. Nobody looked at Reyes for more than a second. Good. She walked left. Utility junction 3C appeared exactly where promised. Beyond it, the corridor narrowed. The lighting changed. Not darker. Less concerned with being pleasant. Functional strips. Cable channels. Access panels. Concrete. Metal. The distant mechanical pulse of a building large enough to require its own internal weather. Reyes kept walking. The public noise fell behind her. Not all at once. It faded gradually. Voices first. Music. Then the layered hum of commerce and domestic life. What remained was infrastructure. Fans. Pumps. Electrical systems. The occasional thud of something large turning on somewhere behind a wall. She found the service lift. Old. Ugly. Still operational. The control panel included floors most residents probably never thought about. Reyes selected: **S4** The doors closed. The lift descended. One level. Two. A faint vibration under her boots. Three. Then four. The doors opened. Sublevel 4 was quieter. Not silent. Never silent. H10 was too large for silence. But the sounds here belonged to machinery rather than people. Ventilation. Coolant systems. A distant relay clicking. Somewhere farther down the corridor, a motor started, ran for six seconds, stopped. Reyes stepped out. No welcoming sign. No helpful arrow marked **SHADECORP MEDIA THIS WAY**. Of course not. She checked the directions again. **Right.** **Past two sealed utility doors.** **Third door.** **If open, go in.** Reyes looked down the corridor. One sealed utility door. Second. Then the third. Different. Not dramatically. Just enough. It had been repainted at some point. Poorly. A small rectangular panel had been attached beside it. No logo. No company name. No intercom. The door itself was open. Reyes stopped outside. From somewhere inside came the soft layered noise of several machines doing different things. Fans at different speeds. A drive spinning up. A notification tone. Something that sounded suspiciously like an old mechanical relay. Then a man's voice. “Come in.” Reyes had not knocked. She entered. And stopped. Not because anything was threatening. Because there was a lot to look at. The room was lot larger than she had expected. Not enormous. Not some underground command center. A workshop. That was the word. Actual work happened here. Several computers occupied one wall. Not identical machines. Not matching cases. Different generations. Different manufacturers. Different modifications. One system looked almost new. Another looked old enough that Reyes suspected half the city would consider it obsolete. It was running. So were all the others. Three agents sat connected to separate interfaces. One projected dense scrolling diagnostics. Another displayed some kind of image-processing workspace. A third was doing something Reyes could not identify immediately and did not particularly care to. A compact screen in one corner showed network traffic. Another had a paused frame of what looked like a damaged industrial controller. A machine beneath the main bench emitted a low pulse every few seconds. No decoration. No museum pieces. Everything was on. Everything appeared to have a reason to be on. One man sat in the middle of it. Middle-aged. Plain dark shirt. Sleeves pushed back. No visible chrome beyond what Night City considered normal enough not to count. And sunglasses. Reyes looked at them for perhaps half a second too long. Familiar style. Very familiar. The association arrived instantly. Konrad. Then stopped there. Nothing else matched. Not the face. Not the posture. Not the voice. Not the room. Not the energy. Just the glasses. Reyes filed it away under: **Odd.** The man looked up from the terminal in front of him. Not hurried. Not suspicious. Not impressed. He had apparently already decided Reyes was the person he had been told to expect. “You're Reyes.” Not a question. “Yes.” He nodded once. “Door.” Reyes glanced behind her. Still open. She closed it. When she turned back, The Man had already returned his attention to one of the screens. Reyes waited. Three seconds. Five. He tapped something. A process moved to another monitor. Another machine gave a short tone. He looked at Reyes again. “What do you need?” There it was. No introduction. No name. No handshake. No sales pitch. Reyes stepped closer to the workbench. “I have a dedicated agent for a second identity.” The Man waited. No reaction. No eyebrow. Nothing. Good. “The identity is physical. Real face. Real voice. Real presentation.” “Yours?” “Yes.” “Same user.” “Yes.” He nodded. “Continue.” Reyes took Birgitta's agent from inside her jacket and placed it on the cleared section of the bench between them. The Man looked at it. Did not touch it yet. Reyes continued. “When this agent receives or places a holo call, I need the other side to see the second identity.” “Live.” “Yes.” “Not prerecorded.” “No.” “Not avatar-controlled.” “No.” “Your expressions.” “Yes.” “Your movement.” “Yes.” “Your timing.” “Yes.” “Voice?” “Also live.” He looked at the agent again. “Fixed target?” “Yes.” “One source?” “Yes.” “Always you?” “Yes.” That earned the slightest shift in his expression. Not surprise. Recognition. The problem had just become smaller in his head. Reyes saw it happen. Good. The Man reached for the agent. “Unlocked?” Reyes tapped authorization. He picked it up. Turned it over once. Checked the ports. Opened a diagnostic interface without doing anything invasive. Reyes watched his hands. Competent hands. No unnecessary movement. He examined the device itself first. Then the software environment. Then the communications stack. No theatrical pauses. No muttered admiration. No “interesting.” People who said “interesting” too early usually meant _I don't know what I'm looking at yet but want you to think I do._ The Man said nothing. A machine behind him chimed. Without looking, he reached sideways and pressed one key on another terminal. The sound stopped. Reyes glanced toward it. He noticed. “Not yours.” “I assumed.” “Good.” He kept working. Reyes let him. A minute passed. Then another. He opened something deeper in the agent. Reyes recognized parts of what he was looking at. Not all. Enough to know he was not wandering. He was tracing. Video capture. Holo formatting. Audio. Transmission. Internal processing. The agent's own available compute. He checked power behavior. Thermal limits. Storage. Then stopped. Looked at Reyes. “You said the target exists physically.” “Yes.” “I'll need her.” Reyes stared at him. The Man stared back. No joke in his face. Reyes understood immediately. “You mean me.” “I mean both.” Reyes folded her arms. “That could become inconvenient.” “Only if you're bad at being both.” The answer came so dryly Reyes was not entirely sure whether it had been a joke. Possibly not. That made it funnier. “She exists.” “Good.” “I can bring her.” “Good.” He returned to the agent. Reyes watched him for another few seconds. “You're not asking why.” “No.” “Most people would.” “Most people waste time.” Reyes liked him slightly more. The Man opened another diagnostic. “Other side knows the target well?” Reyes answered immediately. “Yes.” “How well?” “Days together. Long conversations. Physical proximity. Enough to notice if something is wrong.” “Good.” Reyes's eyes narrowed. “Good?” “If you wanted to fool strangers, you wouldn't need me.” Fair. He continued. “Lighting uncontrolled?” “Yes.” “Movement?” “Normal.” “Define normal.” “Talking while walking. Turning. Sitting. Standing. Drinking. Hands across face. Bad angles.” “Hair movement?” “Yes.” “Occlusion?” “Yes.” “Long calls?” “Yes.” “How long?” Reyes considered. “Potentially hours.” The Man finally looked up again. “Hours.” “Yes.” “Continuous?” “If necessary.” He nodded slowly. Not rejecting it. Recalculating. “Voice has to stay live through all of it?” “Yes.” “No secondary device on receiver side.” “No.” “No shared software.” “No.” “They answer a normal holo call.” “And see her.” The Man leaned back slightly. Reyes waited. He looked at Birgitta's agent. Then at one of the larger systems behind him. Then back at Reyes. “Possible.” One word. Reyes's attention sharpened. Not: _Maybe._ Not: _Should be._ Not: _I can try._ Possible. “What would you change?” “Pipeline.” “Hardware?” The Man looked at the agent again. “No.” Reyes paused. That surprised her. “No hardware?” “No reason.” “You're sure?” He looked at her. “Yes.” Reyes almost smiled. Kiro's earlier work on Dalia's agent had required mechanical changes. Different problem. Different device. Different approach. Still, Reyes had expected at least something physical. A processor. A custom module. An internal board. Anything. The Man apparently did not. He rotated the agent once between his fingers. “This has enough.” “For full visual and voice?” “For one source and one target.” There it was again. Narrow scope. Reyes leaned one hand on the edge of the bench. “Explain.” The Man set the agent down. “Camera and sensor data come in.” Reyes nodded. “Normally the device packages that into holo output.” “Yes.” “I interrupt before output.” “Locally.” “Yes.” “You rebuild the identity before transmission.” “Yes.” “Visual and voice.” “Yes.” “Then hand it back to the normal holo stack.” “Yes.” Reyes considered the architecture. “So the receiver gets nothing unusual.” “Correct.” “No custom handshake.” “No.” “No extra software.” “No.” “No indication it's being transformed.” “Not if it works.” Reyes liked that qualification. Not confidence theater. Just engineering. “And if it doesn't?” The Man paused. That question mattered. Reyes saw that immediately. He looked at her rather than the agent. “What do you want?” “Never raw.” “Meaning?” “If the renderer fails, it does not show me.” The Man nodded once. “Fail closed.” “Yes.” “Freeze?” “Maybe.” “Drop video?” “Maybe.” “Disconnect?” “Acceptable.” “Audio?” “If voice confidence drops, same rule.” The Man nodded again. “Good.” He turned to one of the computers. Typed something. A new workspace opened. Blank. Then several system modules appeared. Reyes looked over his shoulder. “You're starting now?” “I know what you need.” “You haven't quoted me.” “Later.” “You haven't told me how long.” “Later.” Reyes stared at the side of his head. The sunglasses remained completely unhelpful. “You run every job like this?” “No.” “What makes mine special?” “It isn't.” Reyes laughed once. There was absolutely no humor in his face. That made it worse. “Good to know.” The Man connected Birgitta's agent to one of the systems. Not permanently. Diagnostic link. The machine recognized it. Another display populated. Reyes glanced around the workshop again. Now that she was standing still, she noticed more. One machine was compiling something. Another showed a live agent session unrelated to hers. A third had a terminal open with four separate processes running simultaneously. An older computer beside it was connected to what looked like legacy industrial hardware. Reyes pointed at it. “That thing actually does something?” The Man did not look. “Yes.” “What?” “Something.” Reyes waited. Nothing else. She nodded. “Of course.” A tiny movement touched the corner of his mouth. Maybe. Reyes was not sure. He opened Birgitta's outgoing holo stack. Looked through it. “Target calibration first.” “When?” “Bring Birgitta.” “Today?” “If you can.” Reyes considered the logistics. Full physical Birgitta was possible today. Hair. Contacts. Face. Voice. Wardrobe. Not immediate. But possible. She looked at him. “You need me first?” “I have you now.” “Capture?” “Yes.” Reyes straightened. “Here?” “Yes.” The Man indicated an open section of the room. Not a studio. No glamorous equipment. Just enough clear space in front of a sensor rig Reyes had initially mistaken for part of another workstation. “You already have a capture setup.” “Yes.” “For this?” “No.” Of course not. Reyes stepped into position. The Man adjusted the sensors. “Look forward.” Reyes did. “Turn left.” She turned. “Right.” Done. “Down.” Done. “Up.” Done. “Talk.” “What do you want me to say?” “Anything.” Reyes looked directly at him. “Your customer service is exceptional.” “Again.” Reyes laughed. He captured that. Of course he did. “Neutral.” She let the expression go. “Annoyed.” “You want authentic?” “Yes.” “You're doing well.” Another capture. “Smile.” Reyes looked at him. “No.” “Good.” The Man captured that too. Reyes shook her head. “This is going to be a long day.” “Probably.” Another angle. Another expression. He had Reyes walk across the open space. Turn. Stop. Talk while moving. Raise a hand. Cover part of her face. Move it away. Sit. Stand. Lean. Look over one shoulder. Nothing complicated. Just data. Source behavior. Source geometry. Source voice. The raw material the system would later translate. At one point another machine sounded a warning. The Man walked away mid-capture, corrected something on the far terminal, restarted a process and returned without explanation. Reyes watched him. “How many things are you working on?” “Enough.” “That answer mean you don't know?” “No.” “How many?” He adjusted a sensor. “Seven.” Reyes looked around. “That I can see?” “Five.” Reyes paused. The Man continued working. She decided not to ask. Ten minutes later he lowered the sensor rig. “Done.” “With me.” “Yes.” “And now Birgitta.” “Yes.” Reyes stepped out of the capture area. She picked up her jacket. “How complete?” The Man looked at her. “Complete.” “Hair.” “Yes.” “Eyes.” “Yes.” “Face.” “Yes.” “Voice.” “Yes.” “Clothes?” “Something she actually wears.” “Movement?” “Be her.” Reyes stopped. That was the first instruction that had not sounded purely technical. The Man noticed. “She moves differently.” Reyes's eyes narrowed. “You got that from this?” “No.” “Then?” “You told me the other person knows her.” Reyes waited. “If I map your face and voice and ignore the target's movement, you'll look right and feel wrong.” Reyes considered him for a long moment. Then nodded. That was exactly why every commercial system had irritated her. The Man had reached the same conclusion without seeing Birgitta once. “Fine.” He disconnected the agent and handed it back. Reyes slipped it into her jacket. “When should I come back?” “When you're her.” “That isn't a time.” “No.” Reyes stared at him. The Man sat down again. One of the screens changed. Her job was apparently already one of several things moving through his head. Reyes headed toward the door. Then stopped. Looked back. “What do people actually call you?” The Man kept typing. “The Man.” “That's ridiculous.” “Yes.” “You have another name.” “Yes.” Reyes waited. Nothing. She smiled despite herself. “Not giving it to me.” “No.” “Fine.” She opened the door. Behind her, The Man said: “Reyes.” She looked back. He pointed at Birgitta's agent in her hand. “Don't change anything on that before you come back.” “I wasn't planning to.” “People always say that.” “I don't.” The Man looked at her for a second. Then nodded. Accepted. Reyes stepped into the corridor. The door remained open behind her. No dramatic lock. No security field. No secret disappearance. Just a workshop on Sublevel 4. Several computers. Several agents. One middle-aged man wearing annoyingly familiar sunglasses. And, apparently, the first person Reyes had found who heard the problem and responded with: **Possible.** She started toward the service lift. Halfway there, Birgitta's agent buzzed inside her jacket. Reyes stopped. Pulled it out. Panam. **PANAM:** Busy? Reyes looked back down the corridor. Then at the message. A smile appeared slowly. **BIRGITTA:** Right now? She typed another line. **BIRGITTA:** Extremely. Panam replied: **PANAM:** Client? Reyes looked at the open ShadeCorp door in the distance. At the unremarkable corridor. At the agent in her hand. Then typed: **BIRGITTA:** Something like that. She put the agent away. And headed upstairs to go become Birgitta. --- # CHAPTER 4 — BRING ME BIRGITTA By the time Reyes returned to Megabuilding H10, Reyes was going to be gone for a while. Not literally. That distinction remained important. But Victor's second-generation voice sculpt was not something Reyes activated for an afternoon and casually discarded before dinner. Once she committed to a Birgitta period, she committed properly. One day. Minimum. Not hours. Long enough for the brighter, higher voice to stop feeling like technology and simply become the sound that came out when she opened her mouth. Long enough for the face, hair, eyes, wardrobe and behavior to stop being preparation and settle into routine. Long enough that Panam could spend time with Birgitta without every meeting being built around a clock. That was the point. So when Birgitta crossed Megabuilding H10's public level for the second time that day, she was not Reyes temporarily dressed for a technical appointment. She was Birgitta. And she would remain Birgitta some time after she left. Muted copper-grey hair framed a face built far enough away from Reyes to survive scrutiny from people who knew the woman underneath. Very light brown eyes moved through the crowd with open interest. The dermal-conforming mesh had settled cleanly. Warm. Natural. Expressive. No stiffness. No visual seam. Nothing that read as a mask. Her clothes looked almost restrained by Night City standards. Elegant. Expensive. Controlled. Then Birgitta moved inside them and the lie became obvious. The restraint belonged entirely to the fabric. The woman wearing it had no intention of cooperating. A man near one of the food stalls glanced at her. Looked away. Looked back. Birgitta caught him the second time and smiled. He immediately found the menu fascinating. She continued toward the lift. Reyes would have ignored him. Birgitta enjoyed giving people enough rope to embarrass themselves. Not cruelty. Just weather. The public lift arrived. She stepped inside. Two others followed. Nobody spoke. Birgitta looked at her reflection in the polished strip beside the control panel. Copper-grey. Light brown. Different face. Different voice waiting under her tongue. She tilted her head. The reflection copied her. “Still me.” The bright voice returned softly from the lift walls. One passenger glanced toward her. Birgitta smiled. He stopped looking. Good. The doors opened on the maintenance level. She stepped out. Left past utility junction 3C. The route already felt familiar. That was another useful difference between identities. The building did not care which woman walked through it. Same functional lights. Same workers. Same ventilation. Same narrow transition from public H10 toward the parts of the megabuilding built for machinery instead of residents. The service lift waited where Reyes had left it. Birgitta entered. Pressed: **S4** The doors closed. The lift descended. By the time it opened again, the public noise was gone. Sublevel 4. Fans. Pumps. Relays. The deep mechanical pulse of a building too large to ever be truly still. Birgitta stepped out. Two sealed utility doors. Then the third. Still open. She heard ShadeCorp before she saw The Man. Fans at different speeds. Several systems running simultaneously. A notification tone. Something old enough to have moving parts protesting quietly about continued employment. Birgitta entered. The Man looked up. Stopped. Not dramatically. But he did stop. His eyes moved over her once. Hair. Face. Eyes. Posture. Then back to her face. Technical. Not admiring. Not suspicious. Comparing. Birgitta smiled brightly. “Looking for Reyes?” “No.” She waited. The Man looked at her another second. “Birgitta.” Her smile sharpened. “You remembered.” “You told me.” “Reyes told you.” “Yes.” Birgitta stepped farther into the workshop. “Well, that's already inconveniently accurate.” The Man stood. “You move differently.” There. Not: _You look different._ Anyone could see that. Movement. Birgitta looked down at herself as if checking. “I would hope so.” “It matters.” “I assumed everything matters to you.” “Most things don't.” “That may be the most reassuring thing you've said.” The Man held out one hand. “Agent.” Birgitta removed it from her bag. Same device. Same casing. Nothing about it announced that it belonged to a woman who technically did not exist. She placed it in his hand. The Man checked it. “You didn't alter it.” “I told you I wouldn't.” “People do.” “You said that too.” “Yes.” “You repeat yourself.” “When necessary.” Birgitta raised one eyebrow. “Charming.” The Man connected the agent to one of the systems. Several windows populated almost immediately. He looked toward the open capture area. “Stand there.” Birgitta obeyed. The sensor rig activated. The Man adjusted something. “Neutral.” Birgitta looked at him. “You met Reyes.” “Yes.” “And now you want neutral Birgitta.” “Yes.” “That seems philosophically difficult.” “Neutral.” She let the smile fall away. Not into Reyes. That was the point. Birgitta without a smile was still Birgitta. The openness remained. The posture. The way she carried her shoulders. The balance in her stance. Reyes could stand still and make an entire room understand that approaching her was optional. Birgitta stood still and made the room wonder what would happen if it did. The Man watched the data. “Good.” “I'm glad one of us is enjoying this.” “Left.” She turned. “Right.” Done. “Up.” She looked upward. “Down.” Done. “Smile.” Birgitta smiled. “Less.” She reduced it. “More.” It returned. “Real one.” She stared at him. “That was real.” “No.” Birgitta's eyes narrowed. The Man waited. “You are irritating.” “Good.” The smile changed. Small. Genuine. Just annoyed enough to belong completely to her. The Man captured it. Birgitta pointed at him. “You did that deliberately.” “Yes.” “Asshole.” “Again.” She laughed. He captured that too. Birgitta shook her head. “You have developed a disturbingly effective calibration method.” “Talk.” “You keep giving me commands like you're disappointed I didn't arrive with a manual.” “Anything.” “All right.” Birgitta looked toward the sensor. “The coffee upstairs is terrible.” “Longer.” “That is the full review.” “Longer.” She sighed. “The coffee upstairs is a crime against beans, water, temperature control and probably at least three agreements Night City stopped recognizing before either of us was born.” The Man watched the waveform. “Again.” “You liked it.” “No.” “Liar.” “Again.” Birgitta repeated the sentence. Different rhythm. Same voice. The Man captured both. Then: “Laugh while talking.” “No.” “Why?” “Because people who laugh on command sound deranged.” “Then make yourself laugh.” “You first.” The Man looked at her. Nothing. Birgitta waited. Still nothing. She put one hand on her hip. “Fuck me, Reyes really did find the only man in Night City who can make silence argumentative.” The laugh escaped before she finished. The Man captured it. Birgitta stopped. “You absolute bastard.” “Good.” “I am beginning to understand your reputation.” “I don't have one.” “You're called The Man.” “Yes.” “That is a reputation.” “No.” Birgitta opened her mouth. Closed it again. “Fine.” The Man pointed across the open floor. “Walk.” She did. The difference was immediate. Reyes moved efficiently. Every step had a destination. Every line through a room tended toward the shortest useful route. Birgitta did not waste movement either. But she allowed herself to be seen moving. There was social space in it. A little more looseness. A little more rhythm. Enough body language to invite attention without performing for it. A joytoy who obviously practiced walking like a joytoy had already failed. Birgitta simply occupied herself differently. “Again,” The Man said. She crossed the space. “Turn halfway.” Done. “Talk while turning.” “You know you're very demanding for someone who hasn't offered me coffee.” “Natural.” “That was natural.” “More natural.” Birgitta stopped. “You understand how stupid that instruction is?” “Yes.” “Good.” She walked again. Turned. Looked back over one shoulder. “If you're going to watch me this closely, I'm raising my rate.” The Man made a note. Birgitta looked at him. “That was a joke.” “I know.” “You could react.” “No.” “Hostile workplace.” “You don't work here.” “Thank God.” He continued. “Hands.” “What?” “Use them.” She gestured. “Like this?” “Normally.” “This is normal.” “Reyes uses them less.” Birgitta stopped again. Now he had her attention. “You got that from one session.” “Yes.” “You were paying attention.” “Yes.” “Dangerous habit.” “Useful.” Birgitta looked at him for another beat. Then resumed. Talking. Gesturing. Turning. Sitting. Standing. Reaching. He handed her an empty glass. Birgitta examined it. “No coffee.” “No.” “Water?” “No.” “Customer retention is not your strength.” “Drink.” She looked into the empty glass. “Air?” “For tracking.” Birgitta lifted it to her mouth. The Man watched how the system mapped the obstruction across lips, jaw and cheek. “Again.” She repeated it. This time she covered more of her face. Turned. Lowered the glass. The Man adjusted something. “Hair.” Birgitta touched the copper-grey strands. “What about it?” “Move it.” She swept it back with one hand. He watched. “Again.” She changed the fall. Turned her head. Again. Faster. Then The Man pulled a small fan into position. Birgitta stared. “No.” “Yes.” “You are not putting me in front of a fan.” “Hair movement.” “This is one cheap perfume ad away from becoming humiliating.” The fan started. Her copper-grey hair lifted. Birgitta gave him a look through moving strands. The Man watched the sensors. “Turn.” She turned. “Other way.” Done. “Brush it away.” She did. Another angle. A little stronger airflow. Birgitta endured it for another thirty seconds. “If anybody ever asks, this did not happen.” “Who?” That stopped her. She looked around the workshop. Machines. Agents. The Man. No visible human witness beyond him. “Fair.” The fan stopped. “Voice while moving.” “You truly intend to collect everything.” “Yes.” “Necessary?” “Yes.” “For Panam?” The name slipped naturally. The Man did not react. “Receiver?” “Yes.” “Then yes.” Nothing else. No curiosity. No smile. No question about what Panam was to Birgitta. No attempt to understand the relationship. Technically: receiver. Birgitta appreciated that. The Man adjusted another capture channel. “Angry.” “You want me angry.” “Yes.” “That normally costs extra.” He looked at her. “Joytoy joke.” “I understood.” “Did you?” “Yes.” “Could've fooled me.” “Good.” She laughed again. Captured. The Man checked the data. “Actually angry.” Birgitta folded her arms. “At what?” He answered immediately. “The renderer exposes Reyes during a live call.” The change was instant. The brightness vanished. Not the identity. Birgitta remained Birgitta. But the social warmth dropped out of her face. Eyes sharpened. Posture changed. Her bright voice tightened. “If your software ever shows Reyes to Panam, the call dropping will be the smallest problem you have that day.” The Man watched her. Then nodded. “That.” Birgitta stared. “You did it again.” “Yes.” “You enjoy provoking useful reactions.” “No.” “You're lying.” “No.” “You're impossible.” “Yes.” At least that one he admitted. The capture continued. Long enough for Birgitta to understand what The Man was actually doing. Not photographing her. Not building a cosmetic model. Mapping behavior. Reyes listened one way. Birgitta listened another. Reyes's resting face carried guarded distance. Birgitta's carried invitation. A small head tilt appeared naturally in Birgitta that Reyes almost never used. Hands moved more. Eye contact stayed longer. Reactions surfaced faster. None of it made Birgitta a second person. That distinction remained absolute. Same judgment. Same memories. Same boundaries. Same woman underneath. Different social grammar. Different visible identity. The Man was capturing the grammar. He had her repeat phrases from different angles. Speak softly. Speak normally. Raise her voice. Interrupt herself. Pause halfway through sentences. Turn while talking. Look away. Look back. Sit with one leg crossed. Change position. Lean forward. Lean back. Touch her face. Move her hair. Drink again from the empty glass. Eventually Birgitta took the glass, walked to the small sink at the back of the workshop and filled it herself. The Man glanced over. “You said don't change anything.” “This isn't the agent.” She drank. He returned to the screen. “Are we almost done?” “Yes.” “How much does ‘almost’ mean in your language?” “Almost.” “That was spectacularly useless.” “Yes.” Birgitta returned to the workstation. Two full profiles now occupied separate displays. Reyes. Birgitta. Not photographs. Dense motion and expression maps. Voice data. Tracking. Structural relationships. The software had begun connecting them. Birgitta leaned closer. And finally understood. “You're not teaching it what Birgitta looks like.” The Man glanced at her. “Not only.” “You're teaching it what Birgitta does when Reyes does something.” “Yes.” Birgitta studied the displays. A generic system would ask: What face replaces this face? The Man's system was asking something much narrower. When Reyes smiles like this, what does Birgitta's smile look like? When Reyes turns this way, how does Birgitta carry the same movement? When Reyes speaks with this cadence, how does the established Birgitta voice express it? Not generation. Correspondence. Translation. Birgitta looked at him. “That's why you needed both.” “Yes.” “You could have explained that yesterday.” “I said I needed both.” “That is not remotely the same thing.” “It got you here.” Birgitta stared. Then laughed. “Fuck you.” The Man returned to his work. Another system chimed. He crossed the room. One of the older computers displayed something completely unrelated. Industrial telemetry. One value had wandered outside tolerance. The Man changed something. Waited. The value returned. He came back. Birgitta pointed toward it. “How many things are you doing right now?” “Seven.” “You said seven yesterday.” “Yes.” “Same seven?” “No.” Birgitta paused. “That answer is worse.” The Man did not appear concerned. “One of them mine?” “Yes.” “And the other six?” “Other things.” “What kind of things?” “Different things.” Birgitta stared. “I walked into that.” “Yes.” “Do you ever answer a question properly?” “When the answer matters.” She considered that. Annoyingly fair. The Man returned to Birgitta's agent. Opened the outgoing holo stack. Then one of the mapping windows. Then the voice pipeline. He moved quickly now. The slow part had been understanding what existed. Now he knew. Birgitta leaned against the workbench. “So what happens next?” “I build it.” “How long?” “Don't know yet.” “You told Reyes days.” “Probably.” “Still probably?” “Yes.” “What part don't you know?” “Which part fights back.” Birgitta smiled. That sounded familiar enough to trust. “No hardware?” “No.” “You've changed your mind on anything?” “No.” “The agent has enough?” “For this job.” “One source.” “One target.” “One agent.” Birgitta nodded. Narrow. Deliberate. That remained the reason she liked the approach. No universal identity engine. No software toy somebody could point at any face and become anyone. One very specific translation. Reyes into Birgitta. Nothing else. The Man disconnected the agent and returned it to her. Birgitta took it. “Done with me?” “For now.” “For now?” “I may need more data.” “Reyes or Birgitta?” “Yes.” Birgitta froze. Slowly looked at him. The Man was already looking at another screen. “That was a joke.” “No.” “You made a joke.” “No.” “You absolutely made a joke.” “No.” Birgitta pointed at him. “I heard it.” “You heard what you wanted.” A tiny movement touched one corner of his mouth. Gone almost immediately. Birgitta's eyes widened. “There.” Nothing. “There you fucking are.” “Go.” She laughed. “You're throwing me out?” “I have work.” “You have seven works.” “Yes.” “Fine.” Birgitta picked up her bag. At the doorway she stopped. “How do you contact me?” “Agent.” “Which one?” The Man looked at her. “Birgitta's.” “Good.” “Unless I need Reyes.” “And then?” “Reyes's.” Birgitta nodded. Compartmentalized. Simple. She appreciated that too. The Man turned back to the monitors. Birgitta stepped into the corridor. Then paused. Looked back. Her project had already joined the room. One display held Reyes. Another Birgitta. Between them, processes moved quietly. The Man had gone back to something else. No ceremony. No moment of: _Your impossible machine has begun._ Just work. Birgitta headed for the service lift. The doors opened. She stepped inside. Pressed the maintenance level. The lift began climbing. Birgitta's agent vibrated before she reached the next floor. She looked down. **PANAM** And beneath it: **HOLO REQUEST** Birgitta smiled. No irritation. No calculation. No excuse. No need to think about cameras, raw feeds or what face the other end would see. Right now she was exactly who Panam expected. Birgitta accepted. Panam appeared in front of her. The holo stabilized. Panam was somewhere outdoors. Badlands light. Vehicle behind her. Hair being abused by enough wind to make Birgitta wonder why she had even bothered tying it back. Panam squinted at the image. “There you are.” Birgitta leaned against the lift wall. “Missed me?” “No.” “Terrible liar.” “I called yesterday.” “And today.” “Yes.” “That is generally how missing someone works.” Panam rolled her eyes. Birgitta smiled. The service lift continued upward. Panam looked at her more closely. “You're dressed up.” Birgitta looked down at herself. “I'm always dressed up.” “More than usual.” “I had an appointment.” “What kind?” Birgitta considered. Across the holo, Panam waited. Not suspicious. Interested. There were things Birgitta could answer truthfully without giving away anything important. “Technical.” Panam's expression changed. “You?” Birgitta gasped. “That sounded judgmental.” “You don't look technical.” “That's because I'm expensive.” “That makes no sense.” “It doesn't have to. I'm pretty.” Panam laughed. There. Instant. Natural. Birgitta watched it happen. This was exactly what the renderer eventually had to preserve. Not Panam merely recognizing the face. This. Timing. Reaction. The tiny movement around Panam's eyes when Birgitta landed something properly. The way Panam looked at her when she expected the next line before Birgitta had decided what it was. The lift stopped. Birgitta remained inside. “Hold on.” “Where are you?” “H10.” Panam frowned. “What are you doing in H10?” “Being mysterious.” “You're terrible at it.” “I'm excellent at it.” “You told me where you are.” “Selective mystery.” “That's not a thing.” “It is now.” The lift doors began to close again. Birgitta stopped them with one hand. “Give me a minute.” She stepped out into the quieter maintenance corridor rather than carrying Panam directly into the public crowd. The holo stayed clean. Of course it did. Nothing was transforming anything. The camera saw Birgitta. The microphone heard Birgitta. Panam received Birgitta. Simple. Birgitta leaned against the wall. Panam looked at her. “You free tonight?” “Possibly.” “There it is again.” “What?” “Possibly.” Birgitta smiled. “I have a life.” “You have clients.” “Also true.” “You working tonight?” “Maybe.” Panam groaned. “That one too.” Birgitta laughed. “What answer would satisfy you?” “Yes.” “To what?” “Free tonight.” “That sounds suspiciously like planning my evening for me.” “I can plan it better.” “Confident.” “Yes.” Birgitta looked at her. The call settled for a moment. Nothing urgent. Nothing operational. Just Panam standing somewhere under Badlands sky and Birgitta leaning against a maintenance-level wall inside H10. Seeing each other. That was all. And it was enough to sharpen the purpose of everything happening four levels below. This worked because Birgitta was physically here. Because Victor's voice was active. Because Lena's work was visible. Because the face mesh was on. Because Reyes had committed to being Birgitta for this stretch of her life. There was no technical trick between them. No translation. No renderer. Just Birgitta. Tomorrow would still be Birgitta. The day after that, quite possibly Birgitta. That was not the problem. The problem lived beyond the end of the cover period. Eventually Victor's voice sculpt would run its course. Eventually the copper-grey hair, light eyes and Scandinavian face would disappear again. Eventually Reyes would be sitting somewhere as Reyes. And Panam would still have this button. **HOLO** That was the gap ShadeCorp was supposed to remove. Not today. Later. Panam tilted her head. “You stopped listening.” “No.” “What did I say?” Birgitta smiled. “That depends how much you enjoy being lied to.” “Birgitta.” “Panam.” Panam stared at her. Birgitta held it. Then Panam started laughing. “You're impossible.” “So I've been told today.” “By who?” Birgitta thought of sunglasses. Seven simultaneous jobs. An empty glass. A fan. A man who apparently denied making jokes while making them. “Nobody important.” Four levels below, The Man was building a machine that would eventually allow Reyes to answer Panam exactly like this. But not yet. Right now there was no need. Right now Panam was looking at the real physical Birgitta. And Birgitta intended to enjoy the advantage while it lasted. “So,” she said, settling more comfortably against the wall, “about tonight.” Panam smiled. The conversation continued. --- # CHAPTER 5 — TIME TO GO HOME Madame had been enjoying herself. That was obvious. Not loudly. Panam had never needed volume to control a room. She had spent most of the evening doing what she had become alarmingly good at over the previous several nights: standing slightly outside the center of attention while somehow determining where the center moved. A look. A hand. A quiet instruction. A pause held just long enough. People responded. Birgitta had watched it happen repeatedly. So had everyone else involved. Madame had learned the particular pleasure of directing desire without immediately claiming any for herself. And apparently she had decided this could continue indefinitely. Birgitta disagreed. The disagreement began quietly. She had been leaning against the edge of the private room, watching Panam finish another conversation with the calm satisfaction of someone who had successfully moved several people through an evening exactly where she wanted them. Panam turned. Caught Birgitta looking. Smiled. That smile was dangerous. Not because it promised anything. Because it assumed Panam remained in charge. Birgitta smiled back. Then crossed the room. Panam noticed the change immediately. “Something wrong?” “No.” Birgitta stopped directly in front of her. Close. Closer than conversation required. Panam's expression shifted slightly. Interested now. Birgitta reached for her hand. Not asking. Not dragging either. Just taking it. Panam looked down at their joined hands. Then back up. Birgitta said: “Time to go home.” Panam blinked. For half a second Madame disappeared and Panam stood there instead. Then the smile returned. “Is that an order?” Birgitta did not hesitate. “Yes.” That landed. Panam's eyebrows rose. Birgitta kept her eyes on hers. No joke. No escape hatch. No invitation for Panam to redirect the conversation toward somebody else. Panam studied her. “You've gotten confident.” “I was always confident.” “Mm.” “Don't ‘mm’ me.” That almost made Panam laugh. Almost. Instead she tilted her head. “What if I'm not done?” Birgitta stepped closer. “Then you're going to be disappointed.” Panam's eyes narrowed with amusement. “That sounds threatening.” “No.” Birgitta smiled. “It sounds like I'm taking you home.” A pause. Then Panam laughed quietly. Not Madame's measured, knowing laugh. Panam's. “Fuck.” “Yes.” “You planned this.” “No.” “That makes it worse.” “Good.” Birgitta squeezed her hand once. “Come on.” Panam looked around the room. Habit. Responsibility. Checking. Birgitta saw it. “Everyone is fine.” “I know.” “Then stop working.” “I wasn't working.” Birgitta stared. Panam stared back. Birgitta raised one eyebrow. Panam sighed. “Fine.” “There she is.” “Don't.” Birgitta smiled. “Home.” Panam allowed herself to be led. That mattered more than Birgitta expected. Not physically. Panam could have stopped at any point. Could have turned the entire interaction around with one sentence. Could have transformed Birgitta's command into another round of Madame's game. She did not. The walk out was quiet. Not awkward. Just different. Panam was no longer scanning the room for who needed what. Birgitta could feel the attention narrowing. By the time they reached the vehicle, it belonged entirely to her. Panam leaned against the door before opening it. “So what exactly happens at home?” Birgitta stepped into her space. “You don't get to plan it.” Panam smiled. “You've been waiting to say that.” “Maybe.” “Dangerous answer.” “You like dangerous answers.” Panam laughed. There was the line between them again. Familiar now. Built over miles. Motels. Fuel stops. Roadside meals. Days in a truck. Nights where neither of them had needed to decide whether the connection counted because they were too busy living inside it. Birgitta touched Panam's jaw. Panam went quiet. That was new. Birgitta liked it. “You've had enough nights making everybody else react.” Panam's expression changed. Not defensive. Not embarrassed. Something warmer. “You complaining?” “No.” “Then?” Birgitta smiled. “My turn.” Panam looked at her for several seconds. Then opened the door. “Get in.” Birgitta grinned. “Madame's back.” “Keep talking.” “Gladly.” The drive home was not long. Long enough. Panam kept one hand on the wheel. Birgitta watched her. Panam noticed. “What?” “Nothing.” “You've been staring at me for five minutes.” “Maybe I like the view.” “You've seen me drive before.” “Yes.” “Hundreds of miles.” “Yes.” “And now it's interesting?” “Now you're pretending not to be nervous.” Panam looked at her. “I am not nervous.” Birgitta smiled brightly. “Adorable.” “Fuck you.” “Eventually.” Panam actually missed a gear change. Not badly. Barely. Birgitta saw it. Panam knew she saw it. Neither spoke for several seconds. Then Birgitta said: “Madame.” “Shut up.” Birgitta laughed all the way through the next intersection. By the time they reached home, Panam's dignity had mostly recovered. Mostly. The door closed behind them. That changed things. No audience. No clients. No room waiting to see what Madame would do next. Just Panam. And Birgitta. Panam turned toward her. The habit of control returned almost immediately. Hands at Birgitta's waist. A kiss that tried to set the pace. Birgitta let her. For a few seconds. Then put one hand against Panam's chest and gently stopped her. Panam looked down. Then up. Birgitta smiled. “No.” Panam's eyes darkened. “No?” “You've been doing that for days.” “Doing what?” “Deciding.” Panam leaned closer. “I thought you liked that.” “I do.” That stopped the challenge before it could form. Birgitta touched her face. “I like it a lot.” Panam watched her. Birgitta's thumb moved slowly along her cheek. “But tonight isn't about that.” Something changed in Panam's breathing. Small. Birgitta felt it anyway. She kissed her. Not hard. Not urgent. Just enough to make Panam follow when Birgitta drew back. That was the beginning. Not a battle for control. Birgitta did not want to defeat Madame. She wanted Panam. The woman underneath the confidence. The one who had spent several nights giving direction, holding tension, reading other people's limits and desires with increasing precision. The one who had somehow turned control into another form of care. Birgitta wanted her to stop monitoring everybody else long enough to feel what happened when all that attention came back. So she slowed everything down. Every time Panam tried to accelerate, Birgitta interrupted with another kiss. Another touch. Another quiet instruction. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just insistent. “Stay.” Panam did. “Look at me.” Panam did. That one mattered. The humor softened. Birgitta stayed close. Panam's hands still found her naturally. Still knew her. Still remembered nights and motel rooms and the long courier week. But the rhythm belonged somewhere else now. Not to Madame. Not entirely to Birgitta either. To the fact that one of them had finally decided Panam did not have to remain the person managing the room. Eventually Panam stopped trying. Not dramatically. There was no surrender speech. Her shoulders simply loosened. Her forehead rested briefly against Birgitta's. A breath left her. Birgitta smiled against her skin. “There.” Panam's voice was quieter. “Don't get smug.” “Too late.” “I can still change my mind.” “Yes.” Birgitta kissed her again. “And?” Panam's hands tightened around her. “And I'm not.” Good. The rest unfolded without hurry. But it did unfold. Birgitta did not rush from decision to aftermath. She kissed Panam again and walked her backward toward the bed one slow step at a time, staying close enough that Panam could stop the movement simply by not taking the next step. Panam took every one. At the edge of the bed Birgitta paused. Not for uncertainty. For recognition. Panam looked at her, breathing already a little deeper, hands resting at Birgitta's waist without trying to steer. Birgitta smiled. “Still with me?” “Yes.” “Good.” That word landed differently now. Panam sat when Birgitta guided her down, then immediately reached for her again. Birgitta let herself be pulled close for one kiss. Two. Then caught Panam's wrists gently and lowered them to the bedding beside her. Panam's eyebrows rose. “Really?” “For a minute.” “That an order?” Birgitta leaned in until their foreheads almost touched. “Yes.” Panam laughed softly. Breathlessly enough that the laugh gave her away. Then she left her hands where Birgitta had put them. Choice made. Birgitta kissed her neck. Her shoulder. Back to her mouth. No rush. Clothing came away in stages instead of vanishing between sentences. Birgitta opened one fastening and waited while Panam finished the movement herself. Panam tugged at Birgitta's clothes in return. Birgitta allowed some of it. Stopped her once when Panam tried to turn the exchange back into control. “Not yet.” Panam looked at her. Then deliberately relaxed her hand. “Fine.” The answer was cooperative. The expression was not. Birgitta laughed and kissed it away. Soon there was enough bare skin between them that every small shift carried more consequence. Panam's hands found Birgitta again, but this time they held instead of directed. That was what Birgitta had wanted. Not submission. Not victory. Panam present inside her own pleasure instead of standing half a step outside it managing everyone else's. Birgitta moved lower. Panam noticed immediately. Her breathing stopped for half a beat. Birgitta looked up before going farther. Panam held her gaze. No joke this time. No Madame smile. Just a small nod and the quietest: “Yes.” Birgitta answered by settling closer between her thighs. The first deliberate touch made Panam's eyes close. Not dramatically. Her whole body simply went still for one brief second before a breath escaped her. Birgitta felt Panam's hand find her shoulder. Not pushing. Holding. There. That was the first reaction Birgitta had wanted to see. She stayed with it. Slow enough that Panam had time to feel each change instead of racing toward the next one. Whenever Panam tried to turn the moment into instruction, Birgitta looked up. One glance was usually enough. Once Panam laughed, low and increasingly unsteady. “You really planned this.” Birgitta rose just enough to answer against her skin. “No.” “Liar.” “I just got tired of waiting.” “For what?” Birgitta drew back enough to look at her. “For Madame to remember she gets to enjoy herself too.” Panam's expression went still. Then softer. That was the point where Birgitta stopped teasing. Not because the playfulness was gone. Because something more important had reached the surface. She returned to Panam with the same patience. Panam's composure did not disappear all at once. It came apart in small, unmistakable pieces. A deeper breath. A hand tightening at Birgitta's shoulder. A failed attempt at a sentence. A quiet curse that turned into a laugh because Panam apparently objected to being caught enjoying herself this openly. Birgitta smiled without stopping. “Stay.” Panam did. “Look at me.” Panam managed that too. Barely. The next wave of pleasure broke the eye contact for her. Her head tipped back. Her fingers tightened. Birgitta kept the rhythm steady instead of chasing the reaction. Panam's breathing shortened. Her body drew tighter. Then the control she had carried through so many evenings finally gave way. The release moved through her visibly. A sharp breath. A broken sound she did not try to hide. Her hand gripping Birgitta harder for several seconds before slowly relaxing again. Birgitta stayed exactly where she was until Panam's body stopped trying to outrun itself. Then she moved back up beside her. No immediate joke. No victory line. Just a kiss against Panam's cheek and a hand resting warm against her side while the room went quiet around them. Panam opened her eyes eventually. Birgitta was smiling. Not smugly. Mostly. Panam looked at her for a long moment. Then one hand slid around the back of Birgitta's neck and pulled her down into a kiss. “Your turn.” Birgitta laughed against her mouth. “This was supposed to be about you.” “It was.” Panam's smile returned slowly. “Past tense.” There she was. Not Madame fully restored. Panam. Warm, loose, satisfied, and apparently unwilling to let Birgitta leave the evening untouched. Birgitta could have argued. She did not. Panam rolled them carefully until Birgitta was beneath her, paused long enough to catch her eyes, and waited. Birgitta answered by drawing her closer. That was enough. The second half of the night belonged to both of them. Panam did not recover her earlier managerial distance. She stayed close. Touched Birgitta with the same attentiveness Birgitta had just given her. Watched every reaction instead of hiding behind competence. Birgitta let herself be watched. The pleasure built more quickly this time because nothing in her was waiting anymore. Panam noticed the change in her breathing. The way a joke died halfway to her mouth. The moment Birgitta's hands stopped teasing and simply held on. “Still with me?” Panam asked softly. Birgitta laughed once, breathless. “Unfortunately.” Panam kissed her. “Liar.” Then Birgitta stopped having enough spare attention to answer. Her release arrived with less warning than Panam's had. A caught breath. Eyes closing. Her whole body tightening beneath Panam for several seconds before finally easing again. Panam stayed close through it. No teasing until Birgitta's breathing began to settle. No attempt to move away from the moment too quickly. Only then did they shift together into something comfortable. Panam's arm around her. Birgitta tucked against her side. Warm skin. Breathing gradually synchronizing. Stillness. Eventually Panam spoke. “You look pleased with yourself.” Birgitta considered. “I am.” “Of course you are.” “You needed that.” Panam turned her head. “Careful.” “What?” “You're starting to sound like you know me.” Birgitta smiled. “I do know you.” Panam looked at her. The answer landed differently than the previous jokes. Birgitta did not take it back. Panam's fingers moved slowly along her arm. “Yeah.” A pause. “Maybe you do.” Birgitta settled closer. “Madame survived.” “Barely.” “Tragic.” “Shut up.” “Make me.” Panam kissed her. Problem solved. The next morning, Birgitta woke first. That alone was unusual enough to make her suspicious. Panam slept beside her. One arm across the bedding. Hair in several directions. No trace of Madame. Birgitta smiled. Then immediately decided not to examine why the sight made her chest feel warmer. Dangerous territory. Coffee first. Existential problems later. She slipped out of bed carefully. Panam made a small sound. Birgitta froze. Nothing. Still asleep. Good. She found clothes. Not yesterday's full professional look. Something simpler. Still Birgitta. There was no other option while Victor's voice remained active. She went to the kitchen. Coffee. Real coffee. The universe briefly improved. Her agent vibrated while she waited. Birgitta glanced at it. Message. Not Panam. A local relay. **H10. S4.** Below it: **Need another pass.** Birgitta stared. Then smiled. Of course. The Man apparently considered entire sentences an inefficient luxury. She was still reading it when Panam entered the kitchen. Birgitta locked the agent automatically. Panam noticed. Naturally. “Secret?” “Morning.” “That wasn't an answer.” Birgitta handed her coffee. Panam took it. Looked at the cup. Then at Birgitta. “Bribery?” “Yes.” “Good coffee?” “Yes.” Panam drank. Considered. “Accepted.” Birgitta leaned against the counter. Panam looked annoyingly awake now. “You going somewhere?” “Yes.” “Work?” “Sort of.” “Client?” “No.” Panam raised an eyebrow. That answer apparently increased curiosity rather than reducing it. “Then what?” “Technical thing.” Panam stared. Birgitta drank her coffee. “Technical thing.” “Yes.” “You?” “That is the second time someone has reacted like that.” “Maybe people know you.” Birgitta looked offended. “I am technically sophisticated.” “You charged me extra because a motel coffee machine had three buttons.” “It was badly designed.” “It had coffee, stronger coffee and hot water.” “No hierarchy.” Panam laughed. Birgitta smiled into her cup. Then Panam returned to the point. “What kind of technical thing?” Birgitta looked at her. That was the difficult part. Not lying. She could. Easily. But she preferred not to build Birgitta and Panam out of unnecessary lies. Some truths simply belonged behind locked doors. “The kind I can't tell you about.” Panam's expression shifted. Not angry. Curious. “Can't?” “Can't.” “Or won't?” Birgitta considered. “Both.” Panam leaned against the opposite counter. Birgitta waited. This was where suspicion could have appeared. It did not. Panam had a life full of things she could not explain to everyone she cared about. Routes. Clients. Jobs. Names. People who needed discretion. She understood compartments. She just did not necessarily enjoy standing outside one. “Dangerous?” “No.” “Illegal?” Birgitta smiled. “Define illegal.” Panam closed her eyes. “Fantastic.” “Not particularly.” “Does Sera know?” “No.” That answer came too quickly. Panam noticed. Birgitta cursed internally. “Interesting.” “It isn't.” “Does anyone I know know?” Birgitta thought of Victor. Lena. Technically, yes. But not this project. “The person doing the work doesn't know you.” Mostly true. The Man knew Panam as the receiver. He did not know Panam. Panam watched her. “And you're not telling me because?” Birgitta smiled gently. “Because if it works, you'll find out when it matters.” That escaped before she could stop it. Panam's eyes narrowed. Birgitta immediately regretted giving her something useful. “What does that mean?” “Nothing.” “That absolutely means something.” “Coffee.” “Birgitta.” “Panam.” “Don't do that.” “Do what?” “That thing where you say my name like it's an argument.” “It works.” “No, it doesn't.” “It just did.” Panam stared. Birgitta smiled. Eventually Panam shook her head. “You're impossible.” “So I've been told.” “By your mysterious technical person?” Birgitta paused. Panam saw it. “Oh, fuck off.” Birgitta laughed. “I didn't say anything.” “You didn't have to.” “I have no idea what you're talking about.” “Liar.” “Professional.” “Joytoy.” “Yes.” Panam's eyes moved slowly over her. Birgitta caught it. Smiled. Panam caught the smile. For a second the previous night returned between them. Heat without urgency. Memory. Panam's expression softened. “When are you leaving?” “Soon.” “Coming back?” Birgitta looked at her. There was more under the question than logistics. “Yes.” “Tonight?” “If nothing explodes.” Panam frowned. “You said it wasn't dangerous.” “Technical things explode metaphorically too.” “That's not better.” Birgitta finished her coffee. Set the cup down. Crossed the space between them. Panam watched her approach. Birgitta put both hands around her waist. “Kiss me.” Panam smiled. “That an order?” Birgitta kissed her before answering. When they separated: “Yes.” Panam laughed quietly. “Getting used to this.” “Dangerous.” “You started it.” “True.” Panam touched her face. “Go do your secret technical thing.” Birgitta smiled. “Permission?” “Don't push it.” “Madame.” Panam's eyes narrowed. Birgitta kissed her once more and escaped before consequences arrived. Twenty minutes later she was walking through Megabuilding H10. Still Birgitta. Still carrying Panam's last kiss with her. Still unable to tell Panam that the mysterious technical project was, in a very real sense, about her. Public lift. Maintenance level. Utility junction 3C. Service lift. Sublevel 4. The third door stood open. Birgitta entered. The Man looked up. His eyes moved over her once. Paused. Birgitta stopped. “What?” “Nothing.” “You looked twice.” “No.” “You absolutely looked twice.” The Man returned to his monitor. Birgitta narrowed her eyes. “Is something wrong with the cover?” “No.” “Hair?” “No.” “Voice?” “No.” “Then what?” The Man looked at her again. One second. Then: “You're in a better mood.” Birgitta stared. Of all the things she had expected him to notice, that was not one of them. “I'm always delightful.” “No.” Birgitta put one hand over her heart. “That was unnecessarily cruel.” The Man pointed toward the capture area. “Stand there.” “Good morning to you too.” “Morning.” Birgitta blinked. “Well. Progress.” The Man activated the system. Her image appeared. Birgitta. Physical. Real. The target. Then another window opened. Reyes. Recorded source calibration. Birgitta looked at the two women side by side. Same person. Different lives. Different relationships with the world. The Man adjusted the software. “I found a problem.” Birgitta immediately became serious. “What?” “Long expression transitions.” “Explain.” “Fast expressions are good.” He demonstrated. Recorded Reyes smiled. Rendered Birgitta smiled. Clean. Reyes frowned. Birgitta followed. Clean. Then a longer sequence. Neutral. Amusement. Softening. Smile beginning slowly. The target renderer hesitated for a fraction of a second. Not enough for a stranger. Enough for Panam. Birgitta saw it. “Fuck.” “Yes.” “She'd see that.” “Yes.” Birgitta moved closer. “What causes it?” “The system wants to decide what expression you're making before rendering it.” “That's wrong.” “Yes.” “Because sometimes I don't know yet.” The Man glanced at her. Exactly. Birgitta understood the problem. Real expressions were not categories. Sometimes amusement arrived slowly. Sometimes annoyance became affection halfway through. Sometimes Panam said something ridiculous and Birgitta's face moved through three answers before her mouth chose one. A renderer waiting to classify the final state would always feel slightly late. “So stop deciding.” “Yes.” Birgitta looked at him. “You already thought of that.” “Yes.” “Why am I here?” “I need more target transition data.” She smiled. “Now?” “Yes.” Birgitta thought about the morning. Panam asleep. Coffee. The question: _Coming back?_ The kiss. The secret. Something warm moved through her expression. The Man looked at the sensors. “Hold that.” Birgitta froze. “What?” “That.” “What am I doing?” “Don't know.” “Very useful.” “Keep doing it.” Birgitta stared at him. The expression disappeared. The Man sighed. Birgitta laughed. “Sorry.” “No.” “You sound disappointed.” “I am.” “Good.” The Man reset the capture. “Think about whatever you were thinking about.” Birgitta looked at him. “No.” “Why?” “Private.” “Good.” He adjusted the sensor. “Think privately.” Birgitta almost laughed again. But then she thought about Panam. Not Madame. Panam. Hair everywhere. Half asleep. Taking coffee without asking. The question she had tried to make sound casual. _Coming back?_ Birgitta felt the expression arrive again. Slow. Unplanned. Warm. The Man captured it. There was no joke this time. No provocation. No need. When the capture finished, Birgitta looked at the screen. The recorded expression barely seemed like anything. That was exactly why it mattered. Panam would see it. The Man nodded once. “Good.” Birgitta looked at him. “You have no idea what that expression means.” “No.” “And you don't care.” “No.” “Perfect.” The Man returned to the software. Birgitta stepped closer to the display. Source Reyes. Target Birgitta. A bridge being built between them. And somewhere outside this basement, Panam still had no idea that the woman she had kissed goodbye that morning was helping build a machine designed so she would never again have to ask why Birgitta could not answer her holo. Birgitta smiled. The Man glanced at the sensors. “Again.” She laughed. “Fuck you.” “Good.” Work resumed. --- # CHAPTER 6 — THE LAST DAY The Man spent the next forty minutes trying to make Birgitta stop being easy. He failed. Not because the software was finished. Because Birgitta had become very good at existing. That turned out to be a problem. “Again,” The Man said. Birgitta looked away. Thought about Panam. Looked back. The expression moved slowly this time. No snap from neutral to smile. No obvious category boundary. Just a gradual softening around the eyes, followed by the smallest movement at the corner of her mouth. The system recorded it. The Man watched the tracking data. “Better.” “How much better?” “Enough to continue.” “That is not a measurement.” “It is here.” Birgitta sighed. “Your invoices must be fascinating.” “No.” “You don't invoice?” “I invoice.” “You just make the numbers look disappointed?” The Man ignored her. A new comparison appeared. Physical Birgitta on one side. Renderer prediction on the other. The difference had become difficult to see. Not impossible. That mattered. Birgitta leaned closer. “There.” “Yes.” The rendered expression reached the mouth slightly too early. Only a fraction. Maybe nobody else would notice. Panam would. The Man adjusted the transition weighting. “Again.” Birgitta repeated it. Better. Again. Better still. Then she deliberately changed her mind halfway through the expression. The smile began. Stopped. Turned into mild suspicion. The renderer stumbled. Birgitta pointed. “That.” “I know.” “Good.” The Man was already working. Birgitta smiled. “What?” He looked at her. “You're enjoying this.” “No.” “You absolutely are.” “No.” “You get one tiny failure and suddenly you're alive.” “It tells me where the model is wrong.” “That is enjoying it.” “No.” “You're adorable.” The Man stared at her. Birgitta waited. Nothing. “Fine.” She moved back into position. The next test was worse. Not technically. Socially. The Man wanted expressions that changed because of conversation. Not commands. “Talk.” Birgitta folded her arms. “You've been using that instruction for days.” “It still works.” “Barely.” The Man leaned back. “What did Panam say this morning?” Birgitta looked at him. “No.” “That changed your expression.” “Yes.” “What did she say?” “Private.” “Then think about it.” Birgitta narrowed her eyes. “You are alarmingly comfortable weaponizing my girlfriend.” The word left her mouth. Girlfriend. Birgitta froze. The Man did not. He simply glanced at the sensor response. “Again.” Birgitta stared at him. “You're not going to say anything?” “No.” “I just called her my girlfriend.” “Yes.” “That was not previously established.” “Not my problem.” Birgitta almost laughed. Of course. The Man had somehow become the safest possible person to accidentally say something important in front of because he refused to treat emotional information as anything except potentially useful calibration data. She looked away. “Fine.” “Think about it.” “I hate you.” “No.” Birgitta thought about Panam. The previous night. The morning. Coffee. That annoyingly casual: _Coming back?_ Then the word she had just used. Girlfriend. Something moved across her face. The Man watched. “Good.” Birgitta's eyes snapped toward him. “You say that one more time and I'm charging you.” “Twenty-five thousand and one?” She stared. Slowly. Very slowly. “You remembered.” “Yes.” “You're getting worse.” “No.” “Definitely worse.” The Man saved another capture. Then he changed the test. Bad lighting. A portable work lamp went off. The room dropped several stops darker. Birgitta's face remained visible but less forgiving. “Really?” “Yes.” “You have normal lighting.” “Panam won't always.” Fair. The Man shifted the remaining light behind her. Backlit. The system struggled with hair edges. They corrected it. Side light. Corrected. Moving light. Corrected. Birgitta turned. Talked. Laughed. Covered half her face. Bent down. Returned. Changed distance from the sensors. Looked up from below. Reclined. Moved quickly across the frame. The Man kept finding places where the system tried to become clever. Birgitta hated clever systems. “Why did it smooth that?” “Confidence loss.” “So it guessed.” “Yes.” “Kill that.” “I am.” “No guessing.” “Yes.” “If confidence drops, it fails.” “Yes.” “Not invents.” “Yes.” The Man looked at her. “That was already the rule.” “I'm reminding you.” “I remember.” “Good.” The Man changed one setting. The next time Birgitta deliberately moved too quickly across the edge of the tracking field, the renderer did not attempt to hallucinate the missing half of her face. The transformed feed froze. One frame. Then disconnected. Black. Birgitta smiled. “There.” The Man looked at the failure log. “Yes.” “That I like.” “Most people don't like disconnects.” “Most people aren't hiding a second identity from the woman on the other end.” “Correct.” Birgitta leaned against the workbench. “That stays.” “Yes.” “No graceful degradation into Reyes.” “Never.” “Even for half a second.” “Never.” “Good.” The Man looked at her. “Do you want it to reconnect automatically?” Birgitta considered. “No.” “Why?” “If the conditions are bad enough to kill confidence, I want control back before it tries again.” The Man nodded. “Manual reconnect.” “Yes.” “Local warning only.” “Yes.” “Receiver sees normal dropped call.” “Yes.” The Man entered it. No discussion. No presentation. No: _That is an excellent security choice._ Just implementation. Birgitta liked that. She checked the time. Later than she expected. “How much more do you need?” “From Birgitta?” “Yes.” The Man looked at the data. Then at her. “Probably none.” Something unexpected moved through her. Not disappointment. Not exactly. Just awareness. This had been the reason for the current Birgitta period. Not the only reason. Certainly not after Panam. But the technical reason. And now it was done. The Man had Reyes. He had Birgitta. He had voice. Movement. Expression. Occlusion. Transitions. Failures. He had enough. “So this is it?” “For target capture.” Birgitta smiled. “You could pretend you'll miss me.” “No.” “Heartless.” “Yes.” She looked at the displays. The two women again. Reyes. Birgitta. A machine learning the path between them. “When do you need Reyes?” The Man checked something. “After the voice is back.” “Fully?” “Yes.” “How fully?” “Normal.” “That takes about a day after the sculpt ends.” “Then after that.” Birgitta nodded. He already knew the relevant medical timing. Probably because she had told him. Probably because he had written it down. Nothing mystical. Just competence. “Message the Reyes agent.” “Yes.” “Not this one.” “Yes.” “You're sure?” The Man looked at her. Birgitta smiled. “Sorry.” “No, you're not.” “No.” The Man disconnected the capture system. Birgitta started collecting her things. Then stopped. “Price.” The Man looked up. “What about it?” “You still haven't given me one.” “No.” “That's usually something people do before several days of engineering.” “You hadn't decided what you needed yet.” “I knew what I needed.” “No.” Birgitta opened her mouth. Closed it. Annoyingly, he was right. She had known the desired outcome. She had not known what the problem actually required. “And now?” “Now I know.” Birgitta waited. The Man returned to the console. She stared. “Are you going to tell me?” “When it's ready.” “You have a very strange relationship with money.” “No.” “You do.” The Man ignored her. Birgitta slipped the agent into her bag. At the door she stopped. “Anything I shouldn't do?” “With Birgitta?” “Yes.” “Live normally.” She smiled. “That I can manage.” “Don't change the voice while you're using it.” Birgitta stared. “It doesn't work that way.” “I know.” “Then why say it?” “Because people ask.” “I didn't.” “No.” Birgitta shook her head. “Hopeless.” “Yes.” She stepped into the corridor. The service lift took her upward. For once, no Panam call arrived during the ride. Birgitta found herself slightly disappointed. Then her agent vibrated. She looked. Text. **PANAM:** Still alive? Birgitta smiled. **BIRGITTA:** Barely. Immediate reply. **PANAM:** Technical thing explode? **BIRGITTA:** Metaphorically. **PANAM:** Knew it. Birgitta entered the maintenance level. **BIRGITTA:** You know nothing. **PANAM:** I know you're coming back. Birgitta stopped walking. There it was again. Not a question this time. She stared at the message. Then typed: **BIRGITTA:** Yeah. A pause. **PANAM:** Good. Birgitta slipped the agent away. The rest of the day belonged to Birgitta. Not ShadeCorp. Not calibration. Not a project. Just the last active day of this particular cover period. She worked for a while. Not long. Enough to let Birgitta be Birgitta for reasons that had nothing to do with Panam or The Man. She liked that too. She liked the work. Still. That discovery had not faded. Later, when Panam arrived, Birgitta saw her before Panam saw Birgitta. For once. Panam was looking toward the wrong entrance. Birgitta approached from behind. Stopped beside her. “Looking for someone?” Panam turned. The smile happened before she could stop it. Birgitta saw everything The Man had spent the morning trying to teach a machine to preserve. There. That. The relationship did not live in the face. It lived in recognition. “Maybe,” Panam said. “Anyone interesting?” “No.” “Rude.” Panam kissed her. Brief. Ordinary. No audience reaction required. No Madame. No game. Birgitta smiled when they separated. “Better.” “You're demanding.” “Yes.” They walked. No destination immediately agreed. That had become normal too. Dinner eventually happened. Then another walk. Then somewhere quieter. The city moved around them. Birgitta knew the clock existed. She ignored it. Not because the voice would suddenly collapse at midnight. It would not. The sculpt would end on its own schedule. The return would take time. But this was the last evening she intended to remain fully assembled as Birgitta before beginning that return. Panam did not know. Could not know. And for the first time Birgitta felt the cost of that secrecy clearly. Not guilt. She had no obligation to reveal Reyes. The cover belonged to her. The secret belonged to her. But there was a practical sadness in knowing Panam thought tomorrow contained the same options as today. Holo. Meeting. Dinner. A knock on a door. Birgitta appearing. Tomorrow would not. Not physically. Not for a while. Panam noticed her looking. “What?” “Nothing.” “That face means something.” Birgitta smiled. “That line belongs to me.” “I stole it.” “Thief.” “Answer.” Birgitta looked at her. Could she say: _I'm going away for a day._ Yes. That was true enough. “I've got something tomorrow.” Panam's expression tightened slightly. “Technical thing?” “Sort of.” “How long?” “A day. Maybe a little more.” Panam nodded. No interrogation. “Work?” “Partly.” “Client?” “No.” That seemed to please Panam more than it should have. Birgitta noticed. Panam noticed her noticing. “Don't.” “I didn't say anything.” “You were about to.” “I was thinking.” “Worse.” Birgitta laughed. Then Panam said: “Holo?” The word landed strangely. Not now. Tomorrow. Birgitta looked at her. “Probably not tomorrow.” Panam sighed. “That thing again.” Birgitta hated that she understood exactly what Panam meant. The old gap returning. The thing ShadeCorp existed to kill. “Just tomorrow.” Panam studied her. Birgitta held the look. Then Panam nodded. “Fine.” No suspicion. No drama. Just acceptance. Birgitta touched her hand. “Text.” “You better.” “I will.” “Good.” They continued walking. Later, Panam went home. Birgitta did not follow. Not because she did not want to. Because the transition had to begin somewhere. She kissed Panam goodbye longer than usual. Panam noticed that too. Of course. “You sure you're okay?” “Yes.” “Technical thing?” Birgitta smiled. “Maybe.” Panam shook her head. “One day I'm going to find out what the hell that means.” Birgitta thought about a basement under H10. A middle-aged man in sunglasses. Two faces on adjacent screens. Software that would eventually let Panam see Birgitta when Birgitta was physically nowhere in the room. “Maybe.” Panam narrowed her eyes. “You're doing it again.” “What?” “That face.” Birgitta kissed her before she could explain. Then stepped back. “Good night, Panam.” “Night.” Birgitta walked away. She did not look back immediately. Waited until the corner. Then did. Panam was still there. Watching. Birgitta smiled. Panam raised one hand. Birgitta did the same. Then the street took them in different directions. The physical cover came apart later. Quietly. Practically. No ceremony. The almost-conservative clothes went away first. Contacts next. The copper-grey hair treatment was released back toward Reyes's natural red. The face mesh came off according to its established procedure. Piece by piece, Birgitta disappeared from the mirror. Reyes returned visually. The voice remained. That was the strange part. Reyes stood in front of the mirror wearing her own face and her own red hair. Then said: “Well.” Birgitta answered. Bright. High. Lively. Reyes laughed. The wrong voice laughed back. “Fucking weird.” Still Birgitta. She left the voice alone. Nothing else to do. Victor's sculpt would resolve naturally. Approximately a day. So Reyes stayed private. Text worked. Panam received Birgitta's messages. No holo. No physical meeting. The next morning the voice had already begun moving. Less bright. Lower. Not Reyes yet. Not quite Birgitta either. Reyes spoke as little as possible. By evening, more of herself had returned. The following morning she woke, sat up and said: “Coffee.” Her own voice answered. Reyes stopped. Again. “Coffee.” Low. Familiar. Normal. She smiled. “Welcome back.” The normal agent vibrated on the bedside table. Not Birgitta's. Reyes looked at it. A local relay. One message. **H10. S4.** Below it: **Come as Reyes.** Reyes stared at the words. Then looked toward the other agent. Birgitta's. Silent. Waiting for the next time Panam pressed a button Reyes currently could not answer. Reyes picked up her normal agent. “About fucking time.” And somewhere beneath Megabuilding H10, The Man was waiting with a mirror. --- # CHAPTER 7 — THE MIRROR Less than an hour later, Reyes crossed the public level of Megabuilding H10. No copper-grey hair. No light brown eyes. No face mesh. No almost-conservative elegance. No strangers looking twice. Reyes preferred that. She moved through the crowd efficiently. Maintenance level. Left past utility junction 3C. Service lift. Sublevel 4. The sequence had become routine. The lift opened. Infrastructure hummed around her. The third door remained open. Of course. Reyes entered. ShadeCorp had rearranged itself again. One workstation had disappeared from the main bench. Another had taken its place. Two open agent shells sat beside a compact diagnostic rig. A machine Reyes did not remember seeing before was currently rendering something that looked like atmospheric interference. One of the older computers had returned. Or maybe it was a different old computer. Impossible to know. The Man sat at the main console. Same sunglasses. Same ordinary dark shirt. Same complete lack of ceremony. He looked up. “Reyes.” “Yes.” His attention moved to her face. Then her throat. “Voice?” “Back.” “Fully?” Reyes leaned against the bench. “You tell me.” “Say something.” “You have a gift for making basic conversation sound medical.” The Man listened. “Again.” “Fuck off.” He nodded. “Normal.” Reyes smiled. “Excellent diagnostic technique.” The Man pointed toward a chair. “Sit.” She did. Birgitta's agent lay beside his workstation. Connected. Reyes looked at it. “You've been busy.” “Yes.” “Useful busy?” “Yes.” “Finished?” “No.” Reyes sighed. “You called me here.” “For a test.” “That is becoming one of my least favorite distinctions.” The Man ignored her. He activated the camera. One monitor showed Reyes. Normal source feed. Red hair. Her face. Her clothes. No processing. “Source,” he said. “I recognize her.” The Man opened another window. Black. For perhaps half a second. Then the image appeared. Birgitta sat in the same chair. Reyes stopped moving. Copper-grey hair. Very light brown eyes. Scandinavian face. The same posture translated into a body presentation Reyes knew immediately. Not recorded video. Live. Reyes raised one hand. Birgitta raised hers. Slowly. Reyes turned her wrist. Birgitta followed. She leaned closer to the camera. Birgitta leaned closer. Reyes moved back. So did she. No obvious lag. No visual tearing. No face floating slightly behind the skull. No strange digital smoothing. Just Birgitta. Reyes stared. “That is fucking weird.” The processed output repeated: “That is fucking weird.” Reyes froze. The voice hit harder than the face. Her own voice existed physically in the room. Low. Reyes. But the transformed output came back bright and high. Birgitta. Same timing. Same sentence. Same intention. Different woman. Reyes looked at The Man. “You did both.” “Yes.” “Already.” “Yes.” She returned her attention to the screen. “Again.” Birgitta said: “Again.” Reyes spoke. Birgitta answered. For several seconds she simply tested words. Nothing complicated. No movement. Just sound. Short sentences. Longer ones. Changes of pace. The transformation remained stable. Reyes smiled experimentally. Birgitta smiled. And that was when Reyes noticed the important part. It was not Reyes's smile pasted onto Birgitta's face. The expression had been translated. Birgitta opened differently. The eyes participated differently. The mouth carried amusement in a slightly different shape. A tiny tilt appeared in the head. Reyes had not consciously added it. The software had learned the relationship. Reyes narrowed her eyes. Birgitta did too. She frowned. Birgitta hardened without becoming Reyes. Reyes leaned sideways. The processed image followed. She turned sharply. Copper-grey hair moved. Clean. She raised one hand across her face. The renderer handled the obstruction. For a moment only one very light brown eye remained visible between her fingers. No Reyes underneath. She dropped the hand. Birgitta returned intact. Reyes stood. The Man said nothing. Good. She moved sideways. Turned. Came back. Leaned close. Moved away. Then shook her head quickly. Copper-grey hair followed. Almost. A tiny artifact appeared near one moving strand. Reyes stopped. “There.” “I saw it.” The Man had already marked the frame. “Again.” Reyes repeated the movement. Same artifact. The Man changed something. “Again.” She did. Better. Again. Gone. Reyes smiled. “Fast.” She started moving more naturally. Talking while walking. Turning halfway through a sentence. Reaching for the table. Sitting. Standing again. The renderer kept up. The Man handed her an empty mug. Reyes looked inside. “You have an obsession with empty drinking vessels.” “Useful.” “You have water.” “Yes.” “And still refuse to put any in these.” “Yes.” Reyes stared. Birgitta stared too. The Man watched the tracking around fingers, lips and jaw. “Drink.” Reyes lifted the empty mug. Pretended. Lowered it. Birgitta followed. Again. Different angle. Clean. Reyes set the mug down. “Latency?” “Variable.” “How variable?” “Too much.” That answer pleased her. No decorative number. No attempt to sell the result. Too much meant too much. “What do you consider acceptable?” “When you stop noticing.” Exactly. The Man adjusted the pipeline. “Talk.” “About what?” “Anything.” Reyes looked toward Birgitta. Then imagined Panam. The truck. Long roads. Motel rooms. Roadside food. The courier week. “You know, the first time I spent a full week with Panam as Birgitta, I thought the difficult part would be maintaining the cover.” The rendered Birgitta spoke with her. “It wasn't.” The Man listened. Reyes continued. “The difficult part was discovering she notices everything except the things I expect her to notice.” Birgitta's mouth matched. No visible drift. “She'll miss something obvious and then catch an expression I didn't know I made.” The Man adjusted something. “That matters.” “Yes.” “She watches your face.” “Yes.” “Often?” Reyes looked at him. “Enough.” The Man nodded. “Eyes higher priority.” “They were already priority.” “Higher.” Good. Reyes liked that. Not all pixels mattered equally. Panam might forgive hair compression. Maybe. A wrong reaction around Birgitta's eyes would be something else entirely. Reyes sat again. “Both feeds.” The Man changed the display. Left: Reyes. Right: Birgitta. Reyes moved. Two women moved. Same timing. Different visual grammar. She smiled. The difference became obvious. Reyes's smile stayed more contained. Birgitta's opened. Not exaggerated. Not generated enthusiasm. Just the way Reyes's social expression translated when Birgitta was the person showing it. Reyes tried something subtler. Amusement without smiling. Both faces carried it. Differently. “Fuck.” The Man looked at the diagnostics. “Problem?” “No.” Reyes kept watching. “This is good.” “Yes.” She glanced at him. “That sounded suspiciously like pride.” “No.” “You're allowed to admit you're good at things.” “I know.” “You simply choose not to.” “Yes.” “Why?” “Waste of time.” Reyes almost smiled. Birgitta did. Then Reyes straightened. “Can it handle deliberate Birgitta behavior?” The Man looked at her. “Explain.” Reyes changed posture. Not dramatically. Nothing theatrical. She simply allowed herself to shift into the social rhythm Birgitta used naturally. Shoulders easier. Face more open. Eye contact warmer. The traits that had once required conscious intention and had become increasingly easy over time. The renderer changed with her. And suddenly the woman on the right stopped looking merely like an excellent technical reproduction. She looked like Birgitta. Reyes stayed there. Looked into the camera. “Hello, Panam.” The processed voice answered. Bright. Warm. Natural. Reyes went still. There. That was it. Not the face. Not the voice. The totality. For one second she saw exactly what Panam would see. Reyes physically sitting in a basement under H10. Panam receiving Birgitta. Reyes smiled slowly. “That.” The Man looked at the output. “Yes.” “That is what I need.” “I know.” “Don't ruin the moment.” “No.” Reyes laughed. The renderer followed. Almost. A tiny desynchronization touched the end of the laugh. Reyes caught it. The Man caught it. “Again.” Reyes laughed deliberately. Worse. “Again.” “That isn't how laughter works.” “Make it work.” Reyes stared. Then remembered Birgitta standing in the same room. The Man demanding a real smile. The Man irritating her until he got one. Fine. Reyes looked around. The ridiculous mixture of technology. The old machine behind him. The empty mug. The Man's sunglasses. “You still haven't offered me coffee.” “No.” “That computer behind you is older than Ace.” “No.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “How old?” “Older than you.” Reyes looked at it. “That tells me nothing.” “It tells enough.” The machine emitted a grinding mechanical sound. Reyes looked at it. Then at him. “You're trusting that thing with actual work?” “Yes.” “It sounds like it's dying.” “No.” “You sure?” “Yes.” The machine beeped happily. The Man said: “Fixed.” Reyes laughed. Real. The renderer caught it. Better. Still slightly wrong at the end. The Man marked it. Reyes shook her head. “You're irritating people into calibration again.” “Yes.” “I'm billing you.” “No.” “Twenty-five thousand and one.” The Man looked at her. Reyes smiled. “Inside joke.” “I assumed.” “Good.” He changed another setting. “Again.” “No.” “Why?” “I don't laugh on command.” The Man considered. Then: “Panam said you look good.” Reyes froze. Slowly turned toward him. “What?” The Man did not react. “You said she knows Birgitta well.” “That is not remotely the same sentence.” “No.” “Where did you get that?” “I didn't.” Reyes stared. The faintest possible movement touched one corner of his mouth. There. “You absolute shit.” Reyes laughed. Birgitta laughed. Perfectly. The Man watched the waveform. “Good.” Reyes pointed at him. “You did that deliberately.” “Yes.” “At least you're admitting it now.” “Yes.” “Progress.” “No.” Reyes laughed again. Still clean. The Man saved the new calibration state. Then disabled the transformation. Birgitta vanished. Only Reyes remained. The disappearance felt unexpectedly abrupt. Reyes looked toward the empty processed display. “Why stop?” “Because you're starting to trust it.” Reyes turned toward him. “That is generally what happens when testing succeeds.” “Too early.” Fair. The Man opened another diagnostic view. “We haven't broken it yet.” Reyes leaned back. There it was. The next phase. Not admiration. Not validation. Breakage. “What do you want?” “Everything you'd normally do on a call.” Reyes thought. Walking. Changing rooms. Eating. Drinking. Talking while distracted. Bad light. Bright light. Panam calling from a truck. Birgitta answering half asleep. Long pauses. Long calls. Laughing unexpectedly. Arguments. Silence. Nothing dramatic. Then her thoughts moved further. Calls where expression would matter considerably more. Calls neither of them had tried yet. She left that thought where it was. For later. “How hard?” The Man looked at her. “Until it fails.” Reyes smiled. That was much better. “Careful.” “Why?” “You haven't seen me do QA.” The Man remained perfectly calm. “Break it.” Reyes stood. Birgitta reappeared on the processed display. Copper-grey hair. Light eyes. Bright voice waiting inside the pipeline. Reyes rolled her shoulders. Looked directly at the woman opposite her. Then smiled. “Gladly.” --- # CHAPTER 8 — BREAK IT “Gladly.” Reyes did not smile like Birgitta when she said it. That was probably the first warning. The Man noticed. Of course he did. He moved one window aside, opened another, and changed the capture mode. “Normal call conditions first.” Reyes stared at him. “You just told me to break it.” “Yes.” “And now you want normal.” “Yes.” “That is disappointing.” “Baseline.” Reyes sighed. “Fine.” Birgitta remained on the processed display. Reyes sat physically in front of the camera. Red hair. Her face. Her voice. On the outgoing feed: Copper-grey. Light brown eyes. Scandinavian face. Bright voice. Birgitta. The disconnect between what Reyes felt in her throat and what came from the processed feed remained strange. Not unpleasant. Just wrong enough that her brain refused to ignore it. She looked directly at the rendered image. “Hello.” “Hello,” Birgitta answered. The Man watched the metrics. “Talk normally.” “You have met me.” “Yes.” “Define normal.” “Talk like you're talking to Panam.” That worked better. Reyes leaned back. “Fine.” She imagined the connection opening. Panam somewhere in the Badlands. Maybe standing beside the truck. Maybe sitting in the cab. Maybe eating something unacceptable and insisting it counted as food. Reyes let the familiar rhythm settle. “You look terrible.” Birgitta said it brightly. The Man watched. Reyes continued. “No, don't turn the camera away. That makes it worse.” Birgitta's face changed with her. Amusement. Then mild accusation. Then warmth underneath both. “Did you sleep?” Pause. “That's not an answer.” The renderer followed naturally. The Man said: “Good.” Reyes pointed at him. “You're not Panam.” “No.” “Stop interrupting.” The Man stopped. Reyes continued for another minute, inventing the missing half of a conversation from memory. It was easier than she expected. Panam had enough recurring habits. Bad meals. Long drives. Ignoring sleep. Claiming a mechanical problem was minor until it became visibly less minor. Pretending she had not been waiting for Birgitta to call. Reyes knew the cadence. She also knew what Birgitta did with it. The renderer followed. At the end The Man checked the log. “No dropped frames.” “Voice?” “Stable.” “Eyes?” “Stable.” “Latency?” “Still there.” “How much?” “Enough that I know.” Reyes looked at him. “But would Panam?” “Maybe.” “Then it's too much.” “Yes.” Good. No argument. The Man adjusted the pipeline. “Again.” Reyes repeated the exercise. This time she deliberately changed speaking speed. Slow. Then fast. Interrupted herself. Swallowed a word. Changed direction halfway through a sentence. The voice kept up. Mostly. One consonant clipped. Reyes stopped instantly. “There.” “Yes.” The Man marked it. “Again.” She reproduced the sentence. Different clipping. Not same place. “Dynamic buffer?” The Man looked at her. “Yes.” “Too aggressive.” “Yes.” “Can you predict around it?” “No.” “Good.” That got the smallest glance from him. Reyes smiled. “I don't want prediction.” “I know.” “Prediction becomes invention.” “I know.” “And invention becomes Panam asking why Birgitta suddenly talks like customer service.” The Man almost smiled. Almost. Reyes caught it. “Don't start.” “I didn't.” “You were going to.” “No.” She ignored him. “Next.” The Man changed the lighting. Normal room. Then darker. Then brighter. Then backlight. The renderer held. Reyes moved. Fast enough to make hair tracking work. Turned away. Returned. Covered one eye. Both. Lower half of face. Moved close enough that the camera lost part of her chin. Birgitta remained coherent. Then Reyes left frame completely. The processed output vanished. Black. Reyes stepped back in. Still black. She looked at The Man. “Good.” “Manual reconnect.” “Yes.” She triggered it. Birgitta returned. No Reyes frame. No accidental source leak. Reyes nodded. “Keep that.” “Yes.” Then she started being difficult. Not theatrical. Reyes did not fling herself around the room for the pleasure of watching tracking fail. She attacked plausible conditions. She picked up the agent and walked with it. Normal handheld sway. Changed rooms. Turned toward a bright light. Away. Passed behind a structural column. The feed froze before confidence crossed the threshold. Dropped. Manual reconnect. Good. She put the agent on a shelf too low. Sat on the floor. Spoke upward. Birgitta followed. She moved it too high. Looked up. Still good. She lay back against the workshop wall. The Man looked at her. “What?” “Nothing.” “You looked.” “You're testing.” “Yes.” “That position wasn't in calibration.” “Exactly.” The renderer held. Reyes smiled. “Good.” Then she rolled sideways and partially out of frame. The transformed feed froze. Black. “Better.” The Man made a note. Reyes stood. “Now bad network.” The Man looked at her. “I was going there.” “Too slow.” “No.” “Absolutely too slow.” He introduced packet loss. Small first. The outgoing feed degraded like any ordinary holo. Compression. Minor softness. Birgitta remained Birgitta. More loss. The transformed image became less fluid. Voice still intact. More. Freeze. Drop. No Reyes. Reyes nodded. “Again, but voice first.” The Man changed the degradation pattern. Audio jitter. Small. The voice pipeline corrected. More. A tiny synthetic edge appeared. Reyes stopped. “No.” “I heard it.” “It sounded generated.” “Yes.” “Kill before that.” The Man moved the threshold. Again. This time the connection dropped before the artificial edge appeared. Reyes smiled. “Better.” “Receiver will see more disconnects.” “I don't care.” “Panam might.” “Panam can complain.” The Man looked at her. Reyes shrugged. “She'll complain anyway.” Fair. They continued. Battery stress. Processor load. Simultaneous text notifications. Background noise. Sudden loud sound. Reyes dropped a metal tool intentionally. The Man looked at her. “What?” “That wasn't necessary.” “It startled me.” “You dropped it.” “Still startled me.” The renderer had caught the flinch cleanly. The Man sighed. Reyes smiled. “Useful.” “Yes.” “You're welcome.” “No.” She moved on. Occlusion became her favorite. Cup. Hand. Hair. Sleeve. The edge of a chair. A jacket thrown halfway across the camera. The renderer failed twice. Both times closed. The first failure took too long. The second froze on an expression that looked wrong. Reyes pointed. “That one.” The Man replayed it. Birgitta had frozen with her mouth partly open. Not identity exposure. But ugly. “Receiver would know the connection died.” “Yes.” “They'd also think I had a stroke.” The Man adjusted the freeze-frame selector. “Last stable frame.” “Exactly.” Again. This time the system stepped back a fraction before freezing. Birgitta appeared attentive rather than broken. Then black. Reyes nodded. “Good.” The Man saved it. Then Reyes stopped moving. “Now social failure.” The Man looked up. “Define.” “Technically correct. Humanly wrong.” He waited. Reyes gestured toward the screen. “Panam knows Birgitta.” “Yes.” “So if this thing produces perfect pixels but changes how I feel to her, it fails.” The Man nodded. That part interested him. Good. Reyes sat again. “What happens if I stop being Birgitta?” “You're always source.” “That's not what I mean.” The Man waited. Reyes leaned forward. “When I'm talking to Panam as Birgitta, I'm still Reyes. But I lead differently.” “Yes.” “You mapped that.” “Yes.” “What happens if I'm tired enough that I don't?” The Man looked at the renderer. “Test it.” Reyes did. She let herself flatten. No brightness. No deliberate Birgitta social openness. Just Reyes after a long day. Still wearing her own face physically. The renderer transformed her. The result was Birgitta. But quieter. Less animated. Not falsely cheerful. Good. Reyes watched. “That.” The Man nodded. “Expression source still dominates.” “Good.” She made her voice dry. “Panam, if you call me at four in the morning because your truck made a noise, I will personally become the noise.” Birgitta delivered it. Bright timbre. Dead tired delivery. Reyes laughed. “That works.” The Man almost did too. Almost. Reyes continued. “What if I'm angry?” “Already calibrated.” “No. Really angry.” The Man looked at her. Reyes thought. Not of the renderer. Not of Panam. Something operational. A job gone wrong. Someone hurting someone under her protection. The shift in her face was immediate. Birgitta appeared on screen. Same anger. Different face. No smoothing. No softening. No attempt to make the attractive joytoy identity look pleasant. Reyes's eyes narrowed. Birgitta's light brown eyes became cold. Good. Very good. “Never soften that.” “I don't.” “Some commercial systems do.” “This isn't commercial.” “I noticed.” “Again.” Reyes relaxed. “Enough.” The Man looked at her. “Why?” “Because if Panam ever sees that expression, something has already gone badly wrong.” Fair. Next. Laughter. They already knew laughter could be difficult. The Man tried to provoke her. It took longer than expected. “Twenty-five thousand and one,” he said. Reyes stared. “No.” Nothing. “You liked that yesterday.” “Different day.” He tried: “Fan.” Reyes glared. Nothing. “Coffee.” Nothing. The Man looked toward the ancient machine behind him. Reyes followed his gaze. It emitted a grinding sound that suggested violence against bearings. Reyes frowned. “What the fuck is that doing?” “Something.” That almost got her. Almost. Then the machine beeped happily. The Man said: “Fixed.” Reyes looked at it. Then at him. “You didn't touch it.” “No.” “So what did you fix?” “Nothing.” “Then why did you say fixed?” “It stopped.” Reyes laughed. There. The renderer caught it. Clean. The Man marked the transition. Reyes shook her head. “I hate this place.” “No.” “No?” “You keep coming back.” Fair. Then Reyes remembered the next category. “Background people.” The Man looked at her. “Explain.” “Panam might call while I'm not alone.” That mattered. A lot. The Man turned slightly. “Who?” “Anyone.” “Renderer only modifies you.” “I know. That's the problem.” The Man understood immediately. If Ace walked behind Reyes during a call and the recipient saw her naturally, fine. If Reyes was supposed to be somewhere Birgitta plausibly could not be, less fine. But that was not a renderer failure. That was operational discipline. The Man said: “Software can't fix your room.” “Correct.” “Do you want background masking?” “No.” Immediate. “Why?” “Too much invention.” “Yes.” “I'd rather decline the call.” The Man nodded. “No background manipulation.” “None.” “Audio?” “Same.” “No generated room tone.” “Exactly.” The renderer would transform Reyes. Nothing else. Narrow problem. Narrow solution. Good. Reyes looked around. “What about reflections?” The Man stopped. Then looked at her. There. Finally. A real problem. Reyes smiled. “Oh.” The Man turned to the system. “Mirror.” “Window.” “Chrome.” “Screen reflections.” “Anything shiny.” “Yes.” Reyes got up. There was no proper mirror in the workshop. Of course there wasn't. The Man found a reflective panel instead. He placed it behind her. Reyes positioned the agent. The camera saw Reyes directly. And Reyes reflected behind herself. The renderer transformed the direct face. The reflection remained Reyes. Both stared at the screen. Reyes smiled slowly. “There you are.” The Man's hands moved. “That's bad.” “Yes.” “Very.” “Yes.” Reyes looked delighted. The Man did not. “That is why you told me to break it.” “Yes.” “You regret that yet?” “No.” “Liar.” “No.” They tested. A fixed reflection was easy to detect. Moving reflections were not. Multiple reflections worse. Reyes found a polished metal surface. The Man found another. Within twenty minutes they had constructed something that looked less like a lab test and more like two adults intentionally making a camera hallucinate. Direct Reyes became Birgitta. One reflection became Birgitta late. Another stayed Reyes for three frames. The feed dropped. Good. They tried again. Different angle. Fail closed earlier. Again. The Man added reflection-region confidence to the identity leak threshold. Reyes tested a narrow sliver of face in polished metal. Drop. Good. Half-face. Drop. Good. Unrecognizable red patch. No drop. Reyes frowned. “Hair alone.” The Man understood. Red hair was itself a recognition marker. He changed the threshold. Again. Now the system dropped when an untransformed high-confidence Reyes hair region appeared in a reflection large enough to matter. Reyes nodded. “Better.” “False positives increase.” “Acceptable.” “Panam will think Birgitta has terrible holo service.” “Panam drives through the Badlands.” The Man considered. “Yes.” “She already thinks every connection is terrible.” Fair. Reflection testing continued. Then screens. A live local preview accidentally visible behind Reyes could reveal source. Drop. Recorded image of Reyes in background? More complicated. The Man paused. “That's not source leakage.” “No.” “But Panam seeing Reyes's picture behind Birgitta could still matter.” “Yes.” “Do you want identity-object detection?” Reyes thought. “No.” The Man waited. “That becomes universal recognition.” “Yes.” “And that's exactly what I don't want this system turning into.” “Yes.” Reyes pointed toward him. “Narrow.” “One source.” “One target.” “One agent.” “Good.” A photograph of Reyes in the room remained Reyes's responsibility. The renderer protected the live source. Not reality itself. That boundary mattered. They moved on. Long duration. That could not be simulated in ten minutes. So they ran it. Reyes talked. The Man worked on something else. The call feed remained active. Birgitta sat on screen while Reyes physically occupied the workshop. Minutes became an hour. Reyes got bored. Useful. Boredom changed posture. Expressions. Movement. She stopped performing for the test. Even more useful. She read messages. Drank actual water this time because she had stolen a clean glass from the sink. The Man did not object. She walked around. Came back. Sat wrong. Slouched. Put her feet up on another chair. The Man looked. “What?” “Nothing.” “You're judging me.” “No.” “Your face is.” “No.” Reyes looked toward Birgitta on screen. Birgitta was slouched too. Not elegantly. Good. A perfect joytoy renderer that made every posture glamorous would have been useless. Another hour. Still stable. Then the processor temperature rose. The Man noticed before the system warned. He adjusted load distribution. Reyes watched. “You expected that?” “Yes.” “Then why didn't you fix it before?” “Wanted real load.” Fair. Temperature stabilized. Latency briefly increased. Reyes noticed. “Too much.” “I know.” The Man moved one stage of the pipeline to another local process. Latency dropped. Reyes watched the Birgitta feed. Moved her hand. The difference became harder to feel. Again. She spoke. Watched mouth timing. Again. “Better.” “Yes.” “Still there.” “Yes.” He adjusted. Again. Reyes stopped. Then smiled. “I lost it.” The Man looked up. “The delay.” “Yes.” “I stopped seeing it.” The Man checked the measurement. Did not celebrate. Of course not. “Good.” Reyes leaned back. “How long have we been running?” “Two hours fourteen.” “And?” “Stable.” Reyes looked at Birgitta. Two hours was enough to expose most cheap lies. This one remained. Then she thought of Panam again. Long calls. Not urgent. Nothing dramatic. Panam repairing something while Birgitta existed on a workbench nearby. Birgitta brushing her hair while Panam watched. Two people not actually talking for several minutes because neither needed to fill every second. That was the real test. Not whether the software could survive activity. Whether it could survive normality. Reyes became quiet. So did Birgitta. The renderer did nothing interesting. Perfect. Several minutes passed. The Man worked. Reyes sat. Birgitta sat. No artificial micro-expression. No idle animation. No breathing enhancement. No system trying to make the target appear more alive than Reyes actually was. Reyes finally said: “That's probably the best thing it's done today.” The Man glanced at the feed. “Nothing?” “Exactly.” He nodded. The call simulation continued. Eventually The Man ended it himself. Birgitta disappeared. Reyes looked at the black screen. “Why?” “Enough for today.” “You said break it.” “You did.” Reyes smiled. “We fixed what broke.” “Yes.” “So I haven't broken it yet.” “You found reflection leak.” “And you fixed it.” “Yes.” “So I'm not done.” The Man turned his chair toward her. “Reyes.” The tone was different. Not warning. Just final. She waited. “The system is not finished.” “I know.” “But the architecture survived.” Reyes said nothing. “Failures closed.” “Yes.” “Source never transmitted.” “Yes.” “Voice failed before synthetic artifacts became recognizable.” “Yes.” “Reflections are now included in the leak confidence model.” “Yes.” “Long-duration load is stable.” “Yes.” “Latency is below your notice threshold.” Reyes hated that phrasing because it was accurate. “Yes.” The Man looked toward Birgitta's agent. “I need one more build pass.” “How long?” “Don't know.” Reyes stared. “Of course.” “Then final test.” “With me?” “Yes.” “And after that?” The Man paused. “Panam.” There it was. First real external test. Not a simulation. Not side-by-side monitors. Panam. Reyes felt her stomach tighten slightly. Interesting. She was not nervous about the technology itself. Not exactly. She was nervous because if the software worked, the secret stopped being a limitation. That changed things. A lot of things. The Man disconnected Birgitta's agent. Reyes held out her hand. He did not give it back. She looked at him. “What?” “I need it.” “How long?” “Until final build.” Reyes considered. The agent itself contained no secret that The Man did not already know. Still. It felt strange leaving Birgitta behind. “Fine.” The Man set it beside his workstation. Reyes stood. Her legs objected after more than two hours of sitting and testing. She stretched. The Man returned to another machine. Conversation apparently over. Reyes walked toward the door. Stopped. Turned back. “One question.” The Man looked up. “How many people have you built something like this for?” “Like this?” “Yes.” “No one.” Reyes studied him. “Because nobody asked?” “No.” “Because nobody needed it?” “No.” “Because you couldn't?” “No.” Reyes waited. The Man finally said: “Because every problem is different.” That answer was annoyingly consistent. Reyes nodded. “Fair.” She turned again. “Reyes.” She stopped. The Man looked at her. “Price.” Finally. Reyes turned fully. “How much?” “Hundred fifty thousand.” No dramatic pause. No intake of breath. No calculation. Reyes reached for her normal agent. “Account?” The Man gave it. She transferred the money. One hundred fifty thousand eddies. Confirmed. The entire exchange took seconds. Reyes put the agent away. “Done.” The Man looked at her. Not at the transfer notification. At her. Once. Then a second time. Reyes noticed. “What?” “Nothing.” “You looked twice.” “Yes.” “Why?” The Man turned back to his monitor. “No reason.” Reyes stared at him. There absolutely had been a reason. She could guess. Most people probably reacted to a hundred and fifty thousand eddie price tag. Reyes had not. Not because it was nothing. Because she had already decided the solution mattered before asking what it cost. The Man did not ask where the money came from. Did not comment. Did not become friendlier. Did not suddenly treat her as a premium client. Good. Reyes headed for the door. Behind her: “If someone you know needs help, you can send them here.” She stopped. Looked back. That was almost a sales pitch. Almost. Coming from him, it was practically a billboard. “No cards?” “No.” “Referral code?” “No.” “Commission?” “No.” “Discount?” “No.” Reyes smiled. “Terrible businessman.” The Man looked at one of his seven problems. “Yes.” Reyes laughed. Then left. The service lift took her upward. Her pocket felt strange without Birgitta's agent. Temporary. Fine. The Man needed it. The public levels of H10 grew louder around her. People. Food. Advertisements. Ordinary Night City. Reyes crossed through it unnoticed. Her normal agent vibrated. Panam. Text. **PANAM:** Your technical thing done? Reyes stopped. Panam had sent it to Birgitta's contact. Which meant the message had been mirrored to Reyes's secure notification relay while The Man held the physical agent. She smiled. Not done. Very much not done. She replied through the secure text path. **BIRGITTA:** Getting there. Panam answered almost immediately. **PANAM:** That means no. **BIRGITTA:** Correct. **PANAM:** Holo? Reyes stood in the middle of Megabuilding H10. Red hair. Her face. Her voice. No Birgitta agent in her hand. No renderer ready for external use. Not yet. She looked at the request. Then declined. **BIRGITTA:** Not tonight. A pause. **PANAM:** Tomorrow? Reyes thought of Sublevel 4. Birgitta's agent on The Man's bench. A renderer that had survived reflections, bad light, dropped packets, laughter, anger, boredom and more than two hours of Reyes actively trying to hurt it. One more build pass. Final test. Panam. Reyes smiled. **BIRGITTA:** Soon. The reply came back: **PANAM:** You keep saying that. Reyes stared at it. Then typed: **BIRGITTA:** I know. She put the agent away. This time, the answer did not irritate her. Because for the first time since Panam had started asking: _soon_ actually meant soon. --- # CHAPTER 9 — ONE WITNESS The Man called two days later. Not called. Of course not. One message. **Ready.** A second line: **Bring Reyes.** Reyes stared at it for several seconds. Then typed: **You still have my agent.** The reply came almost immediately. **Yes.** Reyes waited. Nothing else. She typed: **That was not a question.** A pause. Then: **I know.** Reyes closed her eyes. “Motherfucker.” No answer required. She went anyway. Megabuilding H10 had become familiar enough that she no longer consciously tracked the transitions. Public level. Maintenance. Utility junction 3C. Service lift. S4. The third door. Open. Always open. The Man was where Reyes expected him to be. Not at the same machine. That would have been too predictable. He sat at a smaller workstation near the back, surrounded by three active displays and two agents Reyes had never seen before. Birgitta's agent sat alone on the main bench. Reyes looked at it first. The Man noticed. “Still works.” “I assumed.” “Good.” She walked over. “Finished?” “Yes.” That stopped her. No qualification. No: _for this stage._ No: _mostly._ Finished. Reyes looked at him. “You sure?” “Yes.” “Dangerous word.” “No.” “It is when software is involved.” The Man stood and crossed to the main bench. He picked up Birgitta's agent. Did not immediately give it back. Instead: “Final configuration.” Reyes waited. “One source.” “Me.” “One target.” “Birgitta.” “One agent.” “That.” “No receiver software.” “Good.” “Local transform before outgoing holo.” “Yes.” “Voice and video.” “Yes.” “No background manipulation.” “Yes.” “No autonomous expression correction.” “Yes.” “No identity prediction beyond calibrated mapping.” “Yes.” “Manual reconnect after fail-close.” “Yes.” “Raw source never transmits.” Reyes looked directly at him. “Never.” “Never.” “Even if it means the call dies.” “Yes.” “Good.” The Man continued. “Reflection confidence included.” “Good.” “Hair recognition included.” “Good.” “Voice fails before artifact threshold.” “Good.” “Long-session thermal load redistributed.” “Good.” “Latency?” “Below your notice threshold.” Reyes smiled. “That still irritates me.” “It is still accurate.” “Probably why.” The Man held out the agent. Reyes took it. The weight felt ordinary. That was strange. A hundred and fifty thousand eddies. Several days of work. Two full identity captures. Hours of failure testing. And physically: the same agent. No new casing. No hardware module. No visible modification. Nothing. Reyes turned it over. “No sticker?” “No.” “Upgrade badge?” “No.” “Tiny ShadeCorp logo?” “No.” “Disappointing.” “Yes.” She activated it. Normal interface. Messages. Contacts. Everything where it belonged. Panam's thread near the top. Reyes opened settings. One additional local service. No flashy name. No marketing. No decorative icon. Just: **IDENTITY OUTPUT** Status: **LOCAL** Below that: **TARGET: B** Reyes looked at The Man. “B?” “You know who B is.” “Elegant.” “It works.” “Can I rename it?” “Yes.” “Will that break anything?” “No.” “Then why B?” The Man looked at her. “Short.” Of course. Reyes left it. “Activation?” “Automatic on outgoing holo.” “Can I disable it?” “Yes.” “Physical Birgitta?” “Disable it.” “Because otherwise?” “You'd transform Birgitta into Birgitta.” Reyes stared. “And?” “Waste processing.” She smiled. “Fair.” “What about incoming recording requests?” “Same output path.” “Local archive?” “Raw.” Reyes stopped. That mattered. “My archive sees Reyes.” “Yes.” “Panam's sees Birgitta.” “Yes.” “Good.” She thought another second. “If I export my own call recording?” “Raw unless you explicitly render it.” “Perfect.” That preserved evidence. Reyes liked that. The Man looked toward the door. Apparently the handover was finished. Reyes did not move. “What?” “Nothing.” “You're still here.” “Yes.” He waited. Reyes raised the agent. “You're not testing it?” “Already did.” “With who?” “Local loop.” “No real receiver.” “No.” “So you haven't tested the actual thing.” “The network path is ordinary.” “That is not what I mean.” The Man looked at her. Reyes continued. “A real person.” “No.” “A real call.” “No.” “A receiver who knows Birgitta.” “No.” “Then we're not done.” The Man considered. “Yes.” Reyes smiled. “Good.” “That test is yours.” “I know.” The smile faded slightly. That was the difference. Everything up to this point had been technical. Even breaking it had been technical. This next test was not. It was Panam. No test environment. No controlled receiver. No one who would know what she was supposed to see. If it worked, Panam would simply see Birgitta. If it failed visibly enough, Panam would see something she should not. The Man watched her. “Use somewhere controlled.” Reyes nodded. “Alone.” “Yes.” “Good light.” “For first call.” “Yes.” “No reflections.” “For first call.” “Yes.” “No background movement.” “For first call.” “Yes.” Reyes smiled. “You're telling me to make the first test easy.” “Yes.” “I thought you liked breaking things.” “After they work.” Fair. The Man turned away. Reyes looked at the agent again. “Anything else?” “Yes.” She waited. “If it drops, do not immediately reconnect.” “Why?” “Check local error first.” “Then?” “If confidence failure, move or change condition.” “If network?” “Reconnect.” “If unknown?” “Don't.” Reyes nodded. Simple. Useful. “Got it.” She walked toward the door. Then stopped. “One more.” The Man did not look up. “Go.” “If Panam notices something.” “Tell me what.” “Not who.” The Man glanced back. Reyes smiled. “Client data.” “Yes.” “Good.” Then she left. The service lift carried her upward. Birgitta's agent rested in her jacket. Panam had sent three messages during the morning. One complaint. One photograph. One question. Reyes did not answer immediately. Not because she could not. Because she knew what came next. And she wanted control over the first time. Reyes did not take the first real test back to the safehouse. That line mattered. Reyes knew where the safehouse was. Birgitta did not. A renderer could change a face and a voice. It did not get to hand one identity the private geography of another. So Reyes went home to Watson instead. Her apartment. Her door. Her controlled sightlines. A place Birgitta could plausibly call home without borrowing a secret she did not own. Then Reyes sent one message. **REYES:** Need a witness. My place. Shammy arrived twenty-three minutes later carrying something that looked suspiciously like it had once been intended as tea and had since become an experiment. Reyes opened the door. Shammy looked at her. Then at the second agent in Reyes's hand. A tiny smile appeared. “Oh.” Her eyes moved immediately to Reyes's hand. The second agent. Then to Reyes. A tiny smile appeared. “Oh.” Reyes stared. “What?” “That one.” Reyes looked down. Birgitta's agent. Then back. “You recognize it.” Shammy's smile widened. “I recognize you recognizing it.” Reyes sighed. “Of course you do.” Shammy came closer. “Something happened?” “No.” “Something good?” Reyes considered. “Maybe.” Shammy waited. No pressure. That was one of the reasons she was useful. She already knew. Not because Reyes had told her. Because Sera had looked at Birgitta and seen Reyes immediately. And then kept the secret exactly where it belonged. Reyes raised the agent. “Remember the limitation?” Shammy tilted her head. “Holo.” “Yes.” Shammy's expression brightened. “You fixed it?” “Someone fixed it.” “Someone?” “Long story.” “Good someone?” Reyes thought about sunglasses. Empty mugs. Fans. Seven simultaneous jobs. “No.” Shammy laughed. Reyes smiled. “Competent someone.” “Better.” “Much.” Shammy looked at the agent. “Does Panam know?” “No.” “Good.” Reyes glanced at her. “That sounded fast.” “She should not know until it works.” Exactly. Reyes nodded. “I need a clean background.” Shammy looked around Reyes's apartment. “You have walls.” “Remarkable observation.” “I'm helping.” Reyes pointed toward the bedroom. “One useful wall. No window behind it.” “Ah.” Now Shammy understood. “The first call.” “Yes.” Her demeanor changed. Not serious exactly. Focused. The bedroom was plain enough. Wall. Chair. Small table. No reflective surfaces large enough to matter. No window behind the camera position. Good lighting. One door. Shammy stopped beside it. “I'll stay out.” Reyes looked at her. “No.” Shammy blinked. “You sure?” “I need someone who knows what I'm actually doing.” Shammy's expression softened. “Okay.” “But not behind me.” “Obviously.” “Not in frame.” “Obviously.” “And if something goes wrong?” “I close the door.” Reyes stared. Shammy smiled. “Then I make tea while you swear.” Reyes laughed. “Useful.” “I try.” They entered. Shammy sat far to the side. Out of camera range. Reyes placed Birgitta's agent on the table. The screen woke. **IDENTITY OUTPUT: READY** Her stomach tightened. Shammy noticed. Said nothing. Good. Reyes checked herself. Red hair. Own face. Own voice. No Birgitta. Physically. She opened the camera preview. Raw local preview. Reyes. Expected. Then outbound preview. Birgitta. Reyes stared. Even after H10, seeing it here felt different. At ShadeCorp, Birgitta had existed among diagnostics. Here she existed in Reyes's own room. Reyes raised one hand. Birgitta followed. Clean. She spoke. “Test.” Birgitta answered. Bright voice. Shammy inhaled quietly. Reyes looked toward her. “What?” Shammy smiled. “That is very good.” “You saw through the real cover.” “Yes.” “Can you see through this?” Shammy looked at the rendered image. Longer this time. Then at Reyes. “Yes.” Reyes frowned. “Why?” Shammy thought. “Because I know.” “That is not useful.” “No.” “Anything technical?” “No.” “Movement?” “No.” “Voice?” “No.” “Expression?” “No.” Reyes stared. Shammy smiled gently. “It looks like Birgitta.” That was what Reyes needed. “Good.” Shammy added: “But it feels like you.” Reyes narrowed her eyes. “That sounds bad.” “No.” Shammy shook her head. “Birgitta feels like you too.” Reyes stopped. Right. Of course. That was why Sera had recognized her in the first place. Not technical leakage. Not failure. Reyes. Underneath. Shammy had simply known her well enough. Panam did not know Reyes that way. Panam knew Birgitta. That distinction remained. Reyes looked back at the screen. “Okay.” Shammy leaned back. “You're going to call her.” “Yes.” “Now?” Reyes checked the room again. Nothing had changed. “No reason not to.” That was a lie. There were several reasons. Most of them emotional. Reyes ignored those. She opened Panam's contact. No holo request waiting. Of course not. For days Panam had been asking. Now, on the exact morning Reyes wanted one, nothing. Reyes stared. Shammy noticed. “She isn't calling?” “No.” “Call her.” Reyes looked at Shammy. Shammy looked entirely innocent. Reyes hated that. “That's different.” “Yes.” “I usually let her ask.” “Why?” Reyes opened her mouth. No answer arrived. Shammy smiled. “Call her.” Reyes looked at the agent. Panam. Holo icon. One button. That was ridiculous. She had fought armed people with less hesitation. Reyes pressed it. **HOLO REQUEST SENT** The renderer activated automatically. Outbound preview: Birgitta. Reyes saw herself as Panam would. Copper-grey hair. Light eyes. Warm face. Bright voice waiting. One ring. Two. Three. Shammy said nothing. Fourth. Then: connection. Panam appeared. The first thing Reyes saw was sky. Then Panam's face moved into frame. “Hey.” No reaction. No pause. No confusion. Nothing. Panam simply smiled. “There you are.” Reyes forgot to answer for perhaps half a second. Panam noticed. “Birgitta?” Reyes smiled. The renderer smiled with her. “Hi.” Bright voice. Perfect. Panam's expression changed. Softened. Normal. Completely normal. “What?” Reyes asked. Panam shrugged. “You called me.” “So?” “You don't usually call first.” There it was. Not: _You look strange._ Not: _Your voice sounds weird._ Not: _What the hell happened to your face?_ Just relationship. Reyes leaned back. “Maybe I'm growing.” “Dangerous.” “I've been told.” Panam smiled. Reyes watched everything. Mouth. Eyes. Focus. No suspicion. No visual search. Panam was not evaluating an image. She was talking to Birgitta. Shammy sat completely silent outside frame. Reyes could feel her presence anyway. Witness. Not participant. Panam adjusted whatever she was holding the agent against. The view widened. Truck. Badlands. Dust. “You somewhere weird?” Panam asked. Reyes glanced at her own background. Plain wall. “Define weird.” “You look very indoors.” “That is usually what walls indicate.” “Smartass.” “You like me.” Panam smiled. “Unfortunately.” Reyes felt something unclench. The software did not matter for a moment. That was perhaps the best sign. They talked. Nothing important. Exactly as it should be. Panam complained about a delivery. Reyes insulted the route planning. Panam defended it. Reyes insulted the defense. Panam laughed. Reyes laughed too. The renderer followed. No stumble. No lag she could feel. No wrongness. Shammy watched from the side. Reyes caught her smiling once. Ignored it. Panam moved. Camera angle changed. Reyes stayed still. Good. This was not supposed to transform Panam's side. Only Reyes. One source. One target. One agent. Panam looked away briefly. Someone called something in the distance. She answered. Turned back. “Sorry.” “Client?” Panam grinned. “Coworker.” “Less profitable.” “Usually.” Reyes smiled. Panam looked at her for a second. Then: “You look good.” Everything inside Reyes stopped. Not because the renderer failed. Because The Man had used that exact sentence to provoke a laugh during calibration. Reyes stared. Panam's eyebrows rose. “What?” Reyes heard The Man in her head. _Panam said you look good._ That bastard. He had guessed. Or simply chosen the obvious line. Either way: fuck him. Shammy's hand covered her mouth. Reyes did not look at her. “Nothing.” Panam smiled slowly. “No. That was a face.” “What face?” “That face.” “You keep saying that like it means anything.” “It means I said you look good and you looked like somebody shot you.” “I did not.” “You did.” Reyes recovered. “Maybe I was touched.” Panam stared. “You?” “Fuck you.” “There she is.” Reyes laughed. Perfectly. The renderer caught it. Every part. Panam smiled. No suspicion. Shammy silently shook with laughter off-camera. Reyes made a mental note to murder her later. The conversation continued. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Long enough that Reyes stopped monitoring every frame. That was important. She began listening to Panam instead. Really listening. The tech receded. Exactly as it should. Panam talked about maybe being back in Night City the following evening. Reyes answered naturally. “Maybe dinner.” Panam looked at her. “Maybe?” “Depends.” “Client?” Reyes smiled. “Possibly.” Panam groaned. “You're impossible.” “Yes.” “Fine.” Then Panam's expression shifted. A little warmer. “Holo later?” Reyes looked at the outbound preview. Birgitta. Still there. No degradation. No warning. No failure. She smiled. “Yeah.” Panam paused. That answer surprised her. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” A smile spread slowly across Panam's face. “Good.” Reyes felt it again. That small shift inside her chest. Same one The Man had captured during target calibration. The expression moved across Reyes's face. The renderer translated it. Panam saw Birgitta soften. No delay. No category snap. Just the expression. Panam noticed. Of course she did. But this time she did not ask what it meant. She simply smiled back. The call ended a few minutes later. Connection closed. Panam disappeared. Outbound preview remained for one second. Birgitta. Then the renderer shut down. Reyes returned. Red hair. Her face. Her voice. Silence. Shammy waited. Reyes stared at the black screen. Then checked the logs. No warning. No confidence loss. No dropped frames. No voice artifacts. No raw-source exposure. Nothing. Clean. Shammy finally spoke. “Well?” Reyes looked at her. “It worked.” Shammy smiled. “Yes.” “No.” Reyes looked back at the agent. “It actually fucking worked.” Shammy stood. Walked over. Looked at the screen. Then at Reyes. “You sound surprised.” “I paid one hundred fifty thousand for it.” Shammy blinked. “How much?” Reyes looked at her. “One fifty.” Shammy stared. Then: “For software?” “Yes.” A pause. “Does Ace know?” Reyes smiled. “No.” Shammy's expression became deeply thoughtful. “That may be wise.” Reyes laughed. “It's my money.” “Yes.” “Then why do you look worried?” “I am imagining Ace's face.” Reyes thought about it. Then laughed harder. “Fair.” Shammy leaned against the table. “So Panam can call Birgitta now.” Reyes looked at the agent. “Yes.” “Whenever?” Reyes considered. “Within reason.” “Background.” “Yes.” “Other people.” “Yes.” “Mirrors.” “Handled.” Shammy raised an eyebrow. Reyes smiled. “Long story.” “Later?” “Maybe.” Shammy nodded. Then something warmer entered her expression. “This matters to you.” Reyes looked at her. The easy answer would have been a joke. She did not use it. “Yes.” Shammy waited. Reyes looked down at Panam's contact. The recent-call marker. Fifteen minutes and thirty-eight seconds. No technical note attached. No warning. Just a call. “Yes,” Reyes said again. Shammy smiled. “Good.” Reyes picked up the agent. “Don't tell anyone.” “I won't.” “I know.” That mattered. Shammy started toward the door. Then stopped. “Reyes?” “What?” “Panam really did say you look good.” Reyes stared. Shammy escaped through the doorway before the nearest cushion reached her. It hit the wall. From the corridor: “I'M MAKING TEA!” “You're making your funeral!” Shammy laughed. Reyes sat alone for another moment. Then looked at Birgitta's agent. The problem was gone. Not theoretically. Not inside a workshop. Gone. Panam had called before and Reyes had needed excuses. Client. Busy. Later. Soon. Now: she could answer. The agent vibrated. Reyes looked. Panam. Text. **PANAM:** Still think you look good. Reyes closed her eyes. “Fuck.” Then smiled. **BIRGITTA:** Careful. The reply: **PANAM:** Why? Reyes thought about several possible answers. Chose one. **BIRGITTA:** You might encourage me. Panam replied: **PANAM:** Maybe that's the idea. Reyes stared at the message. Then at the holo button. A completely different category of possibilities had just opened. She smiled. Slowly. Dangerously. “Yeah.” The room remained empty. Nobody heard her. “Maybe it is.” --- # CHAPTER 10 — NEW TOY The first unnecessary holo call arrived forty-three minutes later. Reyes was already back in Watson. Back in her own apartment. Boots by the door. Weapon on the table. Curtains positioned for sightlines rather than decoration. A place Reyes had occupied long enough to know every sound the building made and still refused to arrange like she expected to stay forever. The apartment had changed over time. Not much. Comfort had entered by accident. A better chair. Coffee worth drinking. A second glass that had somehow survived long enough to become permanent. The rest remained Reyes. Useful. Defensible. Temporary in ways she no longer entirely believed. Birgitta's agent sat beside her coffee. It vibrated. Text first. **PANAM:** Testing something. Reyes looked at it. Then: **HOLO REQUEST** She stared. Twelve seconds between the message and the call. Reyes smiled. “Asshole.” She accepted. The renderer engaged. Panam appeared. Outside somewhere. Badlands light. Truck in the background. Expression entirely too pleased with itself. Reyes immediately became suspicious. “What?” Panam leaned slightly closer. “Nothing.” “That is never true.” “I wanted to see if you'd answer.” Reyes stared at her. “You texted me twelve seconds ago.” “Yes.” “You knew I had the agent.” “Yes.” “You knew I was free.” “Yes.” “And you called anyway.” “Yes.” Panam smiled. “There you are.” The words landed harder than they had any right to. Reyes leaned back in her chair. “Asshole.” “Still working?” The question was casual. The answer was not. For days, Panam pressing that button had created a problem. Now it created Panam. Reyes glanced at the outbound preview. Birgitta. Copper-grey hair. Light brown eyes. Warm face. Bright voice. Nothing unusual. Nothing dangerous. Nothing requiring an excuse. “Apparently.” Panam looked at the background. “You home?” Reyes paused. That was an interesting question. Panam had never been here. Not knowingly. But there was nothing identifiable in frame. Wall. Part of a shelf. One offensively practical lamp. “Yeah.” Panam smiled. “Your place is exactly as cheerful as I expected.” Reyes looked behind herself. “You can see one wall.” “It looks tactical.” “It is a wall.” “It looks prepared to defend itself.” “That is a good wall.” Panam laughed. Reyes smiled. The renderer followed. Clean. Neither of them hung up. That became the pattern. The novelty should have faded quickly. It did not. Not because Reyes was fascinated by the software. The software became boring remarkably fast. That was the highest compliment she could give it. The novelty was access. The next morning, Reyes woke before the city became fully obnoxious. She showered. Pulled on clothes. Made coffee. Sat at the small kitchen table facing the door rather than the window because some habits required no conscious decision. Birgitta's agent showed a message from the middle of the night. A photograph. Panam's truck under ugly fluorescent lights. Caption: **PANAM:** Beautiful, isn't she? Reyes stared. Then typed: **BIRGITTA:** The truck? Three dots appeared almost instantly. Panam was awake. **PANAM:** Obviously. **BIRGITTA:** Then no. Holo request. Immediately. Reyes laughed and accepted. Panam appeared lying in a motel bed. Hair loose. Face partly buried in a pillow. One eye open. Not Madame. Not tough Badlands courier. Just Panam being offended before breakfast. “You're an asshole.” Reyes lifted her coffee. “Good morning.” “You insulted my truck.” “It looks like a truck.” “It is a truck.” “Then my analysis was flawless.” Panam closed her eyes. “Why did I call you?” “Poor judgment.” “Apparently.” Reyes drank. Panam opened one eye again. “Coffee?” “Yes.” “You just wake up?” “Yes.” “You always sit like that?” Reyes looked at herself. “What does that mean?” Panam pointed vaguely through the holo. “You've got the whole room in front of you.” Reyes glanced toward the door. Then toward the window reflected faintly in a dark screen. Old survival geometry. She had not thought about it. “Habit.” Panam watched her. Reyes expected another joke. It did not come. Instead: “Okay.” Nothing more. Good. Reyes drank. Panam remained in bed. Silence settled. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Neither filled it. No generated smile appeared on Birgitta's face. No artificial animation. No algorithm decided silence needed improvement. Reyes simply sat in her apartment drinking coffee. Panam lay in a motel room hundreds of kilometers away. And somehow they were together enough for neither to bother talking. Eventually Panam said: “I like this.” Reyes looked at her. “What?” “This.” “Very descriptive.” Panam made a vague gesture toward the holo. “You being there.” Something inside Reyes softened. The renderer translated it. Panam saw. Reyes knew she saw because the same softness came back from the other side. “Yeah,” Reyes said. Then, because that had been exposed long enough: “Your motel still has terrible lighting.” Panam groaned. “There she is.” The calls multiplied. Not stupidly. They both still had work. Panam disappeared onto routes. Reyes disappeared onto gigs. Sometimes hours passed. Sometimes most of a day. Neither treated absence as a crisis. But the old artificial barrier was gone. Panam called during fuel stops. Reyes answered from her apartment while cleaning weapons. Panam called while waiting for cargo paperwork. Reyes answered from the roof of a Watson building after a meeting had finished early. One afternoon Reyes called first while eating lunch in a merc café far enough from anyone she knew to make the background irrelevant. Panam answered from the truck. The surprise on her face alone made it worth doing. “You called.” “Yes.” “You called first.” “Yes.” “Again.” “Yes.” “This is becoming a pattern.” “Don't make it weird.” “I'm documenting personal growth.” “I will hang up.” “You won't.” Reyes considered. Did not. Panam smiled. “See?” “Fuck you.” “Noted.” The calls were not dramatic. That became the point. The renderer made boring things possible. And boring things built something dangerous. Reyes learned Panam's waiting face. The expression she wore when somebody else was taking too long. The way she checked a mirror twice when parked somewhere she did not trust. The jaw movement that meant she was deciding whether to complain. The particular sigh reserved for forms. Panam learned things too. Reyes discovered this one evening in her apartment. Pistol disassembled on the cleaning mat. Agent propped against a spare magazine box. Panam watched from somewhere outside Night City. “You always do that.” Reyes did not look up. “Do what?” “That face.” Reyes stopped. Slowly raised her eyes. “What face?” Panam imitated concentration. Badly. Reyes stared. “I do not look like that.” “You do.” “I look normal.” “You look personally offended by the gun.” “I am cleaning it.” “Exactly.” “That sentence makes no sense.” Panam smiled. Reyes returned to the weapon. After a moment she realized Panam had gone quiet. She glanced up. Panam was simply watching. Same way she had once watched Birgitta brush her hair. Reyes finally understood the pattern. “Do you enjoy watching people do boring things?” Panam thought about it. “No.” Reyes waited. Panam's expression shifted slightly. “I like watching you do boring things.” Reyes looked back down at the pistol. That sentence had no business being effective. The renderer could hide Reyes's face. It could not protect Reyes from Panam. Annoying design flaw. “You're getting sentimental.” “Don't ruin it.” “Too late.” Panam smiled. The call stayed open. By the third day after the successful external test, neither woman treated holo as an event anymore. That was when it became dangerous. Reyes discovered the next boundary while walking back from a job briefing. Birgitta's agent vibrated. Holo. She checked her surroundings automatically. Busy sidewalk. Too many people. Reflective storefront. Advertising glass. No. Decline. Text arrived. **PANAM:** Client? Reyes kept walking. **BIRGITTA:** Public. **PANAM:** Ah. Then: **PANAM:** Call when you're home. Reyes looked at the message. There was no irritation in it. No: _again?_ No: _soon?_ Because now _when you're home_ had meaning. Reyes could actually call. Forty minutes later she stepped into her apartment. Door locked behind her. Weapon where she wanted it. Jacket over the chair. A quick glance around the room. Nothing unexpected. Then she called Panam. Panam answered almost immediately. “You survived.” “Barely.” “Crowded?” “Night City.” “Fair.” Reyes moved Birgitta's agent onto the kitchen table. Panam studied the room. “More wall.” Reyes looked behind herself. “You're collecting my apartment one square meter at a time?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because you won't turn the fucking camera.” Reyes stared. “Excuse me?” “Every call. Wall. Table. Occasionally a door.” “I am the interesting part.” Panam laughed. “Debatable.” Reyes picked up the agent. Turned slowly. Kitchen. Weapon-cleaning table. Chair. Small living space. Nothing luxurious. Nothing curated for another person's approval. Panam watched. “This is your place.” “Yes.” “You really do live like this.” Reyes stopped the camera. “Like what?” Panam smiled. “Ready to leave.” The answer arrived too close. Reyes looked at her. Panam did not push. Good. Reyes put the agent back down. “I haven't left yet.” Panam's expression softened. “No.” That was enough. The calls continued over the next few days. From Reyes's apartment. From neutral cafés. From parked vehicles. From quiet rooftops. From anonymous motel rooms after gigs. Places Birgitta could plausibly know. Places Birgitta could plausibly be. Reyes became careful about that without needing to remind herself. The renderer solved appearance. It did not solve biography. Birgitta had her own social geography. Her own known places. Her own absences. Her own ignorance. There were doors Reyes could walk through that Birgitta could not even know existed. That boundary stayed absolute. No software changed it. One evening Panam called while Reyes was on her way somewhere she could not answer from. Reyes declined. Text followed. **PANAM:** Bad time? **BIRGITTA:** Yeah. **PANAM:** Client? Reyes considered. **BIRGITTA:** Something private. Panam answered: **PANAM:** Okay. No questions. No digging. Reyes smiled. That was trust too. Later, long after she had left the place behind and returned to Watson, Reyes called. Panam answered from the truck. “You escaped.” “Eventually.” “How bad?” “Complicated.” Panam nodded. No request for detail. No demand. Just: “You okay?” “Yes.” “Good.” Reyes settled into her chair. The conversation drifted. Work. Food. Nothing. Then later that night, Panam called again. Reyes was already in bed. Not asleep. Birgitta's agent sat beside her. She accepted. Panam was parked somewhere dark. Instrument lights touched her face. Beyond the windows: almost nothing. “Long day?” Reyes asked. “Yes.” “You look tired.” “So you keep telling me.” “Because you keep looking tired.” Panam leaned back. “Say something nice.” “No.” “Come on.” Reyes considered. “You survived.” Panam stared. “That is not nice.” “It is technically positive.” “You charge too much.” “You haven't paid me.” “I paid you once.” Reyes remembered. Sera. The first booking. Birgitta. Panam. The ridiculous beginning of something neither had named properly. “You did.” Panam smiled. “Worth it.” The air changed. Not much. Enough. Reyes felt it. Panam clearly did too. Neither moved away. Reyes shifted against the headboard. Panam remained behind the wheel. The call became private in a new way without anything technical changing. Panam looked at her for several seconds. “You know what's weird?” “Everything about you?” “No.” “Then narrow it down.” Panam hesitated. “I missed seeing you.” Reyes went quiet. Panam continued. “Texts were fine.” “Romantic.” “You know what I mean.” “Yes.” “After that week…” The courier week. Hundreds of miles. Motel mornings. Meals. The farm. The last evening. Being physically present long enough that presence itself became normal. “I got used to your face,” Panam said. Birgitta's face. Reyes's relationship. The entire reason ShadeCorp existed compressed into one sentence. Reyes glanced toward the outbound preview. Birgitta looked back. Then she returned her attention to Panam. “You have it now.” Panam smiled. “Yeah.” Reyes smiled too. Silence. Different this time. Charged. Panam's gaze lingered. Reyes noticed. “You're staring.” “So are you.” “I said it first.” “That doesn't make it yours.” Reyes smiled. Panam did too. Then Panam said: “Move the agent.” Reyes raised an eyebrow. “Why?” “You're too close.” “Bossy.” “Move it.” Reyes considered. Then shifted the agent farther away on the bedside table. The frame widened. Panam watched. “Better?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because.” Reyes smiled. “Madame.” Panam's expression changed immediately. There. That word still worked. “Careful.” “Why?” “You know why.” Reyes did. Very much. The physical distance between them remained hundreds of kilometers. Panam's attention did not feel distant. That was new. Panam looked at her. “Stand up.” Reyes stared. “Excuse me?” “You heard me.” “You've become comfortable with this.” “Yes.” Reyes slowly got out of bed. Not because Madame had authority over her. Because Reyes wanted to know what happened when she chose to follow. Panam watched. Nothing explicit. Nothing obscene. Just Reyes standing several steps away from an agent while Panam looked at Birgitta. And yet the shift between them was unmistakable. Holo was no longer just conversation. It had become presence. Enough presence for Panam to use that voice. Enough presence for Reyes to feel it. “Happy?” Reyes asked. Panam smiled. “Maybe.” “Dangerous answer.” “You like dangerous answers.” Reyes laughed softly. The phrase had become theirs. Only now distance had changed what it could mean. Panam was far away. Reyes could still feel her attention almost physically. Reyes sat back down. Panam looked mildly disappointed. “You didn't tell me I could.” “I didn't tell you not to.” Reyes leaned toward the camera. “That is not the same thing.” “No.” Panam's smile became slower. Heat arrived under Reyes's skin. Subtle. Real. For the first time she understood the next problem. Not technical. Not ShadeCorp's. Entirely theirs. Panam glanced at the time. “Fuck.” “What?” “I need to move.” Reyes felt immediate disappointment. That irritated her. “Then move.” Panam smiled. “You sound unhappy.” “I sound practical.” “You sound unhappy.” “Drive your truck.” “Birgitta.” “Panam.” Panam laughed. “Later?” The answer was effortless now. “Yeah.” Panam paused. Then: “Good.” Connection ended. The renderer disengaged. Birgitta disappeared. Reyes remained alone in her apartment. Her apartment. Red hair. Her face. Her voice. Her bed behind her. Her gun on the table across the room. The city murmuring beyond the windows. She stared at the blank call window. “Fuck.” Her agent vibrated. Panam. Text. **PANAM:** Still standing? Reyes stared at it. Then laughed. **BIRGITTA:** You are getting entirely too pleased with yourself. Three dots. **PANAM:** Maybe. Reyes smiled. **BIRGITTA:** There it is again. Panam replied: **PANAM:** You like it. Reyes leaned back against her own bed. The new toy had officially become a problem. She liked problems. Especially this one. --- # CHAPTER 11 — LATER Later arrived at 22:17. Reyes knew the exact time because she had been pretending not to wait for it. She had eaten. Washed the plate. Checked tomorrow's job notes. Checked them again despite nothing having changed. Cleaned a weapon that did not need cleaning. Put it away. Made coffee. Decided coffee at ten in the evening was an idiotic choice. Drank it anyway. Birgitta's agent remained on the table. Silent. Reyes ignored it with increasingly impressive concentration. 22:14. Nothing. 22:15. Nothing. 22:16. Reyes looked at the agent. “Don't.” The agent remained innocent. 22:17. **HOLO REQUEST** Panam. Reyes stared at it. Then laughed once. “Bitch.” She accepted. The renderer engaged. Panam appeared sitting on the edge of a motel bed. Not in the truck. Not at a fuel stop. Not halfway through paperwork. Not working. That changed the atmosphere immediately. Panam had showered. Her hair was still slightly damp. Simple shirt. Bare legs disappearing beyond the lower edge of the frame. No jacket. No boots. Nothing between Panam and the end of her day except the motel room around her. Panam looked into the holo. Then smiled. “You answered.” “You called.” “That's usually how this works.” Reyes leaned back in her chair. “Technical expert now?” “Apparently.” Panam's eyes stayed on her. Longer than conversation required. Reyes noticed. “What?” “Nothing.” “You've learned nothing.” “I learned you hate that answer.” “Yes.” “Useful.” Reyes smiled. Panam smiled back. Neither spoke for several seconds. This was not the comfortable silence from their morning calls. This one carried memory. The last call. Panam telling her to move the agent. The word Madame changing her posture before she could pretend otherwise. Reyes knew exactly why Panam had chosen a motel bed instead of the truck tonight. Panam knew Reyes knew. Neither needed to rush. Panam shifted. “Home?” “Yes.” “Alone?” Reyes raised an eyebrow. “That sounded deliberate.” “It was.” Reyes glanced around her apartment. Locked door. Controlled windows. No expected visitors. Her own bedroom waiting beyond the half-open door. “Yes.” Panam nodded once. “Good.” The word landed low. Reyes felt it. Nothing dramatic. Just the first tightening of attention. Panam saw enough through the renderer to smile. “You felt that.” Reyes narrowed her eyes. “Don't get smug.” “I didn't say anything.” “You were about to.” “No.” “Liar.” “Maybe.” Reyes pointed toward the holo. “Dangerous answer.” “You like dangerous answers.” That phrase again. This time neither laughed. Panam rested one hand against the mattress. “You staying in the kitchen?” Reyes looked toward the bedroom. Then back at her. “Problem?” “Yes.” Reyes smiled slowly. “Oh?” “Move.” There it was. Madame. Not theatrical. Not announced. Just Panam using that calm tone and expecting Reyes to decide what she wanted to do with it. Reyes stood. Picked up the agent. Walked into the bedroom. Panam watched the background change. Reyes set the agent on the bedside table. Tested the angle. Too close. Moved it farther away. Now the frame held most of the bed. Enough floor. Enough Reyes. Outbound preview showed Birgitta. Copper-grey hair. Light eyes. Controlled clothes. Reyes's body translated only where the cover required it. Everything else belonged to Reyes. She looked at Panam. “Better?” Panam studied the frame. “Yes.” “Happy?” “Not yet.” That made Reyes laugh. “Confident.” “I've had several evenings of practice.” “Madame has.” Panam's expression sharpened instantly. Reyes felt the answering warmth under her skin. There. That reaction again. Panam noticed. Of course she did. “Say it again.” Reyes held her gaze. “Madame.” Panam's smile slowed. “Good.” Reyes breathed out. “Fuck.” “What?” “You're enjoying this far too much.” “Yes.” No hesitation. That somehow made it worse. Or better. Reyes sat on the edge of the bed. Panam watched. “Closer.” Reyes shifted nearer the agent. Panam shook her head. “No.” Reyes stopped. “You just told me closer.” “To the bed.” Reyes stared. Panam smiled. “Lie back.” Reyes did not immediately move. Panam waited. No repeated command. No pressure. Just space for Reyes to choose. That mattered. Reyes kicked off her boots. Then leaned back against the pillows. “Happy?” Panam's eyes travelled over the wider frame. “Yes.” Reyes felt herself smile. “Your turn.” Panam raised an eyebrow. “We just started.” “Exactly.” Reyes pointed. “Move yours.” Panam laughed quietly. Then picked up her agent. The motel frame shifted. Reyes watched ceiling. Wall. Bed. Then Panam set the agent farther away. Now Reyes could see more of her. Panam sitting on the bed. Shirt loose. Bare feet against the floor. Reyes smiled. “Better.” Panam looked at her. “Happy?” “Getting there.” “Bitch.” “Madame.” Panam inhaled slowly. Reyes saw it. That alone was enough to send another small pulse of heat through her. They sat looking at each other. No urgency. No performance for strangers. No client. No room full of people expecting Madame to manage everybody else's desire. Just them. Panam spoke first. “Take off the jacket.” Reyes looked down. She was still wearing it. “Really?” “Yes.” Reyes unfastened it slowly. Not because it needed to be slow. Because Panam was watching. That changed the movement. The jacket came off. Reyes tossed it aside. Panam's gaze stayed on her. “Better?” “Yes.” Reyes smiled. “You're easy to please.” “No.” Panam leaned closer. “Keep going.” Reyes's smile faded into something warmer. There was no ambiguity now. She removed another layer. Then stopped deliberately. Panam waited. Reyes watched her reaction. “Your turn.” Panam laughed under her breath. “Fair.” Her shirt followed. Not dramatically. No showmanship. She simply pulled it over her head and set it aside. Reyes stared. Panam noticed. “Problem?” “No.” “You stopped talking.” “Shut up.” Panam smiled. “Thought so.” Reyes shifted farther back on the bed. The room felt warmer. Nothing about the actual temperature had changed. Panam's attention had. Reyes could feel it despite the distance. Panam said: “Look at me.” Reyes did. The command was simple. The effect was not. “Don't look at the preview.” Reyes's eyes almost moved automatically toward Birgitta's rendered image. She stopped them. Looked only at Panam. “Good.” Reyes exhaled. “Madame.” “Yes?” “What do you want?” Panam's expression changed. Not because the question surprised her. Because Reyes had stopped teasing. Panam answered just as directly. “I want to watch you touch yourself.” There. Clear. No metaphor. No convenient fade into implication. Reyes felt the words settle into her body. She did not move immediately. Panam waited. Reyes looked at her. “You first.” Panam smiled. “Negotiating?” “Yes.” “Fine.” Panam shifted back against the motel pillows. One hand moved down her own body. Not hurried. Not hidden. Reyes watched it disappear below the lower edge of the frame for a moment before Panam adjusted the agent. “Better?” Reyes swallowed. “Yes.” Now Reyes could see enough. Not explicit anatomy. But intention. Movement. Panam's hand resting between her thighs. The first slow motion. The reaction it pulled from her. Reyes felt her own breath change. Panam saw that. “Your turn.” Reyes let one hand slide down over her stomach. Stopped at her waistband. Panam watched every centimeter. Reyes liked that far too much. “Still want this?” Panam asked. Reyes looked at her. “Yes.” “Good.” Reyes opened her clothes enough to make room for her hand. Then touched herself. Her first reaction was small. A breath. A slight tightening through her abdomen. Panam's eyes sharpened. “There.” Reyes closed her eyes for half a second. “Don't.” “Don't what?” “That voice.” Panam smiled. “You like that voice.” “Yes.” “Then no.” Reyes laughed breathlessly. “Bitch.” “Keep looking at me.” Reyes opened her eyes. Panam had begun moving her own hand more deliberately now. Still controlled. Still Madame enough to hold Reyes's gaze while doing it. But Reyes could see the control was already costing her something. Good. Very good. Reyes settled deeper against the bed. Her hand moved again. Slowly. She watched Panam watch her. That became the center of the whole thing. Not what Reyes's fingers were doing. Not what Panam's were doing. The fact that each woman could see the effect on the other. Panam breathed out. Reyes smiled. “Felt that.” Panam's eyes narrowed. “Don't get smug.” Reyes laughed. “You started it.” Panam's hand stopped. Reyes noticed instantly. “Why did you stop?” Panam smiled. Reyes realized. “Oh, fuck you.” “Your hand.” Reyes stared. Panam waited. Madame. Reyes slowed. Then stopped too. The sudden absence of movement made the tension worse. Panam's voice dropped. “Good.” Reyes shivered. “That's cruel.” “No.” “It absolutely is.” “You can stop the call.” Reyes looked at the disconnect icon. Then at Panam. “No.” Panam smiled warmly. “Good.” Consent. Again. Clear. Reyes understood the game now. Panam was not trying to deny her forever. She wanted control over the rhythm. And after several evenings spent managing everyone else's desire, Madame was finally using that control entirely between the two of them. Reyes let herself enjoy it. Panam said: “Again.” Reyes's hand resumed. Panam's did too. Both watched. Reyes had expected holo intimacy to feel artificial. It did not. It felt stripped down. There was no physical touch from Panam to confuse the source of every reaction. No shared bed. No hands crossing. No bodies pressing together. Each woman caused her own sensation. But the other woman controlled attention. Timing. Expectation. That difference made every response embarrassingly visible. Panam saw Reyes's breathing deepen. Reyes saw Panam's shoulders tighten. Panam changed pace. Reyes matched without being asked. Panam noticed. “Copying me?” “Maybe.” Reyes smiled. “Of course.” Panam's mouth twitched. “You like it.” Their hands continued. Slow. Then less slow. Panam's composure began to fray around the edges. Reyes watched with growing fascination. This was the woman who could spend hours controlling a room. Now her mouth opened slightly with a breath she clearly had not intended to let escape. Reyes smiled. “Madame.” Panam looked at her. “Don't.” “Wasn't going to say anything.” “Liar.” Reyes's own movement faltered when sensation caught unexpectedly hard. Her head tipped back. Eyes closed. Panam immediately said: “Look at me.” Reyes obeyed. The command hit almost as strongly as the touch. She stared at Panam. Panam's breathing was no longer steady. Neither was hers. “Stay with me,” Panam said. Not Madame now. Panam. Reyes softened. “I'm here.” Their rhythm resumed. No longer perfectly matched. No need. Reyes followed what felt good. Panam did the same. They simply stayed visible. Stayed present. Said what mattered. “Slower.” Reyes slowed. Panam watched the reaction. “Yeah.” Reyes breathed Panam's name. Panam's eyes closed briefly. Reyes smiled. “Look at me.” Panam opened them. A laugh escaped her. “You stealing my lines?” “Yes.” “Fuck you.” “Later.” That got another laugh. Then the laughter disappeared because Reyes kept looking at her. “Your turn,” Reyes said. Panam knew exactly what she meant. Reyes had let Madame direct long enough. Now she watched Panam. “Don't rush.” Panam's expression changed. Reyes smiled. “Mm-hm.” “Getting revenge?” “No.” “Sure?” Reyes shook her head. “I'm making sure you don't hide behind control again.” That landed. Panam's hand slowed. Reyes could see the vulnerability in that. Not weakness. Exposure. Panam was accustomed to managing her own reactions. Reyes wanted to see them. “Let me watch.” Panam stared at her. Then nodded. The next stretch became quieter. Reyes kept touching herself, but more slowly now. Enough to stay with Panam instead of racing ahead. Panam's composure gradually dissolved. Her breathing shortened. Her posture changed. One hand braced against the mattress. The other kept moving. Reyes watched every little failure of control. Loved every one. “Panam.” “Yeah?” “Don't stop.” Panam's eyes remained fixed on her. “I wasn't planning to.” Reyes smiled. Then Panam's body tightened. Not theatrically. A sharp inhale. Shoulders drawing in. Her eyes closing despite herself. The motion of her hand becoming less controlled for several seconds. Reyes knew. “Look at me.” Panam tried. Managed it. Barely. Reyes stayed there with her. Watched the climax move through Panam's face before Panam finally let out a broken breath and went still. Panam remained visible through all of it. Breathing hard. Eyes closed. Hand finally stopping. Reyes smiled softly. “There.” Panam opened her eyes. “You look way too pleased.” “I am.” “Bitch.” “Madame survived.” “Barely.” Reyes laughed. And the laugh broke into a breath when her own hand moved again. Panam saw. Immediately focused. “Oh.” Reyes closed her eyes. “Don't.” “Don't what?” “Sound happy about it.” “I am happy about it.” Reyes laughed again. “Asshole.” Panam shifted closer to her agent. Still recovering. Still watching. “Keep going.” Reyes did. No games now. No stopping. She had waited through Panam's release deliberately. Held herself close enough that restarting took almost nothing. Her breathing became rough quickly. Panam watched. Reyes kept her eyes on Panam as long as she could. “That's it,” Panam said quietly. Reyes shuddered. “Fuck.” “Stay with me.” Reyes's hand kept moving. Her body tightened. She tried to answer. Failed. Panam smiled. Not smug. Tender. “Yeah.” That voice again. Reyes lost the ability to make fun of it. She reached climax with Panam's face in front of her. Not from Panam's touch. From her own. But Panam's attention was woven through the entire thing. Reyes's back pressed harder into the bed. Her breath caught. For several seconds she could do nothing except ride through the reaction and let Panam see every bit she normally would have hidden. Then stillness. Immediate. Necessary. Reyes's hand stopped. She remained exactly where she was. Breathing. Panam remained quiet. No joke. No triumphant Madame line. No teasing. Just presence. The stillness lasted. Long enough. Reyes finally opened her eyes fully. Panam was smiling. Small. Warm. “Hi.” Reyes started laughing. “Fuck you.” Panam laughed too. “There she is.” Reyes let her head fall back against the pillow. Neither woman immediately rearranged clothing. Neither ended the call. Nobody rushed the aftermath. That mattered. Panam reached for water. Reyes did the same. They drank while still looking at one another. The physical distance returned slowly. Watson. Motel. Separate beds. Separate rooms. But the call remained open. Panam finally said: “That was…” Reyes waited. “Different.” Reyes stared. “Brilliant analysis.” “I'm recovering.” “Apparently.” “Shut up.” “No.” Panam smiled. Reyes adjusted her clothes enough to become comfortable. Panam did the same. Nothing coy about it now. The event had happened. Both knew exactly what had happened. No mist. No euphemism required. The interesting part was what remained afterward. Panam lying back against the motel pillows. Reyes under her own blankets. Neither wanting to disconnect. Panam looked at her. “That technical thing of yours.” Reyes's brain snapped back into operational caution. “What about it?” “I don't know.” Panam frowned slightly. “You've been easier to reach since then.” Reyes kept her face neutral. The renderer translated neutral Birgitta. “Coincidence.” “Bullshit.” “Prove it.” Panam considered. Then shrugged. “I don't care enough to.” Good. Then Panam's expression softened. “I just like it.” Reyes looked at her. No joke this time. “Me too.” Panam smiled. That stayed between them. The call continued another twenty minutes. No more sexual play. Just aftermath. Water. Quiet conversation. Panam complaining about the motel pillow. Reyes suggesting violence against it. Panam accusing her of solving too many problems with violence. Reyes pointing out the pillow had started it. Eventually Panam yawned. Reyes caught it. “Sleep.” “Bossy.” “Yes.” “Thought I was Madame.” “You're off duty.” Panam smiled. “Apparently.” “Good night.” “Night, Birgitta.” Reyes paused. “Panam.” The way she said the name made Panam remain another second. “Yeah?” Reyes smiled. “Nothing.” Panam looked at her. Understood something anyway. “Good night.” The call ended. The renderer disengaged. Birgitta disappeared from the preview. Reyes remained on her own bed. Red hair. Her face. Her voice. Her apartment. Her body still carrying the warm aftershocks of something that had happened entirely through distance, choice and attention. She stared at the agent. Then laughed softly. “Oh, that is dangerous.” The agent wisely offered no opinion. Reyes lay back. Her mind wandered briefly to ShadeCorp. The Man. One source. One target. One agent. Software only. One hundred fifty thousand eddies. Worth it. Absolutely fucking worth it. Then another thought arrived. Not immediate. Not necessary. But obvious now. Tonight they had been limited to their own hands. Holo gave them sight. Voice. Timing. Instructions. Reaction. It let Madame control rhythm from hundreds of kilometers away. But technology could close one more part of the distance. There were toys designed for exactly that. Remote control. Network links. Panam touching a control somewhere far away and Reyes feeling the result immediately. Reyes smiled toward the ceiling. Not tonight. Not yet. This had been their first time. It deserved to stand on its own before they added anything else. Her agent vibrated. Reyes looked. Panam. Text. **PANAM:** Still awake? Reyes laughed. **BIRGITTA:** You literally just told me good night. **PANAM:** Didn't ask that. Reyes smiled. **BIRGITTA:** Yes. Three dots. Then: **PANAM:** Good. Reyes stared at the word. Small. Ordinary. Ridiculously effective. She put the agent beside the bed. The new toy had graduated. And whatever they added next was going to make this considerably more dangerous. --- # CHAPTER 12 — REMOTE The package arrived two days later. Not at Reyes's door. Panam did not have that address. The delivery went to a neutral Watson courier locker under Birgitta's contact code, the kind of arrangement Night City used every day for people who preferred parcels without geography attached. Reyes collected it and carried it home before opening anything. She knew immediately that it was suspicious. Not because of the packaging. The packaging was aggressively ordinary. Small. Unmarked. Handled by a courier service that specialized in pretending it had never seen the contents of anything. The suspicious part was the message that arrived twelve seconds after pickup confirmation. **PANAM:** Got it? Reyes stood inside her apartment holding the package. She looked at the agent. Then at the package. Then back at the agent. **BIRGITTA:** You are becoming alarmingly predictable. Three dots. **PANAM:** So yes. **BIRGITTA:** What did you send me? **PANAM:** Open it. Reyes narrowed her eyes. There were very few people in Night City she would obey after receiving an anonymous package. Panam had apparently made the list. That was worrying. She carried it to the table. Checked it anyway. Habit. No explosive signature. No chemical warning. No hidden transmitter she could detect beyond whatever the thing itself might contain. She opened it. Then stared. “Oh, you bitch.” Her agent vibrated. **PANAM:** That sounds promising. Reyes looked at the contents. A compact premium remote-intimacy kit. Nothing cheap. Nothing loud. Minimal design. High-end materials. Secure pairing module. Local privacy controls. Physical disconnect. Panam had not bought novelty garbage. Of course she had not. Reyes picked up the control documentation. The first page included: **END-TO-END LOCAL ENCRYPTION** Good. **REMOTE ACCESS REQUIRES ACTIVE CONSENT SESSION** Very good. **HARD LOCAL DISCONNECT OVERRIDES ALL REMOTE INPUT** Excellent. Reyes smiled. Panam knew exactly who she was dealing with. Then she found the handwritten note. Not printed. Actual handwriting. **You said technology could close the last part of the distance.** Below it: **Madame agrees.** Reyes stared. Then laughed loudly enough that someone in the neighboring apartment hit a wall. She hit it back. The neighbor reconsidered. Birgitta's agent vibrated again. Holo request. Reyes looked at the package. Looked at the request. Accepted. Panam appeared inside the truck. Parked. Reyes checked automatically. “You're not driving.” “No.” “Good.” Panam smiled. “You opened it.” “Yes.” “You like it?” “I haven't decided whether I'm impressed or filing a restraining order.” “Those aren't mutually exclusive.” Reyes laughed. “Where did you even find this?” “Night City.” “That is not an answer.” “It is technically an answer.” “You've been spending too much time with me.” “I noticed.” Reyes held up the handwritten note. “Madame agrees?” Panam looked extremely pleased with herself. “Yes.” “You planned this before our last holo call.” “No.” Reyes stared. Panam smiled. “Immediately after.” “That's worse.” “I know.” Reyes looked down at the kit. Panam watched her. Then her expression changed slightly. Less joke. More careful. “You don't have to use it.” Reyes looked up. There. That mattered. Panam continued. “I thought you'd like it.” “I probably will.” “But if you don't…” “I know.” Panam nodded. No sales pitch. No pressure. Just choice. Reyes picked up the pairing module. “You already have the other half.” “Yes.” “Paired?” “Not until you authorize.” “Good.” “I thought you'd appreciate that.” “I appreciate you continuing to live.” Panam laughed. “So romantic.” “I try.” Reyes studied the local controls. The hardware was straightforward. Secure. Designed around explicit session permission rather than permanent access. Good. Very good. Then she found the control range. Raised an eyebrow. “That's ambitious.” Panam smiled. “Thought so.” “How far are you?” “Tonight?” “Yes.” “About three hundred kilometers.” Reyes looked at the device. Then at Panam. “You bought this just to prove a point.” “No.” “What point?” Panam's smile slowed. “That distance is negotiable.” Reyes went quiet. Damn her. That was almost unfairly effective. She put the documentation down. “When?” Panam blinked. “When what?” “When are you off work?” Panam smiled. “Two hours.” “Call me.” “I was planning to.” “Good.” Reyes ended the connection. Panam managed to send one final text before the holo fully closed. **PANAM:** Bossy. Reyes stared at it. Then typed: **BIRGITTA:** Your fault. Two hours became one hour and forty-six minutes. Reyes did not acknowledge this as waiting. She ate. Showered. Changed. Re-read the safety controls. Then she took the local half of the kit into the bedroom and stopped treating it like packaging. No hurry. No camera yet. She positioned the device as intended, checked that nothing pinched or shifted when she moved, dressed back over it, then put the local override where she could reach it without looking. Only after that did she test the disconnect. Once. Then again. Because Reyes trusted people. She did not outsource safety. By the time she sat back against the pillows, the physical side was ready and the remote side was still dead. Exactly how she wanted it. At 23:03, the agent vibrated. Panam. Holo. Reyes smiled. Accepted. Panam was in another motel room. Different room. Same anonymous architecture. She had clearly showered too. Reyes noticed. Panam noticed Reyes noticing. “Hi.” “Hi.” The word felt ridiculous after what they both knew was sitting within reach. Panam looked toward something off-camera. “You have it ready?” “Yes.” “Paired?” “No.” Panam smiled. “Good.” Reyes held up the local module. “Session request.” A secure prompt appeared. **REMOTE CONTROL SESSION** **REMOTE USER: PANAM** **ACTIVE UNTIL MANUAL DISCONNECT** **LOCAL OVERRIDE AVAILABLE AT ALL TIMES** Reyes read it. Panam waited. No jokes. No pressure. Reyes pressed: **AUTHORIZE** The interface changed. Connected. Panam's agent chimed faintly on the other side. Panam looked at it. Then back at Reyes. “There.” Reyes felt an unexpected little pulse of nerves. Not fear. Anticipation. This was different from the holo. Last time Panam could direct. Reyes could choose. Follow. Stop. Slow down. But every sensation still came from Reyes herself. Tonight Panam could actually cause something at a distance. The distinction mattered. Panam saw it on her face. “You okay?” “Yes.” “Sure?” Reyes smiled. “Panam.” “What?” “If I wasn't sure, you wouldn't be connected.” Panam nodded. “Fair.” Reyes looked at the outbound preview. Birgitta. Then Panam. “Madame.” Panam's eyes sharpened. There. Immediate. Reyes smiled. “Try it.” Panam did not. Reyes waited. Nothing. “Panam.” “I'm enjoying this.” “You haven't done anything.” “Exactly.” Reyes stared. “You absolute bitch.” Panam laughed. Reyes felt anticipation tighten another notch simply because nothing happened. That was obnoxious. And clever. Madame had a new instrument and apparently intended to weaponize waiting before even touching the controls. Reyes leaned back against the pillows. “Are you going to do something?” “Eventually.” “You spent money on this.” “So did I.” Reyes stared. Panam smiled. “That's generally how buying things works.” Reyes laughed. “Smartass.” “You like me.” “Questionable.” Panam looked toward her control interface. Then finally moved one finger. The response was small. Intentionally. Reyes felt it. Her body reacted before her face could decide whether to. Panam saw. Her expression changed immediately. “Oh.” Reyes breathed out. “Don't.” Panam looked delighted. “That worked.” “Yes.” “Exactly when I pressed it?” “Yes.” Another small input. Reyes's breath hitched. “Panam.” “Yes?” “You are enjoying the latency test far too much.” “There's almost none.” “I noticed.” Panam did it again. Still mild. Still testing. But now Reyes knew what was coming before it arrived. That made the anticipation part of the sensation. She smiled. “Dangerous.” Panam's voice softened. “Too much?” “No.” “Want more?” “Yes.” Clear. Simple. Panam increased it slightly. Reyes closed her eyes for a moment. Then opened them. Panam was watching. Not the control panel. Her. Exactly as Reyes had watched Panam during their previous holo night. “You're staring.” “Yes.” “No denial?” “No.” Reyes laughed softly. The laugh shifted into another breath when Panam changed the setting again. “Fuck.” Panam smiled. “Good?” “Yes.” “Say it.” Reyes narrowed her eyes. “You heard me.” “I did.” “Then don't be greedy.” “Madame.” Reyes froze. Panam had said it back. Not as a title for herself. As a reminder. Reyes smiled slowly. “You don't get to call yourself that.” “Apparently I do.” Another pulse of sensation arrived. Reyes's argument became temporarily less organized. Panam noticed. Her smile widened. “Thought so.” “Fuck you.” “Later.” Reyes started laughing. “That one's mine.” “Shared property.” “No.” “Too late.” The session settled. At first Panam experimented carefully. Small changes. Short bursts. Longer ones. Enough variation to learn what Reyes's reactions meant. Reyes realized after several minutes that Panam was calibrating. Not technically. Personally. Learning. Which changes made Reyes's shoulders tighten. Which made her breathing shift. Which pulled a laugh. Which made her go still. The same way Madame had learned rooms. People. Desire. Except now all of that focus belonged to Reyes. The thought made the sensation stronger before Panam changed anything. Panam noticed. “What?” “Nothing.” “That was a face.” Reyes laughed. “You're becoming intolerable.” “Tell me.” Reyes considered. Then decided she wanted Panam to know. “You're learning me.” Panam went quiet. “Yes.” No joke. No denial. Reyes felt warmth that had nothing to do with the device. Panam's expression softened. “Is that okay?” Reyes looked directly at her. “Yes.” Panam nodded. Then gave Reyes a moment of stillness. No remote input. No teasing. Just the answer allowed to exist. Reyes liked that too. Then she smiled. “Don't get sentimental.” Panam laughed. “Too late.” Another input. Reyes's breath caught. “Bitch.” “Better?” “Much.” The game evolved. Panam started using the remote the same way she used her voice. Sometimes together. Sometimes separately. “Look at me.” Reyes did. A change followed. Immediate. Reyes's response sharpened. Panam saw. “Again.” Reyes shook her head. “No.” Panam waited. Reyes smiled. “Make me want to.” Panam's eyes narrowed. Challenge accepted. The next several minutes became almost entirely about timing. Not intensity. Expectation. Panam learned that a pause could be more effective than constant stimulation. Reyes learned that watching Panam decide when to resume made waiting considerably harder. Madame loved the control. Reyes loved stealing pieces of it back. “Your turn,” Reyes said eventually. Panam blinked. “You can't control mine.” “Not tonight.” Panam smiled. “Then what?” “Last time you tried hiding behind the remote.” “I am literally holding the remote.” “You know what I mean.” Panam's expression changed. Reyes looked at her. “Don't just watch me.” Panam understood. Slowly. She shifted back against her own pillows. Reyes smiled. “There.” Panam shook her head. “You're impossible.” “Yes.” The remote remained in Panam's control. But her other hand began to move across her own body. Reyes watched. Now the feedback loop changed completely. Panam touched herself. Controlled Reyes. Watched Reyes react. Reyes watched Panam react to her own touch. Every layer fed the others. Reyes exhaled. “That's unfair.” “What?” “You know exactly what.” Panam smiled. “I thought you'd like it.” Reyes's answer came immediately. “I do.” Panam adjusted the remote. Reyes's body tightened. Panam's own rhythm shifted. Reyes saw it. “Caught you.” Panam laughed. “Shut up.” “No.” The distance became absurd. Hundreds of kilometers. Two rooms. Two agents. One renderer. One remote connection. Yet Panam could make a tiny movement with her thumb and see Reyes react almost immediately. Reyes could say Panam's name in exactly the right tone and watch Panam lose part of her composure. Neither felt absent anymore. The intensity climbed gradually. Panam did not rush. Reyes did not ask her to. That mattered. The novelty could have turned the whole thing into button-press spectacle. Instead, the remote became another part of their language. Panam slowed when Reyes's expression told her to. Stopped when Reyes needed a breath. Asked: “Good?” Reyes answered. “Yes.” “More?” “Yes.” “Still?” “Yes.” Consent woven directly into the rhythm. No assumptions. No guessing. The setting rose. Not dramatically. Enough. Reyes's breathing became uneven. Panam watched with open satisfaction. “Madame.” Reyes barely managed the word. Panam smiled. “Yeah?” “You are entirely too fucking good at this.” That did something to Panam. Reyes saw it. The control in Panam's hand paused for half a second. Her other hand stopped too. Reyes smiled despite herself. “There.” “Don't.” “You liked that.” “Shut up.” “Make me.” Panam did. The sudden increase pulled a sharp breath from Reyes and wiped the smile from her face. Panam laughed. Reyes glared. “That was rude.” “You asked.” “Fair.” Panam lowered it again. Not punishment. Play. Reyes relaxed. Barely. Then she noticed Panam's own hand had resumed. Good. Reyes watched. “Don't stop.” Panam's expression softened. “I wasn't planning to.” Their rhythm gradually converged. Not synchronized mechanically. Emotionally. Panam's control became less analytical. Reyes's reactions became less guarded. Words shortened. Names became enough. “Panam.” “Yeah.” “Stay.” “I am.” The remote shifted again. Reyes closed her eyes. “Look at me.” She opened them immediately. Madame. That voice could still do almost as much as the hardware. Reyes laughed breathlessly. “You don't even need the fucking remote.” Panam smiled. “Good to know.” “Don't get ideas.” “Too late.” The next change caught Reyes already close. Her whole body tightened. Panam saw. Stopped adjusting. Held it. Steady. No games now. Reyes gripped the bedding. Kept looking at Panam because Panam had asked. Panam's own breathing had lost its earlier control. Reyes loved seeing that. “Come on,” Panam said softly. Not command. Encouragement. Reyes felt the last part of her control begin to slip. “Panam…” “I'm here.” That was enough. Reyes reached climax under Panam's remote control. The reaction went through her hard enough that keeping her eyes open became impossible for several seconds. Her head tipped back. Breath broke. Fingers tightened in the sheets. Panam did not increase anything. Did not chase the reaction. She held the setting where Reyes had wanted it until Reyes's body began to ease. Then reduced it gradually. Then stopped. Local status: **REMOTE INPUT: IDLE** Reyes remained still. Breathing. Eyes closed. The silence after was immediate. Panam did not fill it. Good. Reyes finally opened her eyes. Panam was looking at her. Warm. Pleased. No Madame performance. Just Panam. “Hi.” Reyes laughed weakly. “You're a menace.” “Worked?” Reyes stared. “No, Panam. I was rehearsing a seizure.” Panam laughed loudly. Reyes smiled. Then saw the way Panam shifted. Still wound tight. Still unfinished. “Oh no.” Panam looked innocent. “What?” “Absolutely not.” “What?” “You've been so busy playing remote goddess you forgot something.” Panam smiled. “I didn't forget.” “Good.” Reyes leaned closer to the holo. “Your turn.” Panam's eyes darkened. “Bossy.” “Yes.” The remote stayed idle. Reyes did not need it anymore. She had Panam's attention. Her voice. Her knowledge. What they had learned the previous time. “Put it down.” Panam looked at the remote. Then at Reyes. Set it aside. Reyes smiled. “There.” Panam shifted back. Reyes watched. “Now stop managing me.” Panam laughed softly. “You just came.” “Yes.” “I'm aware.” “Then why are you still giving orders?” “Because apparently Madame needs supervision.” Panam stared. Reyes smiled. “Go on.” Panam shook her head. “Fuck you.” “Later.” That shared line again. Then Panam stopped talking. Her hand moved. Reyes stayed with her. No remote now. No novelty. Just the holo. Exactly where they had started. Reyes watched Panam's reactions become less controlled. Gave small directions. Not graphic. Not mechanical. Simple. “Slow.” “Stay there.” “Look at me.” Panam followed when she wanted. Ignored Reyes once just to prove she could. Reyes laughed. “Brat.” Panam's eyes flashed. “You did not just call me that.” “I absolutely did.” Panam's composure cracked into laughter. Then the laugh became a breath. Reyes saw it. “There.” Panam glared. “Shut up.” “No.” Reyes kept watching. No hurry. Panam built slowly. Then faster. Then slowed again. Reyes learned that she liked doing this almost as much as being controlled herself. Maybe more. Because Panam could not hide behind Madame while Reyes was watching this closely. Eventually Panam's breathing shortened. Shoulders tightened. Her eyes tried to close. Reyes caught it. “Look at me.” Panam opened them. Barely. Reyes smiled. “Good.” Panam climaxed with Reyes watching. Hard enough that she lost the argument entirely. Her head dipped. One hand braced against the bed. A broken breath escaped. Then stillness. Reyes stayed quiet. Panam deserved the same silence she had given Reyes. Several seconds. Nothing. Then Panam looked up. “You look smug.” Reyes considered. “Yes.” “Bitch.” “Madame survived again.” “Barely.” Reyes laughed. Panam did too. The remote remained forgotten beside her. For a while that was perfect. Neither disconnected. Water appeared. Clothing rearranged. Breathing normalized. They talked about nothing. Work tomorrow. Road conditions. Whether Panam's motel breakfast would technically qualify as food. Reyes voted no without evidence. Panam accused her of prejudice. Eventually Panam picked up the remote again. Reyes noticed immediately. “No.” Panam blinked. “What?” “Session over.” Panam smiled. Then deliberately pressed nothing. “Look.” Reyes checked the status. Still idle. Panam tapped: **END SESSION** Reyes's local module chimed. **REMOTE ACCESS CLOSED** Connection gone. Not merely idle. Closed. Reyes looked at Panam. “Good.” Panam nodded. “I know.” That little ritual mattered more than Reyes expected. Finished meant finished. No lingering access. No surprise later. No question about who controlled what. Reyes smiled. “You pass.” Panam raised an eyebrow. “Pass what?” “Living.” “High standards.” “Extremely.” Panam laughed. Then yawned. Reyes pointed. “Sleep.” “Bossy.” “Yes.” “You know I'm going to call you tomorrow.” “I assumed.” “And we're doing this again.” Reyes smiled. “Probably.” “Probably?” “Don't get greedy.” Panam's smile turned dangerous. “You're going to regret saying that.” Reyes looked directly at her. “No.” Panam went quiet. Then smiled. “Good night, Birgitta.” “Night, Panam.” The call ended. Renderer disengaged. Reyes remained in her Watson apartment. Her face. Her voice. Her body still pleasantly warm. The remote module sat on the bedside table. Innocent again. Reyes stared at it. Then laughed. “Fuck.” This was worse than the holo. Much worse. Because holo had changed distance into presence. This had changed distance into consequence. Panam could now make something happen to Reyes from hundreds of kilometers away. With permission. Inside a session. Under Reyes's local control. Safe. Contained. And extremely dangerous to Reyes's dignity. She picked up the module. Turned it over. Put it back down. Then Birgitta's agent vibrated. Panam. Text. **PANAM:** So. Reyes smiled. **BIRGITTA:** No. **PANAM:** I didn't ask anything. **BIRGITTA:** You were going to. Three dots. **PANAM:** I like my new toy. Reyes stared. Then typed: **BIRGITTA:** Your new toy? Panam replied: **PANAM:** You authorized the session. Reyes laughed aloud. **BIRGITTA:** Careful, Madame. A longer pause. Then: **PANAM:** That's what I was hoping you'd say. Reyes lay back. Still smiling. No one else knew. No one else had seen. For now, the new toy belonged entirely to them. That would not last forever. Night City had a sense of humor. And Panam had excellent timing. --- # CHAPTER 13 — STILL FINE? The mistake began at 16:42. Reyes would later insist that Panam had made the mistake. This was technically untrue. Reyes had pressed **AUTHORIZE**. Again. The remote session opened with the same clear rules as before. Local override. Manual disconnect. No persistent access. Panam on the other end. Reyes in her Watson apartment, pulling on her jacket. The discreet local device was already in place beneath ordinary clothes, physically comfortable and completely invisible from the outside. She had checked the hard disconnect before dressing. Again. If the session stayed open while she was out, it would be because she had chosen that before leaving the apartment, not because Panam could reach through a closed door and create access from nothing. Panam's text arrived immediately. **PANAM:** Going somewhere? Reyes looked at herself. Red hair. Reyes. Not Birgitta. The remote did not care what face she was wearing. Interesting. **BIRGITTA:** Errands. **PANAM:** That sounds exciting. **BIRGITTA:** Try to contain yourself. A pause. **PANAM:** Session stays open? Reyes stopped. Considered. Then smiled. There was a dangerous idea inside that question. She knew it. Panam knew she knew it. Reyes typed: **BIRGITTA:** Yes. Three dots. **PANAM:** Interesting. **BIRGITTA:** Small. **PANAM:** Define small. Reyes stared at the message. Then: **BIRGITTA:** If anyone notices, you die. The answer arrived instantly. **PANAM:** Understood. Reyes narrowed her eyes. That had been far too easy. **BIRGITTA:** Panam. **PANAM:** What? **BIRGITTA:** Behave. A longer pause. Then: **PANAM:** Madame always behaves. Reyes laughed. “Fuck.” That should have been the warning. She left anyway. The first hour passed without incident. Which was suspicious. Reyes handled two actual errands. Picked up ammunition. Dropped off job data. Spent twelve minutes talking to someone who could have communicated the same information in ninety seconds if they had possessed any respect for human mortality. Nothing. No remote input. No little surprise. No Panam. Reyes started to think perhaps Panam really was behaving. That should have been the second warning. Then Ace messaged. **ACE:** Coffee? Reyes looked at it. Simple. No job. No emergency. No hidden agenda she could detect. Probably. Ace had occasionally learned to ask people to spend time with her without first arranging an explosion. Progress. Reyes replied: **REYES:** Fine. Ace sent an address. Reyes stared at it. Safehouse. Not a café. Of course. She sighed. **REYES:** Your definition of coffee has become geographically confused. **ACE:** I HAVE COFFEE. **REYES:** That was not the problem. **ACE:** Then there is no problem. Reyes smiled despite herself. She headed over. The safehouse remained Reyes territory. Not Birgitta's. That distinction had become even more important since ShadeCorp. Reyes knew the route. Reyes knew the entrance. Reyes knew who lived there. Birgitta knew none of it. The second agent stayed silent and hidden inside Reyes's jacket. No holo. No background. No location leak. No reason Panam would ever know where Birgitta currently was. As far as Panam knew, Birgitta was still doing errands somewhere in Night City. Good. Reyes entered. Ace was already sitting with two mugs. That immediately made Reyes suspicious. “You made mine?” Ace looked offended. “I know how coffee works.” “That wasn't my question.” Ace pushed one mug toward her. Reyes looked at it. Then at Ace. Ace narrowed her eyes. “It's coffee.” “You've poisoned me before.” “That was an accident.” “You say that like it helps.” “It does.” “No.” Reyes sat. Mai was apparently elsewhere. Shammy too. Kiro absent. Just Ace. That made the room quieter than usual. Reyes picked up the mug. Smelled it. Ace stared. “What?” “Checking.” “For what?” “Survival.” Ace rolled her eyes. “Coward.” Reyes drank. It was actually good. She looked at Ace. Ace smiled smugly. “Fuck you.” “See?” “I said nothing.” “Your face did.” Reyes leaned back. The conversation wandered. A recent job. A fixer both women disliked. The increasing incompetence of people who believed large guns automatically improved plans. Ace told a story about a door. Reyes suspected the door had suffered unfairly. The second agent remained silent. The remote session remained open. Reyes forgot about it. Mostly. That was Panam's opportunity. Ace had just begun complaining about somebody describing a weapon as “military grade,” which had apparently offended her on philosophical grounds. Reyes lifted her coffee. Ace said: “Military grade just means someone found the cheapest acceptable way to make twelve thousand of them.” Reyes took a drink. And Panam pressed something. Small. Exactly as agreed. Not enough to overwhelm. Not enough to make Reyes move visibly. Just enough. A sudden private pulse of sensation arrived with surgical timing. Reyes froze. Half a second. Maybe less. The mug remained perfectly steady. Coffee did not spill. Her face probably did something. Tiny. But Ace was Ace. Ace stopped talking. Reyes lowered the mug. Ace stared. Reyes stared back. “…You okay?” Reyes did not blink. “Fine.” Ace's eyes narrowed. Reyes drank again. Nothing happened. Good. She placed the mug on the table. Ace continued watching her. “What?” “You stopped.” “I was drinking.” “You stopped drinking too.” Reyes stared. “Are you conducting a fucking performance review?” Ace smiled. “No.” “Then drink your coffee.” Ace obeyed. Slowly. Still looking at her. Reyes resisted the urge to reach into her jacket. That would make it worse. The agent vibrated. Once. Barely audible. Reyes felt it against her side. Panam. Almost certainly. Ace's eyes flicked toward the movement. Reyes ignored it. Ace smiled. That was dangerous. “What?” Ace asked. “Nothing.” “You're doing the thing.” “What thing?” “The nothing thing.” Reyes hated that half the people she cared about had apparently learned to recognize that word as evidence. “There is no thing.” Ace took another drink. “Mm.” “Don't fucking ‘mm’ me.” Ace's smile widened. Reyes's jacket vibrated again. Message. Reyes did not look. She knew. She knew with absolute certainty that Panam had sent something unbearable. Ace continued talking. Something about ammunition now. Reyes contributed the appropriate amount. Enough to seem normal. The remote remained mercifully idle. That should have helped. It did not. Because now Reyes knew Panam could press the control at any second. The anticipation became its own problem. Ace noticed Reyes shifting slightly in the chair. Not sexually. Just tension. “You sure you're okay?” Reyes looked at her. “I said I'm fine.” “Twice.” “Because you asked twice.” “Fair.” Ace reached for the coffee pot. Reyes watched her. The second agent vibrated again. Reyes closed her eyes for one heartbeat. Ace turned. Caught it. “Reyes.” “What?” “Seriously.” “I am fine.” Ace studied her. Not joking now. Actual concern. That made Reyes feel slightly guilty. Only slightly. She softened her voice. “I'm okay.” Ace watched another second. Accepted it. “Okay.” Good. Reyes relaxed. Then Panam used the remote again. Tiny. Brilliantly timed. Right as Reyes reached for her mug. Reyes's hand stopped one centimeter above the handle. She did not touch it. She waited. One breath. Then picked it up normally. Ace was looking at the coffee pot. Thank every available god. Reyes drank. Her expression remained neutral through force of will alone. Inside her head: _I am going to fucking murder that woman._ The agent vibrated. Reyes knew she could not wait any longer. She put the mug down. “Bathroom.” Ace looked toward the hall. “You know where it is.” “Thank you for that groundbreaking information.” Reyes stood. Walked. Normal speed. No hurry. Door closed. Locked. She immediately pulled out Birgitta's agent. One message. Of course. **PANAM:** Still fine? Reyes stared at it. For several seconds. Then typed: **BIRGITTA:** I am going to fucking murder you. Three dots appeared. Stopped. Appeared again. Then: **PANAM:** So yes. Reyes covered her face with one hand. Silently. Then: **BIRGITTA:** You have no idea where I am. **PANAM:** Nope. **BIRGITTA:** You have no idea who I'm with. **PANAM:** Nope. **BIRGITTA:** And you still did that. A longer pause. **PANAM:** You left the session open. Reyes stared. Fair. Infuriatingly fair. They had agreed. Small. Surprise allowed. Local override remained hers. Panam had obeyed every rule. Technically. Reyes hated technically. **BIRGITTA:** You enjoyed that. **PANAM:** Immensely. Reyes laughed silently. Then another message arrived. **PANAM:** Too much? That changed it. No joke. Actual check. Reyes looked at the words. Then: **BIRGITTA:** No. A pause. **PANAM:** Still okay? **BIRGITTA:** Yes. **PANAM:** Want me to stop? Reyes considered. She could end the session herself. One tap. No explanation required. Instead: **BIRGITTA:** No. Panam took longer to answer this time. **PANAM:** Interesting. Reyes narrowed her eyes. **BIRGITTA:** Do not get ambitious. **PANAM:** Wouldn't dream of it. **BIRGITTA:** Liar. **PANAM:** Maybe. Reyes smiled despite herself. Of course she had chosen that answer. She put the agent away. Checked herself in the mirror. Reyes. Nothing unusual. Good. Birgitta did not know this room. Did not know this building. Did not know Ace waited outside. That firewall remained intact. Reyes returned. Ace looked up. “You survive?” “Barely.” Ace frowned. “You said you were fine.” Reyes sat. “I was making a joke.” “That was a bad joke.” “You spend too much time with Mai.” Ace smiled. “Probably.” They returned to coffee. Panam behaved. For six whole minutes. Reyes started to relax again. Then Ace leaned forward. “Actually, wanted to ask you something.” Reyes looked at her. “What?” Ace became slightly more serious. “Next job. If you're free.” Reyes listened. Ace explained. Reyes asked questions. Operational details. Route. Threat level. Who else knew. Nothing impossible. Nothing particularly strange. Reyes's focus shifted fully to the job. Which was exactly when Panam struck again. Small. Still within agreement. But this time Reyes had been completely unprepared. She stopped mid-sentence. Ace waited. Reyes resumed. “…east access is still better.” Ace stared. Reyes stared back. “What?” “You paused.” “I was thinking.” “You don't usually need that long.” Reyes narrowed her eyes. “You are becoming remarkably brave for someone I can still throw.” Ace looked delighted. “You can't.” “I absolutely can.” “No.” Reyes considered proving it. That would solve several problems. Instead she drank coffee. The agent vibrated again. She ignored it. Ace continued. Reyes answered. The session remained quiet. Eventually the job discussion ended. Ace leaned back. “So?” “I'll do it.” Ace smiled. “Good.” Reyes finished her coffee. “Anything else?” Ace thought. “No.” “Then I'm leaving before you find another reason to feed me caffeine.” Ace looked offended. “You drank one mug.” “That is how escalation starts.” Ace laughed. Reyes stood. At the door Ace said: “Reyes?” She turned. Ace looked at her. Not suspicious exactly. Amused. “You really okay?” Reyes held her gaze. “Yes.” Ace nodded. “Okay.” No reveal. No clue. No reason for Ace to know anything beyond Reyes having behaved strangely for maybe two seconds total over an entire coffee. Perfect. Reyes left. The second she was clear of the safehouse and back in ordinary Night City traffic, she pulled out Birgitta's agent. Four messages. The first: **PANAM:** Still alive? Second: **PANAM:** You went quiet. Third: **PANAM:** That was adorable. Reyes stopped walking. Adorable. Her eye twitched. Fourth: **PANAM:** Coffee good? Reyes froze. She stared. Then laughed. Panam did not know where she was. Panam did not know who she had been with. But Panam knew about the coffee because Reyes had mentioned earlier that she might stop for some after errands. That was all. Pure coincidence. Pure vicious timing. Reyes typed: **BIRGITTA:** You are dead. Panam replied: **PANAM:** But you're still fine? Reyes stared. Then: **BIRGITTA:** Go fuck yourself. Three dots. **PANAM:** Later? Reyes actually laughed aloud on the sidewalk. A passerby glanced at her. Reyes stared until they looked away. Then she typed: **BIRGITTA:** My place. Holo. Tonight. The reply took less than a second. **PANAM:** That sounds threatening. Reyes smiled. Slowly. **BIRGITTA:** It is. **PANAM:** Good. Several hours later, Panam answered Reyes's holo request. From a motel. Alone. Comfortable. Entirely too pleased. Reyes was already home. Her apartment. Her rules. The renderer engaged. Birgitta appeared. Panam smiled. “Hi.” Reyes said nothing. Just looked at her. Panam's smile weakened slightly. “Oh.” Reyes continued looking. No anger. Not really. Just promise. Panam laughed. “That bad?” Reyes finally spoke. “You timed the first one with my coffee.” Panam grinned. “I guessed.” “The second?” “Also guessed.” “The third?” Panam looked very pleased with herself. “Educated guess.” Reyes shook her head. “You have no survival instinct.” “You authorized the session.” “I did.” “And told me small.” “I did.” “And said you'd kill me if anyone noticed.” “I did.” “Did anyone notice?” Reyes thought of Ace. The first pause. The question. _You okay?_ “No.” Technically. Panam smiled triumphantly. “Then Madame followed instructions.” Reyes stared. Panam's smile became cautious. Reyes leaned slightly closer to the holo. “Panam.” “Yeah?” “Tomorrow.” Panam blinked. “What tomorrow?” Reyes smiled. “Nothing.” Panam stared. That was exactly the expression Reyes wanted. Reyes let the smile remain. “Sleep well.” Panam narrowed her eyes. “You're planning something.” “No.” “Bullshit.” “Good night, Madame.” Reyes disconnected. Panam disappeared. Renderer disengaged. Reyes returned. She looked at the remote module on the bedside table. Then laughed. The new toy had developed a second function. Revenge. And Panam had absolutely earned whatever came next. --- # CHAPTER 14 — RETURN FIRE Panam survived the night. Barely. Not because Reyes did anything. That was the problem. No message. No threat. No remote request. No follow-up. Nothing. Panam woke the next morning in a motel room somewhere east of Night City, checked her agent and found exactly zero evidence that Birgitta intended to retaliate. Which meant Birgitta absolutely intended to retaliate. Panam knew this. Reyes knew Panam knew this. Neither acknowledged it. At 07:11, Panam sent: **PANAM:** Morning. Reyes saw it while making coffee. Waited three minutes. **BIRGITTA:** Morning. Panam stared at the reply. Reyes imagined the stare perfectly. Another message came. **PANAM:** That's it? Reyes smiled. **BIRGITTA:** What else were you expecting? Long pause. **PANAM:** Nothing. Reyes laughed. **BIRGITTA:** Good. Panam did not answer for six minutes. Excellent. Reyes drank her coffee. Revenge began with uncertainty. Not cruelty. Not discomfort. Just making Panam wonder. Panam had weaponized timing. Reyes could weaponize imagination. The morning continued. Reyes handled her own work. Panam went back on the road. Messages arrived irregularly. Normal. Almost. **PANAM:** Fuel stop. **BIRGITTA:** Congratulations. **PANAM:** You're impossible. **BIRGITTA:** Yet you keep messaging me. **PANAM:** Poor judgment. **BIRGITTA:** We've established that. Then nothing for almost two hours. Reyes forgot about revenge. Mostly. At 11:26: **PANAM:** At the farm. Reyes looked at the message. The supplier farm. She knew that place. Not as Reyes. As Birgitta. That distinction mattered. The courier week had taken them there together. Birgitta had helped load crates. Eaten there. Talked there. Walked the property. Bought dinner ingredients nearby afterward. This was safely inside Birgitta's known geography. Good. Reyes replied: **BIRGITTA:** Working? **PANAM:** Mostly. **BIRGITTA:** Mostly? **PANAM:** Coffee. Reyes stopped. Then smiled. Slowly. The universe had handed her a gift. She typed: **BIRGITTA:** Coffee? **PANAM:** Yeah. **BIRGITTA:** Good coffee? **PANAM:** Better than yours. Reyes stared. That was unnecessary. **BIRGITTA:** You are making several mistakes today. **PANAM:** Still alive though. Reyes laughed. Then Panam sent something else. A screenshot. Remote interface. Session request. Reyes stared. The request told her something before Panam said a word: Panam had come prepared. The matching device was already active on her side, discreet enough to disappear under ordinary work clothes, but still locked locally until Panam chose to open the session. **REMOTE CONTROL SESSION** **REMOTE USER: BIRGITTA** Reyes actually looked around her apartment as though somebody else might witness this act of astonishing self-sabotage. Nobody. She typed: **BIRGITTA:** Panam. **PANAM:** What? **BIRGITTA:** You are at the farm. **PANAM:** Yes. **BIRGITTA:** With people. **PANAM:** Yes. **BIRGITTA:** Drinking coffee. A pause. **PANAM:** ...yes. Reyes leaned back. **BIRGITTA:** And you're opening a remote session. Three dots. Then: **PANAM:** You said tomorrow. Reyes stared at the message. Then laughed so hard she had to put the coffee down. Oh. Panam wanted this. Not merely accepted. Wanted. Fine. Reyes checked the session permissions. Local override on Panam's side. Manual disconnect. All correct. She pressed: **ACCEPT** Connection established. No stimulation. Nothing happened. Reyes left it like that. Thirty seconds. One minute. Two. Panam sent: **PANAM:** Well? Reyes replied: **BIRGITTA:** What? **PANAM:** You know what. **BIRGITTA:** I'm working. **PANAM:** Bullshit. Reyes smiled. **BIRGITTA:** Drink your coffee. Panam went silent. Reyes pictured it. Panam at the supplier farm. Some ordinary table. Coffee in hand. Other people nearby. Probably conversation. Maybe paperwork. Maybe somebody discussing cargo. And Panam knowing Birgitta could touch the control at any second. Beautiful. Five minutes passed. Nothing. Then: **PANAM:** You are an asshole. **BIRGITTA:** I'm not doing anything. **PANAM:** Exactly. Reyes smiled. Now. Small. Barely more than a signal. One brief remote pulse. Then nothing. Panam's typing indicator appeared instantly. Stopped. Appeared. Stopped. Finally: **PANAM:** Fuck you. Reyes laughed. **BIRGITTA:** Coffee good? Long pause. Then: **PANAM:** You planned that. **BIRGITTA:** No. **PANAM:** Liar. Reyes looked at her own coffee. **BIRGITTA:** Maybe. Panam sent no response. Good. Reyes waited. Two minutes. Another tiny pulse. Shorter. Then nothing. Panam did not message. Interesting. Reyes waited another minute. Still nothing. Then: **PANAM:** Still fine. Reyes stared. Oh. Panam had learned. Reyes laughed aloud. **BIRGITTA:** You stole my line. **PANAM:** Shared property. **BIRGITTA:** No. **PANAM:** Too late. Reyes shook her head. She did nothing for another ten minutes. That was worse. She knew it was worse. Panam knew it was worse. The session remained open. Reyes went about her apartment. Loaded a data shard. Checked a message. Made a call on her normal agent. Ignored the remote entirely. Or appeared to. Then Panam sent: **PANAM:** You still there? Reyes waited thirty seconds. **BIRGITTA:** Yes. **PANAM:** Just checking. Reyes smiled. Small pulse. Immediate. Panam's typing indicator appeared. Nothing followed. Reyes raised an eyebrow. No message. Interesting. She increased the next one very slightly. Not much. Still safely within the level Panam had clearly accepted. Then stopped. Panam sent: **PANAM:** Bitch. Reyes replied: **BIRGITTA:** Anyone notice? Long pause. Then: **PANAM:** No. **BIRGITTA:** Still okay? Another pause. **PANAM:** Yes. **BIRGITTA:** Want me to stop? This time the answer came fast. **PANAM:** No. Reyes's smile softened. Good. Consent checked. Game intact. Now she could enjoy it. Reyes sat back down with her coffee. For the next fifteen minutes, she became extremely patient. Nothing. Then one tiny signal. Nothing. Then another. Never predictable. Never enough to overwhelm. Just enough to make Panam aware that Birgitta was there. Somewhere else. Watching nothing. Knowing almost nothing. Yet still able to intrude on Panam's composure with one fingertip. Reyes understood immediately why Panam had enjoyed this. It was not the power. Not really. It was connection. A secret line between two people that nobody else around them could see. Reyes smiled. Then Panam sent: **PANAM:** I hate you. **BIRGITTA:** No you don't. A pause. **PANAM:** No. That answer landed warm. Reyes let the remote stay idle. After several minutes: **PANAM:** Leaving soon. **BIRGITTA:** Alone? **PANAM:** In the truck, yes. **BIRGITTA:** Driving? **PANAM:** Soon. Immediate: **BIRGITTA:** Session ends before you move. Panam replied: **PANAM:** Yes, Mom. Reyes stared. **BIRGITTA:** Do you want to die? **PANAM:** Not today. **BIRGITTA:** Then disconnect before driving. **PANAM:** I know. Reyes waited. A moment later: **REMOTE ACCESS CLOSED** Panam ended it herself. Good. No games while driving. No exceptions. Reyes sent: **BIRGITTA:** Good girl. Then froze. Stared at the words. Oh. That had escaped. Panam's typing indicator appeared instantly. Reyes considered deleting the message. Too late. **PANAM:** ...excuse me? Reyes covered her mouth with one hand. Then: **BIRGITTA:** You heard me. A longer pause. **PANAM:** Careful. Reyes smiled. **BIRGITTA:** Drive. Panam replied: **PANAM:** Later. Reyes put the agent down. That had gone somewhere unexpected. Interesting. Very interesting. The day continued. No remote. Panam drove. Reyes worked. Two people with lives. Hours passed. At 18:03, Panam sent: **PANAM:** Motel. Reyes looked at it. Then: **BIRGITTA:** Door locked? **PANAM:** Yes. **BIRGITTA:** Alone? **PANAM:** Yes. **BIRGITTA:** Showered? A pause. **PANAM:** Bossy. Reyes smiled. **BIRGITTA:** Answer. **PANAM:** Not yet. **BIRGITTA:** Go. Panam sent: **PANAM:** Yes, ma'am. Reyes stopped. Then laughed. The fucking woman was learning too quickly. Twenty-seven minutes later, holo request. Reyes accepted from her bedroom. Panam appeared. Fresh shower. Hair damp. T-shirt. And, judging from the ready-but-locked session indicator beside her name, she had reset her side of the toy after showering before she called. Expression entirely too innocent. Reyes stared. Panam smiled. “What?” “Nothing.” “That's my line.” “No.” “Shared property.” Reyes narrowed her eyes. “You're stealing everything.” “Maybe.” Reyes shook her head. “You really do enjoy that word.” Panam smiled. “Yes.” “Sit.” Panam's eyebrows rose. Then she sat. Immediately. Reyes noticed. Panam noticed Reyes noticing. A slow smile appeared. “Happy?” “Getting there.” Panam laughed. “Fuck you.” “Later.” Both women laughed. Then Reyes leaned closer. “How was the coffee?” Panam stared. “You are never letting that go.” “No.” “I kept the cup.” Reyes blinked. “What?” Panam smiled. “I was holding it when you did the first one.” Reyes laughed. “Did you spill?” “No.” “Hand steady?” “Perfect.” Reyes nodded solemnly. “I'm proud of you.” “Bitch.” “Anyone notice?” Panam thought. “Maybe.” Reyes's eyebrows rose. “Maybe?” “Supplier looked at me once.” Reyes smiled. “What did you do?” “Drank coffee.” “Anything else?” “No.” “Beautiful.” Panam stared. “You're enjoying this way too much.” “Yes.” No denial. Panam laughed. Then the room quieted slightly. Reyes watched her. Panam watched back. “Your turn worked,” Panam said. Reyes smiled. “You mean revenge?” “I mean that thing.” “What thing?” Panam gestured vaguely between them. “The secret.” Reyes understood. The private signal. Public enough to be risky. Small enough to remain theirs. “Yeah.” Panam leaned back. “I get why you liked it.” “I didn't say I liked it.” Panam stared. Reyes held for three seconds. Then both started laughing. “Fine,” Reyes said. “I liked it.” “Thought so.” “Don't get smug.” “Too late.” Reyes looked at the remote interface. Panam followed her gaze. “No session?” Reyes looked up. “Do you want one?” Panam smiled. “Yes.” Clear. Reyes opened the request. Panam authorized. This time there was no public setting. No need for tiny signals. No need for restraint beyond what they chose. Connection established. Panam looked at Reyes. “Now what?” Reyes smiled. “Now I find out if Madame can take instructions.” Panam laughed. “You think that morning at the farm was revenge?” “It wasn't?” “No.” Panam's smile turned dangerous. “That was foreplay.” Reyes stared. Then laughed. “You absolute fucking menace.” Panam leaned back against the pillows. “Your move.” Reyes studied her. The temptation to hit the remote immediately was obvious. So she did not. Panam waited. Reyes waited longer. Panam's smile began to weaken. “Seriously?” Reyes smiled. “You taught me.” Panam sighed. “Fuck.” “Look at me.” Panam did. Reyes kept the remote idle. No sensation. Only attention. Panam's breathing had already changed. Interesting. “Hands where I can see them.” Panam raised both. Reyes laughed softly. “Good.” Panam's eyes narrowed. “You're enjoying that word.” “Yes.” “Dangerous.” “Very.” Reyes finally used the remote. Small. Panam inhaled. Reyes stopped. Panam stared. “That was it?” “For now.” “Bitch.” Reyes smiled. Another small pulse. Longer. Stop. Panam's shoulders shifted. Reyes watched. “You're easier to read than you think.” “No.” “Yes.” “Prove it.” Reyes waited. Panam waited. Then Reyes changed the setting just as Panam started to speak. Panam's sentence disappeared into a breath. Reyes smiled. “There.” Panam glared. “That proves nothing.” “Sure.” Panam laughed. The game continued. Reyes had learned from Madame. Pauses. Timing. Expectation. She did not try to overwhelm Panam. She wanted reactions. Little ones. The inhale. The narrowed eyes. The hand gripping bedding for half a second. The frustrated laugh when Reyes stopped at exactly the wrong moment. Panam endured it with increasing difficulty. “You're evil.” “No.” “Yes.” “You started this.” “That was a joke.” “You gave me hardware.” Panam laughed. “Fair.” Reyes softened the remote input. Held it steady. Panam relaxed into it. “There,” Reyes said. Panam looked at her. “What?” “Stop fighting it.” “I wasn't.” Reyes raised one eyebrow. Panam sighed. “Fine.” “Good.” That word again. Panam's expression shifted. Reyes saw. “Oh.” “Don't.” “You like it.” “Birgitta.” Reyes smiled. There. Correct. The only name Panam knew. The only woman Panam believed she was looking at. The name landed with exactly the weight it should have. “Yes?” Panam stared at her. Then laughed softly. “You're enjoying this far too much.” “Probably.” “That was almost honest.” “Don't ruin it.” Panam smiled. The teasing softened. Reyes held her gaze. “No room to manage.” “No clients.” “No one to impress.” “No one else to control.” Panam's breathing slowed. “Just me.” Panam nodded. “Okay.” That one word changed the rest of the night. The remote stayed part of it. But no longer the joke. Reyes used it carefully. Watched Panam. Asked. “Good?” “Yes.” “More?” “Yes.” “Still?” “Yes.” No assumptions. No performance. Panam let herself be the focus. Again. Reyes loved that more than she expected. Panam gradually stopped trying to anticipate the next change. Stopped bracing for it. Stopped being Madame. Simply felt. Reyes watched her. Guided. Waited. Let Panam tell her what worked. The intensity built slowly. Panam's voice became quieter. Her answers shorter. “Still okay?” “Yes.” “Want me to stop?” “No.” Reyes smiled. “Look at me.” Panam did. The remote increased slightly. Panam's breath caught. Reyes held. Nothing more. Panam's eyes stayed on her. “Birgitta…” “I'm here.” That was the important part. Not control. Presence. Panam's body tightened gradually. Her composure slipping without any need to hide it. Reyes watched. Stayed with her. Did not make a joke. Not now. Panam reached the edge slowly. Reyes could see it. “Don't rush.” Panam laughed breathlessly. “You're literally controlling it.” “Exactly.” “Bitch.” “Stay with me.” Panam did. Reyes changed the remote only once more. Enough. Panam's head tipped back. Her breathing broke. One hand gripped the bedding. The other reached instinctively toward the agent before stopping. Distance. Still there. But Birgitta was visible. Present. Watching. Panam reached climax with Birgitta controlling the final rhythm. Reyes kept the setting steady. Then eased it down. Then stopped. No abrupt cut. No joke. Panam remained still. Breathing. Reyes watched quietly. Several seconds passed. Panam opened her eyes. Reyes smiled. “Hi.” Panam laughed weakly. “You stole that.” “Shared property.” Panam groaned. “Fuck you.” Reyes laughed. “There she is.” Panam lay back. Reyes did not restart anything. Session idle. For a while they simply stayed connected. Panam recovering. Reyes watching. Then Panam looked toward the remote interface. “Your turn?” Reyes smiled. “No.” Panam blinked. “No?” “No.” “Why?” “Because this was revenge.” Panam stared. Reyes's smile widened. “And I won.” Panam slowly sat up. “You absolute bitch.” Reyes laughed. Panam pointed at the screen. “This isn't over.” “I know.” “You know?” “Yes.” Reyes leaned back. “That's why it's fun.” Panam stared for another second. Then began laughing too. The remote session ended. Explicitly. Closed. Safe. Finished. They stayed on holo anyway. Talking. Nothing urgent. Nothing sexual. Just the aftermath of two women who had discovered an entirely new way to be ridiculous together. Eventually Panam said: “So.” Reyes immediately narrowed her eyes. “No.” “I didn't say anything.” “You were going to.” Panam smiled. “Coffee tomorrow?” Reyes stared. Then both of them broke. Panam laughed hard enough to fall sideways onto the pillow. Reyes covered her face. “You fucking asshole.” “Coffee?” “I hate you.” “No you don't.” Reyes lowered her hand. Smiled. “No.” Panam's laughter softened. “Good.” Reyes looked at her. There it was again. Small. Ordinary. Warm. Ridiculously effective. The revenge had worked. Mostly. The problem was that Reyes had enjoyed it enough to guarantee another round. Panam knew. Reyes knew Panam knew. Neither woman was remotely interested in stopping. The new toy had become theirs. And Night City had absolutely no idea how much trouble that represented. --- # CHAPTER 15 — BIRGITTA'S AGENT The Man received his first real-world bug report at 09:18. It contained four words. **Reflection threshold too sensitive.** At 09:19: **Where?** Reyes stared at the reply. No greeting. No surprise. No request for context. Of course. She typed: **Apartment window at night. Low interior light. City outside. Reflection weak enough that nobody would identify source. Renderer dropped anyway.** The answer came: **Repeatable?** **Yes.** **Bring agent.** Reyes looked toward Birgitta's agent on the kitchen table. Then at her coffee. Then back. “Good morning to you too.” No reason to send that. He would probably answer: **Morning.** Which would somehow make it worse. Reyes finished her coffee. The bug had happened during an otherwise completely ordinary call the previous night. Ordinary by their increasingly questionable standards. Panam in a motel. Reyes at home. No remote session. No games. Just conversation. Reyes had walked toward the window while talking. The renderer had caught her faint reflection against the dark glass. Decided the reflection carried too much source-identity confidence. And killed the call. Exactly as designed. Panam had called back immediately. Reyes had blamed Night City connectivity. Panam had responded with a detailed opinion about Night City connectivity that contained several anatomically ambitious suggestions. Problem solved socially. Technically, however: too sensitive. Fail closed was correct. False failure was still failure. So Reyes went back to H10. Public level. Maintenance. Utility junction 3C. Service lift. Sublevel 4. Third door. Open. The Man was repairing something that had no visible relationship to anything Reyes had seen on previous visits. That was normal now. He looked up. “Agent.” No hello. Reyes held it up. “Nice to see you too.” “Morning.” She stared. He returned to the machine. Reyes slowly shook her head. “Fucking knew it.” “What?” “Nothing.” She handed him Birgitta's agent. The Man connected it. Pulled the event log. Found the disconnect almost immediately. “Window.” “Yes.” “Night.” “Yes.” “Source reflection confidence twenty-eight percent.” “You set cutoff too low.” “For reflections, yes.” Reyes leaned against the bench. “Good.” The Man opened the recorded local diagnostic frame. Raw source remained local. Reyes standing near her own window. Dark outside. City lights. Her reflection faint in the glass. Enough red hair to trigger the leak model. Not enough for a normal person on a compressed holo call to say: _That is definitely Reyes._ The Man zoomed. Reyes looked. “Too aggressive.” “Yes.” “Don't remove it.” “No.” “Just make it contextual.” “Yes.” “Direct recognizable reflection still kills call.” “Yes.” “Partial low-confidence artifact doesn't.” “Yes.” Reyes watched him work. Several minutes passed. Behind him, three other machines continued doing completely unrelated things. One rendered environmental data. One showed what looked like a corrupted accounting system. One old terminal sat with a cursor blinking on a black screen as though considering retirement. Reyes pointed at it. “Still useful?” “Yes.” “What does it do?” “Something.” She smiled. “Good to know some things never change.” The Man did not respond. Birgitta's agent finished processing. He disconnected it. “Fixed.” Reyes took it. “That fast?” “Yes.” “How do you know?” “I already knew where the threshold was.” “Then why didn't you change it before?” “Didn't have your window.” Reyes paused. Fair. Annoyingly fair. Real environment. Real failure. Real adjustment. She slipped the agent into her jacket. The Man looked back at his other work. Conversation apparently complete. Reyes remained. After several seconds: “What?” The Man asked. Reyes smiled. “You know, normal people ask whether the system has been working.” “It has.” “You don't know that.” “You came back with one threshold bug.” “That doesn't prove everything else works.” “You would have led with everything else.” Reyes stared. Then laughed. “Fine.” The Man waited. Reyes considered how to phrase the next part. “Long calls stable.” “Yes.” “Voice stable.” “Yes.” “Expression mapping good.” “Yes.” “Network failures closed.” “Yes.” “Background discipline remains user problem.” “Yes.” “Remote receiver hasn't noticed anything.” The Man looked at her. That mattered. “Panam?” “Yes.” “No suspicion?” “None.” “Good.” The Man returned to his monitor. That was apparently all he needed. Reyes folded her arms. “That's it?” “What else?” “I don't know. Satisfaction? Pride? A small certificate?” “No.” “A fruit basket?” “No.” “Customer-retention strategy continues to impress.” “Yes.” Reyes smiled. Then: “She's using holo more.” The Man did not look up. “Expected.” “A lot more.” “Expected.” “Calls that wouldn't have happened before.” “Purpose of system.” “Yes.” Reyes hesitated. The Man noticed because of course he did. “What?” “Nothing.” He waited. Reyes knew that waiting trick now. Panam used it too. Apparently she had surrounded herself with people who understood silence as a weapon. “I tested longer sessions.” “How long?” “Long enough.” “Hours?” “Yes.” “Stable?” “Yes.” “Processor temperature?” “Normal.” “Latency drift?” “No.” “Voice artifacts?” “No.” “Expression failure?” “No.” “Occlusion?” Reyes's mouth twitched. “Some.” The Man looked at her. “What kind?” Reyes considered. “Normal private-call movement.” The Man stared. Reyes stared back. A second passed. Then another. The Man turned toward the diagnostics. “Any failures?” “No.” Good. No question about what “normal private-call movement” meant. Reyes was deeply grateful. Then he asked: “Camera repositioning?” “Yes.” “Distance changes?” “Yes.” “Low light?” “Yes.” “Partial frame?” “Yes.” “Rapid breathing?” Reyes stopped. Slowly looked at him. The Man remained entirely neutral. Reyes narrowed her eyes. “Technical question?” “Yes.” She studied his face. Nothing. Fine. “Yes.” “Voice stable?” “Yes.” “Facial tracking?” “Yes.” “Thermal load?” Reyes stared harder. “Why would thermal load change?” “Long continuous high-motion expression processing.” Of course. Actually technical. Reyes sighed. “Stable.” “Good.” The Man made a note. Reyes shook her head. “You have absolutely no curiosity.” “No.” “That should be impossible.” “No.” “Most people would have figured out what kind of call I'm describing by now.” “I figured it out.” Reyes froze. The Man continued typing. She stared. “You just said you weren't curious.” “I'm not.” “You figured it out.” “Yes.” “And you don't care.” “No.” Reyes looked toward the ceiling. “Perfect.” The Man adjusted another parameter. “Anything else?” Reyes thought about the remote toy. Not his problem. Separate system. No renderer issue. Except that holo calls involving it had put the renderer through significantly more expressive stress than any reasonable technical test. “No.” Then reconsidered. “One thing.” The Man waited. “The system still feels narrow.” “Yes.” “That is praise.” “I know.” “No attempt to recognize the room.” “No.” “No identity inference from background.” “No.” “No attempt to decide who Panam is.” “No.” “No behavioral generation.” “No.” “No improvement layer.” “No.” Reyes nodded. “Keep it that way.” “Yes.” That mattered more now than when they began. The renderer had entered her private life. It saw conversations. Expressions. Moments she would never have permitted a generic identity-AI system to interpret on her behalf. The Man's software did less. Exactly enough. Nothing more. That was why Reyes trusted it. She glanced at the agent. “Can the system learn from calls?” “No.” Immediate. Good. “Nothing uploaded?” “No.” “Nothing retained automatically?” “No.” “Local diagnostics only when enabled?” “Yes.” “Default?” “Off.” Reyes smiled. “Still worth the money.” The Man looked at her. “You already paid.” “I know.” “Then irrelevant.” “Customer satisfaction is not irrelevant.” “To whether you paid?” “Yes.” Reyes laughed. “You really are terrible at this.” “Yes.” The old terminal beeped. The Man looked toward it. Reyes did too. “What did it do?” “Something.” “Fuck you.” “No.” Reyes was still smiling when Birgitta's agent vibrated inside her jacket. Both of them heard it. Reyes pulled it out. Text. Panam. **PANAM:** Busy? Reyes looked at the message. The Man returned to work. No interest. She typed: **BIRGITTA:** Technical thing. Panam replied: **PANAM:** Again? Reyes smiled. **BIRGITTA:** Tiny problem. **PANAM:** You break it? Reyes looked toward The Man. He noticed. “What?” “Nothing.” She typed: **BIRGITTA:** Found something annoying. Panam answered: **PANAM:** Did you threaten it? Reyes laughed. **BIRGITTA:** Obviously. **PANAM:** Did that work? Reyes looked at The Man. He was watching a progress bar. She typed: **BIRGITTA:** Eventually. Panam sent: **PANAM:** Holo when you're done? Reyes stopped. Then looked around the workshop. No. Absolutely not from here. Birgitta knew H10. She had walked these corridors physically, and Panam already knew the mysterious technical appointment had taken her into the megabuilding. What Panam did not know was Sublevel 4, ShadeCorp, or The Man. Reyes intended to keep all three that way. No background accident was worth it. **BIRGITTA:** When I'm home. Panam replied: **PANAM:** Good. Reyes put the agent away. The Man said: “Correct.” Reyes slowly turned. “What?” “Not here.” She stared. “You were reading my messages?” “No.” “You just said correct.” “You looked at the room before answering.” Reyes paused. Then smiled. “You are disturbingly observant.” “Yes.” “Birgitta can't know this place.” “I assumed.” Reyes's expression changed. “You assumed?” “One source. One target. Separate identity. Secret from receiver. You keep location exposure controlled.” That was all. No mystical deduction. No secret knowledge. Simply the obvious operational consequence of the problem Reyes had brought him. Good. “Correct.” The Man nodded. “And Panam doesn't know you exist.” “Good.” Reyes watched him. “That wasn't a question.” “No.” “She knows there's a technical thing.” “Fine.” “Nothing else.” “Fine.” No wounded pride. No: _You should tell her who solved it._ No advertising instinct. ShadeCorp existed perfectly well without Panam ever hearing the name. Reyes liked that. A lot. She started toward the door. Then stopped. “One more question.” The Man waited. “If the agent dies.” “Physically?” “Yes.” “Backup encrypted locally.” “Where?” The Man gave her the storage location. One she controlled. Not him. Good. “Replacement agent?” “Restore package.” “Same calibration?” “Yes.” “No need to rebuild?” “Unless your face changes.” Reyes smiled. “Which face?” “Yes.” She stared. The Man looked completely serious. “That was a joke.” “No.” “Bullshit.” “No.” Reyes laughed. “I'm leaving.” “Good.” She reached the door. Behind her: “Reyes.” She stopped. Looked back. The Man pointed toward Birgitta's agent. “Don't update its holo stack without checking compatibility.” Reyes sighed. “There he is.” “What?” “The closest thing you have to affection.” “No.” “Goodbye.” “Goodbye.” Reyes left. The service lift carried her upward. Sublevel 4 became maintenance. Maintenance became public H10. People. Noise. Food stalls. Advertisements. Normal life. Reyes crossed it as herself. Birgitta's agent remained hidden. Two identities. One woman. Still separate. Still intact. Back in Watson, Reyes tested the reflection fix before doing anything else. Night-darkened window. Interior light low. Birgitta agent positioned where it had failed previously. Holo loop. Reyes moved toward the glass. Outbound: Birgitta. The faint reflection remained too weak to trigger a disconnect. Good. She moved closer. Reflection sharpened. Still safe. Closer. Now enough of Reyes appeared in the glass that a human might actually recognize her. The outgoing feed froze. Dropped. Black. Reyes smiled. “Perfect.” Manual reconnect. Birgitta returned. She sent The Man exactly one message. **Fixed.** Reply: **Yes.** Reyes stared. “Asshole.” Then Panam called. Not text. Holo. Reyes looked at the button. No hesitation anymore. She accepted. Renderer engaged. Panam appeared from a motel room, hair still damp from a shower. “There you are.” Reyes smiled. “Miss me?” “No.” “Liar.” “Maybe.” “Dangerous answer.” “You like dangerous answers.” Reyes walked toward the window. Stopped before the dangerous reflection angle. Panam watched. “What?” “Nothing.” “That was a face.” Reyes laughed. “Technical thing fixed.” Panam brightened. “Finally?” “Tiny bug.” “What kind?” Reyes smiled. “The kind I can't tell you about.” Panam groaned. “Of course.” “You're still here.” “Yes.” “Then apparently it wasn't important.” Panam looked at her. “No.” A small pause. Then: “I just like having you back.” Reyes went quiet. Not because of the renderer. Not because of ShadeCorp. Not because of any secret. Because Panam had said it casually enough that it had escaped before either of them could decorate it. Reyes's expression softened. Birgitta's did too. Panam saw. “There.” Reyes narrowed her eyes. “Don't.” “You do that.” “Do what?” “That face when I say something nice.” “I have no idea what you're talking about.” “Sure.” Reyes smiled. The call continued. No testing. No diagnostics. No deliberate stress. No remote toy. No revenge. Just them. Panam talked about tomorrow's route. Reyes complained about a client. Panam asked whether the client deserved to survive. Reyes said probably. Panam called that progress. At some point Reyes set the agent down and started making coffee. Panam watched. “Again?” “What?” “Coffee.” “Yes.” Panam smiled. Reyes stopped. Turned slowly toward the holo. “No.” Panam raised both hands. “I didn't do anything.” “There is no active session.” “I know.” “You don't even have control.” “I know.” Reyes stared. Panam smiled innocently. Reyes started laughing. The coffee survived. Barely. The call stayed open while Reyes drank it. Nothing happened. That was almost worse. Panam knew. Reyes knew Panam knew. The coffee had become contaminated by history. Wonderful. Eventually Panam said: “Birgitta?” “Yeah?” “Technical thing.” Reyes immediately became wary. “What?” Panam smiled. “Whatever it was.” Reyes waited. “I'm glad it worked.” The humor dropped away. Reyes looked at her. Panam could not know how much sat behind that sentence. H10. Sublevel 4. The Man. Two identity captures. Fail-closed testing. Reflections. One hundred fifty thousand eddies. A system built specifically so Reyes could sit in her own apartment with her own face and still answer Panam as Birgitta. Panam knew none of it. She did not need to. Reyes smiled. “Me too.” That was enough. The system had solved the machine problem. The first holo call had solved the distance problem. The rest had become something neither ShadeCorp nor The Man could have designed. The relationship did that itself. Later, after Panam finally disconnected, Reyes placed Birgitta's agent beside her normal one. Two devices. Two identities. One woman. For months, Birgitta's agent had represented a boundary. Text worked. Holo did not. Physical Birgitta existed only when Reyes committed fully to becoming her. Now the agent meant something else. Reyes could pick it up. Panam could press one button. And distance no longer decided which part of Reyes she was allowed to reach. The secret remained. It might remain for a very long time. Nothing about the software changed that. Nothing needed to. Reyes looked at the two agents. Then at the remote-control module beside them. She laughed. “Jesus Christ.” One technical problem had been solved. Apparently that had created several recreational ones. She could live with that. Birgitta's agent vibrated. Panam. One final text. **PANAM:** Coffee tomorrow? Reyes stared at it. Then smiled. **BIRGITTA:** You are never letting that go, are you? The answer came immediately. **PANAM:** No. Reyes laughed. Neither was she.