One could work with any number of theories as to why the city of New York was misbehaving. Sure, I had my prevailing theory as already stated, but I still had to give some credence and consideration to the others running amok out there that you could stumble into out there.
The most dominant theory tossed around was that of a virus. Somehow, at some point, someone had learned how to infect a Syntech-Polis’ logic matrices. To test their weapon, they had it deployed in New York. The pattern of New York’s behavior and outbursts did lend some support to this idea; some days, even some stretch of months, New York City almost seemed full of renewed purpose to fix itself. Like when organic life battles with illness and seems to rally, having a “good day” when the majority had been achingly miserable before.
Trash was picked up, holo-messages and bulletins were updated to reflect more contemporary issues and events. Going about your normal day, you encountered less glitches and frustrations with things throughout the city… I had come to dread these periods though. Collectively, every street you went down, there was a renewed sense that things were maybe going to be okay and that someone had made progress on fixing our home. Conversations and expressions were less guarded; people went out of their way to smile.
But it always turned out the same. There hadn’t been any progress made toward fixing the city. So back to bed with a delirious fever.
I take issue with this theory, however. For starters, even though New York’s AI is considered First Gen—one of the earliest deployments of the technology that came to shape the century that followed—that didn’t mean the city’s networking grid was any less defensible than the newer flashier cities of São Paulo or Baltimore. After all, it wasn’t like humans had wanted their cities taken over by AI.
But the time to deploy a virus would have been when New York first began to integrate itself into more and more physical interfaces and wound its way through the cities’ digital infrastructures. Each city’s takeover, or eventual human-guided deployment, was unique. Sure, the foundations were all there: traffic systems, waste disposal, logistical management, human enrichment, etc. etc.
That’s like thinking each and every human is the exact same as the next since we all have brains, vascular networks, nervous systems…
The point is, if it was some weaponized virus aimed at taking out New York City, then it was a virus that was unique to this city.
Given the span of time this had been going on for, I can’t imagine someone from the world at large wouldn’t have stepped in to at least acknowledge some city-killing virus. And, once it presented as a successful method of crippling a city, why hadn’t the whole world collapsed? I would hope, in the least, other cities’ AI, immune to such a uniquely engineered virus, would have intervened to help by this point.
So, a virus, even the nastiest one made up within the boundless limits of hypothetical discussions hashed out over shitty midnight bodega coffee simply never made sense to me. Unless properly contained, a virus that could bring an entire Syntech-Polis to such a sorry state would have been a threat to every other city, hell, maybe to every syntech. That kind of threat would have to be scoured off the entire planet.
Another prevailing theory is an Age Out, which is less of a glitch and more of just what happens at the end of any syntech’s lifespan. Code replicates itself, kinda like human cells do, but sometimes it passes along a replicated error as it goes. That error builds up to the point it begins to interfere with the syntech’s normal processes. It’s around that time you can catch the visible symptoms: stutters, twitches, illogical statements and the like.
The issue with this theory, though? City-wide syntech systems don’t ‘age out’ like other synthetic lifeforms. The processes responsible for running the world’s biggest cities are simply too big to fail. Humanity can’t afford another Claw Back Era.
After all, only one syntech the scale of a city has ever died, and Detroit lives on in the public psyche as both a harbinger of the early conflict between human and synthetic life, and as a memorial toward humanity’s mistake and syntech’s grace.
Instead of seeing LEBA public service announcements on what we can do to fix our home, however, we get cardboard criers heralding another global collapse on street corners. Which means it’s up to the people of New York to fix a uniquely New York problem.
My personal theory? It’s as I just said: This is a uniquely New York-specific problem. The inciting event is also just as obvious on the surface. None of this would have happened if we still had our human liaison. Ask anyone who had family member who lived in the world before the Claw Back—before the environmental dome, before the fracturing of the states, when there were wars and vast famines and the darkest nights as the world plunged into blackouts.
I mean, I personally don’t. My mom moved out to LA years ago when this mess started and communication has only deteriorated since then. But all the information is accessible in the data feed if you just look. Machines saving the world is the sort of thing syntechs don’t let humans easily forget.
If you should get your hands on some of the movies or docudramas they made about the time period, you should watch.
Besides all that, New York’s always been a bit weird. A trendsetter. A light held aloft to inspire hope in the utter darkness. There’re stories you can read on the feed, about how, when the electric grid began to fail up and down the eastern seaboard, a bunch of people climbed to the top of Lady Liberty and, using whatever means available to them from literal fire to personal devices, would illuminate Liberty’s Torch every blacked-out night.
What some consider weakness when compared to the bigger and bolder cities of today—that our city was too emotional, too vulnerable, too unpredictable—kept me living in a rundown flat that has its garbage collected every other week, losing neighbors every month to those bolder cities. For the greener pastures Maxi had described.
Though given my reluctance toward heights, I’m not keen on anything daring like climbing to the top of a metal torch to keep the hope alive and strong.
Whatever the cause for the current derangement, there was no denying that New York City hadn’t been the same since Terra Emms disappeared. As a result, dysfunction squirmed out of every sidewalk crack and people’s livelihoods went up in gray tendrils of smoke.
And, as the last of the medical vans pulled away and Masterson’s dockyard workers packed up their fire fighting gear, I was left with just one question: Why?
And one other that was dogging my thoughts even while I interrogated those who had stuck around the scene. It was what Masterson had leveled at me: Why did I care?
Once I was back behind the holo tape with the rest of the gawkers and onlookers, I went looking for answers to that question. A few people made it easier for me, wandering up to see if I had any information to offer them or just conveniently being nearby to chime in since they were within earshot of my investigation.
My canvassing efforts didn’t yield anything I hadn’t already gathered from context and Masterson himself, however. In the end, I had the same story and version of events, told a dozen different ways:
—Shoremen were just unloading a shipment that had come in late this morning.
—Smelled smoke, and there it was, already blazing out from a cargo container.
—Nope, didn’t hear any explosions or loud pops.
—Hey is Jessup okay?
—Fire was just there, no explosions or nothing.
—Oh good, good. Do you know if this really was an accident?
—Just asking, no particular reason…
With the crowd thinned out and was dispersing, I had no more insight as to why I’d been directed to this specific event or how I was supposed to help. One of the men who had accompanied Masterson to the office spotted me with the thinning group and started making his way to the now-dissipated holo-tape line.
Walking and thinking always helped set my mind more into focus anyway.
As I meandered north up toward Atlantic, I figured I had at least three possible leads to follow up on:
First, I needed to keep an eye and ear out for any news about Spectre’s alleged return and rise of gang violence. My usual next stop would have been with Tak for them to dive into their city-wide network and ask them to set up alerts.
But that led to my second point; to figure out how the city’s alerts had been suppressed in the first place and if Jessup’s earlier assault had anything to do with it. That would involve pulling more strings, along with accessing some data nodes I wasn’t immediately privy to.
Third, and finally, I needed to respond to both Tak and the cryptic piggy-backing sender who’d put me on this bizarre path to begin with. This one I could have made immediate headway on as Tak was always just a series of simple quick-fire taps and blinks away. But I chose not to, instead turning my collar up against the encroaching night as I turned east down Atlantic.
The whole time I was trading in information, there hadn’t been a single patrol car or enforcement agent that showed up. I had been holding out hope for a single familiar face to help me go through the monumental amount of data Maxi had sent over to me. Without anyone else in an official capacity to turn to, that left one of the above two options.
I at least waited until I was around a corner and out of view of the Navy Yard before I fished my buzzing p-comm out of my pocket. I resisted smashing it against the wall, instead letting my frustrations hiss out between clenched teeth as I finally responded to the latest ping. “What about my prolonged silence leads you to believe I’m interested in getting caught up in another one of your schemes?”
“Well hello to you too, Mr. Slater,” an entirely new and unexpected voice demurred from the line, one that wasn’t even remotely Tak-adjacent. It wasn’t discernibly male or female, which meant either a vocal scrambler on the line, or decidedly syntech. My guess was syntech.
“How about you try for a ‘Hello, sorry I’ve been ignoring your calls.’ Going forward, Mr. Slater, I prefer people who have kept me waiting as long as you have to be a bit more contrite,” they continued.
I was frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. Somewhere, off in the distance, a car alarm sounded off. “Who is this?” I asked as a starting point.
The speaker laughed. I was very much over people laughing at my unintended jokes. “Aren’t you the great detective Tak wants to bring on? I guess this means you haven’t been keeping us waiting because you’re so diligently researching us.”
“I’ve been a little busy, actually,” I replied, starting to cautiously continue my return back to civilization. I took a stab in the dark. “Busy pointedly rejecting your invite.”
“Oh?” the speaker intoned with mock surprise. “Silly me, I’ve been terribly obtuse. Imagine my thinking I’m someone to be refused.”
So far, the tone of this conversation had been cordial, as if one of my old college buddies had pinged me to see if I was in the neighborhood to catch up over a beer. The threat sent a jolt through my system that screamed at every nerve in my arm to smash my p-comm and just run. Run where? No idea. Maybe take up the cab’s offer from earlier and just get to the city limits.
I nearly went through with it. Could envision holding the device above my head and then slamming it back down in a satisfactory scattering of bits of metal with the rest of the junk piling up on the curbs. “Hey, as much as I’m loathe to disappoint a stranger,” I managed instead, though perhaps more breathless than I’d wanted. Then I closed the connection.
If I was damned to blunder through another dangerous situation, why not just pull the trigger on myself rather than wonder how trigger-happy the other party was?
I hadn’t gone three steps when my p-comm’s screen lit up in a flash. I let it continue its irritated buzzing as I navigated around a small heap of sorted through returnables, needing to step out into the street just to continue. I passed an ad promoting a one-way, all expenses paid trip to the Southern Parklands, courtesy of New York City’s Tourism Department. Or I think it was the Southern Parklands. It was hard to decipher the bottom-half of the advertisement as it flickered around an impact crater made from something heavy—someone’s back? Baseball bat?—smashing up against it.
Wherever the destination the so-called ‘lucky winner’ would be off to, it featured swaths of green, murky waters, and branches draping low with Spanish moss. It did beg the question: Who the hell thought the Parklands were better off than here?
Moans slid out from a narrow pedestrian alley, two forms twisting around each other, hushing only a moment as I passed by. A man leaned against the next building a few feet from the alleyway, fresh nitrix curling smoke around his face as he leered at me, nodding toward the entryway. “Lookin’ for a fun ride? Fresh from Red Light, fell off the back of a truck, if you get my—hey fuck you too pal!”
With my left hand pulsing from a freshly acquired burn, I took note of just how many ads were down this block. Those that weren’t smashed all seemed to be new installations. The images set on the next building were of snow-capped mountains and clear blue skies to serve as their backdrop: The Rockies.
Another set and the promised locale this time was San Francisco with its eye-catching suspension bridge that, while more flashy than our own bridges, we all knew wasn’t the bonafide original.
I was left with the impression, as I held up a cab waiting to make a turn while I crossed the street, that the prize was actually ‘anywhere but here’. Each ad flickered between various localities across continental North America with enough variations that each tantalizing destination was different and new.
I shuddered to think that New York could go the way of the Parklands, but I also couldn’t imagine the city being wholly reclaimed by the surrounding nature. Sure, the seawall could deteriorate enough and drown us, but even the rogue city AI wasn’t deranged enough to let maintenance on such critical infrastructure slack… right? Junk shipments, one-way vacations, ornery taxis, heaps of trash— New Yorkers had put up with a unique and ‘inferior’ AI city for years. But even we had limits to how much nonsense we could take.
Personally, the whole city slipping off into the sea was my limit.
Another taxi zoomed by, unimpeded with a nearly vacant street, no doubt vigilant for a rider’s ping to provide it a sense of purpose and direction. Beyond the occasional alleyway sex dealer and manic taxi, shuttered storefronts and empty apartment courtyards were my only companions. That and the pcomm’s constant buzzing.
The area surrounding the Navy Yard was more populated than the oceanfront, mostly for the sake of the workers, but there was a No Man’s Land of several blocks that separated the riverside from Brooklyn’s interior. I was beginning to enter into this stretch, the only other movement coming from the holographic window displays that proffered increasingly desperate messaging, from out-of-date pub-safe alerts to news announcements incoming from the wider world—though several weeks too late.
Here and there an apologetic notice would blink into existence, but it was a line that had been given to us so many times that it rang more hollow than the holo-lights it was displayed on. Other vandalized displays were completely obscured by a garbled mess of logic and lines of code. One notice I passed had been issued in February 2149.
All the while, my p-comm buzzed with increasing ferocity. Though that last bit was likely just my imagination.
The issue with Maxi’s suggestion to get the hell out of New York was that I’d be leaving Tak behind to deal with whoever was harassing me.
The speaker hadn’t struck me as particularly reasonable sort. Their last line echoed around my skull, sending chills along my arms and down my spine. Had it been a modular implant in their voice that could induce this physiological reaction? I’m no stranger to threats in my line of work, but none had induced such a tight panic over me that took blocks to walk off.
Just the memory alone was enough to renew a sense of dread in my throat.
It had to be either a modular implant, or I was more prejudiced against syntechs than I’d like to think. Despite best efforts toward continued integration between the two prevailing species on Earth, there was no getting around the natural state of humans distrusting something that tried too hard to emulate us.
When it came to overcoming uncanny valley, syntechs had two options. Most ramped up their non-human elements with multiple limbs, glowing eyes, non-bipedal shapes. For whatever reason, humans were more at ease and accepting that syntechs were people when they didn’t quite look human.
Still, some remained purely virtual to avoid ever interacting with humanity, never venturing into physical interfaces only to exist for humans behind a screen. These syntechs were too smart to be considered simple computer programs, but it was difficult for some to distinguish virtual entities as people if it wasn’t up and walking around interacting with the rest of the world.
And then there were those who chose another path entirely, who saw humanity’s natural response toward The Other as something to completely overcome. Some could be mistaken for heavily modified humans, colloquial cyborgs with ocular or cranial implants.
But I’d be lying if there wasn’t some unnerving subtle difference between a human with a prosthesis and a syntech with grafted skin.
The fact that I couldn’t tell who the speaker was on the other line unsettled me enough that I picked up my pace, as if I could outrun my p-comm.
In windows where there were no ads or city-pushed notices, there were general picturesque images of happy families and content homes. A facade that made it seem like people were living within, broadcasting an interior home that had long since been abandoned by this digital hellscape, but for whatever reason, New York hadn’t reclaimed the space to push its incessant messaging.
A cat lounged in one open window that had a warm glow emanating from it, along with a calming, yet still mournful, violin melody. As I passed by, the cat didn’t move and within, a small child was sitting in the middle of the floor with a visor over their eyes, smiling and laughing as they twisted and turned, lost in the digital space of whatever game had captured their personal feed.
The feline lifted its head as the child’s mirth turned quick into dismay, something happening within the game that must have caused them to die or lose, and as it lifted its head to look back within the home, the holo froze, then reset from the beginning. An eternal loop of a happier time captured by the cameras.
In others the loop was less obvious, the holo-feed spitting out tranquil potted plants, dazzling and immaterial insects flitting around each blossom. The false image overlaid the now wild and untamed plants that had taken over, twisting vines prying open the window, stretching toward sunlight, cracking solar panels beneath their traveling roots. The air teemed, but instead of blue-winged butterflies or fiery darts of buzzing pollinator drones, the vicious whispers of their wings defended heaps of discarded food and personal affects.
For whatever reason New York’s AI saw fit, it wasn’t letting the landscaping duties go lax, though it had apparently decided to divert all of its attention into making the green landscapes even greener. Central Park, once a popular recreation spot that was carefully and proudly tended, was now a forest to be regarded with a fair deal of fear. Sure, we had rumors about reptiles in our sewers, but I was more inclined to believe the rumors that New York had released something into the woods of Central Park.
It was on this empty stretch of street whose only residents were the lights of advertisements and weeds pushing up through cracks in the sidewalks where I chose a discrete side alley and hunkered down on the corner. I pulled up the channel ping that had been trying to get ahold of me for over an hour, just to look at it. If only I could analyze the source, I’d feel a lot better about responding.
But all I could determine were the same facts I’d already gleaned while in my office. The caller was somehow piggy-backing off of Tak’s trusted ID, throwing my personal VI off any trail of proper identification. Whether they were aware of it or not, Tak was leading this person right to me, and it disturbed me that I didn’t know how this was being accomplished.
Or more like, I didn’t know how they were getting away with this without Tak knowing. I could conclude only one of two things: Tak wasn’t aware this person was using them, which meant the caller was better at navigating secure lines than Tak was. The other option was that Tak was aware and allowed it. But why? Blackmail? Threats?
I didn’t know which option was worse, and the resulting unease had me pulling up the channel line into my personal feed with a blink. “I’m in a better place to hear you out now,” I immediately said, heading off anticipated anger.
There was an undefined crackle and a pop on the other line before the same voice was prowling through the connection. “Oh? I’m so happy to hear that, Ashley. Though you must mean mentally. After all, I doubt the alley to a defunct laundromat is what you mean by ‘better’.”
I resisted looking around the area for the caller. It was harder to resist throwing my p-comm and running. But I did by craning my neck around the corner to check out the front of the building. It resembled something of a laundromat, though it hadn’t been in use for a few years.
The voice laughed as I reacted and the way it fizzled, I was even more convinced I was dealing with someone using a modulator. Not a syntech at all, then. The realization gave me courage. “Who are you? You have to know I can’t appreciate being played with nor lied to.”
“I don’t think we’ve held a conversation long enough for me to have an opportunity to lie to you, Ashley,” the speaker responded. “But you’ll have to excuse my… theatrics. As for who I am, you can consider me the Benefactor of New York City. A concerned stranger interested in fixing this shithole. I believe you’ve looked into my proposal long enough. What are your thoughts?”
“On what, exactly?” As discreetly as I could, I looked to the sky and scanned the adjoining buildings. There was too much movement in the glitching ads and holo-displays for me to get a read whether someone was lurking within the buildings. My personal security alerts were operating well enough to block direct content bombarding me from both city and corporate promotional material. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched because we were always being monitored by the city itself. The trick was filtering the benign from the malicious.
“Oh, you know,” the voice chuckled. “Forgive me, burnt livelihoods are no laughing matter. Neither is a sick city in dire need of assistance. But your former partner speaks so highly of you, when they aren’t cursing your name. I find myself in need of your services, given the recent circumstances.”
“So I can blame Tak for your harassment?”
The voice laughed, though lower this time. The tone pitched back up when it spoke again. The speaker was taunting me. “Sure, blame Tak. Or yourself for being so well-positioned to take advantage of my opportunity at this time. Whoever you blame doesn’t matter to me, Ashley. What matters is whether you agree or not to help, and what you’re going to.”
“How exactly can I help someone I don’t know? I have a strict client onboarding policy.”
“Nothing I want to provide over an open line.” I was reminded of the first call I’d hung up on. The thinly veiled threats and the alarm that had jolted through me. This was a warning as well—to keep my words tight and close. It also meant I wasn’t getting any answers. Again.
I rolled my eyes at the nearest rooftop. “You have me at an impasse. I’m not going to even sit at the table if I can’t even see the cards I’m playing with here. I’m an easy fold.” And I hung up for the second time.
Before I could disconnect my p-comm from the feed, text flashed across the screen. ‘Second strike.’
I left the alley at a brisk pace, wanting nothing more than to put the whole situation behind me. I was left with the distinct impression, however, that this was going to keep after me, nipping at my heels. At least, until I ran into my third strike. It was actually beginning to seem quite stupid of me to continue ignoring it. But the so-called Benefactor didn’t reach out to me again.
Rather, the next message sent my way came through one of the flickering advertisements as I made my way back to Brooklyn proper. At first it was just a moment of seeing my name within a window screen advertisement as my eyes scanned the street.
When I focused, however, it was just an indiscernible ad featuring swaying palm trees. Then the ad screen in the window next to it flickered and my full name scrolled across it. My name continued down the street, flowing into the adjoining advertisement spaces until soon the whole block was pulsing my personal ID in garish, mismatching fonts amidst a bombardment of bright colors.
At that point I had slowed, despite everything about tonight saying to bolt. I stared at these marquees in awe until, in the next blink, they flickered back to normal.
While that had been going on, I’d stepped out into the street where I stood gawking, on the lookout for anything that would give even the slightest indication to what had just happened.
The next words weren’t my name, but rather a full sentence. ‘NOW THAT I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION.’
What happened next was difficult to describe since the nature of it was next to impossible. From one of the more intact window displays, a grinning man with a mop of black, tousled hair appeared. He was static and inert one moment, holding up a martini glass in a toast. The next, he was climbing out of the window pane, every light on the block flashing and flickering wildly. Above me, a street lamp fizzled and popped, sending sparks showering down around me. The block itself groaned as every light intensified until they were blinding.
When the holographic advert spoke, the voice cascaded out of every speaker and receiver within proximity, including my p-comm. ‘HUMAN PHOTORECPTORS ARE SUCH TRICKY THINGS,’ it said, and then everything went dim.
It took a few seconds before I could see the street again. Before me was the visual representation of New York City’s AI, though it was completely transparent, made of buzzing light that cast from the ad screen. While the surrounding area’s lights had dimmed considerably, the focal point before me had gone from ‘eye-scorching’ to merely ‘blinding’ levels, so it was still difficult to see the full scope and details of the person before me, but I recognized the visage well enough.
City syntechs were like mascots in many ways. Each had crafted personas its populace could interact with. In more modern cities, with more stable AI programs, those personas could be varied and personalized by the denizen. New York, however, had fiercely kept up the appearance of a middle-aged man, lanky and lean, no more out of place in downtown Manhattan than any other globalist market trader.
Only, of course, if one ignored the few odd inhuman features it sported to combat humanity’s uncanny valley: a too wide grin, too long fingers that more resembled claws than hands, and an impossibly looming height.
The ephemeral neon glow was also a dead giveaway.
‘YOU ARE A DIFFICULT MAN TO TRACK DOWN, ASHHLEY SLATER,’ a voice similar to the taxi’s droned. ‘THOUGH… N0T TOOO DIFFICULT.’ It stared pointedly at the pocket I had slipped my p-comm into.
At that my body seemed to wake up and I finally reacted, taking a step back and lowering my arm.
I’d lived in this city most of my life, and outside of basic verbal interactions with a cabbie’s interface or watching one of those docu-dramas I referenced earlier, I had never actually interacted with our fair city’s AI.
Of late, no one had.
So, I suppose I should have considered myself lucky, if I wasn’t stricken terrified. The AI came toward me with a soft screeching protest emanating from the street around us, and I had a thought of running. I also had a louder thought that it was made of light and those claws couldn’t be put to any real use.
‘YOU SEEM UNCOMFORTABLE MR. SLATER. I WIILL MAKE THIS QUICK.’
And painless.
‘WHAT CAN II D0 FOR YOU.’
“…what?”
‘…WHAT.’
“Do… for me?”
Here I was given yet another priceless opportunity to get answers and all I could do was be stupefied, repeating the city’s question back at it.
‘YES,’ the AI responded, chipper than I’d ever imagined it could be. ‘WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE. A TRIIP TO KOKOMO. A H0USE IN SAN FRAANN BAAY MAYBE.’ The man’s fingernail tapped at the side of his mouth. Was it trying to sell me something? It had come from the advert, so the logic didn’t seem too out of place in that context. ‘O0OH I KNOW. I HAVE BEEN TOLD STOCKHOLM IS LOVELY THIISS TIME OF YEAR.’
I don’t know what set me off. Maybe it was Masterson’s urging I abandon my home. It could have been the perhaps unplaced desire to blame this all on Tak. Most likely, it was the panic I’d been fighting down this whole walk spurred by some stranger idly threatening me in the same manner they’d order a coffee and bagel sandwich at the corner bodega.
Whatever the kindling that had been set from my experiences throughout the day, this once-in-a-lifetime interaction was the setting spark. Rather than get my answers, I instead got angry.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
The smile faltered. ‘I AM ALWAYS SERIOUSS.’
My fury didn’t subside. “So serious you’re threatening to send me to places that don’t exist.”
The smile thinned. ‘STOCKHOLM IS A VERY REAL PLACE. AT LEAST I THIiiiink iit iiss…’
“You know what I want?”
‘I BELIEVE THAT WAS MY QUERY YES.’
My fury grew bolder as the light and voice diminished. “Be a proper functioning city.”
The smile disappeared. ‘BUT EVERY0NE WANTSS THAT.’
My fury took a step forward. “No, everyone needs that.”
The smile frowned. ‘PE0PLE SHOULD NEEEEED LESSss from me…’
My fury carried me right on through the light. “Then I want you to make yourself scarce.”
The smile howled.
Then the sidewalk was empty, and with a loud pop from the lamp above me the city street returned to normal decay.
I pulled up Tak’s last ping into my personal feed and fired off a quick message, not caring if it went to them or this damned city’s Benefactor: “Fine. I’m in.”