No Filter. No Hype.

I sit back down at my computer with a cup of coffee. One more hour until the end of my shift. Just enough time to do absolutely nothing. But my brain needs input, or I’ll fall asleep. Coffee won’t cut it – I only drink it for the taste.

I’ve already closed today’s batch of tickets. The rest can wait until tomorrow. I tuck my legs up on the chair. Let’s see what’s happening out there – not on social media, but in real life.

I open the logs with a smile. Other people read the news – I read reality. No filter. No hype. Just facts. No likes. No comments.

I don’t like likes. They feel like control. Like someone’s trying to steer you. This way, people – step right up. Marvel of the modern world.

I’ve got no desire to join the crowd. Never have. I don’t care who the hottest celebrity is this week – and yet I still know their names.

Because it’s contagious.

In here, it’s quiet. The system runs – most of the time. No nudging. No herding. Real people, real stories, arranging themselves into neat little log entries.

Quiet day – no error reports. I scroll through the warnings – nothing out of the ordinary, just the system being overzealous from time to time. I check the latest entries. Most of them are simply logouts. Lucky them. They’re done for today.

My eyes snag on one line. Something’s off. The message is perfectly clear, and yet… it won’t let go. I go over it letter by letter, nudging the cursor along.

Hm... a double space. Either a typo, or a missing value.

I take a screenshot and add a note for myself. I’ll check it tomorrow.

I scroll on – and a new entry comes in. A fresh event has just been registered.

User: 5V354NN.

I lean forward a little, though it’s not surprising. She works a lot – more than most. Her screen time is the highest I’ve ever seen. Half my records seem to come from her.

Let’s see what you’re up to. You’re supposed to be at the hospital with your father right now – going by the event details. Still, you’ve booked an appointment. You don’t have to work all the time.

Sipping my coffee, I look at the new event. A meeting with a property agent. You’re moving, 5V3? The event status flips to orange – delay possible. You’re too far away. Time to get going, if you want to make it.

The system sends the notification. I picture her checking her phone, making excuses, saying goodbye to her father.

I open the map and enter the user ID. The phone is at the hospital. The second device is in the hospital car park.

Of course it’s in the car. 5V3 is the kind of user who works while driving. I don’t know how she does it – uploading docs, entering results, sending reports. That last one could be voice-controlled, I suppose. Every now and then, I’ve wondered if she’s got a driver. Important person.

Though I think it’s more likely a woman – for some reason, that’s just how I’ve always pictured her.

Probably because of the kids. The fixed events in her calendar are Patrick’s piano lesson on Wednesdays at three, and Katie’s football practice every Tuesday and Friday.

Teenagers. Same school. I even know their birthdays. They’re in the calendar. Maybe 5V3 is the father after all? Mothers know that sort of thing by heart, don’t they?

At least most of them do.

I add the meeting location to the map. It’s not far, but the evening rush can turn it into a slog. The phone hasn’t moved yet – she missed the alert, or she’s ignoring it. This is not normal. She’s usually the first to react to any alert or message. Maybe her father is holding her up.

I tear open a bag of chips. Another system warning pops up. Connection between the two devices has been lost. My first thought is that one of them has run out of battery. But both dots are still there on the map.

Only the tablet isn’t in the car park anymore.

It’s moving.

Hey. You left your phone at the hospital. I shrug. You’ll notice eventually.

I watch as the blue dot pulls away from the other one. Then it turns yellow and starts flashing.

What are you doing? Where are you going? There’s no way you’ll make it in time like this. That’s not the route you need to take.

A few new log entries pop up. I check them – nothing interesting. Just tomorrow being built in the background.

Then the phone moves, too.

For a few seconds I just watch the phone dot shifting around inside the hospital, each refresh bringing it a little closer to the car park. Meanwhile the tablet keeps heading towards—

My eyes flick through the possible routes. That’s not the appointment – and she isn’t heading home, either.

It’s heading out of the city.

Where are you going, 5V3?

Keeping my gaze on the map, I toss the empty chip bag into the waste bin.

The phone reaches the car park – right where the tablet used to be – and stops.

Oh.

They’ve stolen the car. Poor 5V3.

I watch the dot growing more distant, tracking where it goes, where it might stop.

I should tell someone. But they don’t know that I know.

It would raise too many questions.

How do I know what I know? What does the system know – what does it log? What do I know about you?

And I can’t tell them any of that.

But if that tablet ends up in the wrong hands… you do know you’ll have to lock everything down, don’t you? You’re going to have a rough few days.

I’m sorry. But I’ll keep our secrets.

And I’ll find you, no matter what name you come back under. I’ll be here.

The time flips to 6:00 p.m.

Good night, 5V3.

I shut the computer down.