The First Patch
"They're looking for us," Kael said without preamble as they met in the courtyard after school. The usual weariness in his voice was gone, replaced by a sharp urgency.
"I saw," Ellie replied, her stomach a knot of fear. "What was that?"
"A narrative probe. They're injecting discordant code to see if the system—if we—react. They're hunting." He ran a hand through his hair, the silver static around him buzzing more intensely. "We can't just be defensive anymore. We need to hide our tracks. We need to create a Patch."
"A patch? Like for software?"
"Exactly. A small, self-sustaining edit that corrects for their interference without you having to be there to constantly fix it. It runs in the background."
He made it sound simple. It wasn't.
Their target was Chloe. The Writers, in their "probing," had left a trace. A lingering sense of paranoia in Chloe's script made her suspicious of everyone, especially Ellie. [CHLOE]: (Thinking) Why is Ellie always so nervous? What is she hiding?
"This is a vulnerability," Kael explained. "They can use this to turn her against you, to create conflict. We patch it."
For two hours, Ellie tried. This wasn't a simple edit; it was like trying to write a tiny, intelligent program with the fabric of reality. She couldn't just delete the paranoia; she had to replace it with a stable, logical emotion. She focused on weaving a new thread into Chloe's script: a lingering concern about a difficult math grade, something mundane and believable.
The cost was immense. It felt like holding a lightning bolt in her mind, shaping it without letting it go. Sweat dripped down her temples. Her whole body trembled with the effort.
Finally, with a gasp, she let go.
The script above Chloe's head, who was chatting with a friend nearby, shimmered.
[CHLOE]: (Thinking) Why is Ellie always so nervous? What is she hiding?
It changed.
[CHLOE]: (Thinking) Ugh, I can't believe I bombed that math test. I need to ask Ellie if she understood the last chapter.
It was seamless. The paranoia was gone, replaced by a typical high school worry. The Patch was holding.
Ellie slumped against the wall, utterly drained, but a fierce, triumphant smile spread across her face. She had done it. She hadn't just edited; she had programmed.
Kael looked from the successfully patched script to Ellie, and for the first time, there was no criticism in his gaze. Only a spark of something that looked like respect.
"They're hunting us," Ellie said, her voice raw but steady. "But now we know how to hide. What's the next step?"
Kael's eyes gleamed. "The next step? We stop patching their messes. We find out where they're probing from. We find a way to look back."
The ghost in the machine was learning to haunt the programmers.
Social Scripts
The hallway was a gauntlet of blue text, but Ellie was learning to navigate the data stream. She kept her head down, aiming for the sanctuary of her locker.
[CHLOE]: "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you. You totally vanished after school."
[CHLOE]: (Thinking) *She's been so distant. Is she mad at me?*
The unspoken thought, visible only to Ellie, was a tiny knife of guilt. "Sorry, Chlo. Just… a lot of homework," Ellie mumbled, the lie tasting sour.
"Uh oh. Incoming," Chloe muttered, her posture stiffening.
The script ahead of them shifted. The mundane thoughts of other students were pushed aside by a wave of curated, malicious text.
[SASHA]: "Look what the cat dragged in. Matching today, I see. How… cute."
[MAYA]: (Whispering to Bianca) "Chloe's backpack is from last season. I saw it on the clearance rack."
[BIANCA]: "Let them be, girls. Some people just don't have the… capacity for a polished look."
The A-List flowed around them like a beautiful, poisonous river. Bianca Vance led the pack, her smile a perfect, cold weapon. She didn't even look directly at Ellie; her dismissal was more insulting than any direct confrontation.
The old, familiar heat of humiliation crept up Ellie's neck. Her fingers twitched at her side. It would be so easy. A tiny, tiny edit. Just make Bianca trip. Just a little. Just enough to wipe that smirk off her face.
The energy pooled in her chest, the Ink ready to write a moment of cosmic justice.
[KAEL]: (From across the hall, his text a sharp, silver command) *DON'T.*
Her eyes snapped up. Kael was leaning against the water fountain, his gaze intense. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "They're not worth the attention."
She let the energy fade, the temptation passing. But the humiliation remained.
Bianca paused, as if sensing the shift. Her cool gaze finally landed on Ellie. "You've been spending a lot of time with that new boy, Kael," she said, her voice a silken trap. "What's the appeal? Is he a charity case?"
Her script revealed the true thought: [BIANCA]: (Thinking) *He's a mystery. I don't like mysteries I can't control.*
Before Ellie could form a response, the first bell rang. The A-List glided away, leaving a chill in their wake.
"Just ignore them," Chloe said, but her voice was tight.
The rest of the morning was a battle. In Chemistry, Ms. Albright's pop quiz was a disaster, culminating in a hissed, "See me after class," and a script that promised an email to her parents.
The pressure was a physical weight on her shoulders. The A-List's social cuts, Ms. Albright's academic pressure, Chloe's unspoken worry, and Kael's constant warnings—it was all too much.
At lunch, she hid in the library, seeking silence. But even here, the world found her.
[MAYA]: (From behind a bookshelf, phone in hand) "…yeah, totally failing Chemistry. And get this, my cousin said he saw her mom's car parked outside that weird spiritualist shop on Elm. You know, the one with the crystals? Guess the crazy runs in the family."
Ellie froze. They weren't just targeting her; they were targeting her mother. The Ink surged inside her, a hot, furious tide. This wasn't a tiny edit anymore. This was a defense. She could patch this. She could make Maya forget what she saw, make her drop her phone, something.
The library lights flickered. A low hum filled the air, the one that always preceded a glitch.
And then, a new, chilling script appeared, superimposed over Maya's gossiping text. It was in a different, colder font.
[DIRECTIVE: ESCALATE. TARGET 'LINDA SMITH' VULNERABILITY. INCREASE SOCIAL ISOLATION OF PRIMARY SUBJECT.]
It wasn't Maya's thought. It was a command. The Writers were using the A-List. They were weaving the mean girls' natural cruelty into their narrative, turning them into unwitting pawns to pressure Ellie.
The horror of it was absolute. Her two worlds—the social and the supernatural—had just violently collided. The bullies weren't just bullies anymore; they were weapons.
And Ellie realized with sickening clarity that just "ignoring them" was no longer an option.