Kai opened his eyes. His gray, faceless form was gone. In its place stood Vesper. The constellations moved across his skin. The voice that came out when he spoke was low and warm and not his own.
Kai stared at the mask. His gray, faceless form reflected in its surface. He thought about all the people he saw every day in the OP's crowded plazas and silent corridors. The elegant dancers with their flowing silk avatars. The armored warriors with histories carved into every scar. The quiet ones who sat alone on virtual rooftops, watching sunsets that didn't exist.
The OP didn't police this. It couldn't. The Steal Avatar script had been passed around so many times that its origin was a ghost story. Some said it was written by a heartbroken developer whose own avatar was stolen. Others said it was a stress test by the OP's original architects, never removed. A few whispered that the script wasn't code at all, but a living thing—a memetic virus that spread through jealousy and longing.
He sent her a private message. I'm sorry.
