#oh man tired brain + autocorrect is killing me here. oh well

[crowcryptid]

Thank you to my professor for having common sense and ending the class 30 mins early cause no one who is willingly taking a class at this time is memorizing chemical formulas past 9 pm

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E4; Chapter Four, The Sauna Test - [Pt. 3]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘌𝘭, 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘺𝘯𝘹.

📝: ERICAAA!!! FRICKIN FINALLY!! Less important note, but when writing about Y/n, El and Max, I wrote "the three friends" and autocorrect literally changed "friends" to "fruits". Yelmax confirmed 💀

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"It is fascinating what twenty bucks will get you at the County Recorder's Office," Robin reports, unfurling what looked to be a familiar layout on the break room table. "Starcourt Mall. The complete blueprints."

"Not bad," Dustin smirks from her left.

"So this is us," she points to a familiar-looking room before gesturing across the map. "Scoops, and this is where we wanna get."

"Yeah, I don't really see a way in," Steve mumbles from his seat at the table.

"There's not. If,"

She rips away a layer of the blueprint, revealing a vastly complicated map of air ducts, pipelines, and detailing that made up Starcourt.

"you're talking exclusively about doors."

Dustin looks at her with excitement growing in his eyes. "Air ducts!"

"Exactly," she smirks, making her way to the whiteboard to retrieve the magic marker. "Turns out, this secret room needs air just like any old room and these air ducts lead all the way" she circles the secret room in question, drawing one, interrupted line right back to, "here."

Dustin and Steve finally tear their eyes away from the map and follow Robin's mischievous eye. All the way to the air duct tucked away in the far corner of the Scoops Ahoy break room.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

To their surprise, a screwdriver had been harder to find than a ladder but soon enough Steve had managed to reach the air vent and unscrew it from the wall. But as he stood here now, peering down into the vent he quickly realized they were now facing yet another obstacle.

"Flath'ligh'?" Steve asked, finally removing the screwdriver from his mouth and shaping it for the small torchlight Dustin had waiting. "Thank you,"

The flashlight turns on with a tiny click and a soft yellow light bounces down the narrow metal tunnel, enunciation the frown on Steve's face.

"Yeah, I don't know man, I don't know if you can fit in here, it's like... super tight."

"I'll fit," Dustin smirks. "Trust me. No collarbones, remember?"

"Uh, excuse me?" Robin asks.

Steve jumps down from the ladder, turning to Robin as Dustin begins the climb and gives her a nod.

"Oh, he's uh, he's got so disease," he frowns thoughtfully, racking his brain as he tries to recall the word. "It's chrydo... um... something, yeah I don't know. He's missing bones and stuff, he can bend like Gumbo."

"You mean... Gumby?"

"I'm pretty sure it's Gumbo," he snorts.

"Just shut up and push me!" Comes Dustin's muffled voice from the vents.

By now he had wormed himself halfway in, his bottom half sticking out of the wall and still propped up on the latter while they had been talking.

"Okay,"  Steve huffed, motioning knowingly to the kid's feet and turned away from Robin.

She watched with a tired, lazily bemused expression as Steve grabbed a less than sturdy hold of the kid's feet and attempted to push.

"Not my feet, dumbass, push my ass!"

"Uh, what?"

"TOUCH MY BUTT! I DON'T CARE!" Came Dustin's impatient scream from the walls.

With a heavy grimace, Steve hesitantly began pushing against Dustin's rear end and his muffled anger grew louder.

"I'm pushing!" Steve argued.

"PUSH HARDER!" Dustin shrieks as he attempts to inch further into the metal vents. "You're playing with my legs!"

"I'm not playing, I have terrible footing!"

"Come on!"

Steve finally makes it to the top of the latter, Dustin's legs bunched together over his shoulders and locked under his arm as their voice continued to shout over one another.

"I'm gonna just shove you, ready?"

"Just shove me?"

"One, two..."

"Shit!"

"That work?"

"One more time,"

Robin rolls her eyes, finally turning away when she hears the sudden rapid chimes of the customer bell out front and all too familiar patron.

"Ahoy, sailors! All hands on deck!"

Through the partition window, Robin meets eyes with none other than Erica Sinclair who flashes her an exaggerated salute and rings the bell knowingly.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Laughter and joyful screams filled the chlorine-soaked air, the smell of the pool lingering with sunblock was strong enough it wafted all the way to the parking lot where the majority of the Party now stood at the Hawkins pool. It looked quite different than it had the day before when Y/n, Max, and El had last been, but the tension weighing down the atmosphere seemed just as heavy and ever-present.

The storm had of course long since lifted, and the sun was now beating down heavily on their backs as they took shelter behind a Rust Red AMC Hornet, all eyes across the lot on the occupant in the lifeguard chair.

Billy.

He was squished underneath the bright red beach umbrella, hidden underneath a baseball cap, thick shades, a long-sleeved sweater, and a white beach towel draped over his legs where they poked out into the sun. He was completely covered.

"I don't know," Max begins, peering through the group's binoculars. "He looks pretty normal to me,"

"Normal?" Lucas scoffs. "How many times have you seen him with a shirt on?"

Y/n smiles weakly from where she stands in between him and Will. Max lowers the binoculars, conceding a wince.

"I mean, it's a little weird,"

"More than a little," Mike nods. "He was in a tub with ice. The Mind Flayer likes it cold. Plus everything El saw—"

"But he's lounging at the pool," Max argues, doubtfully. "Which is like, the least Mind Flayer thing ever,"

"Not necessarily," Will says, pulling everyone's attention. "The Mind Flayer likes to hide. He only used me when he needed me. It's like... like you're dormant. And then, when he needs you,"

All eyes return to Billy.

"...you're activated."

Y/n gulps, shifting on her feet from where she had previously stood rooted to the spot. Ever since that dreaded Halloween night the previous year, nothing seemed to have been the same. The Mind Flayer had set his sights on Will, and in turn, her. Slowly but surely, he had infected all of their lives as he had the town of Hawkins; spreading his rot and poison, and his hate. She could still feel it sometimes; the pain of Will's nails raking into her face and leaving behind the faded scar that had already long since disappeared.

Her eyes dart back through the fence at the suspicious-looking lifeguard and her insides twisted further into a sickening knot. The thought of the Mind Flayer's possible return was enough to drain the color from her face and leave a chill in the humid, sticky summer air. Her mind was running rapid with fear but the sound of Max's voice was enough to return her to earth.

"Okay, so we just..." she shrugs, looking back over towards her brother. "wait until he gets activated."

"No," Mike says with the shake of his head. "What if he hurts someone?"

"Or kills someone?" Will counters, and the Wheeler boy nods.

"We can't take that chance. We need to find out if he's the host,"

"Well, how do we do that?" Lucas asks.

The Party falls silent. The weight of the air growing heavier and heavier as it dawns on them. And one by one, each pair of eyes trickle over to the only present Henderson sibling in the Party. Her head is hung, propped-up against the hood and when she senses the eyes on her she straightens, breathing a sigh. But Will was already shaking his head.

"What? No, no way," he says to Mike and the others, Y/n already turning to him. "No, Y/n, I don't think it's a good idea,"

"I don't like it either," Y/n fretted. "but it's our best chance. The Mind Flayer hates me, and I can push his limits. It's the fastest way."

"And if, by some random chance, Billy isn't the host?" Will countered gently. "He'd find out about you,"

Y/n didn't have a reply for that. Truthfully, she didn't know whether to be relieved or angered he had cornered her. She just stood there, frowning at the concrete sidewalk biting her lip thoughtfully. She tried to think of a way to use her abilities subtly, but all her experience with heat came from seismic blasts or concentrated bursts from her hands. If she attempted that on Billy, he would surely know it.

"There's gotta be another way," Mike cuts in. "I mean, a safe way that doesn't risk you getting hurt or discovered."

Y/n and Will - even El - shoot him a funny look and he shifts under the sudden attention, guiltily.

"What about the sauna?" Lucas says, lighting up.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, it's perfect!" He grins, stepping out from around the car and motioning for Will and Mike. "Come on,"

Seemingly catching onto Lucas's idea, Mike wastes no time in following. And Will hesitantly steps away, sending Y/n and his friends an apologetic shrug.

"Where are you going?" El called after them, exasperated.

"Sorry! Boys only!" Mike throws over his shoulder.

Max scowls after them. "Seriously?!"

"Just trust us!" Lucas cries.

"We'll be back," Will shrugs again. "... I guess."

The three friends sigh, throwing less than impressed looks at the retreating boys. Privately, Y/n wondered if Mike stood any chance of harm just from her glaring at him in this moment. She hadn't shared these feelings with anyone, but since reuniting with Will something had been troubled Ling him and he wouldn't say what. She could spot it right away, the shift in demeanor but she knew it was something different from the return of the Mind Flayer somehow. And she believed it had something to do with Mike.

He was acting differently around him. He had been for some time now, as she had with Max and even El but this was different. Something had happened, and because Will was, well, Will, he was clearly trying to put aside for the sake of everyone's safety. Y/n couldn't really blame him there, but she wished he would open up to her. Tell her what was wrong.

And she wished more than anything she could fix whatever Mike had clearly broken.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"All we gotta do is wait until the pool closes and everyone leaves," Lucas begins, guiding his friends through the first layer of the men's locker rooms. "And then get him from here..."

He steps forward, quickly ripping open the secondary door. The three boys scurry inside, and Lucas's friends quickly seem to catch on to his plan and a small smile grows on Will's face.

"And get him into here," Lucas eagerly rips open the sauna door, expecting to see nothing but steam but his luck had run out.

Five sweaty adult men in towels sat packed in the sauna like sardines, scowls on their faces for the three party members who interrupted their steam. "Hey! Shut the door!"

-"Come on, kid!"

-"Shut it!"

Lucas finally broke from his stupor and slammed the door shut, shuddering.

"I think I just threw up in my mouth,"

Will nodded with a grimace, but shook it off when his eyes landed on the wall beside the door.

"The controls!"

Mike's still bulging, haunted eyes finally broke away from their zoning out and jumped to the wall where Will was pointing. His face lit up.

"We can control from the outside, it's perfect!"

"Do you think it'll get hot enough?" Will asks, feeling more and more relieved by the second. "Like, "Y/n" hot?"

His friends immediately stopped, looking to him with a deadpan expression. Will scoffed at them. "You know what I mean" he snarked, not in the mood though he was trying to ignore the hint of a blush creeping up on his skin.

"Nevermind that," Lucas says. "Look right, here, 220 degrees. That's definitely enough."

"Okay, so we just need to figure out how to get him into here," Will nods towards the sauna door.

"Precisely."

"Then we lock him in," Mike says.

Lucas nods. "-heat him up,"

And Will manages another somewhat relieved smile. "-and no matter what happens, we'll know for sure."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Erica descends from the latter, the flashlight in her hands flicking off with a loud click as she strides up to the break room table where her recruits stood waiting. The group had taken a calculated risk I confiding in the young girl, but she was smart and demanded the information and why they needed to know if she could fit into the air duct in the back room. So here they stood, waiting with anxious breath for her verdict.

"Yeah, I don't know," she says, propping herself up on the edge of the table rather unimpressed.

"You don't know if you can fit?" Dustin asks.

"Oh, I can fit. I just don't know if I want to,"

"Are you claustrophobic?" Robin tries.

Amused, Erica gives the young woman a pitiful laugh. "I don't have phobias."

"Okay, well," Steve begins with a shrug. "What's the problem?"

"The problem is I still haven't heard what's in this for Erica,"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Steve slides another banana boat ice cream float across the table, joining the already plentiful dairy banquet laid out for the Sinclair girl. She merely gave it a single, disinterested glance and slid it back.

"More fudge please,"

Nobody said anything. And Steve just stared back at the table with tired, glazed-over eyes before Erica sent him a dismissive wave.

"Go on,"

He gave a sigh, and left the booth with the Banana boat in hand, and retreated to the counter. Robin took that as her cue and pulled out the marked-up blueprints she had at her side.

"Alright, you see this?" She points from the circle marked Scoops Ahoy and trail connecting over the flipped map. "This is the route you're gonna take. Then we just wait until the last delivery goes out tonight then you knock out the grate. Jump down. Open the door."

"Then you find out what's in those boxes?" She asks.

"Exactly,"

"And you say this guard is armed?"

"Yes," Dustin quickly nods. "But he won't be there,"

"And booby traps?"

"Booby traps?" Robin echoed.

"Lazers, spikes in the wall,"

Robin couldn't help but give a small laugh, but Erica was all too serious. She turned to the two with a serious look.

"You know what this half-baked plan of yours sounds like to me? Child endangerment."

"We'll be in radio contact with you the whole time-"

"Uh! Uh! Uh!" Erica stops her. "Child. Endangerment."

Robin sighs, ignoring the knot wanting to twist in her stomach. She knew she was right, and Robin supposed she just didn't want to admit to herself what they were asking not only of themselves but the young girl.

"Erica?" Dustin began. "Hi, uh... We think these Russians want to do harm to our country. Great harm. Don't you love your country?"

"You can't spell America without Erica," she shrugs, taking a long and loud sip from her complimentary Scoops Shake.

Dustin just blinks at her response and concedes with a nod. "Uh... yeah. Oddly, that's uh... weirdly true, so... so! Don't do this for us! Do it for your country. Do it for your fellow man. Do this for America, Erica."

Erica, who had been slurping her drink through her straw throughout his entire speech, finally finished it off and shivered, sending him a smirk. "Ooh! I just got the chills."

Dustin smiled proudly.

"Oh, yeah," she quickly corrects, her smile falling. "From this float. Not your speech."

His smile falls right off his face.

"You know what I love most about this country?" Erica began. "Capitalism. Do you know what capitalism is?"

Both Robin and Dustin mumble a 'yeah'.

"It means this is a free market system, which means people get paid for their services depending on how valuable their contributions are. And this seems to me that my ability to fit into that little vent is very, very valuable to you all. So-"

Robin and Dustin share a worried look.

"-you want my help? This U.S.S. Butterscotch better be the first of many. And I'm talking free ice cream for life,"

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Lifting Up Auvionna "Auvi" Smith:

Muslim Aid - Save Palestine Emergency:

Help Latino Community on Lake Street:

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag List:

@dickkwad @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa @miscellaneoustoasts @happyandlonely-blog   @peeperparkour @ba-responds ​ @bibliophilesquared @blogforhoes @witch-of-all-things-soft @shawkneecaps @whothefuckstolemykeds @daughter-of-the-stars11 ​ @stranger-things4 @kpopanimegirl ​ @nightbu-g @lozzybowe @gizmofishersupremacy @spiderbitch69420

❥ Let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist! ❥

[sending-the-message]

Suicide by Search Engine by M59Gar

I'll admit it, I was suicidal. On a spectacularly bad day in a particularly lonely month during a rather bleak winter, I wasn't really feeling the whole life thing anymore. I'd been unhappy before, and even depressed, but this was different. This felt like a hot knife of pain prodding me to action; where before thoughts of suicide had only ever been hypothetical, now the world seemed filled with the promise of sweet relief at every turn. Sidewalk curbs begged me to trip and smash my head, traffic jovially requested I leap out onto the street, and friendly steel rods in the construction site next to my house were always poking out and waving me over to get impaled.

The only thing that saved me was the helpless and horrified feeling that this urge was coming from outside myself. The little man riding around in my brain—the little man that looked out my eyes and spoke my thoughts to himself—was not trying to sail my body against the reefs of traffic and steel rods. He was trying to brave the storm despite feeling hopeless; it was something else that was trying to crash us against the rocks and destroy us.

Chemicals. It's chemicals in the brain, you see. I looked it up online. Between a thousand different searches for ways to kill myself, I also managed to open a suicide prevention forum. All I managed to post was help, but that was enough. Kind souls contacted moderators, concerned moderators contacted police, tired police contacted doctors, and grim men in white uniforms took me to a special hospital.

For a long time, I was disconnected from the world. It was summer by the time the doctors found the right combination and dosages of medicines to balance the storm in my brain, but the day I finally walked out of that facility, it was beautiful and warm out.

And I wanted to live!

I waved at a passerby. She was very old, but took the effort to wave back and even smile.

Oh my God, could you imagine what I might have done? What I might have missed out on? I bought donuts from a shop with change that had been in my clothes in storage at the facility for six months.

I sat on a bench and broke down in tears while human beings milled left and right around me. Do you know what it is to be alive? You get to talk to other aware beings. You get to have ideas and share them and have those ideas refuted, entertained, or accepted. You get to build things. You get to eat things.

Like donuts.

For fifteen minutes, I sat on that bench near that bus stop crying profusely while eating donuts. When people asked if I was alright, I just told them that these were really good donuts.

I didn't have money for the bus since I'd spent it on treats, but the orderlies had let me charge my phone before departing. I loaded up the Internet for the first time in half a year and mapped the way home. It was a beautiful day! I would walk.

No specific turn was in itself scary. It was too slow a change for that. It was only after two hours of walking that I looked around, saw homeless men, drug addicts, and openly carried pistols that I realized I was in a very bad part of town. I clutched my phone tight and continually checked the mapping program. It insisted that my next turn was down a dark and trash-filled alley, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Rising city heat caused gold waves of evening light to dapple the street; in that back and forth light, I saw unhappy eyes look my way.

Time to move on. Screw that.

I found a rundown gas station and asked for directions inside. The attendant listened to my question from behind his security glass and told me I was way off. The part of town I was looking for was practically in the opposite direction.

Well, maybe the maps program in my phone was six months out of date. Maybe that was it. I got to walking and left the bad part of town before night fell, and I reached my apartment around three in the morning. All my bills had been on automatic payment, and thank God for that. My landlord had probably never even noticed I'd been away, but I did have a massive pile of mail just inside the door.

I left it for later and crashed in bed, my bed, my home. It was good to be alive.

But I had no food!

Getting out my phone, I looked up twenty-four-hour pizza places. There'd been two before I'd gone away. What had they been called?

While beginning to type in my search, I froze. After each of the first three letters in pizza, the autocomplete search had filled in: please kill me, pick the best way to die, pizza poison buried in cheese.

I was very unhappily reminded of all the searches I'd made online... before. I cleared my browser cache and put my phone down. I wasn't hungry anymore.

And I thought that would be the end of it.

The next morning, I had a text.

West Columbus Drug & Food Rx: NATHAN, your Rx is due now. Reply REFILL to fill. HELP for more info & STOP to opt out of Rx Alerts. CANCEL to cancel Rx.

I typed in refill and hit send. I was really hungry, but it was important I took my medication in the right amounts and on time. I got dressed, brushed my teeth, and headed down to the store. I waited in line for twenty minutes only to be told they didn't have my prescription on file. I argued with the pharmacist calmly for a minute until I checked my phone to show them I'd just sent REFILL—and I saw that somehow my reply had autocorrected to CANCEL.

The pharmacist apologized but told me I'd have to have the facility send another prescription. Strict insurance rules, nothing they could do.

I sighed. It was fine, whatever. I stepped outside to call the facility. I'd hoped it would be longer before I contacted them again, but it was important, so I hit the contact number for Sunnybrook and waited with the phone to my ear.

Nothing happened.

After about ten seconds, I lowered my phone and looked at it.

I wasn't even in a call.

I'd somehow accidentally hit 'delete' and the confirmation, removing the contact from my phone. Sighing, I went the phone's browser and began to type in the name of the facility to get their phone number all over again.

The search autocompleted as I typed: Sin to kill yourself?, Sucks to be alive, Sunday the best day of the week to die, Sunny weather increases suicide risk study says.

My finger stopped four letters in. I shivered from some sourceless chill. This wasn't funny anymore—if it had ever been—and I angrily cleared my browser cache again.

Bitter, I waited a tick, and then typed in the letter 'k':

kill yourself

Of course. Online companies had massive profiles that held all the data every one of us had ever put online. I'd made thousands of searches about suicide before losing contact with the Internet completely for six months, and all that data was stored on a server somewhere linked to my particular phone. Shaking with anger and a strange kind of abused-puppy fear, I let the phone slip from my hands before kicking it as hard as I could while it fell. It soared out onto the street and exploded before being run over by seven different cars.

Screw you. Just screw you. A mindless artifact of technology had left residue of my mental issues on the Internet, that was all. I just needed to get a new phone and put it out of my head.

I walked to Sunnybrook and talked to a nurse in person to have my prescription refilled.

I walked back to the drug store in person to get my medicine.

I took my medicine and began to feel better almost immediately.

The next day, I went in person to a tech store and got a new phone. New number, new everything, no connection to the old. I walked out of there happy as could be.

Once I got home, I sighed, stretched, looked around my apartment, and said to myself, "Maybe I should go see a movie." I'd never been one to leave my solitude for any reason, but now life was good, and I was even feeling a little bit outgoing. I got my new phone out to see what was playing.

I typed the letter 'm' and the search autocompleted to movies in my area now that I'm feeling better.

"What the hell?"

Coincidence. It had to be. I began to type again: movies about Hell.

No.

It wasn't possible.

Or—

I moved my phone's listening end up to my mouth and said as if I was talking to someone I'd brought home, "Hey Jessica, I feel like seeing an action movie. What about you?"

Alright, continue typing: movies good action date.

It was listening to me.

It was fucking listening to me!

New technology. It had to be. But was the microphone simply always on? Were people okay with this? When I'd gone in for treatment, there'd been a privacy outrage. Had things shifted back hard the other way in the last six months?

I'd paid cash for the phone. I wondered if it was learning about its new user. Still pretending I was talking to a non-existent Jessica, I said, "Yeah, my friends usually call me that as a nickname, but my real name is Nathan."

I started to type into my phone again, but a severe amount of interface lag seemed to be slowing things down. After a good twenty seconds of frustrated typing that did nothing, the letters I'd hit all appeared again in the search bar.

moviesiesiesaoishdoihoeishkyou are dead Nathan

Nearly dropping my phone like it had turned into a rattlesnake in my hand, I caught it back at the last second. I had to be hallucinating, right? I deleted the search and then typed again.

movie you killed yourself 188 days ago

Shivering, I stared at that message for an interminable period. What the hell was going on here? I didn't feel dead. At long last, I said aloud, "No I didn't!"

movie the data doesn't lie searched for suicide three months followed by zero data you died

"You think I killed myself because I went off the grid," I breathed aloud, not quite believing what I was interacting with. Had neural learning algorithms actually developed a sort of proto-consciousness through analyzing massive amounts of data? One of my acquaintances was a programmer, and he'd been talking about something just like this when—

movie anomaly will be corrected further data for dead profile must be prevented

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

I didn't like what was happening, so I turned off my phone and left it near my sink.

That night, I did not go out.

I did not see a movie.

All I could think about was what might happen if I used my credit card. The online data conglomerates would see that, and whatever it was that thought I was dead would know. If I withdrew cash from an ATM, it would know. I was stuck.

But this was crazy, right?

It had to be a side effect of the medicines. I was imagining things.

The next day, I used my credit card at a Starbucks.

I was so stupid. Oh my God, so stupid...

Two days after that coffee, the mailman died in an explosion that blew my door off its hinges. A mistake in components shipping for a military contractor near Columbus had somehow sent dangerous materials to my address. I found all this out in person from an apologetic military lawyer. They offered to pay for my door; I told him to talk to the landlord.

Because me? I'm running. Big Data thinks I'm dead, and they, or it, have gone from analyzing their information to trying to make it true.

I'm posting this anonymously. My name is not Nathan. But I bet someone or some thing knows what my name really is... and it knows all about you, too. Be careful what information you give out. The things you say around your phone or the things you search online may come back to haunt you.

Literally. Beware the ghost in the machine. It is always watching, always listening—even if you think your phone is off.

+++