SWIPE RIGHT FOR DEATH

5. Detective Games

The neon glow of the downtown district felt like a migraine set to music. Arlo ducked into the shadows of a narrow alley, his chest heaving. Behind them, the faint, rhythmic chirping of a police cruiser’s siren faded, replaced by the relentless, thrumming heartbeat of his own phone.

"She’s persistent, I’ll give her that," Zafira muttered, pressing her back against a brick wall. She pulled a small, silver device from her jacket and scanned the perimeter. "I think we shook her, but don't get cocky. She’s definitely going to be looking for us."

Arlo clutched his bag, his knuckles white. "She’s a cop, Zafira. They have, like, helicopters and stuff. How did I go from being a guy who makes bad coffee to a guy who’s essentially playing tag with the entire municipal government?"

"You aren't just playing tag, Arlo," Zafira said, checking her screen. "You’re a glitch in a system that’s designed to be perfectly linear. And systems hate glitches."

"Yeah, well, I hate being a glitch," Arlo shot back, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Can we please go find this hacker? I’d like to stop living my life in five-minute bursts of adrenaline-fueled terror."

"Casper’s nearby. He keeps his setup in the back of an arcade, of all places. It’s the perfect place to hide a server rack—nobody looks for high-end tech beneath a Skee-Ball machine."

As they hurried toward the arcade, Arlo didn't notice the tiny, magnetized beacon sticking to the bottom of his canvas bag, a small, blinking blue light syncing with Detective Nadia Vire’s tactical tablet three blocks away.

"I’m just saying," Arlo panted, jogging to keep up. "If we die in an arcade, I want it to be on the Dance Dance Revolution machine. At least that’s a classy way to go."

"Shut up and keep moving," Zafira commanded.

Inside the arcade, the air smelled like stale popcorn and ozone. Casper Drell—a man who looked like he hadn't seen the sun since the late nineties—was hunched over a laptop, his face illuminated by a cascade of scrolling green code.

"Hey, Casper!" Arlo whispered loudly, nearly tripping over a joystick.

Casper didn't even look up. "If you’re here about the high scores on Galaga, I’m not resetting them. I worked hard for those, and frankly, I don't care how much you paid."

"It’s not about the scores, man," Zafira said, slamming a hard drive onto his desk. "We need a trace. The FatalMatch app. Can you find the origin point?"

Casper paused, his fingers hovering over the keys. He swiveled his chair around, squinting at them through thick, circular glasses. "That? That’s not an app, lady. That’s a digital parasite. I’ve seen code like that, but only in nightmares."

"Well, it’s a parasite that’s trying to blow up my kitchen and kill my mom," Arlo said, leaning against the console. "So, can you find it or not?"

Casper grunted, plugging in the drive. "I can try. But if I get fried by an IP-tracking spike, I’m putting your name on my tombstone."

"Fair enough," Arlo replied. "How long until you can track the server?"

"Thirty seconds if I’m lucky, five minutes if the firewall tries to delete my hard drive," Casper muttered, his typing speed reaching a blur. "By the way, who’s the detective following you?"

Arlo froze. "Detective? Who said anything about a detective?"

"Your bag, genius," Casper pointed at the bottom of the canvas sack. "There’s a localized GPS tracker taped to your gear. She’s probably sitting in a cruiser around the corner, waiting for you to lead her right to me."

Arlo’s mouth fell open. "She tagged me? When? How did she even get close enough?"

"She’s a cop, Arlo. She probably tagged you when you were having your little 'olive' tantrum," Zafira growled. "Casper, cut the feed. Can you loop her signal?"

"Working on it," Casper said, his eyes darting across three monitors. "I’m rerouting her map data to the city’s sewage processing plant. If she follows that, she’s going to have a very messy evening."

"You are my favorite person right now," Arlo said, leaning over the screen. "Wait, what’s that? That big red building?"

Casper zoomed in. "That’s the server ping. It’s coming from the Aether-Core Research Facility. Ever heard of it?"

Arlo felt the air leave his lungs. "Aether-Core? That’s... that’s where my brother works."

Zafira looked at him, her expression hardening. "Your brother? The one you mentioned in your profile? The 'successful' one?"

"Yeah, Marcus," Arlo stammered, his mind reeling. "He’s a lead developer there. But he’s a software engineer! He builds stuff for, like, hospital databases and climate modeling. He doesn't make death-match apps!"

"Maybe that’s what he thinks he’s doing," Casper noted, his voice detached. "The signal is definitely coming from inside the facility. And judging by the encryption, this isn't just a research firm. It’s a private data-mining vault."

"My brother is a genius, but he’s also a total stickler for the rules," Arlo said, his voice rising. "He wouldn't create a murder app. He won't even d******d apps that ask for location permissions!"

"People change, Arlo," Zafira said, grabbing her bag. "Or maybe he doesn't know what his company is doing with his code. Either way, we’re going to find out. Casper, can you get us a floor plan?"

Casper tapped a few keys, and a complex schematic appeared on the screen. "Got it. But you’re going to have to go through the ventilation shaft. The main entrance is guarded by biometric scanners and a security team that probably hasn't laughed since the eighties."

"Ventilation shafts," Arlo sighed, rubbing his temples. "Why is it always ventilation shafts? Why can't we just walk in and say, 'Hi, I’m the guy you’re trying to kill, let's talk'?"

"Because," Zafira said, standing up and checking her holster, "that would get you killed in exactly three seconds. Let’s go. Casper, stay here. If we aren't back in two hours, wipe the server and burn the drive."

"Wait!" Arlo called out as he followed Zafira to the back exit. "Casper, what about the detective? Is she gone?"

Casper smirked, his eyes back on the code. "She’s currently parked outside a septic tank in the suburbs, absolutely furious. You’ve got about an hour of lead time before she realizes the signal is looped."

"One hour to break into a high-security research firm and delete a digital death god," Arlo muttered to himself. "I really need to start being more boring."

"You’re doing great, Arlo," Zafira said, kicking the back door open into the cold, damp night. "Just try not to get us blown up again."

"No promises," Arlo said, clutching his phone as it vibrated, the screen flashing a single word in bold, crimson text: 'FOUND.'

"Zafira," Arlo whispered, his blood turning cold. "The app just pinged us back. It knows we’re coming."

"Let it know," Zafira replied, not slowing down. "If it’s expecting us, it means we’re getting close to the heart of the machine. And that’s exactly where we need to be."

They disappeared into the darkness, the neon lights of the city reflecting off the rain-slicked pavement like fractured, bloody glass. Arlo looked at his phone one last time, the timer counting down from sixty minutes, and for the first time, he felt something other than fear. He felt ready. Or, at the very least, he felt tired enough of being afraid that he didn't care anymore.

"If Marcus is behind this," Arlo said to the empty air, "he is absolutely not getting a Christmas present this year."