PROJECT ECHO

Chapter 4: Fractures in the Code

The interrogation room smelled like coffee and regret. Vosbien leaned back in the cold metal chair, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Across from her, a veteran detective flipped through a thin file, eyes sharp with the sort of detachment only endless late nights and too few wins could teach.

"Vosbien Pansa. Eighteen. Arrested twice for street racing, once for breaking a rival's nose," the detective read aloud. "He broke my taillight," Vosbien muttered. "And you broke his nose," the veteran detective threw his clipboard and sighed.  "Fair trade," Vosbien shot back.

The detective sighed and closed the folder. "You've got talent, quick reflexes. Good instincts. But no direction." Vosbien snorted. "Is this the part where you offer me redemption if I join a top-secret squad?" The door swung open, and a girl in black tactical pants stepped in, expression unbothered, confidence in every measured step. "This is Freen. Your new partner," the detective said. Vosbien arched an eyebrow. "Seriously? She looks like she listens to Taylor Swift and calls it cardio." Freen didn't flinch. "Better than getting arrested for playing Need for Speed in real life." Game on. Vosbien hated partners. Every time she got close to someone, they either transferred, betrayed her, or got too emotional. Freen was a lone wolf, shaped by circumstance and self-defense. But Captain Namtan had insisted.

"She's raw, but she's got potential," the captain had said, handing Vosbien Freen's file. "You both came from tough backgrounds. Might balance each other out." Balance. Freen had grown up in a house where silence was the loudest sound, raising her little brother while her mother worked double shifts and her father left early. She learned when to duck, when to run, and when to fight. Cadet programs, undercover work, and now, staring down Vosbien's smirk, a challenge, a spark of stubborn defiance. "I can't believe I'm wearing this damn outfit," Freen muttered, tugging at her jacket. "You look like a Powerpuff Girl who pays taxes," Vosbien replied.

Their mission was simple on paper: blend in at Westhaven High, track a new drug called Vapor, and shut it down. The reality? They were twenty-two, pretending to be seventeen, and surrounded by teenagers who would sniff out a poser in seconds: fake transcripts, forged names, lockers smelling of Axe body spray and despair. Vosbien was the rebellious transfer with a skateboard; Freen was the nerdy scholarship kid from out of state. "So, I've got Chem with the robotics club, and you're in Lit with the theater nerds," Vosbien said. "Perfect. Let's hope none of them use Vapor behind the AV room," Freen replied.

The school computer lab hummed with the quiet drone of machines, monitors flickering like the pulse of the city outside. Freen sat stiff-backed at a terminal, eyes narrowing as she worked, methodical and deliberate. A red prompt blinked: ACCESS DENIED. "Damn it," she muttered, rerouting through a dummy admin account cracked two nights ago. Lines of code scrolled down the screen, promising progress. Then: INTRUSION DETECTED—REVERSE TRACE INITIATED.

Her breath caught. Someone was hacking her back. The screen went black, then flared white. Her face appeared on a grainy live feed. Static hissed through the speakers. "Stay out of our business," a warped digital voice warned. Then darkness. Freen yanked the cord from the terminal, pulse hammering. Whoever it was, they were watching and waiting.

The next morning, the student council room buzzed with mundane chatter: booth layouts, dance themes, poster designs. Freen sat at the back, notebook open, mind still spinning from the lab. "I need to get back into the network," she whispered. "Someone's watching me." Becky, calm and composed, leaned beside her. "You're not the only one." Freen's eyes flicked to her. There was something in Becky's tone, measured and knowing, that made her uneasy.

Later, the sun blazing overhead, Vosbien and Love walked the cracked cement path behind the gym, away from the chaos of fair prep. "I used to think if I ran fast enough, I could outrun the past," Love said quietly. "I left Bangkok hoping for peace, but I still carry everything I left behind." Vosbien tilted her head. "I moved around a lot, too. Never stayed long. Never let anyone get close. It just...hurt less that way." Love studied her. "You've got walls up. Thick ones." Vosbien chuckled softly. "I'm good at pretending." Love looks at her, "You don't have to pretend with me," Love said gently. Silence settled between them until the distant bell pulled them back to reality.

That evening, the corridor outside the computer lab echoed with footsteps, then silence. Freen crouched by the door, fiddling with the lock. Becky scanned the hall beside her. "Five seconds," Freen whispered. The lock clicked, and they slipped inside. Freen went straight to the server terminal; Becky inserted a small USB and powered up her laptop. "Run the tool. We need access to the mainframe and backup drives," Freen said. Becky shot her a sidelong glance. "Relax. I've got this." The terminal hummed, passwords unraveling, data flooding the screen. Then came a creak. The door swung open.

"Freen?" Freen froze. Faye leaned on the frame, Yoko beside her, both amused. "Didn't peg you for the hacktivist type," Faye said. "New school club?" Yoko added. "Cybercrime and Chill?" Freen subtly signaled them out first. "What are you guys doing here?" Captain Namtan's voice crackled over the earpiece, "Hacker department's here to assist. You've met the others." Freen's eyes widened. "Other agents? This mission is...that high-risk?" "Yes. Multiple departments. This isn't local. It's bigger than you realize," Namtan said. Freen returned her gaze to the screen, digging deeper into the network.

Meanwhile, in a shadowed alley at the edge of town, Jace handed a duffel to a tattooed man named Riko. Inside: glass vials marked with black triangles. "Vapor. New formula. Faster, cleaner. No taste," Jace said. "Good work. But we're expanding. School's just the front," Riko replied. "I am," Jace said, jaw tight.

Back at school, Vosbien sat in the library, folding a flyer for an underground music event hosted by Jace's clique. Love stepped in. "Still trying to solve the mystery of me?" Vosbien chuckled. "You're harder to read than encrypted files." "You're searching for something that might not exist. Or maybe...I'm the only thing that makes sense right now," Love said softly.

By midnight, Freen and Becky had cracked the system. Lines of data scrolled endlessly: chat logs, bank transfers, schedules. Then, the truth hit. "This isn't just drugs," Freen whispered. "It's a trafficking ring. Schools are recruitment fronts." Becky's silence was heavy. "You knew," Freen said. Becky looked down. "Yeah. I knew." "Part of it?" "I was. I could control it. But it's too big now." Freen stepped back, heart racing. "Why didn't you say something?" "Because I didn't trust you. And I wasn't ready to trust myself." Becky gathered her things. "Now you know. Do what you want with it." And she was gone. Freen stood alone in the glow of the monitors, trembling — not from fear, but from the weight of the world they'd just uncovered. The network was bigger than she imagined, and now, they were deeper in than ever.