T.M.I.

Two

There's one thing movies always fail to show you. Victory is never the end of anything. Failure usually is. Victory is just disorienting for a while.

My experiment went so well, I'm a little stumped about what to do next. I know what it means, but what to do with it has my mind spinning.

Yes, I can move up the social ladder now and target other people on Jace Rosenberg's tier, but does that mean I should leave the lower tools alone?

And no one requested proof to believe what TMI claimed. But should I stop providing proof altogether?

There's no right answer to this. It's very important that people don't ask questions about the app, and I have long ago failed to understand them and predict what's going on inside their heads.

Because if it were me, I'd have questions the moment TMI appeared and started confirming rumors. Which no one else did. I'm clearly a freak.

So I do the only thing that makes sense. As I sit cross legged on my bed, I pick up a notepad and pencil out my options with their pros and cons.

I have two choices regarding my targets: either keep climbing, leaving the lesser idiots behind, or randomly hit everyone.

The first option has an obvious pro. Once the top of the food chain figures out that TMI keeps climbing, they'll start to be afraid, shaking in their Gucci or Prada shoes that it might be them next. The con is that they would see it coming.

Keeping it random also has the pro of scaring them and reminding them that no one is safe. The con is that they might get a false sense of security. Then, they wouldn't be as stressed about it as they should and it would take a considerable amount of effort from my part.

I chew the end of my pencil, my eyes straying so the tiny blue flowers on my bedspread dance. Both approaches are enticing, especially since what happened to Audrey Hart was as random as it came. But it's also that particular aspect that makes me want to steer clear of their modus operandi.

The issue of evidence is even tougher. Not providing it could scare my targets, because they would know it is no longer needed. Providing it would also terrify them because they would know I have it. So it's a matter of prestige over validity. TMI is beyond proof, that was already demonstrated, but how long could it survive without it once the top becomes a target and start denying the truth?

I can't decide.

Out of a reflex that I thought I've lost, my hand reaches for my phone and I'm scrolling through my contact list before my fingers start shaking and I drop the thing all together.

There's no one to call. I have no friends. Not after what happened to Audrey. Not after I started obsessing over it. But no one else cares, and what happened can't just blow under the radar.

Rosie Geld can't win. Her ilk can't get away with this.

I write down the list again, afraid I'd forgotten any of the names on it.

Rosie Geld.

Rod Wiseman.

Miranda Washington.

Martin Hirsch.

Donna Jensen.

Davey Postvam.

Ava Park.

Antoine Laurent.

Lexi Kramer.

Lucas Brandt.

R R, M M, D D, A A, L L. The alliteration nation. The abomination nation. The cruelest, most self-entitled assholes on this planet, set to be the future of our nation.