We were chasing a ghost — something like a bad omen. The mysterious android popped up on our radar through pure dumb luck. Then again, maybe it wasn’t luck at all. Once the pieces started falling into place, I couldn’t believe it. It was too perfect. Too intricate. Too designed. Things like that made me wonder if there really was a higher power.

  Whether friend or foe, our messenger just gave us a lead to follow. The contradictory creature was visible only to the naked eye and invisible to cameras. Beyond all the mythology the students of Silver Reach High spun about her, who was she really? And was she the answer to what happened to Cassandra Weddel?

  The three of us leaned over Ethan as he worked. None of us were the God-fearing type, but we were about to pull a Hail Mary. A little faith wouldn’t have hurt.

  “I’m cross-referencing data from the android with the quarantine zone,” Ethan said. “If it’s a match, we’ll have our next move.”

  “It has to,” I said. “Call it a hunch.”

  Leave it to machines to see what humans cannot. The infrared footage wouldn’t resemble what could be seen with the visible spectrum. It would look strange and uncanny to us, but a machine wouldn’t be hindered in the same way. Loose shapes and silhouettes cast in brightly coded colors were more than enough. Trees, buildings, and any other distinctive objects in the vicinity could give away the location of the recording. Despite the corruption of the audio data, little bits and pieces still held onto their form. They were just noise to us but they were patterns to a machine.

  Artificial intelligence could access all of the infinite sea of data simultaneously. Whether it was a published article, a photo on social media, or a video hidden away on the precinct’s confidential servers, it was fair game. We weren’t limited by what the public could see. In a way, we were also camouflaged, incognito, traversing the world as spectators instead of inhabitants of it.

  “Some of this audio could be human speech,” Ethan said. “But don’t get too excited; there’s no way to verify it.”

  A tautness spread its way throughout my body as my brows creased together. There was a pit in my stomach telling me it didn’t make any sense. How could something both blind and deaf attach itself to a human girl like her? If it could neither recognize nor understand her, what difference would there be for it between a human girl and a hunk of metal?

  “It must have understood her,” I said. “There’s no way it chose her without recognizing her face or understanding a single word that came out of her mouth. Don’t tell me it can read minds now.”

  The android was acting based on Cassie’s connections. There was no denying it; the paths it took were contained to places that held meaning to her. These places had no meaning otherwise. An artificial intelligence did not need the staples of a child’s life. They were born fully fledged with all the information they would ever need and without any of the pesky obligations essential to organic life. No, an android would have never gone to school or grabbed a bite to eat.

  “No mind-reading,” Ethan said. “The hardware was functional enough to record and interpret its surroundings in real-time, but the structural damage would have led to rapid memory degradation. In essence, it was likely left with a vague sense of what it used to know without the memories to back them up.”

  “Mechanical amnesia,” I murmured. “I suppose even machines can be haunted by their subconscious now. How touching.”

  Memories don’t always disappear when they are forgotten. Sometimes they just tunnel deeper down and fall far, far away to where even we can’t reach them. And then they fester. And they grow. And they feed into how we feel and what we think bit by bit. Imagine a hard drive with a vast array of files and folders organized and filed away in the order that we use them most. And now, imagine that some files get archived and shuttled off into some dusty, old corner where all the unnecessary things go. Is it really gone or just sleeping?

  In that way, we are not so different from machines. We made them in our image, just like God. And then, just like us, memory makes them who they are. Everything we are is hidden away in our memory somewhere. Some of it is accessible, and we can call on it when we like, but there is a vast sea inside the subconscious. Those fragments of memory, no longer stored where we can see them, can still be felt in our bones with the way that our muscles tense and our stomachs ache. Our experience of memory shapes our lives, habits, ideology, hopes, fears, and self-identity.

  “Are we gonna go get her?” Gabe asked.

  “We won’t have a choice,” I said. “Girls like that aren’t worth much to the system. Considering our circumstances, I’m surprised we’ve been allowed to get this far already.”

  On top of the outstanding employee benefits such as the drink machine in the lobby, the higher-ups had also seen fit to let me work on my little pet project — searching for a missing girl who no one either looked for or wanted back. It was a gift, a cheap token of appreciation for my hard work and sacrifice. You better believe I knew sacrifice. I felt it in my body and carried it in my right arm. My hands clenched reflexively; the artificial limb moved smoothly even with the hand-shaped imprint dented into it. It rotated easily both left and right; there was no drag or dysfunction.

  The console buzzed then, breaking me out of my thoughts. It was a match. Our hard work was finally paying off. The southeastern edge of the quarantine zone was right where the priest hid away from the world all those years ago. I felt the tension in my jaw. There was only one thing that meant — she was hiding underground. Above ground, it looked just like an empty lot thanks to the automated security drones. They were designed to keep good people out and bad people in, or at least, that was the end result of their installation.

  “Looks like we got her,” Gabe said. “Better suit up. We’re going ghost-hunting.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” I said.

  “Watch your step,” Ethan said. “I don’t have a lot of information on the inside. Everything is outdated; it’s all just history.”

  “Sum it up,” I said. “We don’t have the time.”

  I got the gist of it from his explanation. At one point, the underground had been cleared for reconstruction. The radiation from the deadly airstrikes during the last invasion dissipated enough for human habitation. The area, once full of picturesque suburban homes, was destabilized and contaminated. A large fence was built around it, and then it sat to rot as people forgot about it and moved on with their lives. That was until a presumed dead man, Victor Lewis, walked right out of those ruins and started the extraction of the other survivors, who for their own reasons, had also refused to leave.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  It was a media frenzy. People were talking about what it could be again, built back better. The excitement of cheap real estate led to rushed back-end deals. In the city whose name meant to soar, those ruins were torn down, and new structures were put in their place. It was pointless and unscrupulous. Investors were fed dreams, and all the money poured into that place vanished into smoke as the unstable ground gave way, and everything eventually crumbled.

  In order to save face, the city sealed it off once again and placed security drones there to keep out the homeless, which they did, but once anyone made it inside, it was difficult to leave the way they came. No human bodies could go in and out without sneaking through carefully hidden crevices. As a result, the underground subway system throughout that place became both a haven and a prison for the homeless.

  “Take this with you,” Ethan said. “It’ll help you find her. I fixed it up myself.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “A scanner,” he said. “It can track the minute amounts of radiation the android left behind. With any luck, it’ll lead us right to her.”

  It was a trail of breadcrumbs, and we were Hansel and Gretel. The clunky thing looked like it had seen better days. The surface was scratched and scuffed up. Beneath the faded remnants of paint was a hard plastic shell. Large, neat rows with barely legible labels ran down the front under a small screen that could do little other than blink small red dots on an arched radius.

  “Careful, it’s a dinosaur,” Ethan said.

  I checked my pockets.

  “It’s not going to fit,” I said, emptying them out to make a point. “Women’s clothes.”

  “I’ll hold onto it,” he said, nodding in commiseration.

  Then he tucked it away in one of his plentiful and spacious pockets. To say I was jealous was to put it lightly. Of course, we could have packed it away in one of our bags, but something like that, which needed to be accessed quickly and readily, was better to keep on hand.

  We packed lightly, only the bare essentials. Aside from the scanner, we also swapped out our coats for waterproof alternatives and threw on a pair of gloves. In our bag, we added some rope, first aid supplies, and snacks in case we’d be a while.

  The drive was efficient. We rolled through the roads with a smooth precision. It wasn’t until we passed the first checkpoint that the roads got rough, literally. They hadn’t been maintained in ages. Getting through the gate was a piece of cake. Our badges were more than enough to get us through, and past that point, signs of habitation quickly faded away. The buildings were increasingly dilapidated, and the roads got so bad we might have blown our suspension trying to drive through them. So much for our cruiser. The rest of our journey would be on foot.

  It was a hassle, but only a minor hiccup in our plan. All that separated us from the subway’s entrance now was a short walk and the final checkpoint. They were all automated, of course; no men in sight. However, there was still customer service almost good enough to rate five stars on the platform of your choice. Once again, just like before, a cheery robotic voice greeted us to grant us access with a pass of our shiny, official badges.

  “Detective Walker. And. Detective Grant,” it said, pausing robotically. “Welcome to the South Gate Station! Enjoy your trip and have a nice day!”

  With pleasantries aside, we entered the area. Rusted metal beams from an unfinished construction project loomed over us from the side, casting crisscrossing lines on the ground. The security drones watched us but paid no mind. Their facial recognition abilities matched us to our badges, and we were cleared to enter. Instead of firing their sonic weapons, a form of crowd control that left no traces, they just watched us as we passed. Their dome-shaped heads swiveled our way whenever we got within range of their surveillance. Other than that, the area was completely barren, just as we had expected. We took a crooked path to the underground entrance.

  “Is this the place?” I asked.

  “That’s it,” Ethan said. “Get past those doors and you’ll be inside. Might be a drop; wouldn’t be surprised if the stairs caved in a while ago.”

  A sudden gust flared our coats and whipped my long, unruly hair into my face. Gabe, with his short men’s cut and stubble-lined jaw, was spared. How convenient. The things we did for beauty.

  “Nothing to it then,” Gabe said. “Down the hatch.”

  As Ethan predicted, the stairs had given up a long time ago. The doors, once welded shut, had been pried open and left that way. It was pitch black inside; if not for the night vision built into our Irises, we would’ve been fumbling around in the dark, not able to even see two feet in front of our faces. We dropped down with the help of some sturdy rope. It was a long drop, and there was no point in calling it quits before we got anywhere just to show off how tough we were. With our displays adjusted to the dim lighting, we could see a long, winding tunnel ahead of us. Rusted, old tracks lined the center in the lower section between the walkways.

  Graffiti lined the walls. People likely carried their own lighting to make their way around here. The more we walked, the more we saw. There was not much to say and not many surprises, at least not yet. The place stank of old piss and desperation. Home sweet home. What more could you ask for? It was doubtlessly full of hard drugs, unlike Ether, popular on the topside. Our boots crunched on broken liquor bottles and trash.

  At first, the only signs of life were rats and insects. The first human we saw was hidden in a pile of dirty rags. I nearly clipped my boot on his foot and muttered a quick apology. He didn’t move, and I prayed he was still alive, but he was not the first or the last we spotted, and there was nothing we could do. Life in this city favored the rich and left the rest to rot.

  Every so often, as we wandered along, following the blinking red dot on our scanner, we’d spot a bit of movement in the darkness. I wondered who they were and how they had ended up down here. Were they unfortunate victims or criminals who needed a place to hide?

  “Should we ask around?” Gabe asked.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “They wouldn’t talk even if they wanted to. Self-preservation. Snitches get stitches. Just let them be.”

  We didn’t know what we were going to find. With any luck, it would be a largely elaborate shrine with a great, big neon sign pointing to it. Maybe there would even be a little white rabbit to lead the way. We’d waltz right in and out before a quarter past noon, just in time for lunch. A woman could dream.

  The only thing the scanner could tell us was if the android had been there before; it wasn’t exactly a golden brick road laid out before us. There were quite a few detours and turns, signs of exploration maybe. Between the dead ends and red herrings, my feet hurt and my stomach grumbled.

  When we finally stopped to rest and recharge, reminded of our hunger thanks to a row of broken vending machines, I caught a glimpse of white tufted fur. It was peeking out of a pile of rubble, placed quite carefully like it wanted to be found. I picked it up to inspect it, and to my surprise, it was a little white rabbit.

  “Looks like a kid’s toy,” Gabe said. “Think we should return it?”

  Ethan cut me off before I could respond.

  “No, the scanner is detecting hints of radiation,” Ethan said over the Iris. “Take it. If it’s nothing, you can still bring it back, but by the looks of it, whoever left it there probably forgot about it already.”

  The small toy looked worn down and beat up; to say it was white was a bit disingenuous. In truth, it was closer to a shade of gray and splotched brown in places. The fur was also worn away in places where a child would have held it, exposing the unraveling seams. It seemed like I wasn’t the only one falling apart.

  Part of me wondered if it was a sign; the rest knew better than to hope for miracles. The story of Alice in Wonderland came to mind. She found herself running after a white rabbit through a long tunnel until she went down, down, down, in a fall that felt like it would never end. Some people have interpreted it as a metaphor for a little girl with a crushing life escaping into a magical world inside her head. Others have taken it at face value. Who was to say which was better?

  We pocketed it and packed up to go. When we rounded a corner, I thought I felt eyes on my back. They bored into me red hot, like if they could cut right through me. It was different this time than the others. Countless residents of this place had snuck a peek or two. Most of them were just looking out for themselves; if we were scouts for a raid, it would have been trouble for them. I looked back over my shoulder to find nothing out of place. No item moved. No person present.

  “Something there?” Gabe asked, turning to look as well.

  “No,” I said. “It’s just my nerves getting to me.”

  Instead of ruminating on what was probably just my mind playing tricks on me, I pulled my focus back to the task at hand. We were following the trail left behind by a ghost, and somewhere, I hoped our girl was still breathing.