The kidnapping went smoothly, but the next phase of the plan was much trickier. The biometric chamber was at the heart of Immersive Ltd.’s headquarters.

Our approach took us through their R&D lab. As we passed several test pods, I shuddered at the thought of how many lives they had taken. The company claimed that no one had died using their devices. But I knew firsthand that a life could be lost while the user still maintained “healthy” vital signs.

We arrived at the imposing chamber’s exterior door and silently got to work. I unpacked our gear. Gretchen took the unconscious executive out of the roller bag, and carefully positioned her limp body into a face-down star pose.

“Exoskeleton,” I said.

Gretchen unfolded the segmented frame and aligned it with the executive’s joints. She pressed a button and the machine locked into place. “Attached.”

We lifted the body into a standing position. When we let go, the exoskeleton maintained the posture by automatically compensating for the shifting dead weight.

“Height.”

Gretchen ran a tape measure along the executive’s back. “Correct.”

We continued our confirmations by taping both of her eyes open, cleaning her fingertips, and measuring her pulse. The hardest check was last.

“Weight.”

Gretchen put the scale in position. She commanded the exoskeleton to take two steps forward. “One forty-two.” Seven pounds over nominal range.

Gretchen calmly marked two incision points between the left hip and knee. Then she pulled a syringe from her pocket and injected local anesthetic into the executive’s upper thigh. Finally, she removed the laser saw from her backpack and took a long, deep breath.

“Don’t take too much,” I whispered under my breath. Luckily, she was too focused to hear me.

With grisly efficiency, Gretchen made two cuts through the leg, removed the segment, switched the saw setting, and cauterized the wounds.

We both peered at the scale readout after Gretchen wiped it down. “One thirty-six.”

Shit. Not enough.

Gretchen quickly trimmed the top of the detached lower leg and re-cauterized. “One thirty-four.” She checked her pulse again and nodded. The anesthetic was doing its job. For now.

We stepped into our harnesses, attached ropes, and held anchors. We stood in front of the chamber entrance on either side of the propped up executive.

“Door,” I said, with a hint of confidence.

Gretchen pressed the button on the wall and the panel slid open. 15 seconds.

We threw our anchors at the ceiling. On impact, they automatically adhered and extended support trusses. Our ropes hung loosely, but with a press of a button the anchors swiftly reeled us in. We swung in long arcs, but not enough to touch any walls.

Once we reached the ceiling, Gretchen changed the display of her glasses to the exoskeleton camera. She guided the machine into the chamber. The door slid shut and I exhaled. I was relieved, but also grateful that I had found this weakness. Immersive Ltd. was either too lazy or ignorant to add sensors to the ceiling.

I hung in silence as the chamber completed each scan. Despite my best efforts to stay present, my mind started to drift…

We were about to score a major victory for addiction victims. Immersive Ltd. hadn’t created the offending sensory drug, but they were complicit because they allowed it to be transmitted. Our signal would cripple their user numbers and reputation.

The hum of the exit door snapped me back to reality. With the sensors now deactivated, it was safe to rappel to the floor. We slowly walked into the central message center.

I had pored over every detail of our stolen blueprints, but it was still more impressive in person. Huge screens covered the far wall, displaying visual representations of the five sensory inputs. Five test pods formed a circle, each with several extra sensors to monitor user reactions when messages were previewed. The room’s focal point was the universal command terminal, and I quickly walked to it and started downloading my message.

I had reverse-engineered the transmission that was addicting to so many people, and created the opposite effect. Now, I was about to send the result of my work to every Immersive Ltd. user on the planet. Those that were currently logged off would receive it the next time they logged on. The download finished and I immediately started the transmission.

“What’s that?” Gretchen asked, looking up at the warning message that was displayed on the visual and audio screens. “I thought it would be immediate and surprising. To injure them so they’d get help.”

“I lied. The signal is fatal. Hopefully, normal users will heed the warning, but-”

“Fatal?! How is that going to help addicts…” She trailed off when she saw the grim look on my face.

“I had a brother. A twin. Our mother abandoned us, and our social worker had to find us a new home. Instead of foster parents, protocol meant we went to our aunt and uncle. They hid their addiction well. As soon as the worker left, they got right back into their pods. When social services returned for a visit, I was barely alive. My brother had starved to death.”

“So, you’re not a recovering addict too?” She became visibly distraught.

I could see she was rapidly unraveling the layers of deception I'd so carefully wrapped her in, so I calmly shot her in the leg with my tranq gun.

She would fit inside the roller bag. I had checked after I bought it, just to make sure.