Bracing for impact

Jack’s heart pounded in his chest as he scrambled through the mess of his apartment, adrenaline making his hands shake. Every surface seemed to be a potential clue, every digital trace a threat. His custom software, audio files, even his digital notes—all of it had to go. Every moment he spent in this place felt like he was being watched, like someone was on the verge of kicking down his door.

"Storm's coming, my bad. Take cover. Hide the device."

Whoever sent the message must have known what Jack was doing. How? And more importantly, how much did they know?

He threw his laptop onto the table and inserted a micro SD card, his fingers trembling as he frantically exported everything—software, playlists, configurations, weeks of careful planning and manipulation—onto something he could hide easily. Every second wasted felt like a countdown.

Why now? he thought. Just when everything was moving along so perfectly...

Jack glanced nervously around the room as the download progress bar ticked forward at an agonizing pace. The girls were in the palm of his hand—Rachel, Leah, Sophie, even Veronica—and he was closer than ever to getting everything he wanted from them. He should be enjoying this, basking in his success. Instead, here he was, panicked, scrambling, his dream life threatened by a single, stupid message.

Finally, the download finished with a soft chime. Jack yanked out the SD card, shoved it into the lining of his jacket, and stuffed his notes into a backpack along with his laptop and some clothes. He wasn’t staying here tonight. He had to get out, lay low, figure out his next move.

Instinctively, Jack checked his phone, pulling up the warning text again, subconsciously hoping it might make more sense with another look. Nothing. His finger hovered over the screen, but then another notification caught his eye. Several messages from Rachel. He opened it, half-expecting something urgent, but instead found an elegantly written note:

"Jack, oh dear Jack, I've been thinking so much about our talk the other night. It’s like I’m finally rediscovering the feminine part of myself, like I’ve been holding her back for too long. I understand now how you've been trying to tell me that all those times, but it never clicked until now."

"Well, today, I did something I’ve never done before, something bold… I 'accidentally' let Mike get a peek under my skirt, of my lace panties, after pretending to drop my keycard in the lobby. I know, it’s naughty, stupid even. But the way he blushed, stammered for words... it was thrilling."

"Anyway, we should catch up soon. I need to tell you more. In person."

What? ... Mike? Jack stared at the texts, normally the kind of thing that would have him grinning, savoring Rachel's unraveling sense of propriety. He could almost picture her, flushed and proud, feeling more liberated than ever—all thanks to him. But right now, he felt nothing. The tension in his chest was too tight, the paranoia too consuming to enjoy what she was offering.

Shit. He couldn’t focus on Rachel, not with everything potentially crashing down around him. "Later," he muttered under his breath, shoving the phone in his pocket.

But before he could take another step, another text buzzed through. Not knowing what else to do, he took out his phone again. This time, Sophie.

"Hey, Jack. You seemed off earlier. Is everything okay? If you need a friend, I’m here."

Jack paused. Sophie. Her calming energy. Her intuition. Maybe… maybe this was a way out. An idea started forming in the back of his mind. He had already decided he couldn't stay here tonight, not after that message. Take cover. He felt too exposed, too ****. But if he played his cards right, he could buy himself some time—hide out, regroup, figure out who was after him—while keeping an eye on his apartment from across the street.

Quickly, he typed back: "Hey, Sophie. Thanks for reaching out. Actually, yeah, I’m kind of stressed—my apartment sprung a leak, and I’m waiting for a hydraulic, but it’s a mess here. Any chance I could crash at your place tonight? Just need a break from this chaos."

A white lie, but necessary. Jack hit send, feeling a twinge of guilt for lying, but this wasn’t the time for the truth. Moments later, her response pinged back:

"Of course! I’ll pick you up after yoga. Don’t worry about a thing."

He sighed in relief. He’d bought himself a night. But the gnawing dread lingered. Something wasn’t right, and until he figured out what that text meant, he couldn’t let his guard down.

Jack stared at the door. His apartment suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were pressing in. The air seemed heavy, thick with a danger he couldn’t yet understand.

All he could do now was wait—and pray whoever was coming for him didn’t know enough to destroy everything. Ugh, who am I kidding. Jack couldn’t just sit and wait. He wasn’t built for it.

Moments later, Jack was pacing around his apartment, his earlier panic beginning to fade as logic reasserted itself. The warning message kept replaying in his head. Storm's coming, my bad.

That phrase—“my bad”—stuck with him. It sounded casual, like the sender was simply apologizing for a mistake. Whoever sent the message probably wasn’t trying to expose him. He was jumping to conclusions, letting paranoia take over. The most likely culprit was the seller of the device. Maybe they screwed up somehow, triggered something they weren’t supposed to.

Still, something was going to happen. The urgent tone of the message told him that much. He’d need to stay sharp and keep his eyes open. But if he wanted to stay ahead, the first thing he needed to do was get organized.

Suddenly determined, Jack took his laptop out of the bag he had packed, fished the SD card from his jacket, and sat down at his desk. He powered up the laptop again and inserted the card. Methodically, he began digitally reconciling all his notes. He wanted an overview—a master list of everything he’d done so far, all the facts he knew, all the subliminals, playlists, and behavioral shifts he’d caused. If someone was coming after him, he had to be sure he hadn’t left any loose ends.

He started with Rachel: her playlist, her responses to the questionnaire, her slow metamorphosis under his influence. Then Leah, with her newfound confidence, showcasing it for him with small but satisfying gestures. Sophie, too—how uninhibited she’d become, how she was already spreading her "new technique" in her yoga class. He even managed to laugh a bit thinking about Veronica, power-hungry and arrogant, unknowingly deepening her dependence on his generosity.

He made sure each note was sorted, cross-referenced with behavioral changes he’d observed. Every message he’d embedded, every reaction he’d triggered—it all began to form a coherent picture. With each detail logged, saved to the SD card, the tension in his chest eased. This wasn’t just some blind experiment. It was a controlled, predictable game, and he going to win it.

An hour had passed while Jack meticulously turned chaos into order. By the time he finished, his mind was clearer than it had been in days. He felt sharp again, like he was back in control. Whoever sent that warning might have screwed up, but Jack sure as hell wouldn’t.

A knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Sophie. Right on time.

Jack stood, grabbed his backpack and his laptop, slid the SD card back in his jacket, and made his way to the door, calm and collected once more. He opened it to Sophie’s familiar, calming smile.

“Ready?” she asked softly.

“Ready,” Jack replied, his mind racing with new strategies. Whatever fucking storm was coming, he was ready to face it—on his terms.

From now on, Jack will be more systematic with his notes. When something important happens, or whenever he upgrades his configurations, you will find an updated "Jack's notes" chapter attached, separate from the story. The first "Jack’s notes" will (soon) be attached below, alongside the next chapter. Feel free to consult it before turning back and continuing with the narrative.