Chapter 2

"Following an investigation, graduate student Chloe Vance has been found guilty of unauthorized access to campus surveillance on October 23, 2024, and publicly broadcasting a suspected AI-deepfake explicit video. This act has severely damaged the reputations of Professor Marcus Henderson and graduate student Evelyn Ward. Effective immediately, Chloe Vance is placed on academic suspension pending further disciplinary action."

The hearing lasted less than forty minutes.

I sat at one end of a long conference table. Opposite me were five people—two associate deans, two professors from the Academic Integrity Board, and Director Joseph Miller.

Dr. Henderson didn't show up.

But Evelyn did.

"Starting in September, Chloe began sending me harassing messages on Snapchat," she said, her voice small and trembling. "At first, she was just asking about research data, but then it became... threatening."

She handed her phone to Director Miller.

The screen displayed a fabricated Snapchat chat history:

*Why did you take my data?*

*You think Dr. Henderson actually cares about you?*

*I have dirt on you. You better back off if you know what's good for you.*

"I never sent those," I said.

"The digital records are right here," Director Miller said, passing the phone to the other board members.

"Chat histories can easily be faked."

"But you claimed security footage couldn't be," Evelyn sobbed, wiping her eyes. "Yet the technical report proved your video was fake."

Dean Arthur Montgomery, sitting in the center, took off his glasses.

"Chloe, I understand you might have grievances against your advisor. But no matter how frustrated you are, you shouldn't resort to these extreme methods. Dr. Henderson is a leading figure in our department. His reputation directly impacts our funding and ranking."

"So it doesn't matter what he actually did?"

"If you had concerns, you should have gone through the proper channels," he said, putting his glasses back on. "Not this... malicious stunt."

After the hearing, Director Miller handed me a stack of papers.

Academic suspension. Lab access revoked. University email account frozen. I had three days to clear out of my dorm.

"What about my experimental data? The files on the lab server?"

"Any results generated using lab resources belong to the university. Your access credentials have been terminated."

"I wrote that code. I ran those simulations."

"We are just following protocol."

I went back to my dorm to pack.

As I was carrying my last box out, Fiona Brooks was leaning against the hallway wall.

"Dr. Henderson called a meeting right after you left," she whispered. "He made us sign a joint statement—stating that the video played during the meeting was too blurry to identify any individuals."

"And you signed it?"

She avoided my eyes.

"Everyone signed it."

I gripped the handle of my suitcase and walked past her.

"Chloe," she called out from behind.

"Yeah?"

"Why didn't you just sign that apology statement? If you did, you could have stayed."

"Because the video is real."

She was silent for a few seconds.

"But nobody cares about the truth here."

That night, I dragged my luggage to the subway overpass. My makeshift stand was still there, the folding table and plastic stools stacked in a dark corner. I set them up, laying out my tools and screen protectors under the dim streetlights.

My phone buzzed. It was my mom.

"Chloe! The university just called us. What on earth did you do?!"

"Mom, it's not what they—"

"They said you defamed your professor! Are you insane? He’s your advisor! He controls your entire future!"

"Mom, listen to me first—"

"Listen to what?! Your father and I took out so many loans to put you through grad school, and this is how you repay us?!"

"My advisor is a predator—"

"I don't care about your excuses! If your advisor has an issue with you, you apologize and fix it! You don't pick a fight with him! What if you get expelled? Do you know how embarrassing that would be for our family?!"

"I'm not expelled. Just suspended."

"It's only a matter of time! You call your professor and apologize right now! I don't care if you have to beg or write a hundred apology letters, just fix this!"

"Mom, in that video, he was—"

"I don't care about any video! Apologize!"

The line went dead.

I crouched under the cold overpass, watching the headlights of passing cars stretch into long, blurry streaks on the wet asphalt.

My first customer of the night was a middle-aged construction worker with a cracked screen.

"How much for a protector?"

"Ten bucks."

"Cheap enough. Give me one."