Sarah shuts down all her connections, goes fully offline, dumps her gear, takes off her pants, throws herself in her comfy armchair, and proceeds to get lit on a hit of boutique sativa and a Red Bull. Up and out, she calls it.
She floats in space for a hot minute and, when the caffeine starts to throb in her temples, fishes out a burner phone from between the pillows. Sarah calls up a secure line to the most hardcore she knows, a guy with an impeccable reputation in the disreputable circle she hangs out in. She has kinda already slept with him so she is sure he will pick up the call.
He will know how to sort this out for me, she thinks, but after hearing the whole story about how she was hacked all he has to say is, "How the fuck?!"
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