The text message flashed in Hanna’s personal visual space, ironically across the face of the very man that was boring her to death. Reply: I am, Hanna thought. Her reply was instantly converted into a digital signal by her neuro-digital implant at the base of her skull, and transmitted to her producer. From; Arielle: No, you’re not, her producer messaged back. I can see it in your eyes, and so can he… and so can the viewers. Hanna squinted slightly and cocked her head a bit, trying to look interested as she stared at the man sitting across the desk from her. “The same type of virus has been used for centuries now,” the man continued, “since nearly the dawn of the internet.” The man paused, looking at Hanna for her next question. Message: Oh crap, I’m lost, Hanna thought. Her friend was one step ahead of her, as usual, her reply floating in the air in front of Hanna as it filled her visual space.
