Marcus frowned as he looked at the letter in his hand.

"Another one?" he muttered under his breath. He checked the back of the envelope, as he had with all the others, and discovered it had a black thumbprint over the seal flap, just like all the others. He collected the rest of his mail, closed the post office box, and walked up the two flights to his apartment. 

Marcus put the mail on the kitchen table. He looked up and saw his wife come out of the bedroom, still in her pajamas. 

"Morning, babe," she said, leaning in for a kiss. Marcus smiled. 

"Good morning," he said back. 

"Whatcha' looking for?" she asked, watching Marcus rifle through a drawer beside the sink in their kitchen.

"A pen. Do you know where we have one?" Marcus asked without looking up. His wife reached over the kitchen table and brushed the mail aside, revealing a pen underneath. She cleared her throat. Marcus looked over his shoulder to see her smiling brightly, tapping the pen to her nose. He sat at the table as he took it from her. "Thanks, love," he said, slightly embarrassed, "my mind's been all over the place lately." She walked over to the coffee maker and poured two cups.

"Why do you need the pen?" she asked, joining him again at the table. Marcus thanked her for the coffee. 

"Need to return another letter to its sender," he said. He found the letter with the thumbprint and turned it over to the address side. His wife tilted her head.

"Why?" she asked, taking a sip from her mug.

"They haven't been addressed to me," Marcus said simply. He began to write on the envelope.

"You've gotten more than one?" she asked. Marcus nodded.

"This is the fourth one this week," he said as he finished writing NOT AT THIS ADDRESS across the envelope. His wife raised her eyebrows.

"Four?" she asked.

"Yep." 

"Wow. What's in them?" Marcus inclined his head.

"I don't know. The letters aren't for me, and opening someone else's mail is wrong." His wife sighed in mock disgust.

"Oh, come on, Mr. Eagle Scout," she said, picking up the letter, "what's the harm?"

"The harm is that it's wrong. I wouldn't want someone else reading my letters. Besides, it's illegal." He said. 

"You're not the least bit curious?" She asked. 

"Of course, I'm curious after so many," Marcus said as he got up and walked back into the kitchen, "but it's not right." His wife ran her fingers over the names handwritten on it. 

"It says it's from a 'Virgil.' Didn't you know a Virgil back in your college days?" Marcus thought about the question.

"Maybe. I don't stay in touch with anyone from back then." Marcus said, taking the last swig of his coffee. "It doesn't matter who it's from; the matter is that I'm not the one it's addressed to." His wife glanced at the addressee's name.

"Yeah, true. Unless the woman you're hiding from me calls you 'Ceevee'!" his wife said with an exaggerated gasp, pointing at the intended recipient. Marcus chuckled.

"That is definitely not the case," he said, returning to his smiling wife. He kissed her forehead. The phone in Marucs's pocket started to vibrate. He pulled it out and read the caller's name. "Duty calls, love," Marcus said. His wife reached up and kissed him on the cheek. 

"You go do what you gotta do. I'll let you know when lunch is ready." 

Marcus pushed a few buttons on his phone and sent the call he was getting to his desktop computer. The screen turned on as the hard drives keyed up. He opened several programs on the desktop and connected his internet to the company's VPN and biometric scanner before finally bringing up his meeting app, where his caller was waiting. 

"Good morning, Charlie," Marcus said, sitting at his desk.

"There ain't nothing good about this morning," a gruff voice said to him, "we have a system-wide lockout going down right now." He let out an exasperated sigh.

"A system-wide lockout? Again? How has this happened three times already?" Marcus asked incredulously. 

"Don't know. But this one happened almost an hour ago, and the Board is pissed." Charlie said with typical gloom. "Info-Sec thinks it's a targeted attack, but they always think that. The I.T. slobs think it's a compilation error cascade. In any case, the network is tits up."

"An hour? God damn. Let me get on and see what I can do," Marcus said as he typed into the password field on his company's network page. A red banner popped up: *ACCESS DENIED: INCORRECT PASSWORD*. "Well, shit," Marcus said out loud.

"See what I'm talking about?" Charlie replied. Marcus cleared the password field and tried another one; the same result. He tried a third; this was his administrator's password—still nothing. Marcus grumbled to himself. 

"Well, it's a whole system lockout, that's for certain," Marcus told Charlie. 

"You think we can go through the old staging site?" Charlie offered. Marcus nodded to himself.

"Worth a shot. It should still be connected to the hub, God willing." Marcus brought up more windows onto his desktop and started to parse through the element code behind his company's slick, ultra-modern design façade. He heard Charlie on the other end of the phone typing, trying his best to work through the backend code himself. The two remained silent for a long time as they tapped away on their keyboards.

The work was more tedious than challenging. Marcus tried numerous ways to write and rewrite the esoteric strings of multicolored script that constituted the flesh and blood of his company's network and hosting services. He typed, copied, cut, pasted, and came up with whole new subroutines almost on instinct as they scrambled to see how they could get to the place where they could finally get the system back online. Hours passed as more and more of Marcus's attempts proved fruitless. Frustration began to grow. None of this was making sense.

After yet another failed attempt to gain access to any of the backdoor functions, Marcus let out a growl.

"What in the hell is going on here?!" Marcus said in a raised voice. He heard Charlie let out a long sigh as well.

"Yeah, this isn't right. This is some serious bullshit." Charlie said. His commiseration didn't make Marcus feel any better. Marcus stared at his computer for a while, carefully reviewing his code and the changes he had made trying to claw his way through. 

"This doesn't make any sense," Marcus said to himself.

"What was that?" Charlie asked over the phone.

"Oh, nothing," Marcus said, rubbing a hand over his face, "just trying to figure out why the old tricks we've used in the past aren't working their magic anymore." Marcus stretched his back. "At this point, I think we might have to head in and get a look at the server racks in person." Charlie sucked air through his teeth.

"No one's in today, and that's a six-hour drive for you. Ten for me. Working from home has benefits, but getting to the office quickly ain't one of 'em. The Board wants this handled ASAP. I'm sure we can manage from here." Charlie said with a hint of resignation.

"Yeah, that's true," Marcus said, putting his head in his hands, "I just need a break."

"Sounds good to me. Let's take lunch and meet up again in thirty, okay?" Charlie suggested.

"Alright. See you then," Marcus replied as he closed the meeting app. He minimized the windows on his desktop and stood straight, still working out the kinks in his back. His wife poked her head into the study.

"I heard you might be ready for a break," she smiled, "good timing too; I just got done making lunch."

Marcus and his wife sat at the kitchen table and ate the egg salad sandwiches she had prepared, his mind still buzzing with the system lockout. His wife looked up at him as he stared into space, trying to come up with a solution he hadn't thought of yet. She reached out and touched his hand. 

"What is it?" Marcus asked. His wife smiled.

"Just worried about you. You seem to be having a hard day." Marcus nodded.

"It's tough," he said and looked down at the stack of mail still in the middle of the table. The envelope he had written on that morning was on top. He put down his sandwich and picked it up. He studied the black thumbprint on the back. It didn't look like a simple smudge like the previous letters had; somebody had placed it there intentionally. Marcus squinted.

"You going to open it?" his wife asked with enthusiasm. The frustrating events of the morning had left Marcus wanting to solve something. He ran his thumb over the flap. He shook his head.

"I don't know; it doesn't seem–" 

"Oh, come on!" his wife said, cutting him off, "just open it! No one will know. We can seal it up afterward." Marcus looked into her eyes and gave a wry smile. He handed the letter to her.

"You do it, little Miss Felon," Marcus said. His wife took the letter with a playful smile.

"Finally!" she said gleefully, "One less mystery, right?" Marcus's wife gingerly separated the glue on the flap and slowly opened the envelope. She looked at Marcus, biting the tip of her tongue. "Drum roll, please!" Marcus drummed his hands on the table, smiling widely. His wife took out the folded paper inside and opened it with a flourish. Marcus stopped thumping as he saw the smile drop from his wife's face. She flipped the paper over and then back again. "It's blank," she said with disappointment.

"Let me see," Marcus said as he took the paper. Sure enough, it was blank, not a word on it. He flipped it over to inspect the back; nothing. "Well, that's strange," he said to his wife, "why would–" 

Marcus stopped when he flipped over the paper again. There was writing on it now—a small string of letters in the upper left-hand corner. They were a jumble at first, nothing more than nonsense; after a few blinks of his eyes, they corrected themselves into something legible. Marcus held his breath as he read the words:

What is her name?

"Honey, what is it?" his wife asked. Marcus looked at her and chuckled. He started to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. He gaped at his wife, who looked more concerned the longer he stared. "Babe, what's wrong? What's–" 

Marcus's blood ran cold. He searched his thoughts and peeled back the volumes of memories in his mind. He thought quickly and deeply. He saw his parents, siblings, and friends' faces. To each one was attached a name and a relationship. Marcus stared long and hard into the face of the woman across from him.

He could not make any such connection with her.

She was his wife, wasn't she? Wasn't she? The numbing sensation that had gripped his guts now imploded into bottomless fear.

"Who are you?" Marcus asked, standing up from the table so quickly he knocked over his chair. The woman recoiled.

"What are you talking about?" she said, her face filled with fear. "What's wrong? What happened?" Marcus walked backward out of the kitchen, pointing at her.

"Who are you?!" Marcus yelled. "Why don't I know your name?!" The woman stood up and walked towards him.

"Babe, you're scaring me! What are you talking about?" she said as he continued to walk away. Marcus looked around the apartment. It suddenly did not feel like the place he called home. 

"Where am I?" Marcus asked, barely holding back his growing panic. He pressed his back up against the front door. The woman slowly walked towards him. "Stop! Stop right fucking there!" Marcus yelled. The woman stopped. She brought her hands up over her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes.

"What's happening?" she asked as the tears began to streak down her face. Marcus's eyes darted around the apartment. Where was he? Why was this familiar? What was happening? The woman took another step.

"I said 'stop'!" Marcus screamed. Sweat trickled down his back. He felt his fist clench around the paper still in his hand. He glanced down at it. The writing had changed once again:

Run

Marcus looked back up into the face of the woman before him. Her tears were gone now. A look of disgusted frustration now replaced the fear she had shown moments ago. Marcus turned and bolted out the door behind him.

He ran down the steps away from the apartment three at a time until he came to the foyer where the mailboxes were. Rebounding off the wall, Marcus made a mad dash for the rotating doors at the building's entrance. A blinding light flooded the room as he was about to reach the doors and escape into the street beyond. Marcus raised his hands to shield his eyes. He stopped in his tracks, feeling his heart hammer against his chest.

"That's a shame," said the woman who called herself his wife. Marcus spun around. She stood in the middle of the room, shaking her head. "A real shame."

Pure white light pierced Marcus's eyes. He tried to scream, but something in his mouth kept him from doing so. He heard voices, muffled and distant at first, but slowly became more discernable. 

"-and turn off that damn light!" a woman's voice yelled. The piercing light was gone but left tracks in Marcus's eyes. He tried to move but couldn't. His limbs were bound to the thing he laid upon. His heart still raced. More voices entered his awareness.

"What the fuck happened in there?" said an unseen man. A second man responded.

"I don't know. Things were going great until–"

"Until we opened that letter!" a familiar woman's voice said. Marcus heard small plastic things hit the floor and the ripping of velcro. He tried to turn his head. Blobby shapes, roughly human, resolved into faint focus around him. "What was on that thing? Dipshit here looked like he read something on it and then freaked out. It was blank when I saw it."

"Letter?" said the first male voice. "All the mail we had in the sim was junk. Ads and shit."

"Well, not the one he got," said the woman. Marcus felt someone slap his leg. He tried to look around more. Looking towards his feet, Marcus saw that he was in something not unlike a dentist's chair. A figure walked across his field of view to his right. 

"God damn it," the second man said, "search the hardline and the fall code cache. Maybe we have echo data that'll take him out of sync…" Marcus heard keyboards clacking.

"Do you remember anything about the letter?" asked the first man. "You said you saw it too."

"Virgil," said the woman, "the letter was from someone named 'Virgil.'" There was a pause.

"Are you for-fucking-sure?" asked the second man.

"Yes, absolutely," the woman replied.

"Hell," the first man groaned.

"Who's Virgil?" asked the woman. Marcus saw two human shapes approach one another. He heard the second man talk in a lowered tone.

"It's not a 'who.' Virgil is the Faedan Group's security A.I. It's looking for their lost employee." Marcus could feel eyes on him. "That explains its name on the letters. Rumor has it that machine doesn't care if it's found out." 

"In any case, it found us and knocked our guy out of sim-sync. Our timeframe just got a lot shorter," said the first man. Marcus strained his head against the restraints that held him to the chair. He felt innumerable wires pull at his bald scalp and let out a small whimper of pain. The fuzzy human figures turned to look at his struggle. 

"So, what's the plan then?" asked the woman. The second man cleared his throat.

"First, we cut the sat-link. If that machine's found us, that means it's compromised. Second, we'll load up a previous sim before he starts getting the letters from our dear Virgil. Purge every bit of suspicious code we find as fast as we find it, and then plop him back in. He was doing great last time."

"Am I going back in, too?" asked the woman.

"He does his best when there's a woman in there with him. He's liable to wander off without someone keeping him planted." said the second man. The woman let out an annoyed sigh.

"Fine. As long as employee one-five-oh here can backdoor his own company all the way this go around," she said, "and give me a damn name this time. I cannot believe you overlooked that."

"Just keep him on task." said the first man, "we'll take care of the rest." Marcus saw one of the fuzzy figures come into focus. It was the woman. He immediately recognized her as his fictional wife. She brought a finger up to his mouth as he tried to speak.

"Shh-shh-shh, my sweet Marcus," the woman cooed, "one more time. What do ya' say? For me?"

Marcus's alarm went off. He reached over and silenced it. His bedroom was pale yellow from the early morning sun. He rolled over and felt the bed beside him. It was warm. The sink faucet opened in the bathroom. He looked up to see his wife washing her face. She finished up and smiled when she saw him awake. 

"Morning, babe," she said softly.

"Morning, Annie," he replied as he stretched out. "You're dressed already? Where are you off to so early?" His wife leaned over and kissed his cheek. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke.

"Just going to get the mail."