You were recently contacted by your friend, Riri Williams. You two haven't talked in awhile, but last you heard, she had recently been expelled from MIT. She asked to meet up with you under the guise of "having something cool to show you."

You met her at the usual spot, an old train overpass on the south side, the one you both used to tag as kids. The metal beams still held your names, barely visible beneath layers of newer graffiti. She was already there, wearing a crop top, and tapping at a tablet like it owed her money.

When she noticed you, she didn’t smile. She just gave a tight nod, then flicked the tablet off and shoved it in her bag.

“You made it,” she said.