Surviving Gangsters Love

Autumn's eyes snapped open.

Harsh morning sunlight sliced through the narrow gap in the blinds, stabbing directly into her pupils. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She lay flat on a narrow, unfamiliar twin bed, her fingers gripping the cheap cotton sheets.

Before she could even push herself up, a sharp spike of electricity drilled into her temples.

She let out a choked gasp, her hands flying to the sides of her head. The pain was blinding, a physical pressure threatening to crack her skull open.

"Welcome to the simulation," a voice echoed.

It didn't come from the room. The metallic, freezing tone vibrated directly inside her cranial cavity.

Autumn squeezed her eyes shut, convinced her brain was misfiring. "Who is that?" she rasped out loud, her throat dry and scratching. She frantically scanned the small dorm room for hidden cameras or speakers.

A string of glowing red text projected itself directly onto her retinas.

System ACE activated. Host bound. Current Identity: Elite Girlfriend (Provisional) to Harrison Jennings. Status: Cannon Fodder scheduled for deletion.

Autumn stared at the floating red letters. The words 'cannon fodder' and 'deletion' registered in her panicked mind, but strangely, a wave of heavy exhaustion washed over her. If she was just a temporary data point meant to be discarded, why fight it? She let her head drop back onto the thin pillow.

"Great," she muttered to the empty room. "Delete me. I'm going back to sleep."

The second the words left her mouth, a jolt of raw voltage ripped through her right arm.

Her bicep spasmed violently. Her elbow jerked, smacking hard against the wooden bedframe. Autumn cried out, rolling onto her side, clutching her twitching arm. The smell of ozone seemed to burn in her nostrils.

Negative intent detected, the mechanical voice droned in her head. Failure to perfectly execute the pre-set elite academic storyline will result in permanent consciousness formatting. You will cease to exist.

The sheer, brutal reality of the pain extinguished any desire to rebel. The threat wasn't a game. It was a loaded gun pressed to her temple.

Autumn ground her teeth together, tasting copper. "Fine," she forced out, her chest heaving. "What do I have to do?"

The red text on her retinas flickered and refreshed.

First interaction with target Harrison Jennings in 45 minutes. Location: Campus Library. Objective: Maintain elite parameters.

Panic, cold and sharp, replaced the pain. Forty-five minutes.

Autumn scrambled off the bed. Her bare feet hit the freezing linoleum floor. She stumbled toward the narrow closet in the corner and yanked the door open.

She sucked in a sharp breath.

The closet was a graveyard of monochrome. Stiff, tailored blazers in black, charcoal, and slate gray hung in perfect, suffocating lines. Crisp white button-down shirts, pressed so sharply the collars looked like weapons, filled the rest of the space. There wasn't a single oversized hoodie or pair of sweatpants in sight.

Her chest tightened. She grabbed the least restrictive-looking gray suit and practically tore off her sleepwear to put it on. The fabric was unforgiving, pulling tight across her shoulders and forcing her spine into a rigid line.

She stepped in front of the full-length mirror attached to the door.