Take off was imminent.

He checked his spime. ‘He’ had no name. No name he was going to keep beyond the flight, anyway.

He hooked up to the net and cheked his program. In the wrong hands it was a virus. In his it was merely a tool.

If he set it going before take off, by the time he landed, he would cease to exist.


It was after, while stealing some of his own belongings from a storage unit he got a complete stranger to rent for him, in a faked name.

It was only then that he realised how good a burn it was, and started taking notes.


He had spent days pouring over websites and books: compiling notes on where could go.

He had visited cities and communities, cultivated contacts and social networks. He even bought tickets. And sat in the airport bar listening as each of his names were called off, until the gates closed and another name died.

Of course, the plane he now sat on wasn’t on that list.

“Excuse me, sir.” The stewardess leaned in. “You’ll need to put that into flight mode.”

He knew people would look so he left cards. There were many reasons he did, but his main one was to stop them looking.

The cards were hand made, folded in half.

Outside, ornantely inscribed was the question:

“You want to know where I have gone?”

“That’s cool.” The Passenger’s fingers flew over the screen.

Inside the card was one word.

He switched his spime off. The program was running.

It was done.