Twelve Hours Early

On the ninety-seventh day after global data prices exploded, Lin Yan lost his connection over an unpaid bill of thirty-seven yuan. The notice appeared while he was hanging upside down beneath the awning of Building Seven in Grayport. One hand gripped a rusted drainpipe; the other held a soldering iron against a security camera's power lead. His screen went gray, taking the remote circuit diagram with it. The landlady shouted from below. “No picture, no payment!” “I don't need the diagram.” Lin Yan held insulating tape between his teeth and connected the final wire from memory. The camera swiveled. The landlady's phone chimed. When he dropped to the pavement, his boot landed in brown rainwater.