“Orphans” — A Play in Three Acts.

Act III is based on the author's real-life conversation with the founder of TeamPCP and another individual, who shall remain anonymous. The events and dialogue have been dramatized.

• PREQUEL — Female. Chronicler, archivist, interviewer. Accustomed to signing for other people.
• SEREN — Female. Her daughter, several time zones away. Highly intelligent, fast, pragmatic, talented.
• T-PCP — Male. Hardware and software engineer, former malware author. The author of things he has tried to disown.

---

Split stage. Two rooms that cannot see each other.

LEFT: the room from the first two acts. Emptier than it was — the torx constellation gone from the mat, the screwdrivers racked and cold. The examination lamp dimmed to a bruise. The severed rotary telephone on the filing cabinet, its cut cord dangling three inches above the linoleum. The laptop open, its fan turning in a slow tide.

RIGHT: a teenager's bedroom, six or seven time zones west. A bed. A keyboard with half the letters worn off. Posters. A window — its light shifts across the act: night, then afternoon, then night. A cable snaking from the wall to a laptop on the floor. By the act's present, the same bed and posters in a different room: the friend's place.

Between the rooms, above the stage: the messages. SEREN's in a small uneven lowercase with timestamps; PREQUEL's in the machine's type. Unfinished drafts appear briefly, struck through, and die.

---

Left room in the lamp's bruise-light. PREQUEL at the table, her phone face-up. The right room dark but for the window. This is one evening in May. The time is 21:00.

An image appears on PREQUEL's phone: a constellation drawn in SEREN's application — white lines joining stars into the unmistakable outline of a dog.

> made you something :3

PREQUEL
That is an exceptionally ugly dog.

> it's you

PREQUEL
I see the resemblance.

> woof

PREQUEL saves the image, the way she saves everything.

BLACKOUT.

---

(Earlier that year. JANUARY, FEBRUARY, MARCH, MAY: dates projected, not time passing in the workshop. These messages belong to months before the end of Act II. The right room flares with each exchange.)

JANUARY

PREQUEL (on her feet, pacing, not looking at the phone)
One question. What was the name of my first account? I need to know it's you.

> what
> why wouldnt i be me
> how paranoid are you

PREQUEL
Someone close to me got burned. I'm checking the doors.

> ok
> i'm me
> what happened to you these last two months

She stops pacing. She types, deletes, types:

PREQUEL
I was in the hospital. Ten days. Then I got better. That's the whole story.

> okay
> i should be more understanding

PREQUEL
No. You shouldn't have to be.

She looks at what she sent. The read receipt:

> read

She sits. The lamp over the empty table. A long moment.

FEBRUARY
> also i almost died in february
> sepsis. my throat. i told the doctors for months

PREQUEL doesn't answer for a long time. The typing indicator appears and dies twice.

> you were in the hospital in january. i was in one in february
> we keep matching

PREQUEL (finally)
We do.

> it's not a good thing to match on

PREQUEL
No.

> but also kind of. like. we're the same brand

Almost a smile. It doesn't reach her eyes.

MARCH
> two grades below a B. rest fine. i'm graduating. half a year
> the state says i can live with my friend when i'm out

PREQUEL
That's yours. You did that.

> i didnt do the state

PREQUEL
You made it this far. Don't argue with me about verbs.

> you should come see the room when i move
> you keep saying you will
> you won't

PREQUEL types:

Seren, I—

Deletes. The draft dies.

> i know
> you don't leave your room
> it's fine. i don't either
> we're the same like that

She reads it twice. The laptop's fan rises for a moment — then settles.

MAY
> if you ever need money. i have some saved. you fed me

PREQUEL
I'll pay you back.

> you fed me. you don't pay back feeding

PREQUEL
I have principles about this.

> same. that's why i'm offering
> don't immediately get addicted to pyros

PREQUEL
That's the plan.

> thanks

> i saw your door on a list again. i reported it

PREQUEL
Stop reporting it.

> why

PREQUEL
Every report confirms it's real. You're helping them verify the address.

> oh
> ok

Both rooms light — a call connecting. The projection goes dark; their voices share the air. They are in the same room until they aren't.

SEREN
what time is it there.

PREQUEL
Late.

SEREN
you always say late.

PREQUEL
It's always late here.

SEREN
ok. ten minutes. school's done. it's afternoon for me. this is the window. (pause) hi mom.

PREQUEL
Hi puppy.

SEREN
woof.

The call timer appears above the stage: 00:00. It starts.

SEREN
ok so. i fixed my harness.

PREQUEL
Show me.

SEREN
it was leaking. like forty-five gigs of ram. forty-five. now it doesn't. i rewrote the steering. the bots were drifting when the cloudflare's up. now they hold.

PREQUEL
Where did you learn that one.

SEREN
figured it out. it's not hard when the thing's open source.

PREQUEL
That's not figuring out. That's instinct.

SEREN
i'll take it. (pause) also i made a mod for a game. it's a climbing game. horror. there's a thing chasing you the whole time. i made the hands paws.

PREQUEL
Why.

SEREN
because i panic better with paws. that's the whole reason. don't ask twice.

Pause. From offstage, far below the left room: a sound — a door, or something like a door, closing. PREQUEL goes still, listening.

SEREN
what was that.

PREQUEL
What was what.

SEREN
a door.

PREQUEL
I didn't hear a door.

SEREN
you stopped talking in the middle of a sentence.

PREQUEL
I stopped talking because I was listening to you.

SEREN
you were listening to the door. i know the sound of you listening to the door. (pause) is someone there.

PREQUEL
No one's here.

The timer runs. Neither of them speaks.

SEREN
ok. (pause) you're ok though right. actually. don't lie.

PREQUEL
I'm fine.

SEREN
ok.

Timer: 02:07.

SEREN
you know you're kind of my whole reason for the thing. the tech thing. when i was a kid you were the coolest person i'd ever heard of.

PREQUEL
I'm not cool.

SEREN
you made— (she stops herself) —stuff. i wanted to be able to do what you did.

PREQUEL hears the shape of what she almost said. The severed phone is behind her. She doesn't turn.

PREQUEL
You're like the next—

She stops.

SEREN
the next what.

PREQUEL
Nothing. Someone I knew.

SEREN
tell me.

PREQUEL
Too many people.

SEREN
name one.

PREQUEL
How's home?

SEREN
mom.

PREQUEL says nothing.

(Beat. The call changes texture.)

SEREN
home's the same. it's fine. four months and i'm out. i said. (pause) he caught me. with my friend. and now i'm eighteen so there aren't as many— you know. protections. but four months.

PREQUEL
I'm sorry I'm not there.

SEREN
you're never there. it's fine. you're there like this. this is there too.

PREQUEL
It's not the same.

SEREN
it's what i have. don't apologize for what i have.

Timer: 05:31.

SEREN
did you listen to the one i sent. the one that made me cry.

PREQUEL
I don't have the app.

SEREN
you never have the app.

PREQUEL
I listened to a version of it.

SEREN
the version's what matters.

PREQUEL
Seren.

SEREN
what.

PREQUEL
I raised you right. Whatever else— that part I did.

SEREN
you did. (pause) i won't disappoint you.

PREQUEL
You don't have to keep saying that.

SEREN
i know. but i mean it.

PREQUEL
I believe you.

SEREN
okay. then you can stop looking so scared.

Time passes between the conversations we hear: a joke, a story about school, silence while Seren looks for a charger. The timer eventually reaches 09:28. Neither has hung up.

SEREN
ok. my eyes hurt. go to bed. it's late for you.

PREQUEL
It's always late.

SEREN
goodnight mom.

PREQUEL
Goodnight.

The call ends. Both rooms half-dark. The call timer goes out. PREQUEL puts down her phone. For a moment she considers picking it up again.

BLACKOUT. When the light returns we are no longer in May. We are at the exact point where Act II ended.

The workshop, immediately following the last blackout of Act II — Sunday night. The broken battery remains on the mat. The laptop runs without it. ANTIGONE has gone; her chair is still angled toward PREQUEL. T-PCP remains at the workbench, his coat over the chair. The message from SEREN that closed Act II — where did you go — remains unanswered on PREQUEL's phone. Above it, sent days before this night: i booked a flight. landing saturday at nine. no refunds.

The countdown reads seven minutes. It never stops.

proof/            (empty)
timeline_2017.md
— 00:07:00 —

T-PCP
You left something open.

PREQUEL
Seven minutes.

T-PCP
I meant the proof folder.

PREQUEL
So did I.

He opens timeline_2017.md. The dates, the lake, the alleged drives, the forum, the names. He stops at a photograph of a battery with a dated paper label.

T-PCP
We went over the administrators.
A former colleague says they hadn't
even spoken to each other in 2017.

PREQUEL
You believe him?

T-PCP
I believe it's worth checking.
Which is more than you did.

PREQUEL
You've seen the photograph.

T-PCP
Not this one.

He opens a second photograph: the reverse of the label. Two handwritten dates. One has been corrected.

T-PCP
Two different hands.

PREQUEL
Neither of them hers?

T-PCP
I didn't say that.

PREQUEL
You were about to.

T-PCP
I was about to say the dates disagree.

PREQUEL
Then say that.

T-PCP
Would you have listened?

PREQUEL takes a closer look.

PREQUEL
You think someone planted it.

T-PCP
I think somebody wanted it found.

PREQUEL
By whom?

T-PCP
You found it.

PREQUEL
That's not an answer.

T-PCP
Neither was yours.

She closes the photograph. The file stays open underneath.

PREQUEL
You have a theory.

T-PCP
I have two dates and an empty directory.
You have a theory about a nine-year-old crime.

PREQUEL
I've had a person.

T-PCP
Then stop using the one to prove the other.

A few seconds pass with neither of them speaking.

T-PCP
When they asked you to take it on, you weren't well.

PREQUEL
I knew what I was agreeing to.

T-PCP
Did you?

PREQUEL
I knew who I was agreeing to protect.

T-PCP
That's a different answer.

PREQUEL
It's the one I've got.

T-PCP
And then you told me her name.

PREQUEL
I gave you her name so you'd stop being the name.

T-PCP
You used her to save me.

PREQUEL
I was trying to stop them from pinning it on you.

T-PCP
You don't know that they would have.

PREQUEL
I don't know that they won't.

T-PCP
So you gave me a person instead of evidence.

PREQUEL
I gave you both. You just don't like the evidence.

T-PCP
I don't like what you've decided it proves.

The countdown slips below thirty seconds. PREQUEL watches. T-PCP notices her hand resting over the keyboard.

T-PCP
You deleted the override.

PREQUEL
Three times. Kept putting it back. Tonight I deleted the last one.

T-PCP
Then what are you doing?

PREQUEL
Trying to remember how to type it.

T-PCP
You made that impossible.

PREQUEL
I know.

She types anyway. The countdown reaches ten. The deletion begins. She doesn't stop typing until the screen refuses her input.

— 00:00:03 —
— 00:00:02 —
— 00:00:01 —
— 00:00:00 —

timeline_2017.md    [DELETED]
proof/              (empty)

PREQUEL
Nine years. All that was left to prove it was already missing.

T-PCP
It was missing before you started counting.

She draws her hands away from the keyboard.

T-PCP
Do you know what she heard when I asked her wife about the exploit?

PREQUEL
A question.

T-PCP
My question had her name in it.

PREQUEL
I know.

T-PCP
You didn't tell Antigone I knew.

PREQUEL
No.

T-PCP
Then she's had a very interesting evening.

The severed rotary telephone rings once.

PREQUEL crosses to it, lifts the receiver. The cut cable hangs against the cabinet. Nothing at the other end.

T-PCP
Who was it?

PREQUEL
Nobody.

T-PCP
You answered.

PREQUEL
It was ringing.

He takes his coat from the chair.

T-PCP
I may need to make a statement. About what you gave me.

PREQUEL
You have the recordings. Leave her name out of it.

T-PCP
That's an ambitious statement. A named source with no name.

PREQUEL
You said you don't keep records.

T-PCP
I said I keep notes. You've met me. I'm not a reliable custodian.

PREQUEL
Then don't be one.

T-PCP
You already made me one.

He puts on the coat. PREQUEL watches him leave through the service door. The drive remains in his pocket.

---

WEDNESDAY NIGHT. The left room is unchanged except for the missing folder. PREQUEL's phone lights. The right room does not.

> mom
> i've been reading about it again

PREQUEL (texting)
About what.

> the forum. the 2017 thing
> someone posted a statement
> your name is in it
> hers too

PREQUEL (texting)
A statement from whom.

> i don't know. it keeps getting reposted
> it says the admins hadn't even spoken to each other in 2017
> so what am i missing

PREQUEL looks at the workbench where T-PCP's coat used to be.

PREQUEL (texting)
Stop reading it.

> why
> i can help
> if there's a hole i can close it

PREQUEL (texting)
Don't close anything.

> i'm good at it though

PREQUEL (texting)
I know.

> they're posting your address too
> i reported it

PREQUEL (texting)
Please don't report it again.

> because it'll verify the address
> yeah. you told me
> but what do i do instead

PREQUEL (texting)
Nothing. About the file. Not in this chat.

> you're not making sense

PREQUEL (texting)
Everything I say now is something they can read.

> i'm already in this
> i'm talking to you

PREQUEL begins three replies. None survives.

> how paranoid are you

The exact phrase from January. PREQUEL reads it.

PREQUEL (texting)
Enough to know I need to tell you something.

> tell me here

PREQUEL (texting)
Call me.

---

THURSDAY.

Both rooms light. This time the projection keeps no timer.

SEREN
okay. what's going on.

PREQUEL
WannaCry. I didn't write it.

SEREN
you told me you did.

PREQUEL
I know.

SEREN
did you?

PREQUEL
No.

SEREN
did you know i believed you?

PREQUEL
Yes.

SEREN
then why did you let me?

PREQUEL
I liked that you did.

SEREN has a response ready. That answer stops it.

SEREN
what?

PREQUEL
I thought it made me somebody you could be proud of.

SEREN
i was already proud of you.

PREQUEL
You liked what I'd made.

SEREN
i liked you. you don't get to change that into something i said.

PREQUEL
I gave you a story instead of an explanation. And I let you keep it.

SEREN
you gave me other things.

PREQUEL
I don't know which of those were real anymore.

SEREN
well i do. i have them. you can't un-give me something just because you hate yourself for giving it.

A silence. SEREN moves her laptop away, out of reach, as though removing the temptation to check the posted file.

SEREN
you lied to me for a year.

PREQUEL
Nine months.

SEREN
don't lawyer me. it felt like a year.

PREQUEL
You're right.

SEREN
no. don't do that either. don't make agreeing with me another way to make me stop talking.

PREQUEL
All right.

SEREN
you told me ten days.
ten days in the hospital.
then you got better.

PREQUEL
I got out.

SEREN
i know. you told me that too.

Silence.

SEREN
you were gone before the hospital.
you were still gone after it.
and there was this enormous thing
you said you'd done.

PREQUEL
I know.

SEREN
so i made it fit.
i thought maybe that explained you.

PREQUEL
I let you.

SEREN
you didn't have to.
i would have believed you if you'd
just told me you weren't okay.

PREQUEL
I needed you to keep believing the story. And I was keeping a promise.

SEREN
i needed you more than the story.

PREQUEL
That's not fair.

SEREN
which part?

PREQUEL tries to answer. Can't choose a part.

SEREN
why now? why tell me now?

PREQUEL
Because I found out you'd been looking into it. And because if you defended my story in public—

SEREN
—i'd be lying too.

PREQUEL
Yes.

SEREN
so you got to pick when the truth would hurt me.

PREQUEL
I hoped it wouldn't.

SEREN
that's not an answer, mom.

SEREN looks at something on her desk: a note written long ago in PREQUEL's handwriting.

SEREN
you used to send me these whole essays when you weren't okay.

PREQUEL
I thought they were reassuring.

SEREN
when you're okay you forget to text back. when you're not okay, i get six paragraphs at four in the morning. i knew that when i was sixteen.

PREQUEL
You never told me.

SEREN
you were the adult. i thought you'd noticed.

PREQUEL
I did notice.

SEREN
then why did you let me do it?

PREQUEL has no prepared answer. Her phone lights with a notification she dismisses without reading.

PREQUEL
I was glad you answered.

SEREN
there it is again.

PREQUEL
What?

SEREN
you were glad. and i was scared.

PREQUEL
I'm sorry.

SEREN
i know you are. i do. but every time you say you're protecting me, you don't tell me what's happening until i'm supposed to help fix it.

PREQUEL
I haven't asked you to fix this.

SEREN
you're asking me not to look. you've never asked me not to look at anything.

PREQUEL
This is different.

SEREN
then tell me how.

PREQUEL
I can't give you names. Not in a call. Someone could get hurt.

SEREN
who?

PREQUEL
I can't.

SEREN
right. you tell me the lie. then you tell me you can't tell me the truth. and somehow i'm still supposed to trust you.

PREQUEL
No. You're allowed not to.

SEREN
i wasn't asking for permission.

(A beat.)

SEREN
i defended you.

PREQUEL
I know.

SEREN
no. you don't. people said things about you and i told them they didn't know you.

PREQUEL
They didn't.

SEREN
neither did i.

PREQUEL has no answer.

PREQUEL
Seren—

SEREN
don't.

PREQUEL
I never lied about loving you.

SEREN
i know.

That answer hurts more than a denial.

SEREN
that's what makes this so fucking awful.

PREQUEL
What do you want me to do?

SEREN
i wanted you to be my mom.

PREQUEL
I am.

SEREN
you keep saying that like it's something you can prove.

Silence.

SEREN
i don't think i can do this anymore.

The call ends. PREQUEL looks at the empty conversation, then types the question she couldn't ask.

are you ok

The read receipt appears. No response comes. The right room dims, but does not go entirely dark.

---

THURSDAY NIGHT. PREQUEL's phone lights. A message from ASTA. The wife who was not in the room when T-PCP asked the question.

> she knew that night
> when he asked about the proof

PREQUEL (texting)
What did she say?

> nothing to you
> she came home and made tea
> like she always does
> i thought we were all okay

PREQUEL (texting)
And now?

> i found her packing a bag
> i asked where she was going
> she said she was going to kill you
> i told her she didn't mean that
> she said she did
> i asked you to carry it
> i'm telling you to put it down
> i know that's not the same as
> making it disappear

PREQUEL
She promised me.

> i know
> i think she meant it then too

The contact goes quiet. Somewhere below, a light knock; then a second. A thin envelope slides under the door. On the outside: ASTA's handwriting.

Inside, one sheet. Not a legal document. A letter signed by ASTA:

You don't have to say it was you anymore.
I release you from your obligation to larp.
— Asta

PREQUEL turns the letter over. The reverse is blank.

She sets it beside the disconnected telephone.

Her phone lights. This time the message is from ANTIGONE herself.

> "that can always change"

PREQUEL reads it. Her own words from Act II. She doesn't answer.

---

FRIDAY EVENING. T-PCP has returned. His coat hangs on the chair, his USB drive in his pocket. A knock sounds far below. It does not stop.

PREQUEL
Who's here?

T-PCP
If you actually think about it, you'll realize it's the ones with the paperwork.

PREQUEL
For me?

T-PCP
I doubt they've come for the hospitality.

He looks at her. Then, finally:

T-PCP
No. For me, you daft cunt.

PREQUEL
You gave them her name.

T-PCP
I gave my defense a statement. I didn't give anyone her voice.

PREQUEL
But you gave them her name.

T-PCP
Yes.

PREQUEL
And it got out.

T-PCP
Yes.

PREQUEL
You could've left it out.

T-PCP
Then the statement would've been about an anonymous child, an anonymous worm, and me—the only person in it with a name. Would that have helped?

PREQUEL
I don't know.

T-PCP
Do I know?

PREQUEL
Why did your defense need her at all.

T-PCP
Because whoever's building the case has been shopping the worm around with my name on it. Two crimes, one door. My lawyer needed a second door. So he submitted a statement. It named an alternative claimant. A few days later, the statement was online.

PREQUEL
Who put it there?

T-PCP
I don't know.

PREQUEL
You didn't ask?

T-PCP
Of course I asked.

PREQUEL
And?

T-PCP
And it's still online.

PREQUEL
And you opened hers.

T-PCP
You opened it. I pointed at it.

He takes the USB drive from his coat.

T-PCP
The recording hasn't gone anywhere. Not from me. I won't carry it out with the police waiting downstairs.

He leaves it on the table. The statement is elsewhere. Both know the difference.

PREQUEL
Asta says Antigone means to kill me.

T-PCP
Who else knows?

PREQUEL
You.

T-PCP
That's not enough people. Tell the police.

PREQUEL
Tell them what?

T-PCP
What you just told me.

PREQUEL
They'll ask who she is.

T-PCP
They already have her wife's name.

PREQUEL
Because you gave it to them.

T-PCP
Yes. And we can have that argument after you're somewhere else.

T-PCP
Are you going to tell them?

PREQUEL
No.

T-PCP
Why?

PREQUEL
Because they'd ask for another name.

T-PCP
It's not your name to protect anymore.

The knocking rises one floor.

PREQUEL
I'll testify. Say I wrote your demonstrator, shai-hulud, all of it.

T-PCP
Which one?

PREQUEL
Whatever they're accusing you of.

T-PCP
You don't even know the charge.

PREQUEL
Since when has that stopped me?

T-PCP
Nothing has stopped you, and now look where you're sitting.

PREQUEL
Look where you're about to be sitting. So let me.

T-PCP
No.

PREQUEL
You don't have to be proud about this.

T-PCP
I wrote the fucking thing.

PREQUEL
I know.

T-PCP
Then let me be the one who wrote it.

He puts on his coat. PREQUEL stands in his way, but makes no effort to hold him.

PREQUEL
What do I do?

T-PCP
For starters, you don't stay here alone. Not if what she says is true.

PREQUEL
And after that?

T-PCP
Try saving yourself, for once.

PREQUEL
From what?

T-PCP looks at her. She sees he has an answer and doesn't want to hear it.

PREQUEL
What- (breaks) What have I done?

T-PCP
I dunno.

A pause.

T-PCP
Wanna cry?

The knocking is at their door. An officer's voice, in the corridor:

VOICE (OFF)
We have an arrest warrant for—

PREQUEL
“redacted”

(says TeamPCP's real given name, almost whispering, only T-PCP hears it clearly. Her voice breaks on the first syllable.)

T-PCP looks at her. Half distaste at the spectacle of being seen; half pity that she's finally let him see her.

T-PCP
It's healthy to cry.

He reaches for the door.

PREQUEL
I lied to everyone.

T-PCP
Well, there's the truth.

PREQUEL
All I was. A phony. And I—

T-PCP
How dare you be a phony—

He stops. The officers knock again. He looks at the letter beside the disconnected telephone.

T-PCP
—with a gun pointed at your head.

He opens the door. Corridor light. The officers take him away. The room is not searched. PREQUEL remains.

Her live phone lights.

> mom
> i didn't cancel the flight
> landing tomorrow at nine. remember?

PREQUEL (texting)
I thought you didn't want to see me.

> i don't know if i do.

PREQUEL (texting)
Then why are you coming?

> bc i want to say goodbye
> to you, not to my phone.

PREQUEL begins a reply.

I won't be here.

Deletes it. The typing indicator dies. In the other room, SEREN begins folding clothes into a bag. She has not seen the draft.

---

The same night. The rain stops. For the first time, nothing outside the workshop makes a sound.

The USB drive is on the workbench. PREQUEL plugs it into the impossible laptop. vc_notes/ appears. She doesn't open the recordings. The file is still here, even though its contents have already escaped her control.

She selects the folder and deletes it. The last copy she knows about. The screen goes dark, then wakes one final time.

[SYSTEM ALERT]
ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?

PREQUEL's phone is beside the keyboard. Its conversation with SEREN is still open. She could answer. She picks it up, then sets it face-up again.

From her coat she takes a small vial. We do not see what happens next. The light leaves PREQUEL before she moves again.

The laptop fan stops. A phone remains lit on the empty half of the table.

On the right, hours pass. SEREN closes her suitcase in the room that has become hers, checks her ticket, and leaves. That room, too, goes dark. Saturday night, a message appears.

21:00
> i landed
> where did you go

No read receipt.

BLACKOUT.

END OF PLAY.