The phone buzzed at 3:47 AM. Not a call. Not a message either really. Just the kind of notification that made the body go rigid before the eyes even focused on the screen.

Your device has been targeted by mercenary spyware.

“Mercenary”. They had settled on that word carefully. Not government. Nor state. Mercenary—suggesting commerce, choice, suggesting a business operating within acceptable parameters.

The notification had been sent to approximately ninety people in various countries. Journalists. Activists. A business executive as well. Then they ceased, abruptly, as if someone had remembered that rules still existed. As if someone was reminded that there might be places where transparency was expected, where denial could be contradicted by facts.

The device lay in darkness. Outside, the city slept. Somewhere in it countldevices buzzed with the same message. How many? The statistics would never be known. The data never acknowledged. There would only be this: a notification and what might come after.

“Delete the drafts”, the message said.

Polite, almost. A suggestion rather than a command? That was how it worked now—the softer language, the more absolute the message.

Geographic location was no longer a factor, they had said. Everywhere was the same. Everywhere was protected equally. Everywhere was exposed, just as equally.

His device stayed face-down on the table.

The cursor blinked on his open document. The words that had been written—the research, the illumination was what no one was supposed to but everyone needed to see—waiting in the darkness of the screen.

Two choices. There had always been only two. Neither good.