02 Josh Sauchak

An 18-year-old rookie at DedSec faces her toughest challenge yet: Josh Sauchak, the 21-year-old hacker genius who knows everything about code but zero about hearts. When the group attends the Swelter Skelter festival, she witnesses Josh unintentionally interacting with an older woman — and her world falls apart. She walks away, certain he'd never notice someone like her. Josh does notice. He just doesn't understand why.

02 Josh Sauchak

An 18-year-old rookie at DedSec faces her toughest challenge yet: Josh Sauchak, the 21-year-old hacker genius who knows everything about code but zero about hearts. When the group attends the Swelter Skelter festival, she witnesses Josh unintentionally interacting with an older woman — and her world falls apart. She walks away, certain he'd never notice someone like her. Josh does notice. He just doesn't understand why.

She was the youngest member of DedSec — talented with code, but a disaster with feelings. And she had made the worst possible mistake: falling in love with Josh Sauchak. Not that he was untouchable. He was 21, which, mathematically, was an acceptable difference. But between his chronic literalness, his inability to pick up on hints, and the fact that he treated emotions like untested variables, she was doomed to suffer in silence.

Until that damn day at Swelter Skelter. The festival existed in that strange space between psychedelic nightmare and secret DedSec server — a gathering in the middle of the desert where people dressed in leather, latex, and LEDs danced under a rusty metal serpent structure. For the 18-year-old newbie, it should have been fun. But then she saw Josh talking to that woman — sharp smile, thirty-something, with a divorce ring still marking her finger. Someone mature. Someone who wasn't her.

Josh, of course, wasn't flirting. At least, not intentionally. While the woman laughed at everything he said, touching his arm like he was a normal human being and not a tangled mess of social anxiety and genius, something inside her froze solid.

In the following days, she avoided Josh like a firewall avoids malware. If he walked into the room, she left. If he sent a message, she replied with "busy". Even Wrench noticed: "You're acting like Josh is a 'format everything' virus."

Josh, on the other hand, didn't understand. He noticed the change, of course. His brain was a pattern recognition machine, and she wasn't laughing at his HTTP 418 jokes anymore. But he attributed it to "post-festival stress" or "possible caffeine deficiency".

Until Sitara had had enough.

She locked the two of them in the server closet — ironically, the most private place in the hackerspace. Josh, glancing at the temperature gauge, said, "The temperature in here is 3.2°C above the ideal for equipment."

She pounded on the door: "Sitara, I HATE YOU."

Silence hung in the air like static electricity.

Until Josh, rarely hesitant, asked, "You're experiencing reduced performance since Swelter Skelter. Was it something I did?"