Dark MM Cyberpunk: Faceless Network Series #2
Louie Hewitt exposes predators on the Faceless Network from behind a mask. Until one mistake turns him into the one being hunted.
Zeph is the kind of man who doesn’t fix problems, he erases them. But his price isn’t money.
Thirty days. A public relationship. Complete access. It’s supposed to be an act.
Except Zeph doesn’t treat it like one. He watches Louie too closely.
And once Zeph decides something belongs to him, he doesn’t let go.
The longer Louie stays, the more the lines blur between performance and possession.
Because walking away would mean losing everything.
And staying might mean losing himself.
MM Cyberpunk - Review
There are rules to being watched.
Stay aware.
Stay distant.
Never let the system get too close.
Because once it does… it doesn’t forget.
The Dark MM Cyberpunk Jinx in the Feed by River Beck doesn’t begin with a failure of technology.
It begins with a mistake.
A single misstep inside the Faceless Network—where anonymity is currency and exposure is a weapon—turns the observer into the observed. The hunter into something far more vulnerable.
Louie Hewitt built his presence behind a mask. He exposes predators, reveals what others try to hide, and controls the narrative from a distance.
Distance is safety.
Distance is power.
Until it isn’t.
Because the moment Louie slips, the system doesn’t correct itself.
It adapts.
And someone notices.
Zeph does not operate like the others. He doesn’t chase attention. He doesn’t perform for the audience. He removes obstacles with quiet precision, reshaping outcomes without leaving evidence behind.
He doesn’t fix problems.
He erases them.
But when Zeph sets his focus on Louie, he doesn’t erase him.
He claims him.
What follows isn’t a rescue. It isn’t even protection.
It’s a transaction.
Thirty days. A public relationship. Full access.
A performance designed to stabilize the situation, to redirect attention, to regain control of a narrative that has begun to fracture.
It should be simple.
It isn’t.
Because Zeph doesn’t treat the arrangement as fiction.
He watches too closely.
Stays too near.
Knows too much.
And the longer Louie remains inside that constructed reality, the more unstable the boundaries become. What was meant to be an act begins to carry weight. What was meant to be temporary begins to feel inevitable.
This is where the story sharpens.
Not in the external threat—but in the internal shift.
Because in a world built on surveillance, the most dangerous thing isn’t being seen.
It’s being chosen.
Chosen by someone who doesn’t ask.
Chosen by someone who doesn’t release.
Chosen by someone who has already decided what you are to them.
Inside the Faceless Network, identity is fluid. Masks can be changed. Narratives rewritten.
But possession?
That’s harder to escape.
And the deeper Louie is pulled into Zeph’s orbit, the more one question remains:
Is this still an act?
Or has the system already decided the outcome?
Because in this dark MM cyberpunk, some connections don’t break when the signal drops.
They tighten.
Dare to Connect with the Network here.
In late 2013, I joined a local writer’s group. I was looking for a critique group, but figured any writer’s group would lead me to one. At the time, it was a weekly meeting and the emphasis of the group was strictly to do writing prompts. Members met at Starbucks, had coffee, and shared a new word they’d learned. The moderator then gave a topic and we spent 20 minutes writing. Afterward, we shared what we’d written and others in the group commented. About four months later, someone asked if we could meet on an additional, different day to critique already-written work. Several of us jumped at the chance. Within another three months, the original moderator left the group, and we began doing a critique at all meetings. In addition, or instead of, members can write to prompts and bring those. In any case, we all share critiques. The atmosphere is positive, friendly, and open.