Story code: ST-000074
Part 2: I Offered to Take Over My Own Access
The part that bothered me most was not that Dana had restricted my glasses. It was how fast she used that restriction as proof that I should be grateful. So instead of arguing with her in the middle of the plaza, I did something she never likes. I treated her sacrifice story like a practical problem and offered to remove the burden. We moved toward the next attraction because Mom wanted the day to keep flowing. The plaza opened into a wider section with a food counter on one side and a long AR scavenger route on the other. Floating arrows drifted over families’ heads through the glasses. A giant animated mascot kept dropping bonus tokens into the walkway, and little kids were stomping the floor to trigger them. The place was loud enough that nobody outside our group would catch every word, but close enough that Dana still had an audience. My glasses kept feeding me the same reduced view: route prompts, family markers, spectator-safe cues. No challenge invites. No free navigation branch. When Eli pointed at a hidden doorway only visible through the event layer, I saw nothing but a generic wall skin. “Okay,” I said, while we waited near a scanning arch. “If managing my setup is that much work, take me off your custom package. I’ll run the standard plaza settings on my own account.” Dana’s hand froze over her wrist panel. It was a tiny pause, but I saw it. Mom looked between us. “Do we need to do that right now?” “It would make things easier for Dana,” I said. “She keeps saying she has to fix everything for me. She doesn’t have to.” Dana let out a short breath through her nose and gave me a patient smile that looked polished from a distance. “That’s not how this works. If you drop off the family package in the middle of the route, you’ll miss the synced experiences I built.” “That’s okay,” I said. “I’d rather miss a synced experience than be managed.” Eli lowered his glasses for a second and blinked at me. “Wait, managed? Is that an actual setting?” I turned my head so he could see the corner of my display reflected in the lens. “It says view managed and dependent access route.” He frowned and tapped his own menu. “Mine says independent participant.” Dana answered before he could say more. “Because yours is a simple profile. Maya’s is linked differently.” “Linked how?” I asked. “Through the family setup I made,” she said. “Again, you’re welcome.” She kept trying to push us back onto that script: she helped, therefore I obey. But now there was an actual mismatch sitting in plain view between what my glasses showed and what Eli’s showed. The plaza scanner chimed and opened the route. A burst of neon creatures flooded everyone’s display. Mom stepped through first, trying to keep us moving. Dana gestured for me to follow on her side, not because the path required it, but because that was how she had arranged me all afternoon. Close enough to direct. Far enough behind that she could call it guiding. I stopped just before the arch. “No,” I said. “Open the settings. If I am really making more work for you, remove me from your setup.” Dana’s expression stayed smooth, but she started talking faster. “Maya, this is exactly what I mean. We are in the middle of a family day, and you’re creating confusion over something technical you don’t fully understand.” That line had worked on me before. It sounded reasonable. It made me seem dramatic for wanting basic control over my own account. This time I stayed with the facts I could see. “I understand that my access is different from everybody else’s,” I said. “I understand that the difference gives you control over what I can join. And I understand that every time I object, you bring up how much you’ve done for me. So remove me from it.” Mom touched Dana’s arm lightly. “Can she just use the regular version for today?” Dana laughed once, but there was no softness in it. “If she wants to ruin the package, sure. I guess all the time I spent building the family route means nothing.” There it was. Not I want you to have a good experience. Not this feature matters because of safety or timing. Just a sharp jump back to her time, her effort, her injury, her debt. I looked at her wrist panel again. She had shifted it away from me, but not before I caught a few category labels sliding past: ROUTING, PRIORITY VIEW, SHARE PERMISSIONS. Under my profile tag, one line flashed amber and disappeared when she swiped it aside. PRIMARY CONTROLLER: DANA BENNETT. I felt my jaw lock. “Why is there a primary controller on my profile?” I asked. Mom turned fully toward Dana then. “Dana?” Dana’s voice sharpened. “Because somebody had to make sure Maya didn’t lock herself out before check-in. I handled it. Like I always handle it.” “Then stop handling it,” I said. The family behind us shuffled around to another scanner. A staff member glanced over when our lane stalled, then looked back to her tablet. Eli had gone quiet. He wasn’t joking anymore. He was watching Dana’s panel and then my glasses like he was matching two versions of the same map. Dana did not remove the setting. Instead she stepped closer and lowered her voice, which somehow made the control in it even clearer. “If I take my hands off this now, don’t come to me when your access breaks. Don’t ask me to repair it later. Don’t make me the bad guy because you refused help.” That should have sounded like release. It didn’t. It sounded like a warning attached to a permission she did not want to give up. So I opened my own account menu right there and started searching for the unlink path. And that was when Dana.