Kai had seen the results. A famous streamer's avatar suddenly begging for loans in a low-tier market. A moderator's face used to ban thousands of innocent users. A memorial avatar—someone's deceased partner, lovingly reconstructed from old photos—spotted laughing in a fight club arena.
The OP erupted. Identity disputes were common, but this was different. Both Vespers had the same movement patterns, the same chat logs, the same memories—or at least, the same accessible memories. The script had copied everything that made Vesper recognizable. The only thing it couldn't copy was the continuous thread of consciousness. And in the OP, where nobody could prove who was behind the avatar, consciousness was irrelevant. - OP - Steal Avatar Script- Be Anyone-
There was a long pause. Then: Neither do I anymore. The crisis came to a head three days later. The two Vespers stood facing each other in the glitching Parisian bistro. A crowd had gathered—not to watch, but to witness. In the OP, identity was performance, and this was the most compelling performance in years. Kai had seen the results