Noir Control
Page 4
That was until I inspected the situation a little further… This hacker, Prism Asterixson, has access to Noir…”
“How could this happen?”
“He would need an unencrypted wallet. That’s virtually impossible but we’re getting reports that a lot of chips have malfunctioned in the lower districts. It’s unlikely, but not impossible; he has one of these lower district chips that has somehow been locked open.”
“What’s so special about lower district wallets?” asked Grimmleif.
“Well,” Ohlin begun, “It restricts people's ambitions... secretly. It keeps them content with less and the Noir program may have conflicted with that. The story of Goldberg’s death tells them to be happy and to look forward to the future, but the basic social-engineering of the wallet prevents that from happening. In these circumstances, normally, the chip would shut down if there are any software conflicts. A lot of lower district chips have simply shut down.”
Grimmleif hummed in acknowledgement. “And you think the hacker has one of these faulty chips and is using it to sneak into our database?”
“That is correct, Sir.”
“Did he take any files from us?”
“Maybe, but that's not the point. The threat is there could be a rogue chip out there, somewhere in the wild, with a skeleton key to all our doors.”
----- X -----
Espedal’s team was bearing down on Prism’s location when his radio started to buzz. “Espedal, this is General Grimmleif.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Prism Asterixson, the hacker, when you arrest him, thoroughly search his apartment for a wallet chip.”
“A wallet chip? Yes, Sir!”
“Contact me as soon as you have him.” The contact ended. Espedal scratched his forehead and explained the new situation to his troops.
----- X -----
Prism was at his workstation when a heavy smashing pounded against his door. He jumped and looked over his shoulder. It hit a second time. The door and frame was solid steel, it was the reason he chose this place in such a high-crime area. It would even hold back the Black-Coats for a minute, but no longer.
Run...
Prism darted towards the window as the door broke free. Acting on impulse, he dropped two storeys down into a heap of rubbish. He looked to the end of the alleyway at the Black-Coat’s vehicle.
A man stood on guard with a machine gun. “Hey, you! Stop!”
Prism turned heel and ran.
He glanced back to see four Black-Coats giving chase. They were big and fit, but loaded down with armour and guns.
He broke out onto a busy street, knocking over a woman with a pushchair who was caught by other passers-by. People yelled at him as he escaped then screamed as the Black-Coats caught up to them brandishing their rifles. With an agile turn, Prism cut through a dingy, narrow alleyway hoping he’d done it out of sight. He sprung over rubbish bins and bags of waste and ran up the side of the wall next to him, grabbing onto a rusty gutter pipe to clear a high fence. There was no way the Black-Coats could do this with all of their gear.
Prism emerged in the clamour of a large market square. He saw other punks and felt he could blend in well; these people could be his camouflage. He took out his phone and punched in a number. The call went to voice message. “Damn!” he cursed. The phone beeped. “Rachel! Listen to me! Your chip is special, it's a key that can open any door in the government! Listen, the damn Black-Coats are after me, you need to hide! Hide!”
Prism's vision flashed white then red as he fell forward. The telephone dropped from his hand and as he reached out for it he saw blood on his fingers. It was spreading out in a pool beneath him. “Am I shot?” he mumbled.
The second bullet hit square in the back of his head.
People screamed.
The clap of noise boomed over the market place.