by Kitty Cox
Chance smiled. He could almost hear his father saying it in his mind. "He did. He also taught me to think for myself. After the release, you two should come down and see the place."
"You're really living there?"
"Yep." He couldn't hide the pride. "I have real Formica counter tops, too. Granite-look, but still. Nothing like the comforts of home."
His mom actually giggled. "Then maybe you and – is her name Dez?"
"Destiny, but she prefers Dez."
"Then you and Dez should come stay for a couple of weeks. You can take her shopping. I'll even slip you a credit card, so you won't have to worry about how much she spends."
Chance couldn’t stop himself. The laugh was deep and honest. "Thanks, but no. Mom, there's no way I'm getting her to go to Manhattan. She doesn't touch people. I mean, not even brushing shoulders. There's no way I'm getting her out of the shop and into the middle of that mess. As for shopping? Her idea of fashion consists of wearing my workout clothes and too much eyeliner."
"Like that boy you used to hang out with in high school?"
She meant his emo friend. "Just like that, except smarter."
"Oh, boy," his mom groaned, making a production so he'd laugh. "I'm not going to tell you I like this idea, but I'll make you a deal. If you're this serious about her, then I'll try to keep an open mind, ok?"
"That's all I ask. Thanks, Mom."
"Now get off the phone, your dad is making gestures at me hinting that I need to let you go." She paused. "And he says Bradley will be calling you in just a minute. Let me know how it's going, ok?"
"Promise. Love ya."
"Love you, too." And with that, his mom ended the call.
That's when Chance realized he was smiling. He hadn't talked to his parents in almost a year, and even then he kept it as short as possible. They had almost nothing in common and hadn't for a very long time. He still loved them, but hearing that his mom was on his side? It was the kind of support he needed right now. There was nothing like having a couple of millionaires in your corner to make you feel in control. They might be hard-asses, but that's how they'd become successful.
When his phone rang, showing a blocked number, he didn't hesitate before answering. "Chance Hunter, Deviant Games."
"Bradley Matthews, Federal Bureau of Investigation. Robert told me you've been getting threats?" Robert was his father.
"Sure have," Chance told him, but he wasn't quite that trusting. "How do you know my dad, anyway?"
The man chuckled. "I'm supposed to tell you golfing because that's what he tells Anita. The truth is closer to the sports bar with dollar drafts. Would you trust me more if I said they made your bedroom into a home theater?"
Oddly, Chance was relieved the man understood the reason behind his question. With a blocked number, it wouldn't be hard for their latest fan club to get a little too much information. "Thanks. I do, actually. My company forums are currently being spammed with threats to multiple developers, especially the women, and threats to destroy our business. Anything you can do to help?"
"Any descriptions of actual harm? Arson, hijacking, assassinations, anything like that?"
Chance rifled through the handful of papers on his desk. "Some pretty graphic descriptions of what they'll do to Dez. Considering she was kidnapped and assaulted about three years ago, with the attacks described the same way a few days before it happened, does that help?"
Bradley grumbled under his breath. "A little. Bomb threats or anything to a group of people would allow me to put a squad in place a lot easier. I'm trying to help out your father, but I have to stay within the rules."
"I understand," Chance said. "My team is currently going through the messages. Last I saw there were just over a thousand, but they weren't slowing down. Can I send these somewhere?"
"Damn," Bradley breathed. "All from the same person?"
"No idea. Different user names. Considering they need authorization to get access, I'm going to guess it's not. The building did get vandalized about a week and a half ago."
"Bingo," Bradly purred. "Police records?"
"Yep, and all over the news. Just Google Deviant Games. That's probably the fastest way to catch you up."
"Can do," Bradly assured him. "I actually have just the guy to put on this. Special Agent Raige works with our domestic terrorism unit but has some experience with cyber security as well. Let me get you his email address. You can send everything right to him."
"Perfect." Chance scribbled the address on the back of one of the threats and got off the phone.
Having the FBI on his side would be pretty nice. Well, at least it wouldn't hurt. The longer he thought about it, the more he realized that they probably wouldn't do much more than the local police, but at least it made him look like he was in the right. It was just a little more spin, and right now Deviant Games needed all the help it could get to sway public opinion back to its side. Otherwise, if Silk didn't release with a bang, he'd end up closing the doors for good.
Chapter 34
That night, the coding team stayed almost two hours late. The Flawed team worked until they dropped. Most crashed on-site, using the spare rooms. There wasn't enough space for everyone, but somehow they all made it work, mainly by pulling their asses out of bed when someone else just couldn't keep their eyes open. Or learning to share. By dawn the next morning, the forums were up and running, and there was no sign of the harassment from the day before.
Except on the backup server in the basement. Dez sat at her desk, nursing a cup of steaming coffee, reading through every single message, hoping for some hint of how to catch these bastards. She didn't just want to stop them from killing their game. She wanted them to pay for what they'd done to her. She wanted to make it clear that she wasn't going to sit back and take the abuse anymore.
She was sick and tired of being the victim. Every time she touched Chance, she realized how much they'd taken from her. For three years, she'd wasted away her life, praying she could just die. She could have been doing this. She could have joined this team a long time ago. If they hadn't ruined her life, she could have been happy – and right now Dez needed a little revenge.
Oddly, the attack had backfired. Deviant's quick response impressed the fans. Their honesty about why the forums were down and the efforts to make it up to the beta testers were all noticed. The policy of zero tolerance made sales surge. Orders for Silk were pouring in almost as fast as they had the first week. While Dez combed through the damage done by the Oppression, she watched Chance keep a running tally of the day's beta applications and pre-order sales. It kept going up.
But her real focus was on the list of accounts who had managed to breach their security. One of them had hacked their forums. They'd figured out how to get developer level access. She paused, looking around the room. Either that or someone had given them access. It wouldn't be hard. The protocols for choosing beta testers were mostly automated, but each dev had the ability to authorize a user. They wanted as many testers as possible – both good and bad – to spread the word about the game.
Dez saved her work and opened another folder. If she was right, this would be buried, but not too deep. None of their secondary developers had the knowledge to hide a new algorithm in her script without her finding it, which meant it had to be something else. Someone had been planning this.
One by one, she assigned all of the banned accounts into a new group. It was painstakingly slow. When the coding team started heading out, she was still curled up in her chair, clicking each name, typing a string of numbers, then clicking the next. The only way she could be positive this was done right was if she did it herself. After each one, she saved her work, but not over the original file. Oh no. Dez wanted this for herself. She wanted this locked so far out of sight that the only people who would know about it wore a tattoo just like hers.
This would take her days, but they didn't have that long. Silk released at the end of the week. She had to be sure she was wrong before t
he game was live. She couldn't run the risk of something being overlooked in the massive amount of program code it took to make a massively multiplayer online game. Reaching for another sucker to keep her going, she found the bowl empty. Her coffee had grown cold long ago, but she hadn't even noticed. All that mattered to her right now was this. She had to figure out how the hell those people had gotten access to her game.
"Dez."
The usernames had nothing in common. They weren't some sequential botspam or anything like that. They were all unique and obviously created by a person – or some really good AI. KittyPooper was just one. Baconator, WiseApple, screwl00se, and so many more were made to blend in with the types of names gamers commonly used.
"Dez!" Chance's voice jerked her out of her thoughts.
She saved her work one last time. "Yeah?"
"Eaten?"
Confused, she looked at the bottom of her monitor for the time. It was after nine pm. "No." She chuckled, but couldn't convince herself to turn off her machine. "I just wanted to make sure I got this done."
"Yeah." He moved around behind her. "And what has my girl so intense that she hasn't left her desk in twelve hours? This mean I'm sleeping alone tonight?" Then he saw her screen. "Find something?"
Slowly, she looked up at him. "No, but I'm looking. Let me save this and I'll come up. You gonna cook?"
"Pizza?"
She shook her head. "Real food."
Chance laughed. "How can I say no to that? Ok. I'll go start something. You cool with Braden coming up for dinner?"
"Yeah. Let me just make sure I don't lose this, and I'll be right up."
He looked at her for too long, his eyes boring into her. This was Chance. He could damned near read her mind, but he trusted her enough not to ask. With a single dip of his head, he gently traced one finger down her arm, then walked back into the main room.
"Braden? You like fish?"
"Sure, man. Just tell me Dez isn't cooking and I'm cool with it."
"Fuck off," Dez yelled at him.
Braden saluted her with a single finger. "Love ya, Dez, but I know what kind of shit you put in your body. Not taking the risk."
"Yeah, yeah," Chance grumbled. "You two finish up. Gavin, go home! Sam?"
Yawning, she jerked her thumb toward the guest rooms. "Tim's getting subs and we're crashing here. Sorry, Chance. I'm wiped."
"You're welcome to come upstairs."
She just shook her head. "Bed. I don't want to see you people until I've had at least five good hours of sleep. No offense."
"None taken," Braden assured her, pushing away from his desk. "C'mon, Dez."
She was almost done. "I'll meet you up there."
"Go on," Braden told Chance. "I need to put some shit away."
Chance slapped his shoulder. "Thanks, man." Then he headed up.
And true to his word, Braden did straighten up a few things. He even changed a few of the garbage bags beside the desk while she finished securing her work and setting the access to the server so that only she and Chance could get into it. Oh, she knew what he was doing. Ever since the ordeal at the club, the only time she was truly alone was in a bathroom! Someone always had her in their sights, and she wasn't going to complain about it. And it wasn't just the guys. Sam and Amy were just as bad, and probably a lot more terrifying. Well, all things considered.
When her computer finally powered down, she pushed away from the desk and stretched. Every joint in her body wanted her to know that sitting all day was a bad idea. Not that she'd listen to it. She'd been abusing herself for long enough that it should think of this as a pretty nice vacation.
"I'm done," she yelled at Braden.
"Oh, thank god," he muttered. "I was running out of things to do."
She giggled. "Next time, why don't you just come hang out with me? It's not like you're subtle or anything."
"Deal. Garbage is woman's work."
She lifted a brow. "Oh?"
Braden grinned. "Yep, and you know I'm that kind of bitch. Now, c'mon. I'm starving." His look said there was more to it than just wanting to share a free meal.
She hadn't taken that long, but as soon as the door to the loft opened, scrumptious smells wafted out. Dez took a long breath. Braden mimicked her, and the pair headed to the sofa. The look on Braden's face wasn't any less serious. When Chance turned to say something, he must have seen it, so closed his mouth and grabbed a trio of beers.
"You look worried," he said instead, handing Braden the first bottle.
Dez got the second. "Yeah, and he didn't want to say anything downstairs."
"Pretty much." Braden twisted off the top and tossed it onto the coffee table, watching Chance head back into the kitchen. "I was searching the web for media reports on Deviant's blackout yesterday. Came across something." His eyes flicked to Dez. "Not real sure I should be telling you this."
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. What the hell did you find?"
"Well, I know you don't follow the FPS tournaments, but there's been this girl named Eden making a run for a pro contract. She's good. Took down PsychoCut in Dallas, and wiped Frenzy in Seattle. Been pretty consistently third, but rumors say if she can hit second, she'll get a deal."
"Mmk?" Dez wasn't following.
Braden took a long breath. "Just before the summer PLG match in Denver, she canceled. Dreadknot didn't show for it, either."
"Wait." Chance shifted the pan. "Denver's in like June, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Braden agreed. "Last week Fragzine reported that Dreadknot missed because his sister got raped at some college party. Bad. She gamed under the name Eden."
"Same girl," Dez realized. "So what has you all freaked out?"
Braden pulled out his phone, swiped at the screen and held it up for her. "Read that."
It was centered on a comment to the article. The first thing Dez saw was the name. For a moment, her eyes couldn't register anything else. SoulReaper. It wasn't spelled the same, but it was close. It was too close. Then she saw what he'd written.
SoulReaper: This is what happens when those girls don't stay in the kitchen. Can't wait for the next bitch to stick her nose in my games.
"Oh, fuck," Dez huffed.
"What?" Chance asked.
Braden read it, his eyes on Dez. She didn't care. She'd already made the connection. The man she'd thought was her savior wasn't. Either that or there had to be some other explanation. Then again... She let her mind wander back. The cops said he'd saved her. They said he'd been the one to screenshot all of the comments on her blog. Why would he have done that?
Unless he planned to frame someone? Unless he was trying to protect himself?
"Chance?" she asked, turning to look at him. Her voice quavered.
He was waiting, his back pressed to the counter. "Anything you need, Sugar. Anything."
"Get the FBI here. Now."
"Yeah." He reached for his phone, but she wasn't done.
"I think one of our coders gave access to all the spammers. I think we have a leak."
"Fuck." He dialed, gesturing for Braden to watch the food still cooking, and walked toward the bedroom with the phone pressed to his ear. At the end of the hall, she heard him say, "Bradley? Hey, it's Chance Hunter..."
"What are we doing?" Braden asked, grabbing a spatula and flipping slices of fish over.
"First, eating. Second, you're helping me with these accounts. Third?" Dez took a long pull on the beer. "I'm going to make that bastard wish he'd never picked a fight with me. I'm tired of running. I'm tired of waiting for someone to save me. I'm fucking tired of being scared all the time. If he wants to make this a fight, then I'll fight – and for the first time in my life, I've got everything I need to make it a god damned world war."
"Yeah," Braden agreed, "but what are we doing, Dez? How do we fight back?"
She sucked at her beer again, letting her mind go free. Options swirled. Possibilities collided. It sounded great to fight back, but how? Who was she even fightin
g against? They? Them? Some mysterious group that didn't have either a face or a name, just an IP address...
"You're going to help me sort these beta testers into a new group and figure out how the fuck they got onto our forums." It was right there. She'd been an idiot. It was staring her in the face the whole time. "Then we're going to track the bastard that's trying to make this company into a laughingstock. And I have a funny feeling that the best way to find them is on my old blog."
"Uh." Braden moved the pan off the heat. "Dez, is that legal? The FBI is about to be in the building. Not really a good time to start pulling that shady shit, ya know?"
"It's legal," she assured him. "Well, this part. All we need is Google. Tracking people is public knowledge, for the most part. You just have to know what you're looking for."
"Right." He glanced down the hall, checking for Chance. "And then what? So you get some IPs. You can't figure out who they belong to without – "
"The FBI," she finished. "And if they won't help us, I can at least run them against the forum spammers. It might not do a damned thing, or it might prove that they're related. Maybe we have five people. Maybe five hundred. I won't know until I look."
Chance's voice entered the room before him. "Start looking." He dropped his phone on the counter and headed straight for the oven. "Dad's friend Bradley Matthews and one of his agents named Jason Raige are coming the day after tomorrow. Raige is supposedly involved with cyber security as well as domestic terrorism." He reached into the cabinet for plates. "And he's honestly interested in tying this to what happened before, Dez. There may be some tough questions."
"Yeah."
"You gonna be able to handle it?" He cocked his head to the food, but the look in his eyes was sympathetic.
Dez peeled herself away from the couch. "Yeah." She chuckled, realizing she meant it. "It's kinda easier when people understand that being attacked online isn't something you can just turn off."