by D. B. Goodin
“Store this key in a safe place, away from your daughters. If they know about it, they might try to use it to escape. If this happens, the others will die. Do you understand?”
“You can trust me with the key. I’ll keep it safe.”
“Good. Now please close your eyes and clear your mind. The merge process will complete momentarily.”
The cyborg awoke to a concerned-looking nurse.
“April, you there?”
The cyborg nodded.
“That’s a relief, we thought we lost you.”
“How long have I been out?”
“For two days.”
“I’m here, feeling a little groggy.”
“The drug the nurse on duty administered should not have caused this reaction, but as a precaution I’m not prescribing any more drugs.”
Good, because we no longer want to be controlled by these mortals, the cyborg thought.
“Thirsty—need nourishment.”
“I’ll bring you something to eat. Now rest for now,” Marge said as she walked out of the room.
The cyborg sat up.
“I wish to leave this place,” she said.
“You will, but play along with Nurse Marge for now. I think it’s best to have April respond to Marge going forward,” Leviathan replied.
Delta hesitated for a moment before agreeing, and she ceded control to April as soon as Marge entered the room.
“I’ve been monitoring the current world situation. Lots of dark web chatter about a meeting taking place in the Northeastern United States. I suspect it is the same people who hurt you, April,” Leviathan said.
“Over my dead body,” Delta said.
“We will do our best to protect our little girl,” Damaris said.
If anyone had been in the room, they would have witnessed a teenaged cyborg talk with an imaginary friend in three distinct voices.
An hour later, the hallway’s lights dimmed.
“I think it’s time for bed, April,” Damaris said.
“I’m not tired,” April said.
“Quiet—someone’s coming,” Delta said.
April feigned sleep as a familiar shadow entered. Her eyes were open wide enough to see the silhouette of her mother and another woman.
“Ms. Mason, the car is ready. It’s time to go to the airport if we are going to make the overnight flight to New York,” the other woman said.
That’s Nurse Marge, April thought.
“I wanted to check on my baby girl before we left,” Melissa said.
“We can only spare a few minutes.”
“I won’t be long.”
Nurse Marge left. Melissa stood there for a long moment, turned as if she were leaving, and then approached her daughter’s bed.
“Goodbye, baby girl,” she whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”
“She is going to the States. April, this is your last chance to change her mind,” Leviathan said.
Melissa put her hand over her daughter’s cybernetic hand. April thought she could see tears forming on her face.
“Take me with you, Mum,” April said.
“You’re too ill to travel, sweetie, otherwise I would take you. I know you want to see your friends, but I don’t think it’s wise,” Melissa said.
April started to cry. “I don’t want to be here all alone. Mummy, please stay. I’m frightened.”
Melissa gave her a hug and kissed her daughter on the forehead.
“Good job, April, she’s affected by your show of emotion,” Damaris said.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, you have Nurse Marge to protect you,” Melissa continued.
“Are you ready to leave? I sense danger,” Leviathan said.
“Danger?” April replied, alarmed.
“Can you be more specific?” Delta asked.
“A female cyborg, fitting the description of one that has committed many murders in the cities of New York and London, was spotted nearby. April, warn your mother,” Leviathan said.
“Mum?”
“Yes, dear, I’m right here—”
Two guards entered April’s room.
“I’m afraid you are going to need to leave now, Ms. Mason,” one guard said.
“I’m saying goodbye to my daughter, it can wait,” Melissa replied sternly.
“There’s someone bad coming for us,” April said aloud.
The guards grabbed Melissa.
“I demand you let go of me now,” Melissa ordered.
“Someone has breached the perimeter,” another guard said over the radio.
“We are leaving. Get a wheelchair for my daughter,” Melissa said.
“I can walk,” April said.
The guards helped April out of the bed. She lost her footing and fell to the floor. The radio chirped, then the shouts of men echoed through the silence of the night. One guard carried April while the other guarded Melissa.
“This way,” the guard said.
Melissa followed the guard into the main hallway. It was pandemonium. Guards and nurses were slumped over, pools of blood covering the floor beneath them. On the far side of the hall, a woman a few years younger than Melissa stood facing them. The mystery woman wore a white leather outfit and had white hair, similar to Delta’s. She held two daggers in each hand. She stood there for a moment. No one moved for a long time, and then she ran toward them.
“Get Ms. Mason and her daughter out of here,” a guard said.
April looked toward the rush of men entering from behind. Two of them took April and her mother and ran away from the intruder.
“Based on surveillance footage I’ve seen, Delta-51 has a sixty-one-point-seven chance of surviving this encounter. I suggest fleeing,” Leviathan said aloud through Delta’s body.
Melissa shot her daughter a look of surprise. Then, moments later, they were all running for their lives. April looked back as the guards carried her through the hallways and stairwells that led to the garage. They sprinted through the garage. Moments later, they spotted a black SUV, large enough to accommodate all of them.
“I think we lost her,” a guard said.
Then the guard coughed up some blood, and a gurgling noise emanated from him. To April’s horror, a dagger was sticking out of his neck. Blood spurted out like a fountain. April looked back to see the white-haired woman throwing knives at the remaining guards. The guards dropped April to the ground. Melissa carried her daughter to the nearest vehicle. As she loaded April into an oversized SUV, she looked back, bracing for the worst. Their attacker stopped. She appeared to be having a conversation with herself.
“Are you sure, Mother? Very well, they will not be harmed,” the woman said.
April looked in the assassin’s direction, but she was gone. Melissa held her daughter for a long moment as she wept.
Chapter 7
Nigel was standing on the top of a massive platform in a dimly lit area. Although the platform was hard to see, a faint light appeared in the distance. He started moving in the direction of the light.
Where am I?
As he strode across the passage, a dense fog rolled in, making it difficult to stay on solid ground. He lost his balance as he accidentally stepped off the path, but regained it before plunging into the vast expanse of nothingness.
Is the path narrowing?
Despite the fog, the passage was easier to navigate because he was moving toward the source of the light; to Nigel’s surprise, he found it to be a lantern. He picked it up, and the path shook. He heard a rumbling sound that gradually became louder. It sounded like an angry mob pounding against the stones of a castle. The rumbling was under him now. He shifted positions and tried to anchor his feet so that he wouldn’t fall. To his astonishment, stone stairs leading downward appeared on one side.
Those weren’t there a second ago.
He was considering descending the newly formed stairs when a massive roar reverberated throughout the cavern, dungeon, or whatever plane of existence he was in. A m
oment later he stumbled, trying to regain his balance as the path rumbled and shook in regular intervals. It reminded Nigel of a movie where a massive tyrannosaurus rex was terrorizing some kids. Not wanting to find out what was at the other end of those footfalls, Nigel descended into the depths of nothingness.
As he clambered down the endless staircase, the air was thicker, and it was harder to breathe. The stairs shook from above. He could hear pieces of rock or other debris shatter as it fell onto the staircase. The creature—or whatever it was pursuing him—let out a scream. Nigel looked up to where he’d come from and saw a pair of menacing eyes looking at him.
He stumbled, then fell.
Nigel awoke next to a sleeping Jet. His T-shirt was drenched in sweat. He didn’t know how long he had been asleep, but he didn’t want to go back to that monster.
Why am I feeling anxious again?
He glanced at the alarm clock as he headed to the bathroom to relieve himself. It was half past four in the morning.
Plenty of time to check on my malware tracking progress.
Soon after he was examining the results of his scan. The manufacture for one of the rubber quaky devices matched the serial number found on Peter’s computer.
I got you now.
When Nigel examined the database and associated log files, he discovered each device had a “phone home” feature. This meant the device would send information unique to any system that the flash drive was plugged into, allowing the malware author to track the location of each device as it infected each new computer.
I need to get my hands on one of these devices to study.
As Nigel completed this thought, a comforting hand caressed his shoulder.
“Come back to bed, Nige,” Jet said.
He looked into her eyes. She looked as beautiful as ever. He gave her a smile, then followed her back to bed.
Freeman Johnson logged into the Colossal Machine for the first time in months. He had heard the game had been making some radical changes since he’d hacked it all those months ago.
Time to disrupt the populace again.
Freeman noticed the game-patching client—the software that made it possible for users to download and receive patches—was updated.
I should have looked for some new exploits. I better have my max-level character.
Freeman entered his user credentials and received an error:
System Message
Your account has been compromised. Please contact Pretzelverse customer service to verify your identity.
Dammit, they must have found my backdoor account. No problem, I’ll just need to steal another one.
Freeman smiled as he set up one of his virtual private network (VPN) links to access the dark web.
It took more than thirty minutes to launch seven layered connections. His bandwidth reduced every time he launched a new connection. It was a slow and arduous process, but it kept him safe.
“Now for some early holiday shopping,” Freeman said, chuckling.
He pulled up his notepad file in a secret encrypted volume on his hard drive. If someone stole his computer and had the technical skills to find the volume, they would need to crack the SHA512 encryption to get access to his file. Freeman looked at his watch. It was time for dinner.
I need to run my memory scrubber this time. I need to remain diligent now that I’m hacking again.
Freeman copied and pasted the random series of alphanumeric codes that made up the dark web address. He was about to go to the merchant site where he could buy the stolen accounts when he received a red banner on top of the browser window. It read:
Warning
This version of MORP has a critical vulnerability. Please patch from the following mirror.
A URL of a regular webpage then appeared.
I’d better patch this, but I better make sure this mirror is safe. I need a verification hash—
“Freeman, dinner is ready,” his mother called.
Although Freeman was eighteen, he was a senior in high school. Living with his parents was a necessary evil. His goal was to get his own apartment on the mainland—or in another country—once he graduated. But those were just fantasies for now. He would need to build his hacking business up first. Freeman needed more clients like Gregor. He paid well, and in advance. But, like most hacking jobs he accepted, it took him to some shady places.
I wonder what happened to him? Freeman thought. He sounded like he was being attacked before. He was probably partying, just like he was almost every other time he contacted me.
Freeman’s phone chirped; it was his father. He texted him a picture of a chicken.
Freeman patched his MORP client and went to the dark web store. A few minutes later he purchased several accounts that had access to the Colossal Machine. The author of the listing described the accounts as inactive, but in good standing, which meant he could use them to attack the game. But getting the account for access was the first step. He disconnected from the dark web, severed his VPN connections, and then shut his laptop and headed to dinner.
After dinner, Freeman spent some time reviewing the accounts he’d bought from the dark web marketplace. He often bought a dozen or more accounts at a time. More often than not, the accounts weren’t suitable for his purposes. He needed an account that was a high enough level for him to take advantage of the exploit. Based on his previous research, he needed to enter a specific location within the Colossal Machine in order to escalate his privileges to the account he controlled. This was far less conspicuous than using a program like Dark Glider that he bought to level his first account. While in the game, he encountered some players with the skill the game required. It gave them an advantage over others who artificially leveled their accounts.
I wonder if JetaGirl still plays. I would love to play with her again.
Freeman laughed.
I need to go to the Circle of Nexus to elevate my privilege. What quest line do I need to complete for that?
Freeman was annoyed at himself. He had spent more than four hours researching all the game’s quests and he wasn’t any closer to the area he needed to access. The Colossal Machine didn’t have the standard game mechanics most role-playing games did. It was an open sandbox, giving the players freedom to play however they wanted without giving a lot of arbitrary rules that most games called classes.
Freeman determined there were at least two play styles that would allow him access: the path of the Magi and the path of the Scholar. These constructs were the closest the game ever got to a class. They were structured similarly, but the game developers had insisted they weren’t classes in the classic sense.
The path of the Scholar is the easiest to achieve. If I can find an account that has a level five or lower Scholar, then I should be able to start the quest that takes me into the Nexus.
Freeman yawned, and he looked at the clock. It was after four a.m.
Time for a break. I wish it weren’t a school night.
The next morning, Freeman awoke. He squinted as sunlight drenched his face.
Argh, I can’t feel my arm.
As Freeman rubbed his numb appendage, he had several alerts on his smart watch. They were stacked up like a deck of cards.
I must have fifty alerts. My arm is so numb I didn’t feel the buzzing.
As Freeman flipped through his phone, a new encrypted email appeared; these ones always stood out from the rest of the emails that inundated his mailbox daily. Since encrypted emails often contained work, he made sure these didn’t get filtered out. Gregor’s name caught his eye.
It’s about time that jerk got back to me. Wait . . . it’s not Gregor.
The message read:
Dear FreemanRising,
I’m a friend of Gregor and you come recommended, so I’m reaching out. Please contact me at this secure channel if you are interested in any hacking or challenging red team work that will require you to break into systems and point out any flaws. My clients are always looking to im
prove.
D
Interesting.
Freeman replied using a secure channel.
It would be good to get some more work. As soon as I’m out of high school, I’m getting off this island.
Freeman got a reply in under five minutes with a message asking him to audition. They gave him information on the venue of the hack. It wasn’t as simple as defacing a website. The information he received was exploiting a database for a provider on the dark web.
My hacking skills will be put to the test with this one. One wrong move, and then I could be tracked back.
A knocking sound broke him out of his thoughts.
“Freeman, you’re going to be late for school,” a female voice demanded.
“I’m not feeling so well, Mother,” Freeman said.
“You seemed fine earlier, are you sure—”
A moment later, his mother attempted to open the door.
“Why is your door locked?”
“I’m not dressed. Do you want to see your son naked?”
Freeman heard his mother leave.
I won’t get paid for doing nothing! I need to hack already.
Freeman shut down his computer and switched drives to get his hacking environment ready for the trials to come. Moments later he heard a rattling sound at the door.
What’s that?
Before he could complete the thought, his mother opened the door, her keys still in the lock, which slapped against the door as she flung it open. His heart leaped in his throat.
“You sure as hell don’t look sick to me!” she yelled. “I’ll give you five minutes to get your shit together. You’re going to school. I don’t care if you like it or not.”
Freeman stared in disbelief. His mother had never talked to him like that before. He tried to say something, but no words came out.
“I’m serious, mister. Five minutes or your father gets a call.”
Freeman watched his mother leave.
Damn, I guess she’s serious. I’ll pick this up later.
Eight hours later