Sure, it might have been overkill. But I had ten years of various underground internet activity under my belt now, and I’d come to realize that protecting your identity and being as careful as possible was life-and-death when in my line of work. Not only did I use different software and browsers for accessing the dark web, but I used a different alias in every chat room and changed my internet provider every few months, just in case.
Right then, though, I wasn’t going to touch anything like that. I needed to be on my absolute best behavior for when the FBI called, but I also needed to keep myself busy. I dropped into my desk chair—the most expensive thing in the apartment after my computer, and a splurge I definitely didn't regret considering how many hours I spent in it—and turned on my trusty computer.
At that moment, I planned to go online as a shopper of job postings. I needed a new job, and the fastest and easiest way to find that was to hit the job boards and pray. I was ready and willing to burn the midnight oil, looking for new work. With luck, I’d have several possibilities nailed down and applied to before the sun came up in the morning.
An hour later, I was feeling a whole lot less certain about that. I’d never been good at sitting still, so I had a driving need to find something new immediately. But I should have known that needing something quickly didn’t mean anything was going to magically show up. I’d been through about five million job listings already, and nothing was fitting.
“How hard can it be?” I asked myself out loud, hammering out the address of yet another job site in the hopes that this one would give me something. “A writing position, preferably for a bigger company, preferably one where I can work from home, so I can do something for a publication that hits a bigger audience. Something that makes a difference. Something that has the possibility of actually impacting the world around me.”
I stopped and narrowed my eyes, because I hadn’t thought of my dream job in those terms before. This was nothing new, really; I found that saying things out loud often allowed me to express thoughts I didn’t know I had or solve problems that I hadn’t been able to tackle in any other way. Something about saying it out loud made me look at hurdles in a whole different light.
And right then was no different. I’d never even thought about the fact that I wanted to do something to change the world. But now that I’d said it out loud…
Yeah, it fit. It was definitely what I was yearning for: A job that would allow me to actually affect the world around me, to actually do something that would lead to some change. Because there was a whole lot going on in the world that I didn’t agree with. Governments going in directions that I didn’t understand. Never-ending wars all over the world with rules that us commoners on the ground didn’t get to hear about, but were still seriously impacted by. Countries trying to control other countries, leaders trying to undermine other leaders, a rash of division between people on different sides of the conversation.
And don’t even get me started on the weather. The world was changing, and you would have been blind not to see it. Hurricanes the likes of which we’d never seen before. Hurricanes that wiped out entire islands, and were followed by more hurricanes, which stopped whatever rebuilding might have been going on. Towns stuck without energy for months, and without running water. Floods in places that had never dealt with floods before. Hell, the entire state of California seemed to be perpetually on fire these days, and though they’d dealt with fire before, it had never been this consistent, or this destructive. The ice caps melting. Native flora and fauna disappearing to the point where it seemed like they hadn't ever existed to begin with.
There were headlines every single day about countries trying to come to some sort of consensus about what to do to stop it, and even more headlines about scientists saying how those countries weren’t doing enough.
And those headlines all had one thing in common: They were written by journalists who were making a difference. They were educating the people, spreading information, spreading opinions. Affecting the world in one way or another.
That was what I wanted. That was what I needed.
And it was exactly what my background was going to end up keeping me from. I glared at the screen of the computer, my eyes running over job posting after job posting. This site had a lot of stuff that looked more interesting, at least. Blog writer, telecommuting press aide for a major newspaper in D.C., freelance contributor to an online magazine. Those were the jobs I needed if I was going to make any real difference in the world. Those were the jobs that my heart was screaming out for.
Unfortunately, I had to admit that those were also the jobs I would never get. Not with my background. A background check was going to turn up my legal history, and though my records were officially sealed as I’d been a minor at the time, anyone who was looking hard enough would be able to see that I’d spent time in Juvie and was currently serving parole.
No company had a hiring process that would allow that sort of background. Well, some might, but none of the ones that I wanted to work for. None that would allow me to deal with actual, hard-hitting, world-changing news.
I shoved my chair back from the desk, frustrated. My life had just hit a another big brick wall. And though I’d made a living when I was kid getting around and through and over those sorts of walls—digitally speaking—this was one that I couldn’t find a way around. I wanted to be doing something, dammit! I wanted to be using my brain and finding my next hustle.
I wanted to have my hand in the next big thing. Or at least the next kind-of-big thing. The next thing that was even somewhat interesting.
So, how was I going to do that? How could I get a foot in the door; how could I find a place where I’d fit—and a place that would have me?
I bit my lip as the answer came to me on the wings of a demon.
“No,” I said firmly, and out loud.
As if that was going to make a difference. Because as soon as the thought occurred to me, I knew that it was exactly what I was going to do. I knew exactly why I was going to do it—and how.
I just had to pray that I wouldn’t get caught.
Chapter 3
I walked with what I hoped was confidence back into my so-called office with a glass of wine in one hand and the entire bottle in the other. It was nothing high-quality—I couldn’t afford anything that good—but it was the best I had.
And I was hoping it would do the trick, because I needed some fire in my veins if I was actually going to do this.
I set the bottle down next to the computer, then held the cheap wine glass up to my lips, taking a long, slow sip as I let my brain work through the potential consequences, my eyes on the computer in front of me.
In the search bar at the top of the page, I’d already typed the destination I needed, so it was time to get down to business. When it came to the dark web, the less time you spent there, the better. I took a deep breath and hit 'enter'; then, I was taken to the website I used to spend a lot of time on in my old hacking days.
I clicked out of the chat window of the site and went right to the search bar. I wasn’t here to make any contacts. Definitely not here for any casual conversation. I needed information, and I needed it as quickly as possible, because the idea I’d had an hour ago was growing and getting bigger, and the bigger it became, the more I liked it.
So I didn’t have a job anymore. So I didn’t have many prospects, and I was starting to come to terms with the idea that no one was likely to give me a chance with my background. As a journalist, how could I get around the fact that probably no one was going to hire me? How would I manage to make a mark on the industry, and on the world itself, when no one else was going to give me the platform I needed?
Easy. I would just make that platform myself. I would find the information I needed and write a story that no one could ignore. A story important enough that people had to start taking me seriously—and forget their doubts about my background.
Like I said, easy. Now I just needed to
figure out what that story was and get the information to write it.
It was also more dangerous. Which was where the wine came in.
I took another gulp and then dove in.
A chill entered my blood, replacing the hazy warmth the wine had brought with it. And with that chill came a sick, stomach-dropping feeling that was both completely familiar and almost forgotten. Yeah, I remembered that feeling. The experience you only got when you were doing something illegal—and something you knew for absolute certain that you shouldn’t be doing. Something you knew you were going to do anyhow, damn the consequences.
“At least this time I’m doing it for a kind of good reason,” I muttered to myself as my fingers started flying across the keyboard, typing in anything I could think of as a search function.
I had no idea what I was looking for, not really. I just knew it had to be big. So I searched for everything from global climate change to politics to riots to terrorism to doomsday prep groups to cults. It must have been the biggest search in the history of the dark web, and even as I was typing it, I was lecturing myself about how many results I was going to get back.
“It'll take you fucking ages to get through it,” I hissed to myself. “You’ll probably get caught just trying to go through the list.”
That didn’t stop me. It just made me type faster. I didn’t want to have to come back in here any more than necessary, which meant I needed to get everything I could possibly want on this first time in. I couldn't afford to be caught red-handed violating my probation order. Once the results came in, I’d get the hell out, print the list, and go through it by hand, selecting what I wanted before I came back to retrieve it.
I was a virtual blur of movement as I tried desperately to get my search list settled before I lost my nerve. The list came up, and I was just pushing the mouse’s cursor toward the ‘log out’ button when he found me.
Dammit, dammit, dammit! I had thought I was undetectable!
My gaze flew to the chat aspect of the browser and I gasped. I thought I’d closed it, but as it turned out, I’d only minimized it. I’d been visible this entire time, courtesy of the chat recording me as 'online' before I'd even started my detective work—which meant I was goddamned lucky I’d been here for this long without being detected. It also meant that if anyone was after me, they’d had at least ten minutes to find me here.
I glanced back to the chat window, terrified of the FBI messaging me directly to let me know that they’d seen everything I was doing, and that they were sending officers to my door right now to arrest me.
So, it came as quite a relief when I recognized the username of the person who’d messaged me.
“Sandy,” I breathed.
I hadn’t spoken to him in years. But he was a friend. An old friend, yes, as I hadn’t spoken to him since before I went into Juvie five years ago. But still, he was someone I knew I could trust—as far as you could trust anyone on the dark web. We’d done quite a few jobs together in the past.
Unless he’d been bought out, he wasn’t going to turn me in to any of the authorities. Chances were, he had his hand in about fifteen different projects right now, and none of them legal. As long as he was the same person he’d been when I knew him before, he wouldn’t be a risk.
Of course, that didn’t mean I had a lot of time to sit around and chat. The clock was still running on my time on this side of the web, and that meant that there was a ticking time bomb sitting in my computer right now.
RIOT! he wrote, referring to the name I went by on this particular site. How the hell are you? What have you been up to? I haven’t spoken to you in years!
It’s all complicated, I returned, unwilling to go into any details. You haven’t spoken to me because I’ve been trying to get out of this world. I’m not happy to be back, and I don’t want to stick around. The clock is already ticking, if you know what I mean.
The fact that he started typing again immediately meant he knew exactly what I meant—that I was afraid someone was tracking me, and that I needed to sign out ASAP.
Got it, chick. The last time we spoke, you were talking about becoming a journalist. Ever make anything of that?
I frowned. I didn’t remember saying anything like that to him—or even having that plan when I was sixteen—but I quickly put that to the side in favor of a bigger question. What was it to him if I’d become a journalist? Why the crazy non-sequitur there?
I’ve been known to dabble in writing, I typed hesitantly.
Then, I remembered that I didn’t have a lot of time to play coy. I wanted to get out of here. The sooner I could figure out what he wanted, the sooner I could do just that.
I actually had a job at a newspaper until today. Got fired.
Another immediate response—and that immediacy was starting to make me feel nervous. Yeah, I’d known Sandy a long time ago, and things might have changed. But I didn’t like how twitchy he was being. It felt like he had something on his mind, something he was too eager to share.
Then you’re exactly who I’ve been looking for. I have information on something big. Need to get it into the world. Need people to know that this is coming.
What are you now, a national superhero? I typed, snorting. Out to save people’s lives?
Save the world is more like it, he responded. I'm no hero and you know it. But I don’t want this world to end, either. I have to live here, too.
I stared at the words, my mind churning. Could it have all been a joke? Absolutely. Could it have been something that was going to lead me right into trouble? Definitely. But did I trust Sandy? Yeah, I did.
And I’d been looking for something big enough to get me some attention. Could be that this was exactly what I needed to achieve that goal.
What is it? I asked.
This time, there was a pause. One that lasted longer than I liked. Finally, he started typing again.
I got an invite to a meeting place in the dark, he wrote. They were looking for a hacker, had heard that I was good, I guess. But I got there and saw what they were doing and honestly, I ran as quick as I could.
Not like you to run from a job, I said. The Sandy I’d known had always been up for whatever anyone threw at him.
I also don’t dabble in end-of-the-world shit.
Well. I sat back, staring at the screen, and blew a breath out, trying to clear my head. End-of-the-world shit. That could mean a range of things, but in the dark, it was likely that it referred to one of two groups of people. And both of them were trouble.
Terrorists? I typed.
Doomsday cult was the response. Talking about ways to end society as we know it. Seems like some serious fuckin' plans are already afoot.
Okay. I’d wanted a story. It sounded like I had it.
Send me the information. I’ll look into it.
He gave me a link to a site I didn’t recognize—the dark meeting place, I assumed—and then added four more lines.
Be careful. These aren’t the sort of people who take lightly to someone spying on them. I don’t know if this is really legit, but if it is, the world needs to know about it. Or we all might be dead.
The chat disappeared a split second later, Sandy having terminated it—and, no doubt, erased all evidence of it having happened. I grabbed the link he’d sent me and closed the browser, my heart thumping hard in my chest at what he’d said.
People who didn’t like to be spied on. Doomsday cults. The end of society as we knew it.
I opened up a simple Word doc and pasted the link into it, then stared at the combination of letters and numbers, not really seeing anything but a blur.
I’d just been looking for a story, and instead I’d happened upon some sort of end-of-the-world plot, and then been given the responsibility of researching it and calling public attention to it.
What the hell had I been thinking, going back into the dark web? That place had never brought me anything but trouble.
Not like that was going to stop me, though
.
Chapter 4
I took every precaution I could think of before I went following that link: I downloaded a new browser for the dark web, a new VPN to double-bounce my IP address, and even put tape over my webcam just in case. I didn’t want one damn person knowing that I’d been into this particular chat room. And that included both the FBI and the people I was about to spy on.
I was scared of the FBI, and I didn’t want them coming after me again. But something told me that the people in this room were a hell of a lot more dangerous.
They definitely didn’t follow laws like the FBI did. And would likely have no qualms about killing me if necessary.
Once I was ready, I popped the link into the search bar and hit enter, gulping wine at the same time and trying to bolster my courage.
I was really surprised when the link actually took me anywhere. It was so easy to move or remove things on the dark side, if you wanted to, and it shocked the hell out of me that whoever had been running this meeting hadn’t bothered to do anything like that.
It could mean one of only two things. Either they just flat-out didn’t know that they could do that… or they didn’t care. They were so confident in themselves and their own power that they didn’t bother to hide their tracks.
That second option scared the living daylights out of me. And, unfortunately, it seemed a lot more likely. I took three more gulps of wine, then brought my eyes into focus on the meeting room.
It took me a few seconds to realize how big this all was.
“Holy shit,” I murmured, putting the glass of wine on the desk and leaning toward the screen, trying desperately to get my brain to sharpen.
This was absolutely insane. I wasn’t just looking at someone trying to pull a job, here. I wasn’t looking at someone trying to rob a bank or shut down some big commerce site or even hack a government database—the usual bigger jobs in this part of the web.
Survival of The Fittest | Book 1 | The Fall Page 2