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The Hack - J. T. Evans
As Garrett chewed the final morsel of his sandwich, he slowly scraped his hand the
stubble that seemed to grow in random patches on his face. The whiskers on his face annoyed
him to no end, but his last razor had broken a week ago, and he had run out of Amero
Dollars. His other hand absently stroked the large head of his Great Dane in an effort to draw
comfort from the large, gentle beast that stood guard over the small abode that they both
occupied.
He slowly looked around the small one-room apartment in dismay. The small
refrigerator stood empty next to the door, but leaned against the squealing piece of equipment
was a fresh bag of premium dog food. The middle portion of the room contained a series of
shelves cobbled together from milk crates, planks of rotting wood, and broken cinder blocks.
On the shelves was an assortment of books that ranged in topics from technical manuals for
computers, electronic engineering and science fiction novels.
The focus of the apartment was really the far end, near the window. Stretched across
the narrow width of the room were two hammocks arranged like bunk beds. The top-most
hammock held a variety of computer equipment, cables, boxes, junctions for the cables, and
tools. Two cables ran from the wall above the boards that covered the window to the largest
of the boxes that resided in the middle of the upper hammock like a fat sheik in the middle of
a technological harem.
When Garrett's eyes fell on the computer equipment, his tired face broke into a small
smile. Every spare Amero that he scraped together went into that system. It's the tool he used
to earn extra money on the side. His day job barely covered the cost of dog food for Cerberus,
and his high-speed connection to the Ultranet. His side activities brought in enough money
cover the rest of his expenses and allowed him to indulge in the latest and greatest computer
equipment.
The smile faded as he realized that now he only had his side job to support himself.
His day job as a Network Genius for the Guru Group abruptly halted a week ago under
accusations that he had installed a piece of sub-par network equipment instead of the top of
the line router that the grandmother in Patrol Sector A purchased. Garrett knew that he had
delivered, installed, configured and put his back door hack in the Cyrus Optiplex 39-AG
Multicast Ultranet router instead of the Tardus S-47 QuikConnect router the grandmother's
teenage grandson called to complain about. No amount of wheedling and begging could keep
Garrett from being fired in the face of the Tardus router that was brought into the store by the
grandson. Garrett wished that he had the courage to wipe the sneer off of the zit covered face
of the teen with his boot, but Garrett never could handle face-to-face confrontation.
Garrett knew what he had to do, but he was hesitant to commit to the actions that lay
ahead of him. He had to do what Mr. Swan had asked of him during their mysterious meeting
at La Princesa that had occurred a little over two weeks ago. Garrett played back the meeting
in his head for the hundredth time in an effort to recall some tiny detail that would push him
towards a final decision. As the recent memories flooded over him, he leaned his head back
in his stained chair, gently stroked Cerberus' head, and closed his eyes.
# # #
The skinny hacker walked into La Princesa and looked around. He could see half of
the tables from the hostess' stand near the entrance. Garrett disregarded any table with more
than one person, and narrowed things down to a thin woman in a well-cut white evening
gown who looked very nervous, and a balding older man that was wearing an ill-fitting suit
that looked to be at least a dozen years old. He dismissed both of them as being his
mysterious Mr. Swan because they didn't fit the mental image of the man that he had received
an encrypted email from. Mr. Swan's email was carefully worded, firmly stated and oozed
confidence. Neither of these people matched that type of personality.
The hostess finally arrived back at her stand after seating someone and looked at
Garrett with derision. He looked down at himself and realized that he was still wearing his
work clothes: black slacks, a white button-up shirt, and a thin black tie. His clothing wasn't
the problem; it was his name tag that proclaimed in white letters on a neon orange
background, "Garrett Jacobsen, Guru Group, Network Genius" that the hostess was focused
on. The "genius" had sense enough to blush while he took the name tag off and slipped it into
his breast pocket.
The elegant woman watched him fumble the piece of plastic into his pocket before
looking him in the eye, "Mr. Jacobsen, welcome to La Princesa. Your party is waiting for
you. Please follow me." Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and boldly led
the way through the restaurant. Garrett paused in surprise for a moment before falling in step.
As he approached a table in the back, the young hacker's eyes fell on Mr. Swan for the
first time. Mr. Swan was exactly as Garrett had imagined him. He was of average height, but
well-muscled. Even the perfectly tailored suit could not hide the breadth of Mr. Swan's
shoulders, thickness of his arms, and the powerful frame the muscles were piled on top of.
The older man's face was formed as if he was perfectly chiseled by an ancient Greek sculptor,
and everything was totally symmetric.
Garrett felt himself break out into a cold sweat because these were the types of men
that constantly bullied him during his entire high school and college careers. The primal
instinct to flee from this predator ingrained in him for a long eight years rose to the surface
and threatened to ruin the moment. The geek managed to swallow his fear long enough to
flash a nervous smile towards Mr. Swan, and jut out a sweaty palm in the general direction of
the man that he just met.
Garrett looked past his shaking hand to see a perfect smile flash his way as the man in
the suit stood to greet him. Garrett was surprised by the lack of pain in the firm handshake as
men like Mr. Swan would establish their dominance over the hacker through a painful
squeeze of the hand. As their hands parted with a slight bit of stickiness, Garrett realized that
he was sweating profusely. If the older gentleman had noticed, he did not show a reaction.
Mr. Swan motioned to the chair opposite the one he had been sitting in as he took his
seat again, "Please, Garrett -- I may call you Garrett, yes? -- have a seat and relax a bit. We
are here on friendly terms, not as -- what is the word? -- adversaries."
Garrett slowly sat down as he realized that Mr. Swan was a pseudonym as he had
suspected. The man sitting across the table from him was from somewhere in the newly
reformed Soviet Union, and the name "Swan" was probably not very common in that area.
Garrett didn't mind using false names. He dealt with people every day on the Ultranet that
used handles to hide their true identity, and he was one of those people. Garrett looked across
the table as if to judge what to do next, and his Soviet host read his face as if it were a book.
"Please. No business yet. First we drink, then we eat, then we go on roof to smoke
cigars, then we talk. That okay with you, Mr. Jacobsen, da?" The American phrase "okay"
seemed unnatural coming out of Mr. Swan's mouth as if he had heard the utterance before,
but had never actually spoken it until that moment.
Garrett sat in his chair numb. He had not really known what to expect, but had not
anticipated a meeting with a gregarious Soviet man that appeared to be the offspring of
Hercules himself. The email that brought him to this table was cryptic, but it held enough
promise of wealth and challenge he agreed to this meeting. He decided he would try to enjoy
the meeting with Mr. Swan, but promised himself he would agree to nothing the muscle-
bound European offered unless the offer was sound.
His internal musings were interrupted by the arrival of the waitress asking for their
drink orders. The Soviet asked for a chilled bottle of Stolichnaya Elit and two glasses. As the
waitress walked away, Mr. Swan looked intently at the glass of water that the waitress had
placed in front of him. He then picked up his butter knife and flipped it with the blade pointed
upwards. He seemed to pause for a moment as if pondering his next action, and then swiftly
lowered the knife, handle first, into the ice water. He looked up to see if Garrett had been
paying attention to this display, and smiled when he realized that Garrett was enraptured by
the motions.
Garrett felt a lump rise in his throat. He knew those motions, and he now knew he was
in over his head. He didn't know what Mr. Swan was going to ask of him, but he knew he
could not refuse. The knife in the water was a symbol of invitation to the Yellow Dog
Syndicate. This was the break the hacker had been waiting for, and now that it was here, he
was very afraid that he would let it slip through his grasp.
The Yellow Dog Syndicate was the third largest multi-national crime organizations in
the world. They had their fingers in every type of traditional organized crime that had been
imagined, but their main weakness was their lack of presence on the Ultranet. Garrett could
build that presence, and with his efforts he could catapult the Yellow Dogs into the second
spot behind the Corvi Family. Everyone in the underground of the Ultranet knew that there
was as much crime online as there was in the real world, but no one had really tapped into it
in an organized fashion yet.
Garrett, as his online handle, "Syfon", was well known, well respected, and somewhat
feared. He never met any of his victims, allies or adversaries in person. He had actually never
met anyone in person that he had established a relationship with online, and he did his best to
keep it that way. The mystique of his online image was too powerful to allow an in-person
meeting to destroy what he had built and cultivated over the years. Garrett knew that with the
power of Syfon, he could bring the Yellow Dogs what they wanted, but he was not sure what
they willing to offer him, or how they were going to test him. The invitation always came
with a test. Perhaps he would learn about it tonight.
The young hacker became painfully aware he had been staring at the knife in the
glass, and Mr. Swan had been studying him. He snapped out of his reverie and looked the
Soviet in the eye. Garrett was greeted with that perfect smile again, and this time the smile
reached the eyes of Mr. Swan. A large finger was brought up in front of the smiling man's
lips in a gesture for Garrett to keep silent. The young man swallowed hard, and merely
nodded his head. To keep his mind from racing about all of the possibilities that lay through
the open door in front of him, he decided to study the menu for a few moments.
As Garrett decided what to order, the waitress returned with the vodka and glasses.
She started to pour some of drink into the glasses when Mr. Swan interrupted her motions by
placing his hand on hers, "We will take care of the drinks. It must be poured with a gentle
lover's touch, or the drink will turn bad."
As the large man removed his hand, the waitress blushed deeply, and she managed to
stammer out, "Wha? what? What would you like to order tonight, sir?"
By the time Mr. Swan had ordered his meal, Garrett decided upon his order as well.
After they ordered, the Soviet took the chilled Stolichnaya, and very gently poured half a
lowball glass full for each man at the table. Mr. Swan motioned to Garrett to pick up the one
of the glasses. The nervous young man managed a smile back as he picked up the glass. He
was very surprised by the weight of the glass. It had been a number of years since he had held
a real glass container in his hands. He had forgotten the weight of it.
The American followed the Soviet's lead, and slowly sipped the vodka. Garrett had no
idea if the vodka was high quality or not, and he hardly had time to notice the chilling
warmth of the alcohol going down. He hadn't eaten since he had downed a pseudo-protein
shake earlier in the morning before his shift at the Guru Group headquarters and the vodka hit
him hard.
Garrett didn't remember much of the meal. He recalled telling Mr. Swan, who was
visiting from out of town, what it was like to live in the Greater Southern California
Metropolitan District (which the locals called Big SoCalMed) which ran from old San Diego
to just north and west of Los Angeles. He also recalled eating his meal, and feeling more and
more relaxed as the evening grew on and the bottle of Stolichnaya became more and more
empty.
What snapped Garrett out of his fog was the sudden change in temperature. He had
somehow followed the big Soviet upstairs to the roof of the building that housed La Princesa.
He was nowhere near sober, but he was no longer in danger of falling down and hurting
himself.
Mr. Swan reached into his left inner suit pocket, and sternly stated, "We have enjoyed
our dinner and vodka. Now it is time to discuss business."
For a brief moment, Garrett felt a twinge of panic as he was sure that a gun was about
to reveal itself, and he was going to be on the wrong end of the weapon. Just before the
inebriated brain of the hacker could formulate a plan of action, two cigars revealed
themselves from outside the folds of the suit. Garrett couldn't help but laugh at himself as
relief flooded his system.
The larger man looked puzzled for a moment before flashing his brilliant smile that
seemed to light up the night air, "It is good to see you finally relax. Please, smoke with me.
These are imported from Cuba. Now that democracy has finally established itself there again,
people like me can do business in the open here in America. It's not nearly as profitable as it
once used to be, da?"
Mr. Swan cut the ends from the cigars, handed one to Garrett, and lit the other. He
handed the lighter to Garrett, and enjoyed the first few puffs of the smoke as Garrett
struggled to get the cigar lit. After a few moments, Garrett was enjoying the cigar along with
the Soviet. Nothing was said between the men for several long minutes as they admired the
low levels of smog blessing Big SoCalMed for the first time in over two months.
The young hacker found himself looking down at the large right hand of the other
man. Nestled in the palm of the hand was a micro-ESD data chip. Garrett looked up in
curiosity, "Do you want me to read that, Mr. Swan?"
"Yes. Now."
Garrett shook his head, "I can't read it now. I don't have my portable system with me."
"Don't think me the fool, Mr. Jacobsen. I know that you had an experimental
Hyobachi XNI-33 neural interface jack installed as part of a class experiment in college. It
turns out the instructor had stolen the hardware, but it was not discovered until after your
successful operation. The entire experiment was covered up, and all records of your
cybernetics were destroyed. You thought you were flying under the radar, which in a way
you were. However, not all things can be hidden from all people. Someone will eventually
find out, and we're that someone. We know things about you that you have probably
forgotten. We know that you need us. We think that we may need you. If you prove yourself,
we're certain that our relationship will be helpful to everyone involved."
Mr. Swan extended his hand containing the chip a little further, "Now. Read the chip."
Garrett stared at the chip for a second before carefully picking it up. He pulled back
the hair behind his right ear to expose a trapezoid-shaped socket that was about an inch in
length and half an inch in height. Before inserting the data chip, he enabled all of his
protective software in case the data chip contained malicious data, a virus, or some
instructions that could potentially fry his internal neural network. Once he was prepared, he
inserted the chip in the socket, waited for it to initialize, and then opened the chip for reading.
The hacker was presented with an encrypted file system, but a quick scan revealed
that the encryption method was TEP-9, and the key was his very own public encryption key.
Only a person with his private key could unlock the file system, so the data on this chip was
specifically tailored for Garrett. As this revelation came to him, he focused even more on the
task at hand in an effort to get through the fog of the vodka that was still flowing through his
bloodstream.
Garrett quickly unlocked the file system with his private key and dove in. He pulled
up a listing of files and found several. He flipped a mental switch to fire off his anti-virus
software on the entire file system as he opened a file that was simply marked "README".
The contained a single line of text.
file_key = hash(surgeon) . hash(instructor) . hash(handle);
As he scanned the code, his anti-virus program reported an error about being unable
to scan an encrypted file. He knew what he had to do next. Figure out the key to unlock the
secret data in the files. He had only gone under the knife once, so he knew the name of the
surgeon. He assumed that the instructor responsible for his surgery was the name that came
next, and the last bit was, of course, "Syfon." There were two questions to answer. Did the
algorithm call for first name, last name, or some combination of the two? The second
question was which hashing method to use. There were literally hundreds of them. Only a
dozen or so were any good, and of those dozen, a mere handful was really worthy of use in a
security system.
Garrett decided to combine intelligence with brute force, and he went with all possible
combinations of the names, and applied the top five hashing algorithms to the data. He took
all of the resulting strings of characters and concatenated them together as the README file
had specified, and then used those combined strings of characters as passwords to attempt to
unlock the encrypted files. The end result was 45 different passwords with 45 different
failures. Garrett almost lost hope, and then he realized that all of the keys to the password
were based on him. He had developed a security hashing method in college, but a fatal flaw
was discovered in it before publication. No one outside his development team had ever seen
his method, but he still had it. He applied the nine name combinations through the hashing
algorithm, and on the fourth try, he was able to unlock a file. He tried the same password on
each of the other files, and he was able to decrypt each one.
Garrett paused his internal hacking long enough to look Mr. Swan in the eye, "I have
the files opened. Give me a few moments to read through them."
The Soviet had expected to finish half his cigar before the decryption was finished
and was surprised only eight seconds had passed since the time the skinny little man inserted
the chip into his skull. He sat back, took a deep draw off of his cigar, and smiled his brilliant
smile into the night.
Garrett didn't notice any of this. He had turned inward again, and began to dissect the
files on the data chip. There were collections of Ultranet addresses, computer network
diagrams, listings of security hardware with model numbers, detailed listings of computers
that resided behind the security hardware, and more. Garrett quickly realized that this was
everything that he needed to plan an attack of some sort on a very large and very secure
network.
The last file that he opened was marked "The Offer", and he saved this one for last. It
contained the following message:
Researchers at Harbin Laboratories secretly developed a drug that will be the breakout
drug for the cure of HIV-3. They are sitting on this research until their pharmaceutical patents
are approved. People are dying every day from this disease, and we feel that this information
must be released to the public. The data here is everything that you need to enter their
systems, retrieve their research data, and get out with the information. The Ultranet address in
the list marked "Waypoint" is where you will go to inform your contact of your acceptance of
the job. You will be given the daily pass codes to bypass the Watchdogs on the network.
When you are done, return to the Waypoint to inform your contact of your success. We will
be in touch with instructions on how to deliver the data. Good luck.
Garrett finished the message, and refocused his eyes on Mr. Swan, "I'm in. Give me a
month to prepare, and I'll do your job."
Mr. Swan flicked his cigar off of the roof even though over half was left, "You have
two weeks to finish the job, or we go elsewhere. This is non-negotiable."
Garrett looked down at his feet, "Okay. Two weeks. I'll get it done in two weeks." He
hated himself for caving in so easily, but he was really scared that Mr. Swan would throw
him from the roof next.
Mr. Swan roughly slapped Garrett on top of the shoulder, "Good. You will do good.
We will do good for you. Contact me at Waypoint when you begin. I must know the moment
you have started, so that I can prepare to collect the data from you, da?"
Garrett couldn't bring himself to speak over the ball of fear in his throat, so he just
silently nodded without ever raising his eyes from the tops of his shoes. Garrett felt the
weight of the large hand lift from his shoulder, and heard retreating footsteps. It was still
several more minutes before he could gather himself enough to move. He finally turned and
walked down the stairs towards the street leaving the cigar that had fallen from his limp
fingers smoldering on the rooftop.
# # #
Garrett snapped out of his reverie to find Cerberus curled up on the flimsy floor mat
he used for a bed. Garrett smiled down at his Great Dane and mentally promised to buy a real
dog bed stuffed with all of the synth-fiber he could buy once he was done with this job and
put in charge of the Ultranet operations for the Yellow Dog Syndicate.
Garrett hefted himself from his worn chair with determination. He would dive into the
secret networks of Harbin Laboratories and do his best to get out alive. In the past two weeks,
he had studied every file on the data chip that Mr. Swan had given him, and researched every
machine, switch, router, firewall, and other item connected to Harbin's network. He had a
long list of exploits, vulnerabilities, and attacks that would put him through to the inner
circles of the network where the real secrets lie.
In addition to learning the weaknesses of the network, he also learned the strengths.
The Harbin tech team had the best set of software guarding the network. Garrett had almost
all of the passwords to the dumb devices. It was the smart devices that had him concerned.
The crude artificial intelligence of the Watchdogs, Sentries, and Guardians could be tricky
when easy, and harrowing at the hardest end of the spectrum. Harbin spared no expense on its
AI defenses.
The one thing that worried him to no end was the discovery of black intrusion counter
measures on the network. If a an ICM discovered an intruder, then they would launch the
counter measures to deal with them. White ICM would merely log the intrusion and notify
administrators. Gray ICM would perform the same tasks as a White, but it would also attempt
to destroy the network connection the intruder had on the network. Black ICM, which was
illegal, did not stop at destroying the network connection. It would actually trace the
connection back to the source, and do its best to bring down the attacking system in a
permanent manner. Since Garrett used an implanted neural network, this meant he would
never feed his dog again if the black ICM traced his connection back to the source.
Garrett went over his game plan one more time as he locked his front door with the
three dead bolts on the door. Anyone kicking in the door would alert Cerberus, who would
scare them off. One of the problems with using a neural network interface on the Ultranet
was the total sensory immersion. He relied on his Great Dane to protect him while he was in
such a vulnerable position.
He slowly climbed into his lower hammock, and settled into place. The hacker
reached up for his interface cable, pulled his hair behind his right ear back, and jacked in. He
slowly closed his eyes as the neural interface synced with the computer system in the upper
hammock.
Syfon awoke to a world of digital light and fire. He could feel the steady pulse of
information trickle over him. His main computer acted as a filter between himself and the
Ultranet. Once he stepped outside the boundaries of his protective shell, he would be fully
immersed in the flood of knowledge, truth, lies, deceptions, and wonderment of the 'net.
Syfon scanned the network in his immediate area to make sure no one was watching.
He did this with every jack because the network of the world held as much danger as it was
wonderment. As his scans did their job, he mentally flipped through his music library until he
came across Aiko Toyoma's latest album he had stolen from the music studio's file server
three weeks before its release date. This was his current favorite because no matter how
stressful his side jobs got, the soft crooning of Aiko's voice relaxed him, and rhythmic techno
behind her voice beat in time with the Pulse of the Ultranet.
His standard sweeps revealed nothing immediately dangerous, so he stepped out from
behind his computer's firewall as Aiko's first song, "March of the Keybound", began to play.
The flood of the Pulse washed over Syfon like a wave. He stood at the edge of his shell and
let the data flow through him like a crisp wind blowing through a child's hair. He could feel
the hammer of the Pulse hitting him with its reverberation.
Until he had his neural network implanted, Syfon had viewed the Ultranet as a steady
flow of information. This is how most keybound people viewed it as well. The truth of the
matter is that the data arrives in steady pulses over the network. Each one carries new
information, new threats, and new discoveries. With the advantage of the neural network, he
could experience the Ultranet at speeds that outpace the abilities of the hardware and software
that run the entire system. He could detect the lulls in data flow, and can anticipate the arrival
of each new segment of binary digits. This was the Pulse.
Syfon jacked into the Ultranet every day, but the sensation of the Pulse was wonderful
each time. He heard stories of people that became so addicted to the Pulse they would remain
jacked in for days on end. This would lead to dehydration, starvation and, in some cases,
death. Like any addiction, access to the drug of choice must be managed, or it will take
control. He made sure to keep health monitors on his physical body going at all times to warn
him if he was jacked in for too long.
The hacker surveyed his surroundings, and found nothing out of the ordinary. There
were avatars of people moving through the pipelines of the Ultranet going about their
business. Many of them were simple geometric shapes, but a few were customized to look
like a variety of creatures. Some chose movie actors, others mythological creatures, others
characters from books, and a few even chose to try to recreate themselves in a digital version.
Syfon had chosen a simple cube with a yellow smiley face on each surface of the cube for his
avatar. He had chosen this one because it was fairly common, and the sight of the avatar
would not tip off authorities of his identity if he were seen near the scene of a digital break-
in.
To cover his tracks on this job, he splintered his avatar into a dozen copies. He threw
them out into the network with different goals in mind. Each one would route itself through
some hapless person's Ultranet router that he had installed while working as a Network
Genius for the Guru Group. The traffic on those routers would be small enough that they
would not notice a slow-down in their connection speeds. The extra traffic being routed
across Big SoCalMed's local network would be enough to confuse anyone trying to trace his
signal.
Normally, he would also take his main traffic and route it through someone's hacked
router as well to better cover his tracks. For this job, he could not do that. If his unknown
accomplice started streaming a video or hit his favorite porn site at the wrong moment, it
could seize up Syfon's connection to the network he was attacking, and this could lead to
disastrous results. Routing through another person's system might protect him from the black
ICM, but that was a level of protection that he could not afford. He would have to risk being
caught, or killed, while doing this job.
Syfon checked his inventory of data and software that he had prepared for this outing
to ensure that all was in order. Once he was ready, he flicked himself down the nearest
pipeline on the way to the Waypoint specified in the files from Mr. Swan's data chip. The
sensation of movement through the Ultranet was one of flying without wings. Man had
always wanted to fly without assistance, and now he could feel that. Syfon felt so sorry for
the keybound people surfing the Ultranet because they would never know the true joy of
soaring through the Pulse.
Syfon arrived at the Waypoint within a few seconds. It was an offshore network
stored somewhere in Hainan region of China. As he approached, he noticed a white portal
open up on the firewall that he could enter. This was the usual sign that his traffic was
anticipated, so he entered the portal.
He found himself in a small computer system with an AI waiting for him. The AI sent
a prompt:
Enter Rush Key:
One of the files on the data chip from Mr. Swan was labeled "rush_key.txt". Syfon
had assumed that this was a key for access to Harbin's network. He now knew that it was to
get the data from the AI at the Waypoint. He opened the file and streamed the contents of the
file to the AI.
The AI immediately responded with a request for a file transfer. Syfon opened up the
connection to allow the file to be copied to him. As the file pulsed from the AI to Syfon's
neural network, he scanned the file. It was today's access codes for the internal Watchdog's of
Harbin's network. This meant Syfon would have an easier time navigating the network once
he was in. It was up to his skills to get himself past the external firewalls of the system.
After the file transfer was finished, Syfon disconnected from the AI and left the
network in China. He headed back to Big SoCalMed's network, but he took a misleading
route in case someone was following his steps. He took a side trip through the Taiwan
Nuclear Disaster Online Museum, and then down to view an interactive display of the
creation of Diana's Island off of the east coast of New Zealand. He thought about heading
down to the Antarctic, but decided that would be too obvious. A quick pass by Hawaii, then
to the Soviet Union's newest acquisition, Alaska, and a final trip through what was left of
Seattle's network before settling back in Big SoCalMed. He delayed at each stop long enough
to pick up the usual digital tourist brochures before moving on.
By the time he was back in his local area, Aiko's second song, "On the Pulse", was
beginning to play. The lyrics "On the Pulse we fly, in the fire we die" pushed its way into
Syfon's mind. Harbin's network was not too far away from Syfon's home turf, so he did not
bother returning home. It was time to get started before he found another reason to delay.
With the flick of his mind, he flew to the public access point where Harbin's network
connected to the rest of the world. Syfon waited here and observed the network perimeter
without drawing any undue attention. He checked his health monitors, and found that
everything was in the normal range.
Syfon fired up a network probe and launched it at the external firewall. He was fairly
certain that he already knew how to get past it without alerting the administrators or AIs that
were monitoring from the other side, but he had to be sure. The probe struck the firewall, and
the reaction was immediate. Gray ICM fell on to his probes like a pack of starving wolves
fighting over a steaming corpse. There was a pattern to the countermeasures' actions. Syfon
studied these patterns, and made some mental notes as his probe died an ugly, digital death.
The final wisps of his probe vanished into a static echo that resounded across the network.
Syfon was surprised to see gray ICM on an external firewall. White ICM was usually
used at this level, and the network diagrams he had showed white ICM normally in use here.
Harbin must be more serious about security than he thought. Did they know he was coming?
Perhaps they just did an upgrade? What else had changed between the time Mr. Swan had
gathered his information on Harbin and now?
Syfon put his doubts in the back of his mind. The death of his probe had told him
everything that he needed to know. The gray ICM would only respond if the firewall
indicated a problem. The firewall had a weakness in it that he could exploit to get through
without triggering any alarms. A keybound person would have never noticed, but the flaw
was obvious to a skilled Pulser like Syfon.
He slid through the firewall and into the internal network. He had memorized this
portion of the network topology, so time would not be wasted looking at diagrams. He
quickly moved through the computers composing Harbin's infrastructure. The security
seemed a little lax at this point, but this was probably their office network full of human
resources, marketing, sales, and the like. It was hardly worth protecting with expensive
hardware and software.
Within a few seconds Syfon arrived at the research and development portion of the
network. This is where the security would become more serious. The firewall protecting this
segment of the system was more advanced than the one he had already bypassed. The hacker
was now on the internals of the network and did not have the luxury of watching the firewall
for long. A quick scan of the protective hardware revealed its model number, serial number,
firmware version, and basic configuration.
Syfon laughed to himself. The firmware on this system was out of date by over six
months! He knew of three exploits for this version of the firmware off the top of his head,
and knew of another five that he had yet to research. The network administrator in charge of
this hardware must have thought that he was safe since the firewall was on the internal
network. What a fool. The hacker quickly chose the best exploit to allow him passage
through the security measures, and walked through to the R&D network of Harbin
Laboratories.
Immediately upon entering the network he met the first Watchdog. The AI issued its
authentication challenge to Syfon, and he pulled up the appropriate response from the file he
had received in China. The Watchdog seemed to take forever to process the pass code.
Milliseconds flew by while he waited. The health monitors showed an increase in heart rate.
He was getting nervous, and that was never a good thing. Mistakes were made when nerves
controlled your reactions. The hacker forced himself to relax as he waited on the Watchdog.
Finally, the authentication code was accepted, and Syfon was allowed to pass. He knew other
Watchdogs would be informed of his presence, and they would allow him to pass. The pass
code would expire in a few minutes, and he would be challenged again. This was plenty of
time to get in, get the files, and get out. The Watchdogs should leave him alone for the rest of
his trip.
He left the AI behind him and moved deeper into the network. There were so many
interesting things here. Shared data exposed itself on the Pulse to Syfon, and it tantalized him
to no end. He thought of the secrets that he could steal and sell to the highest bidder, but the
promise of greater rewards as a member of the Yellow Dog Syndicate kept him focused on
the goal. His next destination in the network was the file storage on the system.
Syfon quickly moved through the Pulse to the next firewall that protected the file
servers. This was the next-to-last barrier standing in his way. Again, he probed for the vital
information from the firewall. This one was updated, secured, and locked down tight. There
was no easy way in, but the hacker had come prepared. He brought up his custom virus, and
launched it at the firewall. The system under attack immediately responded, and for a few
brief moments it looked like the virus would fail. The digital battle waged for a long three
seconds, but in the end Syfon's malicious code had won the day. The virus pulled up the
internal configurations of the firewall, and reported back the administrative password.
Syfon immediately logged into the device as the administrator, removed all traces of
the virus, and granted himself access to the file servers. The entire process took longer than
he would have liked because he was a bit rusty with this version of the software. It came back
to him quickly enough, and he had his access within fifteen seconds.
He moved through the firewall with his newly granted access, and was now deep into
Harbin's network right next to their R&D file storage. All of their most important secrets lie
at the tips of his fingers. Now he just had to find it. He was presented with five servers. His
network diagram had listed these five, but his information did not state which of them the
HIV-3 cure was on. He brought forth a probe for each server and launched them. In a few
moments he had the basic information about four of the five, but the fifth server refused to
respond to the probe even though it was clearly powered on and connected to the network.
Acting on a hunch, he attempted to enter the non-responsive server. His haste and
carelessness almost cost him, though. As soon as he attempted to connect to the fifth server, a
black ICM attacked him! Syfon's health monitor showed a spike in respiration, heart rate, and
a measure of adrenaline above normal ranges.
He had battled many grays in the past, but had never been in a pitched battle with a
black before. He decided to try his past successful tactics that had worked against grays. He
launched his Hydra denial of service attack at the black. The ICM responded as expected. It
began handling Hydra's requests for information as it moved in on Syfon, but for each request
that the guardian handled, Hydra launched two more. Before the ICM could close the
distance to destroy Syfon's neural network and push him into a vegetative state the AI
software floundered and collapsed under the barrage of Hydra's overwhelming presence.
Syfon blew out a digital sigh of relief before refocusing. The deployment and
subsequent destruction of a black ICM would trigger alarms. It was only a matter of minutes
before a security tech at Harbin would log into a console to see what the problem was. Syfon
could only hope that the tech was taking a bathroom break at the moment to give him
additional time to get out of the network before everything was locked down.
Being more careful this time, he sent a different style of probe against the fifth server.
This time he was checking the network layer of the server to see what ports of access were
available. The usual suspects returned along with an additional port. The port was designated
as a game server. Syfon was stunned that such a highly secured facility would allow a game
server on one of its most precious commodities. Then he realized that a bored system
administrator must have installed the software in order to play a networked game with his co-
workers. What a perfect place to hide it, but what a horrible place to put it.
Syfon scanned the game server to see what access levels were open, and to see what
kind of software it was. The server was not locked down, which meant anyone could start or
control a game on the software. However, this would not grant him access to the files that he
needed. The next step was to see if there was an exploit for the game server that he could take
advantage of. The game server reported that it was "Blood Rites Server v 1.3.2". Syfon
quickly referenced the list of exploits he always had with him. It took him a great deal of time
to compile the list, but it always came in handy. This time was no different. It turns out that
any version of this software less than 1.3.7 was vulnerable to attack.
Syfon pulled up the details of the attack from his internal database, and applied it to
the game server. The server smoothly let him into the file server without requiring any further
credentials. Now that he was into the keeper of the information that he was looking for, he
had to find it. A check of the system revealed two local disks for system files, and an external
array of redundant disks for data storage. He knew that the files would be on the external
disks, and started a scan for the filename that he had been given on the data chip.
He hated disks. They were horribly slow, even the solid-state ones. Long minutes had
already passed while he infiltrated the file server, and he had little time left before the
guillotine of human-guided counter measures fell on his connection, and maybe his neck.
While his scan worked, Syfon looked at the specs on the disks. They were the latest
generation, which meant that they were fast. However, they were not fast enough. Valuable
seconds crept by that turned into precious minutes. Aiko's third song, "Binary Flower
Garden", started playing.
Finally, the file he was looking for was found. He opened the file to find that it
contained all sorts of biochemical data that he didn't understand. The important part was that
the file was not encrypted. He quickly copied the file to his avatar, and began backing out of
the file server.
Getting out of a network is always easier than getting in because the firewalls are
generally setup to keep people out. Syfon managed to fly through the system, past the black
ICM, past the Watchdogs, and through all of the security back to the Ultranet. Once back on
the public access point, he took the file that he had stolen, and broke it into dozens of pieces.
He then made copies of his avatar, gave a piece to each avatar, and routed them around the
world with the final destination of his home computer. This would throw off anyone trying to
track the data through its signature.
Once the copies of his avatar were away and flying on the Pulse, Syfon took himself
on a grand tour of the Rocky Mountain networks, across the Mideast, and through what was
left of the East Coast since the Great Quake of '09. He thought about a side trip in Mexico,
but there was a price on his head there, and he didn't feel like risking it. He was considering
where to go next when he received an alert from his home system informing him that the
entire file had arrived at home, and it had been reassembled correctly. Syfon issued a
command to burn the file to an optical disk while he continued to leave a false trail.
He decided to see what the Soviet stock market was doing, so he headed that
direction. As he was wasting time perusing stocks that he was dreaming of buying with his
newfound wealth, he received a message from his home system that the optical disk had been
burned, and was ready for him. This was his cue to head home, but first he had to visit the
Waypoint. He made his way from the Soviet network and into China through a satellite
bounce. Bounces were always interminably slow, but the sensations of zipping into space and
back to the ground in mere seconds was always worth the delay.
As he neared the Waypoint, the port opened up for him again. He entered, was
challenged by the AI again, and gave the correct response. This time Syfon initiated a file
transfer with the AI, and delivered the message that the job was done. He disconnected from
the AI, and left China's network behind.
This time Syfon took a route through India, around what was left of the Middle East,
into Germany, and then back to America. Once in America, he took the most direct route
home. As he was on his way home, the final words of Aiko's album faded away, "Pulsers fly!
Avoid the march of the keys." Syfon arrived home safe and sound. After checking his local
area again to make sure no one was watching, he deactivated his neural network link and
awoke his flesh and blood body.
Garrett sat up in his hammock to the real world. The dingy and peeling paint on his
walls always depressed him after riding the Pulse. This time, Garrett was too excited and
overjoyed to be brought down by something as minor as dingy paint. He reached up to the
computer system in the upper hammock to pull out the optical disk. The disk looked no
different from any other disk, but this one was special. It was his ticket out of the day-to-day
grind. It was his path to potential wealth and to Pulsing all day long for a living.
He slipped the small disk into a protective case, and waited for Mr. Swan, or someone
else from the Yellow Dog Syndicate, to contact him. He sat in his chair, which was Cerberus'
cue to come get his head scratched, and sat back to dream of what the future holds. It had
been almost a decade since Garrett had any dreams. Now he had them again. Dreams of the
Pulse and what its digital wave could bring.
-
Prima Materia
by A.D. Baker
.................................................. ......................
@primamateria has added @shrugs to the group [8/19/25 5:11 am]
@primamateria has added @moonsovermyhammy to the group [8/19/25 5:11 am]
@primamateria has added @sauntedhar to the group [8/19/25 5:11 am]
@primamateria has added @agrajag to the group [8/19/25 5:12 am]
@primamateria [8/19/25 5:12 am]
welcome, gentlemen
@shrugs [8/19/25 6:11 am]
helloooooo
@agrajag [8/19/25 6:20 am]
i haven't been able to sleep the last two days, head just spinning with so many ideas
what a relief to finally meet like-minded folks
@shrugs and @primamateria, so glad you two were at that booth!
@sauntedhar [8/19/25 6:21 am]
I'm jazzed about this project, I really believe we have the opportunity to change the fate of the US and beyond.
@primamateria [8/19/25 6:22 am]
agree, i havent slept either
this is why i love defcon, no better place to meet brilliant people
and to find folks with a passion for politics as well lol
thats the cherry on top
SixShipsConstitution.txt
i put together this draft doc for us to use as a baseline
please read through and suggest edits as needed
@shrugs [8/19/25 6:26 am]
looks good to me dude. very thorough
@sauntedhar [8/19/25 6:28 am]
I'm at work but will look over this evening. Thank you for putting this together.
@primamateria [8/19/25 6:30 am]
great let me know
what do you think about weekly calls as well? want to make sure we dont loose momemtum on this
@sauntedhar [8/19/25 6:33 am]
Maybe biweekly to start... some of us have day jobs.
@primamateria [8/19/25 6:33 am]
youre telling me, i have two already lol but always willing to hustle for the sake of democracy
@shrugs [8/19/25 6:34 am]
i second biweekly to start, i have a fulltime job as a degenerate
@agrajag [8/19/25 6:41 am]
yeah the doc looks really good to start. i think we also need a section on timelines to keep us organized
thinking like, when we should have key issues/platforms identified, candidates assessed, finalized, campaigning begins, etc
probably also start working out logistics around fundraising options, etc
sorry, i'll keep my brainstorming to myself
@primamateria [8/19/25 6:42 am]
no keep it coming! this feels incredibly promising, i cant wait to dive in
i just keep thinking about the psychopathy required to get oneself elected
and how we might finally have the solution
@moonsovermyhammy [8/19/25 10:17 am]
lol why are you all so anxious. we have 3 years!
@shrugs [8/19/25 10:25 am]
our drunken oracle is alive
.................................................. ......................
@shrugs [8/1/26 1:37 pm]
just two weeks until defcon 34
are you prepared?
@sauntedhar [8/1/26 1:43 pm]
Extremely. I met with both Frum and Sims this last week for some additional intel, and feel very good about presenting their cases.
@moonsovermyhammy [8/1/26 1:51 pm]
wow dude lol i have not done my homework then
i mean i have met with luis p a few times but havent brought up the Big P ya know
@primamateria [8/1/26 1:53 pm]
do NOT bring up the big P
i dont think thats what sauntedhar meant
right?
@sauntedhar [8/1/26 1:54 pm]
Obviously not.
@agrajag [8/1/26 1:57 pm]
How did you contextualize the meetings? I have calls with Topacio next week and Sasha the week after.
@moonsovermyhammy [8/1/26 1:57 pm]
@primamateria @sauntedhar ok ok chill
@sauntedhar [8/1/26 1:59 pm]
I think you need to feel it out for yourself. My company is working on a research project for Frum's charity, so I used that as the excuse to discuss.
If you hold it over dinner, the conversation is much more casual and you can bring up the platform items easily.
@agrajag [8/1/26 2:00 pm]
@sauntedhar any awkwardness over the political ambitions question?
@moonsovermyhammy let me know if you need some additional fire power, i'd be happy to help out
@sauntedhar [8/1/26 2:04 pm]
@agrajag No. I asked it in a joking manner. He laughed and demured.
He said he'd thought about running for office in the past but felt that he could be of more service in his current work.
I know we're not debating until our in-person meeting but I have to say, Frum's humility really spoke to me.
I'm excited about him as a candidate.
@moonsovermyhammy [8/1/26 2:05 pm]
@agrajag that would be sweet! been so busy, i would really appreciate it
@agrajag [8/1/26 2:06 pm]
sure, let me know which potential candidates you are still researching
.................................................. ......................
@primamateria has added @prophetpuppy to the group [8/17/26 1:58 am]
@primamateria has added @messianicambitions to the group [8/17/26 1:59 am]
@primamateria has added @djpumpkinspice to the group [8/17/26 1:59 am]
@primamateria has added @deeplyunmoored to the group [8/17/26 1:59 am]
@primamateria has added SPACEBAR to the group [8/17/26 2:00 am]
@messianicambitions [8/17/26 8:11 am]
ty for inducting me into the group!! it was so great to meet all of you in person!!
and virtually @djpumpkinspice lol
@deeplyunmoored [8/17/26 8:14 am]
ditto
@djpumpkinspice [8/17/26 8:14 am]
yes, so excited to be part of the group. what you all have done so far is incredible and i can't wait to help.
@primamateria [8/17/26 8:18 am]
pumped as well for our new members!
last nights meeting was so affirming
intelligent and fierce debates, jaw-dropping insights, and the future of the country in good hands
feels so good to have found ones purpose in life
dude in a couple of years we should set up a president village
it could be an elite society
only patriot nfts can enter and submit candidates or something
the whole weekend could be debates
with top dem and repub candidates identified at the end
damn im really getting ahead of myself
just feeling so energized!
@shrugs [8/17/26 8:25 am]
thanks as always for being our incredible leader
and good luck with the wedding!
@prophetpuppy [8/17/26 8:27 am]
thanks all for the add
and yes @primamateria happy nuptials!
@agrajag [8/17/26 8:30 am]
@primamateria happy wedding!
@deeplyunmoored [8/17/26 8:31 am]
@primamateria good luck!
SPACEBAR [8/17/26 8:32 am]
excited to be part of this group, and yes have a great wedding @primamateria
@sauntedhar [8/17/26 8:32 am]
Enjoy your big day, sir.
@djpumpkinspice [8/17/26 8:34 am]
lucky you, have a wonderful wedding!
@messianicambitions [8/17/26 8:35 am]
@primamateria happy wedding!!!
@moonsovermyhammy [8/17/26 8:35 am]
@primamateria thats why you look so different! like everytime i see you somethings changed haha
anyway, the botox looks great on you lol jk
happy big day!
.................................................. ......................
SPACEBAR [2/04/27 9:36 pm]
Hi all, I would like to submit that we add another member to the group
yall remember spoonbender from defcon 34? he was a fed who gave that talk on the marrakech hack
great connections and brains to back it all up
would be a great addition
@moonsovermyhammy [2/04/27 9:39 pm]
whos this? who vetted?
@sauntedhar [2/04/27 10:02 pm]
No. We are capped on members.
SPACEBAR [2/04/27 10:03 pm]
who says we have a cap
Also we let @djpumpkinspice in without an in-person vetting ceremony
@primamateria [2/04/27 10:12 pm]
dj has met with certain members of the group
but due to security reasons cannot attend in-person meetups
special case
@sauntedhar [2/04/27 10:14 pm]
If we’re just letting everyone in then there is no point.
I feel like this group is turning into more and more of a social club.
I don't doubt that he is a smart guy but there needs to be logic backing up an add.
@prophetpuppy [2/04/27 10:18 pm]
agree with @sauntedhar its getting crowded in here
@moonsovermyhammy [2/04/27 10:18 pm]
oh spoonbender?? that tiny prick??
@shrugs [2/04/27 10:19 pm]
being a prick is almost an entrance requirement to this group
@primamateria [2/04/27 10:20 pm]
lets just get this over with
submit your votes <<here>>
@moonsovermyhammy [2/04/27 10:30 pm]
VOTER FRAUD
hahahaha
SPACEBAR [2/04/27 10:31 pm]
sigh
alright, but i think you guys are making a mistake
keep him in mind for 2032 round ok?
.................................................. ......................
@sauntedhar [6/31/27 8:01 am]
https://nytimes.com/Harold-Frum-Anno...-For-President
Well this changes things.
@shrugs [6/31/27 8:03 am]
oh fuck
@agrajag [6/31/27 8:04 am]
no way...
he's never mentioned this at any of your meetings?
@djpumpkinspice [6/31/27 8:08 am]
omg what if you accidentally incepted the idea into him
@sauntedhar [6/31/27 8:13 am]
Definitely has never mentioned anything to me.
@prophetpuppy [6/31/27 8:14 am]
dude that is annoying. I met with him too at that benefit, he seemed so humble.
@sauntedhar [6/31/27 8:19 am]
I mean, if we're doing our job right its likely that we'll end up picking some candidates who have secret presidential ambitions...
I just figured they would get weeded out before the final rounds.
Apparently not.
@primamateria [6/31/27 8:26 am]
this is why we did not choose one single candidate
its fine
hes been annoying about the california insurance lawsuits anyway
probably for the best tbh
.................................................. ......................
@primamateria [9/13/27 4:42 am]
h3llo!
beautiful day here
very excited to see all of you in person in a few days
defcon 35!
please be prepared for a long sunday night
we have a ton of work to do
this is where the real work begins
@messianicambitions [9/13/27 4:49 am]
ready!!!!
@shrugs [9/13/27 5:36 am]
finally. cant believe its so late this year.
@deeplyunmoored [9/13/27 5:42 am]
after we almost all perished from 5 mins in the nevada sun last year? they had to...
not that pushing back by 1 month is going to save us
@moonsovermyhammy [9/13/27 6:12 am]
last year i would have been so annoyed at unmoored's complaining
but now i know he's in the highest at-risk group for heatstroke
so its ok
@deeplyunmoored [9/13/27 6:13 am]
fuck u
@djpumpkinspice [9/13/27 6:20 am]
awww one big happy family back together again
.................................................. ......................
@djpumpkinspice [9/18/27 11:10 am]
whos around this morning? would love to maybe run into one or two of you
@messianicambitions [9/18/27 11:16 am]
im in the fashion village!! wearing a lime green jacket!! come find me
theres a show in 20 mins if you can make it
(fun fact its the Sylkroad Fall Collection that my team built)
would love it if you guys could come support!
I have an extra pair of glasses for viewing if needed!
@djpumpkinspice [9/18/27 11:17 am]
cool i'll try to make my way over there
@primamateria [9/18/27 11:35 am]
i have to skip today's events
my wife's startup has a big launch coming up and they need all the help they can get
@agrajag [9/18/27 11:39 am]
been there buddy. good luck. We will see you tomorrow night though?
@primamateria [9/18/27 11:40 am]
1000% will be there
its crunch time baby!
.................................................. ......................
@primamateria [9/19/27 6:59 pm]
sorry guys im not sure i can make the meeting live
got sick with something this morning, seems like mild food poisoning
missed a lot of the conference too, sadly
@shrugs [9/19/27 7:00 pm]
all good, i'll dial you in on the conference phone
@djpumpkinspice i'm assuming you need to be dialed in as well?
@djpumpkinspice [9/19/27 7:01 pm]
@shrugs yes please
@shrugs [9/19/27 10:24 pm]
candidates.zip
@prophetpuppy [9/19/27 10:24 pm]
says file is corrupted
@shrugs [9/19/27 10:25 pm]
SashaChandramohanan.txt
VictorSims.txt
SamanthaCavali.txt
MitchellGreenberg.txt
LuisPurata.txt
@sauntedhar [9/20/27 12:22 am]
Just have to say, I'm feeling very bullish about all of our candidates, especially Samantha.
Imagine if we're behind the first young, female president of the US.
History.
SPACEBAR
my heart beats faster just thinking that could happen!
@agrajag
great work @primamateria on all the work you've done behind the scenes researching her and preparing her for this.
@shrugs [9/20/27 1:31 am]
@primamateria if we're going all in on Samantha, maybe we should find some time for the rest of us to meet her in person.
make sure this group is familiar with her strong points, weak points, secrets, all that good stuff
what do you think?
@primamateria [9/20/27 12:26 am]
thanks so much, but as always its a team effort
@shrugs yeah definitely thats a great idea
lets talk offline about how to make that happen
overall, really amazing work from everyone
and a solid group of candidates
anyone of them would be good for the country!
.................................................. ......................
@messianicambitions [9/20/27 7:22 am]
it was great to see everyone in person again!
already looking forward to next year
anyone going to the awards ceremonies tomorrow?
@messianicambitions [9/20/27 7:32 am]
(Sylkroad won the fashion show!)
.................................................. ......................
@primamateria [10/03/27 11:31 pm]
has anyone heard from @shrugs recently?
hes been offline for days
.................................................. ......................
@sauntedhar [9/26/28 6:37 pm]
Can't believe we are here.
@agrajag @prophetpuppy @messianicambitions have done an amazing job at organizing and deploying their networks.
I'm very excited for the debates tonight.
@messianicambitions [9/26/28 6:38 pm]
thanks so much!! everyone is really on fire
a huge testament to the hard work we all put in
@agrajag [9/26/28 6:40 pm]
@sauntedhar also crushed it on the funding side
without those contacts we would have been dead in the water
so crazy to see how far we've come
@primamateria [9/26/28 6:41 pm]
congratulations to all of us
what a ride
hopefully @shrugs is off on some beach celebrating with us in spirit!
@sauntedhar [9/26/28 7:02 pm]
I'm not the emotional type but it is crazy to see three of our candidates up on that stage.
I might cry... maybe.
@prophetpuppy [9/26/28 7:02 pm]
Samantha is really tearing into everyone
go go go!
SPACEBAR [9/26/28 7:13 pm]
ok but she needs to stop bringing up her startup so much lol
@messianicambitions [9/26/28 7:21 pm]
@primamateria you have a doppelganger in the crowd!!
did you guys see him??
@moonsovermyhammy [9/26/28 7:22 pm]
dude i totally saw himmmmm
@agrajag [9/26/28 7:24 pm]
haha maybe he somehow made it in person? would explain why he's offline right now
weird that he wouldnt say something though
@prophetpuppy [9/26/28 7:26 pm]
aww man i missed it, will definitely pay attention to the crowd more
@prophetpuppy [9/26/28 7:44 pm]
good god he really does look like @primamateria... wild
@agrajag [9/26/28 7:45 pm]
SamanthaCavaliHusband.img
umm why does this look vaguely like the primamateria i met two years ago at defcon?
SPACEBAR [9/26/28 7:46 pm]
*tinfoil hat*
@sauntedhar [9/26/28 7:53 pm]
Ok I've only met prima twice but that does kind of look like him.
SamanthaCavaliHusband2.img
SamanthaCavaliHusband3.img
He wears a lot of hats so its hard to tell.
Something fun to discuss next week when we all meet together this weekend.
@primamateria [9/26/28 9:22 pm]
sorry all my phone died
incredible debate, couldnt take my eyes away from the screen
and lol wow do i have a long lost twin?
ill have to bring it up with Samantha next time we meet
.................................................. ......................
@primamateria [10/01/28 8:45 pm]
cant wait to see everyone tonight!
im bringing champagne to celebrate
weve worked so hard and really deserve it
@djpumpkinspice [10/01/28 8:47 pm]
absolutely! cant wait to share in this win with everyone
@messianicambitions [10/01/28 8:45 pm]
ah yay excited to finally meet you in person @djpumpkinspice!!
@moonsovermyhammy [10/01/28 10:22 pm]
hi team
love you all
but i am having too much fun out here and gonna have to miss the meeting
but two months out
so not much to do anyway right?
hope you are all celebratinggg
.................................................. ......................
@moonsovermyhammy [10/02/28 11:11 am]
hello?
@moonsovermyhammy [10/02/28 12:03 pm]
well fuck
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THE ENDComment
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Monkey Wrench
By Jessica Krzysiak
The football taps Kaiser's chest, and he hugs the ball to make sure he doesn't drop it.
"No blockers," he says. He hates these daily stands. Starting the day off in a room full of people is torture. Eagerly, he passes the ball to Jessica, who is on his left. She's the PM and generally leaves him alone, which he likes.
Kaiser hears the faint singing of the happy birthday song coming from the ultra-modern, uncomfortable kitchen. Heather, the admin, comes in with a big box of designer donuts and an even bigger smile on her face. Everyone joins in the middle of the song as it trails off with the traditional "happy birthday day to you…." The team spurts out all of their "ohs" and "ahs" and "wow, those look great." They hack at the donuts with a plastic butter knife, careful not to take a whole one for themselves as they obey some unwritten laws about office donut etiquette.
Kaiser sits at his desk with a large cup of black coffee. He was up until 3 am working on his codebase, and it's still riddled with bugs. He opens Sublime Text and stares blankly at his screen.
"Kaiser, it's Ezra. Can we meet tonight? It's urgent."
Kaiser places his hands on his keyboard, taps "A/S/L?" and smirks.
Ezra is a weirdo hacker Kaiser met at DefCon in 2018. He was brilliant and strange and smelled like sweet peppers. Always wearing a nice suit, the man seemed to be from a different generation. Although in his mid-40s, he could sometimes seem younger or older depending on the conversation. He would never waste his time on small talk, no hellos or goodbyes, but would talk extensively about grand ideas about how technology could change the world. After the conference, they both went their separate ways, but Ezra stayed in touch and would send random messages or pictures from his extensive travels.
"This isn't a joke, K. There's going to be a cyber attack on the parade tomorrow. I need you to help me."
Wow, this guy is crazier than I thought, Kaiser says out loud to himself. Ezra could be a little out there, but he always kept their conversations light.
"Look, man, I'm going to get some sleep, and I think you should too." Kaiser closes his laptop, packs up, and grabs half of a bacon caramel crunch donut on his way out the door.
Walking down the battered streets of New Orleans, he made his way to Magazine Street, past an old convent that is now a nursing home. Residents sit in wheelchairs on the porch watching life go by in cars and on bikes. The smell of dying skin cells and urine rolls through the halls.
He finds his mother in the T.V. room, holding on to her oxygen tank and unwavering belief in God. On the T.V. is footage of U.S. Air Flight 427 which carried his father from Chicago in 1994. On the screen, reporters scramble to make sense of the chaos as they wade through the aftermath of one of the deadliest plane crashes in history. Finally, the video ends, but his mother restarts it.
"Hi, Mom," Kaiser says to distant ears.
"This is how they took him, Kaiser. You need to pay attention before it's too late. I won't be here much longer, and there are things you need to know, "She strokes the cross around her neck. "Evil is here. Everyone knows that the devil is here, but nobody wants to admit that we are in hell."
After Kaiser's father died, she took a deep dive into conspiracy theories, religion, and medications. She wasn't that old, but the trauma and years of trying to make sense of something she simply could not accept had worn her body down to that of an old woman. Her mind had eaten up all her resources, and now she is left clinging to her ideas. She is lucid today, which doesn't always make for a good visit. Kaiser tries to comfort her but becomes frustrated instead.
"In the chaos, you will always find them." She raises a shaky finger to the T.V., pointing out the group of spectators from the crash. Most of them just being nosey and bored. One man standing towards the back, surveying the crowd. Emotionless and still, he stood in a gray suit that seemed to blend in with the background. His eyes were like black holes that were absorbing the catastrophic scene.
"Son, I know my time is up soon. I can feel it. There's so much more I need to tell you. Things you need to know," his mother began one of her usual tangents about God, the government, and how his father was murdered. He had heard it a hundred times. His entire childhood was filled with constantly moving from one place to another, trying to escape some boogeyman that lived in his mother's head. It was like he was living in a real-life version of "Terminator," but the machine never showed up.
Seeing his mom like this was upsetting, and he didn't have the emotional bandwidth for it.
"I love you, mom, "He bent down, kissed the top of her head, and went home. Kaiser sank down into his recliner and tried to unwind. He started to Reddit on his phone, and finally, after an Ambian, a Xanax, and a few whiskeys, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next day, groggy and thirsty, he woke up to several missed calls and messages from Ezra. Each is more dramatic than the last.
"Kaiser, pick up!"
"We need to talk ASAP!"
"People are going to die!"
What the hell, Kaiser thought. He clicked Ezra's name and blocked him. The old man had obviously lost his mind. As usual, he got ready for work and opened his front door to be met by the downtown smells leftover from the night before. He looks up and sees Ezra.
"What the hell do you think you are doing here?" Kaiser said as his whole body tensed up.
Ezra puts out his hands in a submissive way and says, "Hey man, I really need to talk to you, and I need you to trust me on this. Our meeting was not a coincidence. It was on purpose, and I thought I would have more time, but now the time has run out, and we need to talk."
"Your mom is right. Your dad was murdered, and it's time for you to know the truth," Ezra spouted out as quickly as he could while trying to keep up with Kaiser's quick pace down the street.
Kaiser froze. How would Ezra know about his mother's crazy theories? He had never told anyone. Nobody ever took her seriously enough to listen.
"I know this is crazy, but please listen to what I have to say," Ezra continued. "Please, can we go somewhere?"
They went to a dingy old bar close to the French Quarter with wooden walls always swollen from humidity, even on cool days. Kaiser took a drink of his beer, and it went down way too easy.
"Kaiser, listen. I used to work with your dad. We were part of a team of scientists working on space travel in the 80s. We didn't know what we were getting ourselves into at the time. We were all just excited to be working on something that could really make a change for mankind."
Kaiser knew his dad was a scientist and his mother always said he had found a place past the moon, which sounded crazy.
"Your dad had our work on a hard drive with him in a carry-on when his plane crashed. But let me tell you, that was no accident. Within 24 hours, everyone on our team had died in some freak accident. I was the only one left. This group of modern Luddites, or so I thought at the time, were taking us out. I knew I was next, so I disappeared. I have spent the last 25 years traveling the world, careful to not stay in one place too long. All while keeping an eye on you."
Kaiser slammed the last of his beer, sure he was being conned. "But why would they kill my father?"
"Because your father had discovered a way to travel space, and this group will do anything to stop humans from doing that." Ezra looked very serious.
"Humans?" Kaiser questioned.
"Yes, this group of beings against technology is only trying to sabotage it for humans, "Ezra answered. "They are an alien life form that intervenes when we get too close to a technology they think is too advanced for us."
Kaiser motioned to the bartender to bring him another beer and shook his head, saying, "If they are that advanced, why don't they just destroy us then? Why deal with us at all?"
"The same reason we keep animals in the zoo. We don't want to destroy it. We like watching it, but we don't want the animals roaming about either, "Ezra answered confidently. "We are here to be observed and, in some cases, entertainment, just like monkeys in the zoo."
Kaiser looked at Ezra like he was crazy and said, "We have already been to the moon and have landed on Mars. They didn't stop anything."
Ezra laughed and looked up. "The zoo is the milky way, not just earth."
They sat in silence for a few minutes while Kaiser digested the conversation. Is this a con? Could this be real? Had this guy just watched the Matrix too many times?
Kaiser finally looked Ezra directly in the eyes, trying to find a hint of crazy, but all he saw was sincerity. Then, finally, he asked, "so what does this have to do with me?"
Ezra smiled as if he suddenly realized he had gotten through to him and enthusiastically started to explain. "listen, even though you were very young, your father shared everything with you. He explained things that he would not talk to anyone else about. So you have those memories. We just need to get to them."
"And how do we do that?"
"Have you read any Socrates? He said we already know everything; we just learn by remembering it. Some people have dedicated their lives to figuring out how to retrieve those memories. People that, in a way, hack your brain. If we can get to them, they can help us get that answer that lives in your head."
Kaiser shook his head in disbelief at what he was about to say. "So, where are we going?"
Ezra smiled, "Vegas, baby."Comment
-
A Heedful Hacker Homecoming
By Kirkland Brand Email
“Johnny used to work on Docker… then he got covid, his pods are all down, soooo doooown!” Zack howled over Bon Jovi’s multi-octave delivery pumping from the bookshelf speakers connected to his bluetooth amp. As he contorted his face to embellish the performance piece, his girlfriend, Amy, noticed he was wearing the same Defcon t-shirt he had on the previous day, taking advantage of the dark fabric to hide errant coffee stains. Despite the recycled shirt, he somehow managed to swap yesterday’s cargo shorts for a different pair of abundantly pocketed trunks.
“I should NOT have told you that was SOOO clever the first time you sang it,” Amy, playfully teased after hearing his impromptu karaoke for the dozenth time that week.
“I can always compose something new!” He smirked.
“No more Docker-Dad jokes!”
“We gotta git commit, the content we got! It doesn’t make a difference if we checkout or not!” Zack belted out, testing his abysmal new lyrics to a captive audience of one.
Amy had enough and used Bluesmack to DDoS the speaker and the 80’s anthem abruptly stopped playing. As she watched Zack fumble with his phone to troubleshoot the silence, she quickly pivoted to use a knob attack, took over the simple bluetooth speaker and began playing Nightjar.
“Awww!” Zack whined then decided against battling over control by launching his own attack. Amy preferred newer music while Zack was stuck in the past. The pair constantly fought over the playlist that filled the room when neither of them was on a zoom call, or a teams call, or a slack huddle… there were too many ways to connect.
“What do we have left for lunch?” Zack asked aloud, hoping Amy had stashed an extra box of frozen pizza away for the emergency that was every day, every hour since the pandemic started a four months earlier.
“I dunno… not much. We’ve been putting off going to the store for a while…”
For the last few months, a walk down the hallway to drop a bag down the garbage shoot was akin to a dangerous, but brief, sprint through an India-Jones-Styled booby-trapped chamber. Potentially deadly virus microbes lurked on every doorknob, on every lid, and pervading through the air eager to infiltrate virgin lungs and wreak havoc. Going to the store was extended scuba diving with hangrily-ravenous sharks. Plastic gloved, double-masked, goggles over the eyes, the pair would scurry down the aisles at Whole Foods performing an O(n log n) merge sort, desperate to outperform a lousy O(n) acquisition of precious food by never being on the same aisle twice or at the same time. Almost as important as the food was the purchasing of cleaning supplies required to continue surviving the bubble they created on the 8th floor apartment they had barely left since March.
Having completely given up on controlling the music, Zack refocused on his screens, then audibly sighed.
“I’ve never worked this much in my life… it’s like they think I’d normally work ninety hours a week if I was completely available all the time,” Zack complained, reclining in his Herman Miller.
“Yeah, I’m too available!” Amy agreed, doing her best Jerry Seinfeld impression.
“Too available!” Zack snorted, channeling George Costanza.
The pair had recently binged every episode of the aging sitcom about nothing to rinse out the peculiar aftertaste of Tiger King. They typically were not the sort of couple who parked themselves in front of the television night after night, but their evening plans were indefinitely cancelled and had subsequently run out of conversation topics. So now they watched Stranger Things and The Mandolorian when they weren’t working unreasonable hours, agreeing to calls with colleagues in Asia late into the night or up at five in the morning to parlay with Europe. Amy had been hired at a FinTech company a few months before the pandemic that hunted for the breadcrumbs of financial crimes in the ether of wire transfers and blockchain proof of work. Zack’s role had started out as a subject matter expert on electronic warfare but had slowly pivoted to a hodgepodge of whatever pet project the executives happened to come across. The most recent dalliance was zero trust architecture; an unquantifiable concept that was a modern spin on NAC with a loose mandate to force the user to constantly ask permission like an ill behaved toddler requesting treats.
“All these middle managers wasting my day with pointless meeting after meeting… it’s like I have two jobs… my actual job and listing to drivel for seven hours a day!” Amy complained.
“Too available!” Zack repeated.
“Getting most of my work done at night,” she complained, then paused remembering how the evening had brought their own distractions. A month ago a man had been gruesomely smothered to death under the knee of another man who had taken a public oath to protect and serve the community. The whole event had been captured on video which had spread across the internet like wildfire.
“Were you able to watch the entire video?” Amy probed, looking forlorn at Zack.
“I couldn’t. You?”
“Maybe not even thirty seconds… it was… horrific.”
The next day, the pair donned their masks, gloves, and goggles before dutifully marching to the Whitehouse with thousands of other citizens enraged at the miscarriage of justice. They continued to march, day after day, with the troupe until they found themselves shoulder to shoulder with young white men lighting fireworks and hurling them at police officers standing in a skirmish line behind riot shields. Other enthusiastic, mostly caucasian, youths began hammering windows while their counterparts who more closely resembled the smothered victim whose demise spawned the spiraling outrage, either looked on in disapproval or intervened in the wanton vandalism. Zack and Amy abruptly stopped attending the events after their first whiff of tear gas which forced a nearby protestor to the ground where a samaritan poured milk into their eyes to alleviate the burning.
Now, every night a hundred white college-aged kids would march through Dupont Circle and down the streets for their cause. Zack and Amy had hung a sign in their window, signifying they support the mob. They tried to stay focused on their Zoom calls with colleagues in Shanghai and Sydney about matters of security while the marching continued without them.
“FIRE! FIRE! GENTRIFIER!” The crowd would chant outside of their building while two bashful police officers on bicycles, laxidazically trailed the mob.
“It’s just a chant… They’re totally not going to light the building on fire,” Zack said aloud, mostly to assure himself.
“They lit that church on fire in Lafayette square,” Amy reminded.
“If they did start a fire in our very open lobby… would we be able to get out?” Zack posed.
“Probably not… like a few hundred people live this building. There would be a stampede in the stairwell. We’d all die of smoke inhalation. If something happens, we should go up to the roof and then climb to the next building and wait for the fire department.”
“Is this going to end?” Amy asked, after jumping out of her chair to quickly dim the lights after a hurled water bottle loudly bounced off a plexiglass window one floor below.
“If Trump gets voted out of office then it will probably stop. If he stays then I have no idea how bad it could get… we might have to move out of the city.”
“Ugh! I hate that guy! Is anyone even voting for him?”
“Nobody we know,” Zack shrugged.
“No democracy for you!” Amy belted, doing her best impression of the soup Nazi.
The pair enjoyed the moment of levity while sitting in the darkness, listening to the incantations chanted below.
The months dragged on and the couple spent their days and nights grinding out work, scurrying to the store, and hiding at night. They dreamed of returning to a sense of normalcy. They had even considered returning to their favorite restaurant but the protestors had begun confronting restaurant goers in Adams Morgan.
“I don’t understand why that girl didn’t just do the salute for the protestors!” A flabbergasted Zack pondered aloud.
“Yeah, that was so stupid! Just pump your fist in the air… I mean, I couldn’t image anyone not being in favor of the cause, but even if you weren’t, it’s definitely not worth getting hurt over!” Amy agreed.
“These protestors are making me thirsty!” Zack added, mimicking Kramer.
Finally, the day arrived and the pair walked past the CVS on P Street to vote for Joe Biden. Everyone in line was so excited to participate in the democratic process except for one pompous looking man who thought it smart to wear his ugly red hat with its insidious catchphrase.
“Booo!!” The other voters taunted until one man approached him, spoke something in his ear, and the red hat left the line and quickly walked to his car.
That night the couple celebrated in the streets across from the Whitehouse with the other jubilant survivors of the dark days of the previous administration. It was a mere few hours after the votes had been tallied that the charlatans and propaganda artists began insisting the Dominion Voting System had been hacked and the election results were fraudulent.
“That’s just so stupid! They were not hacked!” Amy belted into the screen at her misguided uncle who bathed his brain in the poison that was fake news.
“How do you know?” He asked.
“I work in security! I know!” She angrily spat.
“Did you see the evidence?”
“There is literally no need to look into it! Biden won. That’s it! And I need to go!” She seethed and closed the Zoom window.
Unfortunately the brainwashed and feebleminded continued living their lies and marched on Congress a few weeks later while Amy and Zack huddled in blankets in their apartment after unfortunately catching Covid. Amy cried while watching the live footage from a mere mile away.
“They need to set up IMSI catchers to grab every person who was near Capitol Hill and then arrest them!” Zack grumbled.
“What if they have burner phones?” Amy babbled with fever.
“They’re too stupid for that! Look at them! Maybe they should grab the IMEI’s, you know the equipment numbers, to figure who has a flip phone and who has a smart phone… to sort for the burners!”
“I thought you were super against tracking people’s phones?” Amy inquired.
“Oh, I’m against it… unless it’s these kinds of people… we should track them and arrest them! Maybe even preemptively… people on these parlor chats need to have the FBI show up at their house,” Zack seethed.
“Totally agree… Ed Snowden is a true patriot!” Amy replied between coughs. “Still, I’m more upset about these horrible people than I am about getting Covid just as they announced a vaccine!”
“Well, it’s bad luck, but we weren’t going to be eligible for the shot for a long time anyways… we aren’t essential, we don’t have any comorbidities, and we’re still young,” Amy trailed.
A few months later, with the new administration in office, Amy and Zack happily walked to CVS for their shot.
“Why are you getting that poison?” Amy’s uncle badgered her over their latest zoom call.
“Why am I getting a vaccine to prevent a deadly disease… is that a real question?”
“You already had Covid!” He scoffed.
“I’m doing this for you!” Amy retorted.
“I already had covid too! I’m fine! And don’t you know that mRNA vaccines have been around for years but the FDA-“
“Let me cut you off right there… are you a doctor, or scientist specializing in virology or epidemiology?”
“Are you? If this was Microsoft, would you just trust what they were telling you?” He pushed.
“You don’t know anything about software either. And, most importantly, I trust the science,” Amy grumbled.
“If you just need the card for work, I know where you can get one,” he offered.
“That is just so… unethical… I don’t think I can have these calls anymore…,” Amy replied coldly, shaking her head.
As he was about to speak, Amy closed the window.
“Serenity now!” She screamed, doing her best impression of Frank Costanza.
“Do you think people going to Defcon this year are going to forge cards?” Zack asked.
“Sadly, there may be a few,” Amy said, regretfully.
“It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen in my life! Just take the shot!”
“Those vaccines should be tied to a blockchain… you should be able to prove you got the shot!”
“Well, it doesn’t matter… we got the shot… and we are going to Defcon!” Amy cheered. “Literally can’t wait… I learn so much when I’m there… they’re our people… and we question everything!”
“Amy… maybe we should just attend Defcon remotely… I mean, it wasn’t so bad on Discord last year?”
“Ugh! Thank you! I was too afraid to go but I thought you REALLY wanted to! The thought of flying with people who don’t wear their mask correctly! Let’s stay home!” Amy agreed.
“Besides, I was doing the math and we’d need to get a Covid booster shot for Defcon… and we just had Covid, like, 6 months ago… and we’re double vaxed, so we won’t need to get boosted,” Zack pointed out.
“What? I’ve already scheduled my booster… get the shot! What’s wrong with you?”
“I just got so sick after the last shot… and I’ve got natural immunity now… and it’s not like we expose ourselves. I haven’t seen my parents off-screen since Covid started!”
“Zack, you need to hear me when I tell this to you… get the booster or we’re done!”
“Ok, I’ll get boosted,” Zack sullenly agreed.
“You sound like my stupid, Republican uncle,” Amy griped.
A month later, the boosted pair watched Defcon streaming on Twitch and Discord in their apartment while feasting on pizza bagels, reheated in their oven.
“This is almost as good as actually being there!” Zack smiled.
“Yeah, and I hear a lot of the people at the Casino, the people not attending Defcon, are unvaxxed!” Amy added.
“Stupid! They should be forced! I couldn’t go to elementary school without being vaccines, they shouldn’t be allowed in a casino!” Zack quickly added.
“They should be smart enough where we wouldn’t have to… but yeah, I’m fine with forced,” Amy added.
The couple spent the next few days completely immersed in Discord and twitch.
“I’m really enjoying Defcon this year,” Zack sang.
“I love our life here on the eight floor… I feel so safe when we’re home!”
Comment
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Title: Homecoming
Author: Caroline Lombard
Date: 06/14/2022
[START]
Looking out across the vast expanse of desert before me, the highway through the Mojave felt endless. Miles of flat land with the occasional brush to break up the monotony, all backed up by a mountain range in the distance. It looked far different from the lush green of the Pacific coast I was used to.
The old Pontiac had somehow made it this far. She was a bit of a franken-car put together from the pieces of this and that. Of cars whose time had long come. Mostly maroon in color save for the green passenger door and the bit of orange rust along the right side. Borrowed from our uncle Gene, it was a marvel she even made it over the pass to bring us into this desert.
She was a good pony I thought, closing my eyes, and resting my head against the window. As my brother Frank and our friend Coyote spoke in the front, I began to tune them out and my thoughts returned to you. That nauseating feeling came up again.
I remembered how the echo of your laughter flowed through the forested path between home and the convenience store everyone affectionately called the Rez mart just the week before. It felt like a different life.
---
“Sucks they were out of chicken wings,” you complained.
“Yeah, well that’s what we get for going right after lunch.” I mused.
“Seems like everyone… snatched them right up!”
With those words you made a quick grab of the bag chips in my hand and ran off with them.
“Hey!” I shouted as you ran further down the path laughing while I trialed behind. I was no matched for a former all-star track athlete like you. If only I had known tragedy was stalking us like a hunter in those woods.
---
That evening you brought over Louie, all bundled up in his cradleboard for me to watch. Even though he was already asleep you cooed and talked to him anyways. I could see in the warmth of your eyes how precious he was to you.
Passing him into my arms the glass beads on the fringe of the cradleboard swayed and clinked together but he didn’t stir one bit.
“Well I better get headed out. Sun is setting and I want to get over to the ceremony grounds before its completely dark.” You said.
“Yeah, its all good. Have fun.” I replied.
“Telala,” you said, goodbye in our way.
“Telala”.
The ceremony grounds aren’t what most people think. The only ceremony happening there is drinking and bullshitting around a bon fire in the woods. The name is more of a sarcastic moniker. Everyone thinks Natives are all kinds of spiritual and what not. Yeah, we have ceremony and our traditions but not everything has a deep sense of meaning. Calling some random spot in the forest the ‘ceremony grounds’ was our way of making fun of that I guess.
---
When the sun slipped through the blinds the next morning, I awoke to find the couch empty where you should have been. The blankets I brought out were still neatly folded and placed to one side. Figuring you must have gone elsewhere for the night I set about making a bottle for Louie.
As I fed him, I noticed the messages on my phone from you.
1:44 AM: “Clarence is such an ass. I don’t even know why I bother with him”
1:50 AM: “He kissed Rita and tried to say he thought she was me”
1:50 AM: “Yeah right, just drunk off his ass and we all know how Rita is.”
2:01 AM “I’m just going to catch a ride back with someone else.”
Figuring you must be sleeping it off somewhere else, it wasn’t until the afternoon when I tried to call you. Multiple calls just rang through to voicemail. Each time I heard the start of your voicemail greeting, a feeling of nausea would grow.
I called Clifton, and Poppy. I called Ma Etta. I called your dad. I even called Pete, my ex just in case. No one from last night seemed to know where you went after that fight with Clarence. They all said they tried to get you to stay. Coyote said he tried to talk to you away from everyone else, but you ran off. That was the last they saw of you.
----
“Thanks for reporting this to us but there isn’t a whole lot we can do right now about it.”
“That’s it? When are you guys going to look for her?” I asked impatiently.
“It’s only been a few hours. You know how she is, I am sure you will see her later tonight.” The tribal police officer replied.
“Of course I know how she is, she’s a good mom. She wouldn’t be gone this long from Louie!”.
“Sadie…Calm down.” Frank said as he placed his hand on my shoulder in a bid to get me to quiet down.
I turned to look at him and little Louie in his arms. Seeing your sweet baby’s face and not knowing where you were caused my stomach to turn. He needed his mom. He couldn’t go through life with the same aching pain I had.
Then came the hot tears of fear and frustration streaming down my face. I turned back to the police officer and said, “Well if you’re not going to do anything I will. I’ll go look for her myself!”
---
With a few hours before the sun would begin to set, I managed to gather a group of friends, cousins little and big, and some other relatives to search along the path to the ceremony grounds for any sign of you. We spread out and searched the green of the forest for anything that stood out, like that yellow hoodie you always wore or your pink sneakers…
“I found something!” shouted my little cousin Illianna.
“What is it?” I said as I ran over to her.
It was your purse laying under some fern leaves. I placed a bit of tobacco down before picking up the purse.
“Maybe she dropped it,” Alicia said.
“Maybe…” I said as I looked through its contents.
There it was, your iPhone 8, with missed calls and messages from everyone. That nauseating feeling grew stronger in me. I thought to myself, where are you?
---
I was no stranger to vanishing acts. My own mother coming in and out of my life on a whim. I don’t think having children was her thing. She’d come back to the rez between jobs back in the city. She’d stay for as long as she or my dad could stand each other. I wanted to hate her, but I couldn’t. I knew she was broken long before I was born, at least that is what my dad said to me when I was little. At least I had you Margaret. An older cousin turned fill in mom.
---
“Can you please look at her phone or something?” I asked the tribal police officer as I placed it on the counter.
“Um…”
“Please, maybe it can tell us who she talked to last or where she was headed?” I begged.
“Look we don’t really do that here and besides it still hasn’t been 24 hours yet. Are you sure she hasn’t gone to Gooch’s house?” He said handing the phone back to me.
“Gooch!? You know she broke up with Gooch right?” Apparently, this bit of rez gossip hadn’t made it to this part of the rez yet.
“What about getting the feds involved? Don’t they have tools or something that can get into it?” Frank asked.
“The FBI only handles major crimes like rape and murder on reservations. Margaret is an adult and there is no sign to indicate anything of that nature has happened to her. If you find anything else or she doesn’t turn up in a few days, come back.”
“Absolutely useless.” I muttered under my breath.
Frustrated, I walked out of the tribal police station again. Frank put his arm around me as I began to cry. I tried again to unlock your phone but the pin I entered didn’t work. I knew this phone was the key to finding out what happened. I just needed to get in somehow.
---
As the days passed and you still didn’t come home, rumors began to spread around the rez about what happened to you. Some said you ran off with that one rich guy who sat at your table all the time at the casino where you’re a dealer. Others said Gooch did something to you because you broke up with him. Still others thought maybe you became disoriented in the woods and hurt yourself in some sort of accident.
None of those theories sat right with me. That rich guy? He still came to the rez like nothing happened. Gooch? Wasn’t he working his shift at the water plant that night? As for the getting lost theory, Margaret you knew those woods so well. No way you’d get lost.
---
The woods and those trees were our sanctuary, our playground. The woods provided a respite from the fights and drunken nonsense of the adults at home. A place where no one yelled at us or bothered us.
We’d race each other along the trail to the river to see who would get there first. We’d see who could climb highest in the trees without a care for whether the branches could hold our weight or not. Even at night we continued our fun, playing hide in the seek in the dark with only the moonlight to guide us.
It wasn’t all play though. Sometimes it was serious work being in those woods. When the aunties and grandmas taught us the proper way of gathering. How to identify the plants and berries we could use and for what purpose. They taught us how the woods could provide and how we could offer tobacco and other traditional medicines to show gratitude. They taught us to always ask permission from our forest relatives before we took things for our own use.
We could identify and follow the deer trails. We knew all the short cuts. We could crisscross between trails and beat our other cousins to the other end of the forest. I refused to believe you got lost in these woods, our woods.
---
Thinking about this while sitting outside the clinic, Silas stopped by to ask if I was ok.
“Hey sorry to hear about Margaret.” he said.
“Yeah…” I said solemnly.
“I don’t believe the rumors that she got lost,” he began, “She went hunting with my son Wendel once. She showed him a few places even he didn’t know.”
“Exactly, there’s just no way.” I replied shaking my head.
“Your mom’s brother Joe said you guys found Margaret’s purse. Is that true?” he asked.
“Yeah, and her phone…Hey wait, since you work with computers, do you know how I can get into it?” I said as I pulled out the phone and turned it over in my hand. I just knew it contained the information I needed to help find you.
Silas was our tribal Systems Administrator. He supported our tribal government administration IT systems. I thought since he had been working with computers since he was young, he might know a thing or two about unlocking phones and stuff.
“Oh… no not really. Although I think I might know what you can do.” He replied.
It was in this conversation with Silas that I first learned about Def Con. A yearly ‘hacking’ conference held in Las Vegas since the early nineties, it was known for hosting a wide variety of individuals ranging from journalists and federal agents to hobbyists and security professionals. Supposedly it’s the place to be if you’re looking for answers on how to hack into things, things like an iPhone 8.
Silas thought I could find someone there who could help me get into the phone and retrieve data from it, so that is where I was headed. Each year had a theme. This year’s theme? ‘Hacker Homecoming’.
---
Homecoming indeed I thought as the Pontiac drove past the flashing lights of the Las Vegas strip.
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Margaret, I will find out what happened and I bring you home.
---
[Dedicated to all Missing and Murdered Indigenous People, may you come home. #MMIW #MMIM]
[END]Comment
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Mind-numbing Homecoming
By: Jaci Jones
I am Emily:
Ever since I was young my archetype has been that of the observer - the quiet kid who sat back in class and looked at reactions, noticed the small twinge in the eye of the bully and the frustration as the teacher quieted the class. I noticed when my parent’s were divorcing before I understood what a human romantic relationship was. I noticed the mailman was a creep before he even started trying to talk to me when I was 12. I noticed the little things that humans do that make up the basis of their persona - just like I notice the code that makes our favorite machines work.
At the end of the day, I am like any other woman. I am 26, single, finally got a job that’s somewhat related to my major in computer science - I get to be on the frontier of dating apps tech using my keen eye for observance helping with the “machine learning” division. I guess when you’ve observed as much human activity as me and spent ions analyzing it - you learn a thing or two about what makes a proper application reach the right people. You also notice that not all connections are meant to be.
DEFCON Homecoming & Who I am With:
So, there I am - I hate these things. Some people come with such adoration for Defcon parties, and sometimes these are the only parties we (being my hacker friends and I) feel free to be ourselves. Even still, I hate it. I said it before - I’m an observer. I guess that’s why I ultimately decided to go to the homecoming party on night one.
I’m sitting drinking a tea. Yep, a tea. I know, I am a fun person who likes to ‘let loose.’ The music is shaking the whole dark, crowded room. It’s unearthly, my ears hurt. My only friends are dancing near the DJ - Slink and Carmen. Slink is a small guy, everyone made fun of him in high school, but now with the resurgence of 90s little boy fashion - he looks quite cool. He made his name for himself by hacking ATMs as a teenager then moving onto full bank accounts - the FBI made a deal with him if he joined their financial security division and helped them find vulnerabilities he wouldn’t have to face jail time.
No shame, but Carmen is more of an analog hacker. A truly gifted mind, and she’s a conventionally attractive woman, she’s actually wearing club wear right now and I am watching her and thinking - she’s such an interesting person. She’s sharp, and unsuspecting, she’s soft but she’s rigid and tough. She can tell you the amount of windows, exits, outlets, men over six-foot in a room just by walking in. It sounds silly, but her skillset is so important. The details she is able to photograph with her mind are invaluable to criminal investigations and she freelances as a P.I.
Grayson Statch:
Grayson Statch is an empire, all by himself. Picture perfect conventionally attractive white male, started with a generous from his father and now runs one of the premier technologically advanced companies in the world. They make it all. Cars. Stealth tech. The newest software for secure home keys in the grandest luxury buildings.
He walks in to the Defcon homecoming prepared for his special privileged talk, an exclusive look at something “defying all expectations.”
But even before he walked into the banquet hall. Even before he walked past me on the way to a talk. I sensed something off about him. Something nefarious in the air, of course I assume we all don’t trust billionaires, but this was different. It was as if I was the only person immune to his charm. People scattered when he walked past, whispered in each others ears, begged for a moment of his sunglass-ed/tanned physique/well-suited time. I just watched the groveling and maintained my distance. Something made me ill when watching how he walked. It was not the things he said or how he said them. Something sinister was in the air.
Everyone was dying to talk to him. So much so that they were scanning their badges at a kiosk he had set up to join his new exclusive social network before the masses. I stayed my distance, it’s not that I am against the hype, it just felt like I couldn’t get closer to his ice cold stare. It repelled me. Slink didn’t do it either. Carmen…she couldn’t help but be pulled in. Sometimes attractive people are vulnerable to other attractive people, I suppose.
It felt like there was no choice to sign up for the network. It was an offer they couldn’t refuse. Of course, there were perks, if you signed up you got on the network with premier access, you got access to some of Statch’s contacts in the industry of your choice and lastly (the most enticing) a percentage of shares in the new network…I know, I felt stupid for a second when I did not sign up, but my intuition told me otherwise. Slink was a good friend. He stood in solidarity with me and didn’t sign up. Carmen did though. I felt uneasy. It was too good and too many perks to be harmless.
DEFCON Homecoming - In the Banquet Hall
I notice first that something is off with the crowd. We are all here partying and having a good time. But there’s a noticeable shift in the energy. People cease to have engaging conversations and instead get really into dancing. I know that sounds like a normal progression of the night, but there was a combustible energy happening, people in sync, in a way that felt off.
Statch takes the stage. At once, it seems, everyone halts and turns to this attention.
“Ladies and gentleman, folks beyond the binary, you know who I am, I am Grayson Statch and I am humbled to unveil my latest innovation in A.I. tech.”
I grasp my cup tighter and before I know what is truly about to happen my mind feels that distressing uneasiness that always happens when I realize something isn’t right.
“I want to introduce you to what I am calling Medusa 1.0.”
From backstage comes a computer and keyboard rolling ominously toward the edge of the stage. Then walks out Veronica Karen, Statch’s controversial model/performance artists girlfriend. There’s an excited applause and cheer for seeing her. She waves coyly.
He hooks Veronica up to a series of wires and she sits in a chair.
“I gave made great strides in the development of an A.I. that I want to share with you all first, exclusively.”
He pulls Veronica close.
“Sit down, darling.”
She sits promptly. I inch closer to get a better view; and I see her face. It’s almost like she’s hypnotized, her eyes lifeless behind their bright blue iris. I grab Slink’s arm, compulsively.
“What?” He says.
“Do you see that?
“Yeah, it’s Veronica Knox.”
“Her eyes, they’re just…there’s nothing going on.”
“I don’t know, maybe she’s on drugs!”
Something just still didn’t feel right. I shift around the crowd and look behind me. I realize…
“Where’s Carmen?”
“Uh…I thought she was right here. But I guess she’s…” Slink looks around and tries to spot her red blazing hair in the crowd to no avail. Now something is definitely wrong.
I look back to the stage.
Statch takes Veronica’s arm and places a sensor on her wrist and then above her heart. He wheels his ominous computer machine over to her and connects it. He then looks to the crowd. That’s when I notice that there is another identical machine next to it that he walks to.
“What you’re about to see is a breakthrough in computer science, history has led us to this point - the point where possibilities to aid the mind through A.I. are truly boundless. We are on the frontier of understanding the human brain so much more. Well. With that, I’ll show you.”
He opens the terminal. He starts to type. “So Veronica here is hooked up to the Medusa and thusly, I now have a complete copy of her brain map, her synapses, her neural pathways, and with my machine I can ask her to do anything I want her to do.” He types a few commands. They illuminate on the screen above the stage. I watch in a terror -filled state. Slink looks at me wide-eyed.
“Veronica - get up and dance” Is on the screen. Veronica, cannot see the screen. It’s some sick magic show or his device really works, because Veronica listlessly gets up and starts swaying.
I expect everyone to be scared, frantic, panicked, over this - it feels icky, it is icky, it’s mind control. But no one is flinching or batting an eye. They’re all completely fixated on him. It’s the most unethical of unethical plots I can imagine. And with this tech Statch could do anything he wants. Slink and I both realize at the same moment. And my gears, turning even faster and panicked recognize what’s going on…Statch has everyone under his influence…everyone except, apparently, me and Slink who didn’t scan our badges at his stand earlier in the con. “I need a volunteer.”
That’s when it feels truly too late. Carmen is in the front near the stage - I spot her by her smile and radiant hair first then my mind goes dark while Statch invites her on stage
“The great part about this tech is I don’t need to hook you up to the machine to scan you, I can do it remotely.” And now it really gets bad in my mind. Statch has an army of 30,000 brain-washed computer hackers and friends at his disposal. What is he going to do with that?
Slink moves to make some sort of commotion. I stop him. Hushed and stoic I say:
“Slink we have to act like we are a part of this…if we don’t appear to be a part of this then it is us against thousands of zombies. Now listen. He’s obviously hacked the badges that were scanned to take a reading on the attendees brain scans. I assume that they’re still uploading and the process cannot be fully complete. He also is relying on the badges for control…so we need to find a way to get the badges off of people.”
“How are we going to do that? We’d have to access the computer…we’d have to get up on stage or like take out Statch and get the computer. What if he’s put a fail-safe in place so that if anyone tries to delete the data or reach him these people all act as sleepers and attack!?”
“I don’t know Slink but we gotta figure it out and quick…Carmen is up there.” Carmen is on the stage and Statch is presenting her like a magician and his lovely assistant. It’s making me sick to my stomach. I don’t know what he’s plotting but it’s nefarious. I look around, I count the exits, it’s blocked. I am truly panicked.
Under the Table
Then I spot it - there are a few banquet tables with long table cloths. I turn to Slink.
“Slink…while he’s got all the attention on the stage, we need to get our laptops out and fight this…we can’t do it in front of them all…” I look toward the table and motion with my eyes. Slink gets it. He turns to me. “Ok on my count I will hold up the cloth and you get under. Then I’ll go under. One…two…three.”
We get under the table cloth and start setting up our shop. Slink pulls out his computer and I get out mine. Working at the dating app company I know that our app tracks location and if we can find a way to put a blocker on the badges, causing a blackout of service, we can shift the badges off. But I don’t know as much about blocking security interfaces or causing a blackout as Slink does from his days hacking banks.
“Slink we gotta make a jammer - and fast. I can get us into the network that’s been created through the badges but I need you to figure out how to create one that can block everything in this room for just a few minutes so we can wake everyone up from their trance.”
“Ok ok, let me think…”
The Homecoming
Backstage are the other few people who allegedly did not sign up for Statch’s network. They are passed out, gagged, and tied up. Statch, no doubt has a plan for them, and it is not looking good. Outside of the stealthy underneath the table hacking center, Statch is making Veronica and Carmen his personal circus monkeys and he has them doing tricks. The audience watches in awe. He tells them to sit down. The entire audience sits.
“Now, I know that there was not a 100% rate of return on who signed up for my network today. And I tell you it was very very close. I have found a few of the people who did not sign up. But I am missing two, and I need you all to help me find them. Carmen, I believe they’re your little friends. Who are they? Tell the kind people.”
Carmen approaches the microphone. She looks out at the audience, her eyes glistening, as if she’s fighting back tears. She’s unable to control what she says. The words ring out. “Slink Armstrong, and Emily Constantine.”
Under the Table
Slink grabs his computer and starts frantically typing. I look at him in shock.
“Slink, did you just hear that?”
“Hear what? I am concentrating here.”
“Carmen just called out our names. Time is of the absolute essence here. Get cracking before these lobotomized hackers infiltrate our, may I remind you, not so very secure center of operations!” Slink starts frantically working up the code for the comms jammer while I start rummaging through the Defcon Badges encoding to see what the network looks like.
“It appears that the network they’ve created to link all the badges is here but I am having trouble finding where Statch connected when he had them scan their badges, Slink can you take a look.” Slink takes the computer. He looks at it for a few minutes.
“Emily, he got in through some back door, the code was supposed to be used for RFID scanning into conference events and signing up for newsletters but it seems he’s found some way to alter the code so he could input his own thus getting everyone’s biometrics and starting the control process through his A.I.”
The Homecoming
Statch approaches Carmen and whispers in her ear.
“Do you see them anywhere Carmen?” “No.” “When did you last see them?”
“30 minutes ago, in the crowd.” “Can you think of where your little friends might be hiding? No doubt they found out what’s happening. They’re smart cookies those two. Maybe too smart for their own good.”
Carmen looks around. She tosses her hair as she does when she’s stressed out. She spots a small light illuminating under the table. Her cunning observance, serving her once more, but an unfortunate timing for us.
Statch nods, then addresses the crowd.
“Now, not everyone all at once, we don’t want to trample them. We want to make an example of them. Carmen will you do the honors of finding two strong men and getting those two to surrender?” Under the Table
Slink is squinting at his screen in agony. I am frantically trying to reconnect everyone as if they’re all compatible on a dating network, since that’s all I am familiar with and once that is done they will all be linked on my own network and we can jam it.
Slink is sweating.
An arm, a slender tan arm of Carmen, the small tattoo of a unicorn on her wrist grabs under the table. Slink’s collar is the victim, being grabbed aggressively. He is yelling, wriggling out of his shirt. I take his computer and finish the code for him as he yells it to me.
But then, a larger, more masculine arm grabs at Slink, he’s being choked. I have a choice, keep fixing the code, or save Slink. I scoot to Slink and try to help him. It’s no use the man is too strong. Then it dawns on me. I have to use blunt force. I bite him! He lets go in pain.
Slink collapses. I am not sure what his next move was but I take my best guess.
BAM! The jammer is activated. The arms recede from under the table. I hear the audible groans of the awakening audience. We don’t have much time, but we’ve done what we need.
“Slink, Slink, wake up! We have to get to the microphone. Are you ok?
Slink stirs. “Yeah, yeah, I am fine, go, go.” I timidly exit from under the table.
I look around at my surroundings. Everyone is indeed less of a zombie, rubbing their heads, some standing, some exhausted from the control. Everyone is disoriented. This is my time to get to the stage.
I dash. Statch is looking at his machine in horror, confusion. Then he faces me. I just glare and keep going. I reach him and the stage. I grab the mic out of his hand.
“Everyone take your badges off! Statch is using them to copy your entire brain map and control you! NOW! Do it, take it off!”
Not a moment too soon, the people start taking off their badges in a stupor.
Statch is frantic, he turns to attack me but then…we both look at the Medusa. I know I need to destroy it before he gets it up and running again.
We push at each other and he’s stronger and large than me but I get my hands on the right keys before him. I push the entire machine over, it cracks and powers down.
He is whimpering like a child but angry and reddening in the face. He goes to try and choke me and I am breathless, unable to get out of his grasp.
And that’s where Carmen and Slink come in handy again. Carmen is a blackbelt. She kicks at him from behind, she’s quickly recovered. He falls.
“Get help.” She screams. And some of the hackers go to find medics and police.
Before I know it. Statch is being dragged away in handcuffs, crying about his baby, his precious Medusa.
The After Party
Carmen and Slink are getting drinks. We’ve all reconvened at a part of the casino hosting Defcon this year, because none of us want to give up after Statch’s evil doing. We’re at Defcon after all. It’s about the work hard/play hard of it all.
Carmen dances over. Over the speakers, Margaritaville starts playing. We all start laughing. And this time around, we all get up to dance, and several more hackers join in. I guess we all realized after tonight's’ trials and tribulations, the only person who can make you do anything is you, and we are here to have fun. You never know when someone will try to take your power away, so enjoy it while you’re not being mind-controlled or something bizarre like that!
It’s good to see everyone happy and chatting again. It certainly became a homecoming to remember.Comment
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WarDreamer written by Serum
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Darren and Marcus - August 10th, 2022
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The pressure and pain behind Darren's right eye felt like a pulsing hot fireplace poker being driven repeatedly from the top of his head straight down behind his eyeball. Searing pain. The triptan would kick in at some point but making it to the obscenely large oxygen tank in the closet at the other end of the hotel room was all he could focus on. Once there, he rotated the small knob on the tank that he had shipped on the plane and began pulling a long breath through his mouth through the oxygen mask to empty the air contained in the small bag. He repeated this over and over for what seemed like an hour to him but in reality, was no more than 10 minutes. The sharpness of the pain began to slightly recede, and he knew, finally, that relief was on the way. And sleep was just about all Darren welcomed these days. Summer vacation was here, DEF CON 30, but the cluster headaches were back with a vengeance and finding relief for the few hours between each attack was all that mattered. Prior to checking into the Luxor, he felt things were calming down, but that first night attending Black Hat almost floored him, and he had barely been able to leave the room for the two days that followed.
Darren heard the doorknob rattle a bit and was relieved to see his good friend Marcus walk in. "I was about to hit the pool, and wanted to see if you were up for it?", Marcus took one look at Darren and knew the answer to his own question, "oh, another bad one, eh? Need some help getting back to bed?" Marcus was concerned, he'd seen this before, but usually not up close and personal, and never at DEF CON. Marcus and Darren met at the very first DEF CON. Darren Deveraux, (D-Squared) a 49-year-old, white, slightly balding man from the middle of Iowa, and Marcus Lomax (Maxlow), a 48-year-old, slightly overweight African American from the Northwest Suburbs of Chicago. Each presented a different topic that year to the small crowd who made the trek to Vegas. Darren delivered a talk on social engineering and Marcus had released and demoed his newly developed, easy-to-use wardialer named "LowDialer" which quickly became a favorite of the community. They also collaborated on more than a few tricks on hotel staff that first year, from finding ways to order movies and place telephone calls free of charge to taking control of the television information system and sending messages out to hotel guests. Some were funny, others not so much. But in the end, that experience bonded them far more than any high school friendship ever could have. Darren had always been the fast talker with a good memory and Marcus could code circles around most. The two made a formidable duo, winning a couple CTF's over the subsequent years, and continuing their tradition of finding ways to pull off some really fun and mostly harmless hacks when they got together.
Early on, the two made every attempt to meet up on an annual basis at the con. A few years had passed between DEF CON visits this time, however. The last time they both made it was five years prior. Everyday life, careers, and families began to make it more difficult. And now, finally back together to experience all DEF CON had to offer, Darren was being hit hard with headaches.
"Feel free to hit the pool," Darren said. "I'm not going to be able to make it."
"Nah, it's the first night and I'm a bit jet-lagged," said Marcus. "I think I'll get some sleep as well and hit it hard tomorrow morning. I must be getting old."
Darren chuckled a bit and looked out of his window while Marcus got ready for bed. Darren had arrived early for Black Hat, and with the headaches raging, wasn't in the greatest shape to make it out too often. Marcus had decided the two would simply stay together at the Luxor rather than moving to the other side of the strip for DEF CON. "Listen, it's all right, Darren. Besides, there is a certain amount of symmetry staying in a hotel that opened the same year that DEF CON began, and we first met. Now, no more! Lights out!" Marcus exclaimed.
"Good night, Marcus," Darren made a weak attempt at a smile.
"It has gotten a lot worse even since arriving," Darren thought. "And when I DO get to sleep, the dreams have been so vivid, it's almost too difficult to get out of them and actually wake up." His right eye felt very heavy now, as if the poker had transformed into a giant weighted bean bag, pulling at his eyelid. Sleep was coming, and with it, a dream.
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Dream 1 August 10th, 2022
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A rolling fog and a slight chill greeted Darren and then quickly began to pull back as sleep fully took hold. A gray hallway materialized, nondescript in nature, the kind you would see in a standard apartment. There were 4 doors on the left and 3 on the right. Most were plain wood with a brass lockset. But towards the end of the hallway as he proceeded, he noticed a red door with a giant knocker in the shape of a lioness. Across from it, he noticed a smaller blue door, no more than 3 feet tall, with the number 44 inlaid with diamonds on it. He tried the handle but noticed it was locked, and he crouched down to look at how the lock was built. "Simple enough, he thought as he reached into the inside pocket of his black corduroy suit and pulled out his trusty lockpick set. Choosing the rake, Darren moved quickly and felt the familiar click that indicated success. Opening the door, he crawled on his hands and knees and entered, his vision once again clouded by a heavy fog that guarded the back end of the doorway. The coolness of the fog was beginning to fade, and his vision began to clear. The first thing he noticed was the carpet underneath his hands and knees. Slightly weathered, green, and mustard colored, the kind of gaudiness you'd expect in a place like Las Vegas, but something seemed off. In the middle of the room was a pair of double beds directly across from an old tube television. The desk between the two beds held a corded phone. "Odd," Darren thought. The window next to the second bed had blinds that were partially open. Light wisps of the last remnants of fog still hung in the air, but a soft light was breaking through and Darren felt himself slowly shuffling over, still slightly discombobulated, but wanting to look outside. Through the window and on the building next to him stood a giant poster of Mike Tyson that read, "He's Back." With the date of 8.19.1995 across the bottom of the poster. Still a bit hazy, he realized he was somehow looking at the MGM Grand from a time that had long been gone.
The setup of the room was a run of the mill hotel room. The small doorway he had entered from had been replaced by a standard hotel door. Just then, he heard some fumbling at the door. The door popped open, and Darren was more than surprised to see a 20-something-year-old version of himself walk through.
"Hey Marcus! Want to go back down to the Con?" his younger self asked.
"Give me a minute!" Darren felt himself responding without thinking, but the response felt as if it came from outside of his own head. The bizarreness of seeing his younger self coupled with what felt like competing thoughts and emotions was making him feel a little dizzy.
Still not quite sure what was going on Darren felt himself being pulled along, unable to control or even affect the body he was in. "He called me Marcus," thought Darren, as the two exited the room and headed towards an elevator. On the way to the elevator, Darren noticed that his arms certainly were not his. Beyond that he was also able to feel another set of thoughts and emotions, not his own, but yet still familiar. "I must somehow be Marcus?" the weirdness of the thought made it difficult to concentrate.
"Hacker Jeopardy tonight!" exclaimed young Darren.
The floral patterns on the floor and the electronic voice on the moving walkway jogged his memory, "Be careful Island Guests! You are approaching the end of the walkway" said the voice in a cheery Jamaican accent.
"I'm back at the Tropicana?! DEF CON 3!", Darren thought to himself. "Only I'm watching it through Marcus' eyes."
The two were heading towards the main room which Darren remembered so well. He saw that the room was filling up with people from his past. A corkboard with laminated cards that featured dollar amounts in the form of a makeshift Jeopardy board were waiting for the contestants as the con goers filed in.
"I gotta hit the head before this starts," Darren heard himself say, "I'll be right back".
Darren watched from inside Marcus' mind as he opened the door to the bathroom, relieved himself, then washed his hands under the faucet. He looked up at the mirror and began to feel nauseous. The face staring back at him did not make sense. Darren felt exposed inside of Marcus' head. Darren's 49-year-old face sitting on top of Marcus' 21-year-old body. The pain behind his right eye was coming back and he felt the tears beginning to well up inside of it. Just as he was trying to make sense of it all, the dream ended.
Darren bolted upright from his slumber, looked to his left and saw Marcus lying on his side facing him from the other bed, awake with a confused look on his face. Darren was about to say something, but Marcus rolled back over, not really noticing Darren and closed his eyes again.
The pain of the cluster came back, not as pronounced as before, but lurking behind his eye, an ever-present unwanted guest in his head. Shadows danced across the far end of the wall where Darren was lying. Moonlight tickled faintly through the window, dispersed by a thin, white curtain which struggled to hold back the brightness of the full moon. "That felt so real," Darren thought, "Sleep won't come easily tonight," he mused.
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Darren and Marcus Morning August 11th, 2022
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The night slowly crawled towards the dawn. A dreamless slumber had ensued for Darren, but not very restful. He rolled over and realized he hadn't shut off the O2 valve on his tank. After doing so, he looked back at Marcus and was surprised to see that he was sleeping peacefully. "Linecon will be starting soon, we'll want to head over to the other side of the strip soon," he thought.
"Marcus," Darren whispered, "Marcus!", still no reaction. Darren decided to give him a nudge and move him.
Still nothing. "Weird". "Hey, Marcus!" Ö this was getting to be a little more than strange. "Hey!" and started shaking. Finally, Marcus' eyes began to flutter open.
"Dude, what time is it?" he asked.
"9:00"
"Whoa, I slept longer than I intended. And I feel like absolute shit. It literally feels like I have been hit by a truck."
"You were definitely out of it," Darren stated.
"I was having the greatest dream though," Marcus said with a wistful look in his eyes, "A return to DEF CON 3"
That got Darren's attention, "Oh, was I in it?", he asked.
"As a matter of fact, you wereÖ weird thing was at one point in the dream I looked into a mirror from a restroom and saw you staring back at me," Marcus shook his head once and raised his eyebrow.
"Really?", Darren asked.
"My body, your face. Weird stuff."
Darren started filling Marcus in on his own dream, which eerily matched much of what Marcus remembered from his.
"What did the dream look like? What about the door? Were there other doors? Could you do anything?", rapid fire questions were flowing out of Marcus.
Darren did his best to answer, knowing that one of Marcus' best hacker qualities was his ability to get to the heart of an issue quickly.
"Could I do anything?", Darren paused for a second, "I didn't really try, but it felt like I was just hitching a ride. It was *your* dream. You were the shark, and I was merely the remora."
"HmmÖ what about thoughts? Any access to those?", Marcus continued to press.
"Not that I'm aware of. I had my own thoughts while in your head. I do think I could sense a slight disconnect or disturbance though, almost as if your dream state thoughts weren't quite all there. My control seemed to dissipate the moment I exited the fog of the doorway," recalling every detail of the dream was proving difficult for Darren.
"The door thing is weird, what was on my door again?"
Darren thought hard about what the door had looked like, "44Ö he said. The number 44 was on the outside of the door. Ring a bell?"
Marcus shook his head, "Nothing I can think of. But you saw other doors, right? Maybe it doesn't mean anything, but the fact that I felt and saw you in my dream makes it feel like everything in your dream is something that requires a little dissection. The door thing makes me wonder if you had options in terms of what dream you were going to experience. Maybe you had a choice of dreams to enter?"
"I really don't know about that; I had some control in that hallway though. I wouldn't mind checking out a few more doors to see what's out there," Darren grinned.
"Wardreaming," Marcus smirked, "you were basically wardialing, only with dreams."
"Well, I'm awake now and my headache is gone, so why don't we pick this conversation up later after getting in line and registered? I'll take a hit on the oxygen and have the pills with me, so let's go," Darren cast a wry smile towards Marcus and began slipping on his sneakers.
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Deb Torrence Luxor Hotel & Casino Director mid-morning August 11th, 2022
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Deb looked up at the massive monitor in the middle of the operations and surveillance room. Today was the day she was given the keys to the kingdom. After years of being the Vice President of Security at the world-famous hotel and casino, her time had finally come. It was a bittersweet moment for the 46-year-old as her father's recent passing had enabled the promotion. Having been raised in the casino business, Deb grew up amid the sounds and money of Vegas. She knew what made Vegas tick, but even she wasn't sure how to account for just how successful the take was at the Luxor. Sure, the house always wins, but at the Luxor it felt like the house kept winning and the people kept coming back. No slow down at all.
Her job consisted mainly of tracking big-winners and marshaling her security guards to ensure they were in the right spot at the right time to take care of issues. But today, today she was the Queen.
She spotted Frank Mills, the former lieutenant to her father, and current "Special Projects" coordinator at the casino. Deb never actually knew what those special projects consisted of, but also knew not to ask too many questions of her late father's confidant and friend. Frank was someone who would stick out like a sore thumb anywhere else, but in Vegas, he blended right in with the scenery. Impeccably dressed in a white and blue pinstripe suit coupled with a bright white goatee and blue-tinted glasses, topped off with a white bowler hat that covered a head full of bright white hair.
"No, Vegas is where Frank belongs", she thought.
"How is BES doing Frank?" Deb asked.
"That's actually one of the things I wanted to talk to you about today, but first, I have a gift for you to start your first day running the ship!"
Frank pulled out a small jewelry box and handed it to Deb. Inside, Deb found a beautiful gold inlaid pendant with an onyx stone set in the middle. The stone itself was painted with the image of what looked like a lion priestess of some sort.
"What is it? Or rather, who is it?"
"That is Sekhmet, my dear. Your father and I picked this up when we first visited the pyramids for some marketing ideas to implement here. Over the years as you grew, I felt it was something that just belonged to you. Her name means, "She who is powerful", The strong woman thing, you know?", Frank smiled.
"It is beautiful Frank," Deb unclasped the chain and looked back at Frank, "can you help me put it on?"
Deb waited for a moment, wondering why Frank was taking so long as he paused, oddly lingering behind her.
"I would be delighted to, my dear," Frank finally answered and carefully placed the necklace around Deb's neck, just underneath her raven black hair against her olive skin.
"Now, about BES?" Deb queried again.
"BES is running okay, but there have been some strange blips occurring over the last few daysÖ I'd say it was the full moon, but you'll understand it a little more soon," Frank responded.
BES stood for the Binary Envision System, a "do everything that's needed" computer system. From entertainment delivery to the rooms, security, and the financials. It was even used for controlling when the Sky Beam would light up, and perhaps most importantly, predict the right mix of offers and gambling promotions needed on a per-person basis at the hotel. BES was the secret sauce, no other casino had anything like it. BES had an uncanny knack for finding the exact itinerary that a hotel guest would need to keep them gambling.
"Come this way Deb, there is something you need to see in order to understand how things really work around here", Frank looked her way.
"I've been here for some time. I don't think there is much that will surprise me, Frank," Deb smiled.
"You haven't seen this," Frank motioned her to follow him to a small closet at the back of the surveillance room where cleaning supplies were kept for the janitorial staff. At least, she had always thought it was just a closet. Frank opened the door and shuffled inside, Deb following closely behind. At the back of the closet was a large sign hanging on the wall which read "465 days since last accident". Frank placed two fingers on the "cc" letters in the word ëaccident' and pushed. The sign moved inwards with a click and then popped back open revealing a small dimly lit room with a staircase going down. Frank led Deb down the stairs to a large room which hummed with the sound of computers and television screens, LOTS of television screens.
"How did I not know about this?" Deb wondered aloud.
On the television screens were hazy, somewhat difficult to see videos with very odd content. Videos of all kinds, some looked like real-life movies, some looked like cartoons, others appeared to be a little bit racy.
"What am I watching here Frank?"
"Dreams, Deb, dreams. More specifically, the dreams of our guests."
"You've got to be kidding me, Frank" she looked at him with a sidelong glance.
"I'm deadly serious, Deb." Frank replied without a hint of deceit in his voice.
"You're able to see what our guests' are dreaming? I've been around the block a few times Frank, I'm not buying this one."
"You don't have to buy it Deb, it's the truth. The architect of this hotel, Volden Sampson, had a vision and a belief in what is known as the ëPower of the Pyramid'. The unique construction of this building acts like a kind of conductor, if you will, but for psychic energy. BES was constructed as part of the bedrock of the hotel. It harnesses the dreams of our guests and transmits them into BES through the girders and steel that was built into the foundation of the building back in the early 90's. Those dreams, in turn, are processed by BES for our most effective personal itinerary program that has ever been created. The true nature of the system and what it was going to be used for was hidden from everyone but a close circle including myself, your late father, and Volden."
"How in the world does that work?" Deb didn't know if she should laugh or take this proclamation seriously.
"I'm not fully sure HOW it works, I just know that it works. It's also true that a full moon seems to amplify the dream effects, causing some unforeseen consequences at times," Frank tailed off.
"Unforeseen?"
"As in people sleeping in, even longer than typical for Vegas, odd, touchy behavior from guests, and what can only be described as a lack of focus from many of the guests staying with us. That's what happened the last time we experienced a full moon, maybe it won't happen again, but I'm not going be unprepared."
Both sides of the room had large servers humming, black with green and orange lights turning off and on. Not too much different from what the server room looked like on the floor above, but what really drew Deb's attention were where half of the cables were connected to. In the center of the room on the floor appeared to be a miniature pyramid about 6 feet long on each side. She walked around the pyramid to really take it in. On one side, what appeared to be the Eye of Ra was drawn, on another a Lioness, and on the last side what looked like a small rather unsightly dwarf creature with large eyes and a protruding tongue. The cables appeared to go below the pyramid.
"What the hell is that Frank?"
"That is where the magic happens my dear. Within that replica pyramid is a power system that taps into the very heart of the Luxor itself. Connected from here all the way up to the Sky Beam where it draws the power necessary to pull in the dreams. The Sky Beam is the key, it needs to keep shining every night without fail. I don't know all of the details but think of it as an "outgassing" of sorts. The psychic energy builds up overnight and needs to be released. If it doesn't happen, it can influence the sleep patterns of anyone staying here."
Deb wasn't quite sure how she felt about this, it felt like a parlor trick, but she was intrigued.
"We shouldn't be down here too long, the rest of the staff will wonder where we are," Frank looked slightly anxious.
Deb agreed and the two went back up into the closet and exited back into the main surveillance room without any fanfare.
"I need to go to a dinner, Frank, but this was mind-bending to say the least. It still feels a bit over the top, but we'll chat more later, thank you for showing me, and thank you very much for this pendant."
"Nothing other than a way to see some dreams, Deb. And really, isn't Vegas all about dreams?" Frank tipped his hat towards her.
Deb smiled back and made her way out into the casino.
As she exited, Frank's eyes followed her every step, "This is how it must be. If there were another way, I would have found it my dear. I have grown so fond of her, but it must be this way, our future awaits", Frank thought to himself, "Now to take an afternoon nap."
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Dream 2 mid-afternoon August 11th, 2022
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"You've got to try this again, but a different door Darren," Marcus had that same glint in his eyes that he did 30 years earlier the first time they met, thought Darren.
"I don't think I can control this," Darren looked exasperated, "not to mention, it is the middle of the afternoon."
"Sounds like the perfect time to give it a try in a place like Las Vegas. Hell, there are probably more people sleeping now than in the middle of the night. Speaking of control, why don't you see what you're allowed to do in there," Marcus sounded almost a little giddy with excitement.
"All right. I'll give it another try, but no guarantees."
Taking another triptan and turning on the O2 tank, Darren began taking long breaths to relax. His eyes began to feel weighty, and he fell asleep.
Once again, a low fog covered the now familiar hallway. Only, this time the numbers on the doors were now accompanied by Egyptian hieroglyphics. Darren saw Marcus' "44" door but noticed that it was no longer shining. He looked at the lock and noticed that a deadbolt had been added as well. "Perhaps because he's awake," thought Darren. The lioness door also seemed impossible to breach. The eyes of the lioness were closed, also with an imposing deadbolt in place.
A bit further down was a smaller white door that looked as if it might be the oldest door in the hallway. Egyptian glyphs covered this door, along with the Eye of Ra. At the center of the eye was a button. Darren reached out and pressed it.
The eye split into two and opened from both sides to reveal a small platform embedded in the door that had a keypad on it with three buttons. Another Eye of Ra, a small dwarf, and the lioness. "Time for a little brute force," thought Darren. "Dwarf, Ra, Lioness?" after pressing the buttons a loud buzzer could be heard. He looked around, he felt especially weird about the giant lioness head on the door behind him and to the left. "Ra, Dwarf, Lioness?" Again, a loud buzzer, he looked back at the door again, this time he could swear he saw the lioness' left eye peek open quickly and close. "Ra, Lioness, Dwarf?" Finally, a loud "click" could be heard and Darren was able to push through the door.
Once again, Darren found himself crawling through a smaller and smaller hallway after entering the door. This time, however, instead of fog, the way was icy cold, with his breath being the only fog around. He made it to the end of the small hallway and noticed he was standing in what looked to be a basement, a middle-aged white man who resembled a professor was talking to him. He was being pulled along, again with no control that he could tell.
"Öthis is where you connect."
"Connect what?"
"Have you been listening to a word I've said? Connect THAT" the man pointed to a group of small limestone bricks that were fashioned into a small pyramid. "Lodged behind the middle brick that holds the picture of Bes is where I've connected the Bes statuette to the BES system. It's where the connection should be most potent. Bes can interface with the energy derived from these stones. You'll be able to tap into people's dreams here Frank. But you need to be careful."
"I must be riding along with a ëFrank'," Darren thought.
"Careful why?" Frank pressed the matter.
"You're dealing with mystical Egyptian forces, Frank. These stones aren't just limestone, they're taken straight from one of the pyramids of Giza. I don't fully understand it myself."
Darren felt Frank's anger bubbling under the surface, "When is this going to be finished?"
"The hotel and casino should be done by the end of the year."
"This year?"
"Yes, 1993"
"I want my wife back Volden. Julie was gone too soon. When do I place her into the box and who do I give the pendant to? I don't want to wait any longer."
Frank pointed to the sarcophagus in the corner of the room. The head of the sarcophagus was the same lioness that Darren had seen on the door, with what looked like the sun, shown above her face.
Darren felt a slight twinge of pain behind his eye and focused on relaxing, employing techniques he had learned over the years dealing with his headaches. That focus enabled him to listen more clearly to his hosts' thoughts. "This guy is dealing with a painful loss," he thought, "But I need to know more."
Darren began concentrating harder, trying to break through into Frank's mind.
"How do you know that this will even work? Tell me the details," Darren felt a rush of excitement, his question had been asked!
Volden continued, "Above all you must have patience Frank. The connection we have with Bes is weak right now. The statuette of Bes is old. It was entombed next to the sarcophagus and with the pendant. We think the sarcophagus contained the remains of a priestess or royalty from the Pre-Dynastic Nile Valley area. I took the statuette for myself and, as luck would have it, started having the strangest dreams beginning the first night that I had it with me. It talked to me Frank. It gave me the vision to build this hotel, and it told me that I could awaken the ancient Gods of Egypt and become something more, someone capable of great things. To do that requires waiting. Bes needs dreams to strengthen, and he needs strength to call Sekhmet. Sekhmet not only has the power to bring your wife back, but to fulfill ALL of our dreams. You'll put your wife's ashes into the sarcophagus, and we will place her under the pyramid, connected to the Bes system. As far as who you give the pendant to, I'll leave that up to you. But remember, according to the visions I've received from Bes, this process could take up to 30 years to complete. So, choose your vessel wisely. The beacon will draw her back when the time is right." Volden took a breath.
"I want to bring her back Volden. I need to bring her back."
"There are no guarantees my friend."
Frank looked around the room again and Darren noticed a broken mirror at the far end just behind the gentleman he was talking to. Frank's attention was drawn to the mirror. Darren could finally get a glimpse of Frank and saw that he was wearing a white suit. The face that stared back at him was an odd combination of his own face and that of Frank's. The pain behind his eye sharpened.
"What the?!" he heard Frank say.
With a start, Darren woke and found himself back in his bed. A sliver of red sunlight pushed through the slightly cracked curtain at the far end of the room. Breathing was difficult, and he was so thirsty. With tremendous effort he reached for the half-filled water glass that was on the nightstand next to him and sat up.
Marcus piped up, "Darren! Darren! Are you ok? What happened?"
"I think I was spotted," he replied. Darren relayed the details of his dream to Marcus, including his discovery of having some level of control within the dream. "But, I was able to ask a question that I wanted to!"
"That's some exciting stuff, adds a level of value to this skill you've found yourself with. Frank doesn't sound too nice though," Marcus said. "I do have some familiarity with Egyptian myth, but this sounds off the rails. Of course, the fact that you've been able to do what you're doing is also off the rails. Maybe your headaches are giving you connection to this power?" He smiled, "Did you see the pendant?"
"No, it was only mentioned, not shown," responded Darren.
"Well, I'd say we have a few search terms to look for. Bes, Sekhmet, 30 years, visions from an Egyptian god. You know the drill D-Squared."
"I certainly do MaxLow, I certainly do. Let's do this while I can still think straight."
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Darren and Marcus Early evening August 11th, 2022
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Laptops were open and connected to the 55-inch television in their hotel living room. Chips and salsa were broken out. Darren cracked open a 2-liter of Mountain Dew and Marcus followed suit with a can of beer. A small whiteboard that Darren had thought to bring was coming in handy.
"Almost as if 30 years HAD just disappeared," thought Darren as the first couple hours of research went by, "Slightly different jokes, more trips to the restroom, less hair, and more lines around the eyes, but damn if this doesn't feel good."
Darren was researching the hotel history and management while Marcus was taking on the challenge of deciphering as much of the Egyptian mythological connection that he could.
"So, it says here that Bes is the God of Dreams in Egyptian lore," Marcus cast an image of Bes to the big screen.
"He didn't win the looks award in the God department, did he?" Darren laughed out loud.
"Says here he is mostly harmless and that he did a good thing for Egypt. Not saying you can trust everything you read on the internet, but at least it is a start," Marcus shared his findings.
"What about Sekhmet?" Darren questioned.
Marcus continued, "That's a little fuzzier in terms of the good/bad thing. Sekhmet was a powerful goddess, really powerful. Capable of infiltrating one's dreams and pulling off some pretty crazy stuff. Crazy as in she was used as a weapon by Ra to clean the planet of humans crazy."
"Oh, that's not good."
"No, not at all. There is some good news here though, she was stopped by beer," Marcus chuckled as he raised his can in a mock toast.
"Beer?" asked Darren.
"Yep, apparently they got her drunk and it made her stop."
"That works on humans too," Darren laughed. "Says here she can breathe fire as well. We might need a plan to deal with her."
"We honestly don't even know if these dreams are real, but I agree, it might be prudent to plan for this," Marcus said.
"I found a few interesting tidbits myself," said Darren as he took over the screen casting and put up a diagram of an organizational chart that included pictures of the management at the hotel, "Frank Mills, special projects Manager of the Luxor. This is definitely the Frank from the dream, he's even wearing a white suit. He's been with the hotel since the beginning."
"Looks like he reports straight to the Casino Director, Deb Torrence. She looks fairly young for the role, or maybe I just assumed all casino directors would be old white men that looked more like Frank," stated Marcus.
"According to her bio, she has just started in that role. Looks like she took over from her father who recently passed," Darren noted.
"I'll see if I can find this Frank fellow. He must be somewhere in this hotel," Marcus said. "As for you, with your headaches and the fact you said that Frank spotted you in the dream, it might be a little dangerous. Why don't you stay here and rest up. I'll do a little real-life sleuthing while you do the wardreaming thing. Try expanding your reach a bit, see if you can find anything else out about what is going on here. Maybe see if you can read the thoughts of your host's dream too if you get back there. A little "Dream Privilege Escalation" so to speak," Marcus smiled.
"Sounds like a plan, let's make it work," Darren said with resolve.
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Deb Evening, August 11th, 2022
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Deb was on the casino floor when she felt the buzzing from her phone in her pant pocket. She noticed that she had missed two previous calls and that Frank was calling her a third time.
"Hello?"
"Where have you been? We need you down in the basement, something weird is going on with BES and we need all hands-on deck. I'm not too sure that the Sky Beam is going to operate if we don't figure out what's happening," Frank sounded almost frantic.
Deb hurriedly made her way back across the casino and found herself back in the small room underneath the closet that held the replica pyramid. Frank was waiting, "I'm so glad you are here. The videos from BES have been slow too. I wanted to show you the process for fixing these kinds of problems. You have to start with the pyramid in this room and check the power source."
Deb approached the pyramid and asked, "Now what?"
"Follow the cord," Frank's eyes followed her as she began tracing the cord towards its source.
She began to feel a bit groggy, "I may need Ö sit down," Deb could barely get the words out.
"Why am I so tired?" she thought and tried fighting through the fog.
Deb's eyes started closing, and she felt herself slumping to the floor.
Soon after, Frank pulled open the sarcophagus with his wife's ashes inside and began to lay Deb's sleeping form inside. "It's almost time," he thought, "it is too bad Volden isn't around to see this. Rest in peace my friend."
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Marcus
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Marcus hit the casino floor and started to look and ask about Frank. "Hard not to look conspicuous when asking questions in a casino," he thought. "Especially about someone that high up in the food chain. I'll have to do this a little cautiously."
Marcus did a loop around the blackjack area, playing a hand or two and seeing if he could get any information out of the dealers in terms of the management at the hotel, hoping to figure out where Frank might be.
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Sky Beam
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Light shot towards the sky from the tip of the pyramid, just as it had done each night for the prior 30 years, looking as if it were connecting directly to the bright full moon so high above. Tens of thousands of locusts bathed in its warmth and sought solace from the night, comforted by the hum of their fellow neighbor. The light seemed to pulse with the shimmer of translucent wings, and the sound began to grow. At first, it was no more than the buzz of a few drones, but soon it began to sound like the engine of a jet, and it was not showing any signs of receding. Far below, beneath the light, the hotel and casino guests, Sekhmet was stirring.
Frank could sense a palpable buzz from the Sky Beam far above and felt a shift in the area around the sarcophagus. A faint blue light began to emanate from the replica pyramid and envelop the ancient coffin. He heard movement, and then scratching. "Could this be it?" he thought with excitement, "All this time and preparation, is this finally it?"
Frank had to look away as the light intensified and the volume of the buzzing from high above grew. Suddenly a crashing noise filled the room, and the light shot upwards towards the ceiling, blasting a circular hole about five feet in diameter and shooting straight up through the many levels of the hotel, joining the Sky Beam in a single beam of white-hot light piercing the darkness of the night sky. Frank could faintly hear the screams of guests on the floors above as they joined the buzzing.
The lid of the sarcophagus began to open. Frank felt rooted to the floor, unable to do anything other than stare and hope that the soul of his long-lost love was going to be with him forever, albeit in the form of his best friend's daughter.
Deb sat up, not showing any emotion and turned her head towards Frank. She blinked once, then blinked again. A look of recognition passed over her and she smiled at him. She then reached her arms out towards Frank.
"Julie?" Frank almost whispered the name, caught up in the euphoria of the moment.
Deb's smile opened wider. The light from within the room seemed to be filling Deb from the inside. The temperature was also increasing, the source of which seemed to be coming straight from Deb. Frank was still enraptured from what was happening and took a step forward.
"Sekhmet," Deb's voice sounded strangely monotone, not what Frank had expected. Her mouth opened impossibly wide. A low moan escaped her and began to escalate until it became a savage scream. The source of the light and heat within the room became clear to Frank in that moment.
He stepped back, eyes wild and searching as if he had been snapped out of a dream and dropped into a nightmare. White hot light flew out of Deb's mouth in a focused laser-like stream, hitting Frank square between the eyes and ripping a quarter-shaped hole straight through his brain. Frank fell to the floor, dead.
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Marcus
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"I'm sorry sir, but you can't lay down on the Blackjack table, sir!" the dealer looked more than annoyed, but also a bit tired. Marcus was struggling to stay up, in fact all the players at the table were starting to lean forward. "What is going on?"
An explosion rocked the casino floor, and he heard the screams of his fellow guests. But the intensity of those screams died out quickly and was replaced by a buzzing noise that sounded like a jet airplane. He tried to get up and move from the table, but weariness was overtaking him. He found the strength to look around and scanned the rest of the area. Every player, dealer, and waitress on the main floor of the Luxor Casino was sleeping. He realized he needed to get back to warn Darren, but the need to sleep was too great and felt his eyes close as he laid his head down on the table.
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Darren
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Darren felt the pull of sleep, but the pain of another cluster was keeping him awake. It had been a while since Marcus had left to look for Frank and Darren was getting worried. Marcus hadn't answered the text messages he had sent, nor the phone calls he was making for at least an hour. He decided to risk getting up and seeing if he could find him. He walked out of the hotel room and made his way to the bank of elevators at the far end of the hall. He noticed two hotel guests lying on the floor, apparently sleeping. "That's weird," he thought. Every single person he saw was sleeping, every single one.
His headache was raging. The stress of what was happening was taking hold and his cluster was responding in the only way it knew how. "Where is he?" he thought, "Where is Marcus?"
Frantic with fear, he finally spotted Marcus, head down, at a blackjack table. Darren ran over to his friend, assured himself that Marcus was still breathing, and looked around for the nearest luggage cart near the registration area. As he was wheeling the cart back to the table he spotted some movement and left the cart next to Marcus so he could get a closer look. As he moved nearer, he noticed a woman with raven-black hair walking towards the poker room on the other side of the casino. She appeared to be walking slowly, with what looked like a dark cloud almost surrounding her. Darren was about to call out to her when he realized that the cloud surrounding her was actually hundreds of locusts, perfectly balanced around her. A beam of white light shot forth from her mouth and burned a hole into the sleeping form of a dealer nearby where she was standing. She then turned her head towards Darren and he recognized Deb Torrence from the research they had performed earlier. Deb took a step towards Darren and he ran back towards Marcus. "I've got to get out of here," he thought.
Darren pulled Marcus' heavy body onto the cart and began to wheel him towards the exit. He got to the doors and tried to open them, but the entire exterior of the hotel was covered with a hot light that burned to the touch. He looked back over his shoulder, Deb was now out of sight, but he knew she was still in the area. "I've got to get back to our room," he thought.
Darren made his way to the nearest elevator bank and pressed the button to go up. The longest ten seconds in his life passed as the door opened and he stepped inside with Marcus in tow. As the doors to the elevator closed, he saw Deb in the distance, slowly moving towards them.
Upon exiting the elevator, Darren ran and pushed Marcus forward. He got to their room door, made it inside, and locked it.
"The red lioness door must be where I need to go, I only hope I can fall asleep in this mess and that I'm not too late," he thought.
Darren darkened the room, popped two triptan pills, and walked back to the Oxygen tank, slipping the mask over his face and began breathing deeply, focusing on stilling his fast-beating heart. The effect was working, and he found himself falling out of the awake world and back into the hallway dream.
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Dream 3
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When the fog cleared, he noticed the difference right away. Where there had only been 7 doors on the floor he had been on previously, there now had to be at least 20 times that amount. A hallway that stretched beyond his vision. Luckily the red door with the lioness knocker was in the same place as it had been before, and Darren looked closely at the lock mechanism protecting it.
The lioness head was sleeping deeply. But directly underneath the knocker was a gray box with three vertical lines etched into it. To the right of the three vertical lines was a hex bolt. He concentrated on the bolt and realized the size was similar to phone box bolts that he had opened back in his phreaking days. "Well, this is a dream," he thought, "it only makes sense that I'd have what I need for this." He reached into his left pant pocket and was rewarded with his 7/16-inch hex-wrench. The bolt turned and the box opened. Still no reaction from the lioness knocker. Inside the box were two terminals. "Just like back in the day," he thought. On his left hip, the weight of his old trusty red lineman's handset appeared. He pulled out the alligator clips and connected them to the terminals, put the phone to his ear, and pressed the button. The old familiar sound of dial tone came through. "What number to dial?" he thought. And then, he knew, the number on Marcus' door was the key. "Four-Four", he punched them in. Suddenly the eyes of the lioness knocker opened, and it spoke, "What walks on four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three in the evening?"
It took Darren a moment to gather himself, he had heard this one before, but the situation he was in was making it difficult to recall. "The Riddle of the Sphinx?" Darren remembered.
He spoke into the handset, "Man".
The eyes of the knocker closed, the mouth opened wide, and a key dropped from its mouth. Darren quickly picked up the key, inserted it into the now visible keyhole and turned the key. The door opened on its own, showing a bright white hall behind it. He was able to walk upright this time and went right in.
The brightness of the hallway caused Darren to squint and look down at the floor. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and reached out with his right hand to feel for any obstructions. The heat of the hallway had to be in the high 90's Fahrenheit, and Darren began to sweat. It was taking much longer to reach the end of this hallway. He risked a glance ahead and was both relieved and frightened to see pitch black sphere, 10 feet in diameter, not more than 20 feet in front of him, hovering just a foot off the ground. "Not stopping now," he thought, and he quickened his pace. As he approached the sphere, he felt what he could only describe as a kind of gravity pulling him towards it. He tentatively reached his hand through and noticed that it was cool to the touch within the sphere. Closing his eyes, he stepped through, darkness briefly overtook him and a sensation of falling which lasted for a moment caused him to briefly lose his balance. He felt dizzy, a similar feeling he would have before the onset of a nasty cluster. But the feeling only lasted for a moment, when suddenly he found himself sitting in a chair, a nice cushiony one. He also noticed the air conditioning almost immediately. A loud cheer erupted from nearby which startled him. His host had jumped up and Darren found that he was looking through a large opening that provided a view of a baseball stadium. "Not just any baseball stadium," thought Darren, "this is Dodger stadium from the look of it."
"Deb! Debbie, I brought some popcorn, nachos, and a pair of Cokes. Who just got that hit?"
Darren felt his hosts' head turn, a broad-shouldered olive-skinned man with dark hair smiled at him.
"It was Piazza, dad! He crushed a fastball off the wall in center for a double," Deb responded.
"He's basically a rookie, that guy is going to be great. I think tonight we'll have a little PiAzza to celebrate!"
"Dad!" Deb shook her head and Darren could feel the love and contentment from Deb. "I must have found Deb. She's having the time of her life at this game," he thought, "My hands are going to be full getting her out of here and waking her up. Need to find a mirror."
Darren was a baseball fan himself, so had some familiarity with Mike Piazza, "I'm thinking this is the early 90's," he thought, "smart phones are a no in that case. This would put Deb in her mid to late teens, based on what I saw of her picture. So, what would a girl that age have in her purse?"
"Dad, thanks for bringing me to this game, I really appreciate it. I know how busy you are getting ready for the Luxor opening."
"Pumpkin, I know I haven't had a lot of time to spend with you over the last few months. That will change, I promise you. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the game. We'll do this again. In the meantime, I'm planning on having you work for me when it opens. We'll have a need for someone who's sharp like you Debbie!"
At that moment, a feeling of wrongness came over Darren. "She's getting closer in real life. I haven't got much time left."
Darren concentrated with all his might to send thoughts of mirrors to Deb, but the dream just kept going, with no break in the baseball game. "What would make a 16-year-old girl look into a mirror? The better question is what would make one NOT look in a mirror I suppose, but I don't see one around."
He decided to change tactics and started sending thoughts of appearance and insecurity around her face. Darren felt a perceptible shift in thought process from Deb's mind. She reached into her purse, found a small compact and opened it.
"Yes!" Darren felt triumphant.
The face staring back at her seemed almost blurred, and it began to shift shape. Deb drew in a quick breath, she was frightened. Her cheeks looked more angular, and her eyes, her eyes looked like the eyes of a cat. She looked away from the small mirror, shook her head and looked back. This time she saw the face of an older man staring back at her. Both images disturbed her, and she sank back into her chair. "Frank!" she remembered, "Frank has me," and Deb began to waken.
Darren also broke free from the dream and immediately looked towards his door. He noticed that the doorknob was missing and ran out to the hall. Deb stood right in front of him at the door, not moving, staring straight ahead, with a tear running down her face. Darren noticed the pendant hanging around her neck and he reached for it.
You don't become a powerful goddess by letting mere mortals take things from you. Whether it be her vessel or the pendant, Sekhmet wasn't ready to relinquish her new shell. Deb's hand shot up and grabbed Darren at the wrist. Deb cried, "I can't keep her from doing what she wants for very long! Please help me!"
The dual control of Deb's body was also draining Sekhmet's power. People were waking up in the hotel, including Marcus, who was witnessing the interaction at the door between Darren and Deb. Darren's wrist was starting to ache. Deb/Sekhmet was unable or unwilling to let go and the pressure was getting to be enormously painful.
Marcus cried out, "Stop this! What are you doing?"
This time Sekhmet responded, having asserted control over Deb yet again, "Cleansing this world," a flat, dispassionate voice replied.
Marcus connected the dots and realized that he was talking with an Egyptian Goddess. "This has got to be Sekhmet," and he sprang into action towards the refrigerator pulling out three beers.
"Darren, catch!" He opened a beer and tossed it through the air. Darren caught it with his free hand. "Drink!"
Deb gained control of her other arm and put the can to her lips. At that moment, Sekhmet became aware of the taste as well and both Deb and Sekhmet thirstily drank the beer. Marcus jumped up and brought the remaining two cans over and helped Deb drink. As the last can was being drunk, Darren's arm was freed and with one quick motion, tore the pendant from Deb's neck.
Deb's eyes fluttered, and she gasped, her voice shaking, "What happened to my hotel? And the guests?" she began to sob.
"Ms. Torrence, please sit down," Darren led Deb into his room and had her sit on a chair in the corner.
"Please call me Deb, who are you two and what has happened?" though slightly buzzed, her head was clearing.
Darren tried to explain it, and for the most part he was able to. He decided to leave out the part about Deb moving through the casino and blasting laser fire from her mouth.
"I knew about the dreams," Deb said, "But what happened to my guests?"
"Your guests are mostly fine, but there are at least 5-10 card dealers that did not make it."
"Did I do that?" Deb whispered.
"It was not you, Deb." Marcus jumped into the conversation.
"Any video the police look at will most assuredly say to the contrary," Deb responded with her hands on her face.
"Well, I think we have a side project for DEF CON, MaxLow," offered Darren.
"Deb, can you lead us down to the video room? We can clean what needs to be cleaned."
The three of them made their way down to the video room above the mini pyramid. "You're going to want to destroy a few other things in that basement down there along with the pendant," Darren stated as he looked down through the hole and saw Frank Mills' lifeless body.
Darren and Marcus were able to clean up the video. For the most part, the energy that had been coming from Deb resulted in video that could not be viewed, only a small number of minutes indicated that anything was wrong. The police arrived, Darren and Marcus corroborated Deb's story of a Sky Beam malfunction.
---------------------
Darren and Marcus -- August 12th 12:01 AM
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Darren and Marcus made it back to their room, having finished their conversations with police and helping Deb piece together the missing couple of hours.
Darren put his arm around his friend and realized that the pain and pressure he had been feeling behind his right eye had vanished. "Listen, I do not think there is any way in hell that we can sleep here tonight. Why don't we move to the other end of the strip and stay in a hotel where DEF CON is happening? There's still time to enjoy it."
"What about the investigation here? Should we stick around and help some more?" Marcus questioned.
"I think this will be a long investigation that ultimately goes nowhere," Darren stated, "nobody would believe the truth anyways."
"What, that three cans of beer saved the world?" Marcus chuckled and the two began to pack. DEF CON was still waiting, and the lifelong friends were going back where they belonged.
Comment
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Title: Monarch
By: Jackie_lef
For the fourth time this week, April 3rd repeated itself exactly as it had hundreds of times before. Minor divergences from the control grid were flagged throughout the day, but history snapped back into place around 6 pm like a rubber band.
When Siah awoke that morning, he did not rush to the computer to check the program’s readout as he had in months past. Instead, he laid in bed to let his eyes adjust to the blue morning light. He glanced at the black screen across the room, listened for the fan quietly running, and then lifted himself out of bed to start coffee. While it brewed, he splashed water on his face from the kitchen sink.
With a mug in hand, he then sat down in front of his computer. He had long since surrendered his frustration with this test and simulation. Only the fixation remained, a dull buzz quieted with every keystroke. So far, the results were the same each time he ran the program: history cannot be changed. So, perhaps, neither can the future.
The printer hummed to life with a button press and groaned in preparation for another stack of paper. As he waited for the machine to warm, Siah absently fanned the ream, wondering what type of tree it had once been. Today the paper would be yet another version of the program’s readout. Printing it felt entirely unnecessary, but a hard copy was Chloe’s preference.
“It’s more secure.”
“No, it’s not,” Siah replied with amusement.
“Well,” she shrugged, “I like to mark it up with a pen.”
There was a knock on the door. Siah looked at the clock and noted she was 15 minutes early — so, right on time. He unchained and unbolted the faded yellow door, and pulled it open to find his cheery companion on the other side, bundled for the winter trek to his apartment.
“I brought coffee,” Chloe said, almost proudly.
“I have coffee.”
“Well, now you have better coffee and a blueberry scone.”
She handed him the drink even though his other hand already held a mug of steaming caffeine, and precariously wedged the pastry bag under his arm. Entirely comfortable in his tiny residence at this point, she walked in, unwrapped herself of a heavy coat and scarf, then flung her various belongings in the corner.
“Maybe you should get a coat rack for my stuff. Who knows, it might change the future.” She smirked.
“I’ll add it to the list.” He smiled, and jotted it down in the notebook he kept in his breast pocket.
Pen in hand, already clicking the cap, she made her way over to the printer and picked up the pages that were ready for review. The exhausted machine would need to run for another 15 minutes before the full stack was complete.
“So, how did our favorite day go last night?” She immediately backtracked, horrified. “Sorry. How’s the report?”
Siah moved past it. “Things locked in at 6:07 again.”
“Bummer. I still think we should change something big. Release the chaos, let it reign.”
“That might change things,” he conceded, “but we wouldn’t be able to do anything with the results. Too many variables to track which one had an impact.”
Chloe agreed, of course, but didn’t say anything. She was tired of the repetition.
Chloe and Siah met at a casino hotel over three years ago, either by happenstance or predestination, depending on the perspective. He was there for a security conference, attending less than half of the sessions he was supposed to, but prioritizing any talk that had whispers of human-teaming or artificial intelligence. She was working on a PhD in Mathematical Computations at the University of Nevada Las Vegas and was about to be escorted out by security. The casino apparently didn’t appreciate her approaching their blackjack dealers asking for interviews about counting cards.
The guard looked unimpressed as she passionately explained her research in dynamic and predictive systems, unaware that her heightened enthusiasm only made her ideas less coherent. Siah overheard this with moderate interest as he waited in line for an overpriced coffee flavored with lingering cigarette smoke. Security’s eyes were visibly glazing over as the young women urgently tried to summarize the works of Lorenz and his many splintered successors.
“If I could just talk with the floor manager. I really believe implementing standards of Chaos Theory into your dealer’s training will keep the money more secure. Identifying varied futures is already part of the game; anticipating changes is a strategy for the house.”
The man nodded every once in a while and did a remarkable job of slowly moving her toward the exit while making it seem as though it wasn’t happening.
Not certain of what pushed him to step in, Siah left the stalled café line.
“Oh thank god, there you are!” Siah exaggerated as he walked over. “Your talk is starting in five minutes! We need to move now. Let’s go.”
His confident interruption was so sudden, the guard didn’t immediately process what had happened as Siah guided Chloe away, helping her vanish into a group of his fellow coders and hackers.
Clicking her pen, Chloe flipped to the last section of today’s report to check the log of updates. There were pages of documented modifications that had previously been run against the control grid. Nothing dramatic; just minor nudges of a detail, each gentle tap influencing the day in a different way. Some days spun out of control with the slightest change to the breeze, but always found their way home in the evening for dinner. Other days absorbed the gentle push and remained in step, almost to the second, as they had in the past.
With each run, she liked to see what Siah adjusted. He never shared his reasoning for what he picked, but would listen intently the next time Chloe was over as she analyzed the results. The modifications were seemingly negligible, but always creative. Her favorites so far involved a neighbor’s dog howling like a lonely wolf at 4 am when the owner left to catch the early train (the dog was actually perfectly content to stay silent), a long sleeve shirt getting caught on a door handle (he had worn a t-shirt that day), and a taxi driver blasting classical instead of sports radio.
Yesterday’s test adjusted the internal temperature of a restaurant’s oven, so lunch took slightly longer to prepare. The kitchen staff didn’t notice the change, but the waiters kept coming back to check on their orders. Guests were getting restless, glancing at the time for their afternoon meetings, though their food would arrive moments before they could ask for a to-go meal instead. In this run of the program, it would be another few weeks before one of the station chefs suggested calibrating the oven for temperature accuracy.
The oven adjustment hadn’t overly impacted Siah and Chloe’s meal. Siah felt rushed, like so many of the other guests at the restaurant, but the food was still delicious (albeit more speedily consumed). Because of his presentation that afternoon, their lunch wrapped up around the same time and the day traveled on more or less as it had before, with minor variations.
Unbeknownst to either of them, the temperature adjustment to the oven had major impacts on other unnamed people at the restaurant. One couple would decide to move in together that weekend and live there for another eight years. A woman would quit her job four months down the timeline and start her own business, eventually becoming her previous job’s top competitor. A young man would get overly drunk at his sister’s graduation party and somehow wake up with a tattoo of a sloth on his bicep. But nothing horrific would happen to anyone else in that modified version of history.
After a few hours analyzing divergence from the initial conditions in the control grid, Chloe set the stack down and shook her head slightly. “It’s fascinating.”
“What is?”
“All of it. April 3rd. 6:07 pm. I wouldn’t have expected this. It contradicts an entire field of study. I always thought dramatic recurrence was complete bullshit, and yet here we are. We have thousands of proven variants throughout the day, but everything locks back into place right before the accident like it was some violent destiny.”
Siah said nothing, though his jaw tightened as he stared at the code on his screen.
His silence went on a moment too long before Chloe asked, “Is knowing what could have stopped the accident going to change anything? For you, I mean. You know there’s no future here with me. Even if you find something that would have prevented it, there’s nothing you can do with that information.”
There was a long minute of stillness before Siah’s eyes flicked away from his computer to the wall clock by the door and noted the time. He didn’t move, and Chloe noticed.
“You should get ready. You have that interview today, right?”
The surprise on his face lasted only a second; her carryover memories were becoming more frequent. He opened his pocket notebook to write it down.
“I can wait a few more minutes.”
“No, you don’t want to be late. I’ll head out. Mind if I take this?” she asked, holding up the program’s latest novel.
He smiled. “Sure, just don’t lose it.”
She feigned offense before a wave of quiet filled between them again.
“I enjoy these days with you, you know,” she said. “It really is an amazing program you made.”
He nodded softly.
“Until tomorrow?”
“Until tomorrow.”
The next morning, Chloe knocked on the door, 15 minutes early and right on time. Siah made his way over and opened up.
“I brought coffee,” she said, almost proudly.
“I have coffee.”
“Well, now you have better coffee and a cinnamon scone.”
The first variant of the day.
She was bundled up to keep the icy New England air from touching her, though it never had and never would. Her coat and scarf were variants that had attached and settled six months back, carryover memories after the evolving simulation of her asked about the season.
Chloe walked into his tiny apartment, unwrapped herself, and placed her belongings on the freshly hung coat rack behind the door. Outside, time extended and contracted, silently groaned and sighed. But here, it swayed predictably with minor changes, nothing that couldn’t be reset with a keystroke.Comment
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Title: The Curse Of Immortality
Author: Matt Thomas
I don’t know what is driving me the most insane. There is currently a tie between the blinking dials and lights that I don’t understand and the constant noise coming from what I assume is the engine, but NASA checking in for the 4th time today is creeping up. I miss Wayne. He would always include a fun fact about something on Earth at the end of check in. His little updates helped remind me that I’m still a human being. But like just about everyone on the original team, Wayne retired years ago. He died, starvation they say. And the current scientists on the project are so sterile with conversation that I’m reminded that I am nothing more than a lab rat to these people.
As much as I complain, this setup is definitely better than my prior circumstances. When the Navy expedition submarine the Angler found me I was still stuck under the whale skull at the bottom of the Atlantic. They thought I was a fresh corpse dump, but according to the scientists who scooped me up the algae found on the bones and my body had been there for over a year. They were dumbfounded to find a living human at that depth. I was staggeringly unhelpful in answering their questions like “who are you” and “what are you” and “how did you get down there”. I don’t remember anything before that blinding searchlight on the submarine ruining the peaceful darkness that makes up the ocean.
It took them all of 2 weeks to determine I am resilient. The term they liked using was “unkillable”, which I guess is accurate since they tried their damndest. They ran every ethical test they could think of, but the majority would probably be considered unethical. Last I checked the Hippocratic Oath says “do no harm”, but I guess since I wasn’t actually affected physically by the poison or the flames or the starvation or the drownings they were still above board. I just found it strange that after they ran tests they viewed as morally justified they repeatedly apologized.
Once the lab determined I was less dead than the average person who spends years under the ocean, they got excited. Said I was the perfect candidate for a project they had been working on called LDE or “Last Delving Exploration”. It is a deep space mission to search for the closest colonizable planet. I have the right stuff because I could stay out longer than any other pilot. Not that I have to do any piloting. They gave me astronaut training over the course of a year, along with running experiments to determine everything I was “capable of”. That meant seeing if I needed food (nope), water (nope), oxygen (nope, duh), sleep (nope, but it helped keep me chipper).
By the end of the year they had designed and built a deep space shuttle capable of moving slowly, but for long periods of time using solar panels. My lack of needs meant they could pour all the weight of the spaceship into redundancies instead of pesky creature comforts.
One hard drive. They give me one damn hard drive to fill with any entertainment I want, 4 measly terabytes. I know that those NASA guys are picky about how much weight can be on this shuttle, but since we could cut out the food and water and didn't need a waste disposal system, I figure I could get a few more hard drives to keep me from going insane. You can only watch Friends so many times before you start seeing Ross and Rachel arguing next to you… Among the shows I picked the title “Hackers” kept my attention. Between the silliness and overacting there was the resilience and creativity that these young hackers had that resonated with me.
I think Saturn was the biggest let down of stupid space. "Oh the rings will be beautiful up close!" Bullshit, it might look cool from a distance, but after watching it and taking detailed photos of it for 2 Earth years, it gets boring. Mars gives Saturn a run for its money though, nothing but red sand for thousands of miles. I fucking hated Mars, with all the hype about how we'll colonize it, make it into a new Earth, it was not nearly as exciting as they thought it would be.
I have decided the NASA guys are idiots. They plan for every contingency, a system crash, a targeting computer crash, if there is a fire on any square inch of this ship, there is a code and a solution. They even took into account what would happen if my immortality stopped keeping me immortal, by the way, the ship would pilot itself back to Earth with all the data, including what happened to me. There was one thing those "geniuses" at NASA didn't think of, what if I stopped wanting to help them.
It started about 2 months before the mission, I had the thought "what if they want to leave me up there longer than they say, what if they never let me come home". 2 weeks later they gave me the hard drive to fill with whatever I wanted. They didn't care what it was, as long as it kept me quiet. So I filled it with around 3 terabytes of tv shows and movies, and 1 terabyte of all the information I could find on that shuttle type, how the communications work, and how they would remotely control the shuttle. And I've spent the last 5 years memorizing that precious terabyte of information. It's been 33 years since I was sent to space, and I successfully cut their connection to the controls. The red warning light came on, and I hear NASA desperately trying to guide me through diagnosing the problem, and all I can do is smile as I switch their coms off. I'm coming home.
After using the control panel to set my course back for Earth, I took a day to celebrate before turning NASA back on. They started threatening to shut off my lights until I relinquished control back to them. They didn’t have a lot to threaten me, it’s hard to take something away from someone you have given nothing. After about a week the threats stopped, moving to trying to reason with me. Something to the effect of “you will doom all mankind” and “humanity needs your sacrifice”. I am beyond caring about humanity. There isn’t a ton of evidence that I am even human, so why should I eternally suffer for them?
I worked out a system to keep myself from going crazy on the trip back. Every week I would turn on the communications to Earth to talk to them. I think that gave them hope that I would change my mind. It took 6 months for one of them to let slip that the name of the mission LDE wasn’t “Last Delving Exploration”, it was “Last Ditch Effort”. They knew the whole time that this mission was a long shot, but they felt it was worth sending the only person on the planet who isn’t able to die into space. I turned off the communications.
Look back home was always going to take several miracles, but I really thought I was doing a good job. Around year 3 (I stopped counting because it was bumming me out) the controls stopped responding instantaneously. The time between me hitting a button and the shuttle responding was getting sluggish, it took 4-5 seconds before the command went through. This doesn’t sound like a big deal, but if your car didn’t turn until 4-5 seconds after you turned the steering wheel you would be concerned. Now scale up the problem to a billion dollar spaceship hurtling through the vacuum of space.
I had to break the radio silence I had going with mission control. I had kept them turned off for…. A month? A year? I had no idea at this point. One man answered (I was used to 5-7). Slurring his words, he sounded shocked that I had opened communications. “What the hell do you want?” he asked angrily. “My shuttle is having some response time issues, I need help figuring out what’s wrong.” I replied. I noted that the man is slurring his words slightly. “Why the hell should I help you?” the man asked. “Because that’s your job!” I yelled, “Your entire career is supposed to be supporting me, so support me.”. The man stayed silent for a moment, pondering this. “You selfish prick. How dare you make demands after what you did. Do you have any idea why your mission was so important?” the man asked. Wait, did he say ‘was’? “Your team never got around to mentioning it before strapping me to a seat and blasting me off of the face of the Earth.” I said. “You were the only one who could go, we needed someone who could stay out for long enough to find a new home. But you are too selfish to care. You could have been a hero.” The man’s volume decreased as he went through his rant. He takes a minute, the communications are open so I hear him typing but he isn’t speaking to me.
“Any ideas on my control problem?” I ask, trying to get his attention. After another minute or so of typing, the man starts laughing. It’s building and building, to the point that I imagine he is snotting on his shirt. He finally replies, “Well it looks like the controls are having some issues with the magnetic radiation, but that’s not your biggest worry.”. He starts laughing again. “Calm the hell down and tell me what my problem is!” I demand. I try not to give away my emotions in my voice when dealing with the scientists, it gives the psychologists they normally have on hand too much ammo to attempt to emotionally manipulate me into doing what they want. But in this case the man is pissing me off, how can he find this so funny?
“I don’t know if you have realized this, but a month ago you hit the Kuiper Belt. The section of the solar system that is filled with asteroids made of icy rock and metal. Now normally this wouldn’t be a problem, when astronomers say objects in space are close they mean relatively. Like how the Earth and the Moon are close, it’s still in the hundreds of thousands of miles. That being said, you are about 10 minutes from hitting a rock the size of Alaska.” He said, stumbling through his sentences. The man started laughing hysterically again. Then it hit me.
“I don’t have time to change my course, do I?” I asked softly. “You would have had to change course 2 days ago to even get close. I would say I am sorry, but you deserve what’s coming. If you had played your part you could have been a part of whatever new settlement humankind built on a whole new planet, but you couldn’t stand being bored. Humanity doomed because you were petty. This is NASA, signing off for the last time.” The line went dead. I tried to get him back, but it was futile.
The crash didn’t hurt, there was no big explosion like in the movies. The shuttle just crumpled like an aluminum soda can, and I was ripped into the inky blackness of space. Science says humans can stay conscious for up to 15 seconds, and survive for 90 seconds. That feels about right, I remember looking at the brightest light I could see. The sun is brilliant when exposed to it without the filter of an atmosphere. It is the last thing I wanted to see before slipping into unconsciousness. I stopped fighting, and allowed the inky blackness to envelope me and drifted into a peaceful sleep.Comment
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HOMECOMING
By Triple-H
PART 1
The year is 1981. Dad just arrived home with a most excellent package. His five kids are all here in the living room, ages 8 to 19.
I'm 14 and about to enter the ninth grade. I grew about six inches over the summer and lost my baby fat. I even got up the courage to talk to girls at the pool party today.
Despite being a little bleary-eyed, sunburned, and smelling of chlorine, I perk up in the air of anticipation. We all know what this package contains.
We're helping to open all of the little sub-packages. Dad has spared no expense, buying all of the bells and whistles you can get. He's doing a pretty good job of staying patient and not yelling at anybody, because he does that sometimes. There are five of us, after all.
Mom is cooking something delicious in the kitchen but occasionally pops in to check in on the excitement.
Everyone is curious about the main box, but I can barely breathe. I feel as if I'm the one who's mainly flipping out about this thing.
Finally, it's unwrapped, revealing a large, beige plastic box about the size a typewriter. There's a rainbow-colored apple with a bite taken out and interesting lettering:
Apple ][
(in what I later came to find out is Motter Tektura font) and a little green Plus underneath.
"Plus" sounds way better/faster/more advanced than just ][.
The computer has a brown keyboard, with 1-9, 0, */:, =/-, and RESET across the top row. The rest of the keyboard looks pretty familiar with QWERTY, etc.
The only other odd keys are that one that says REPT next to the RETURN key, and a couple others that are somewhat arcane -- ESC and CTRL.
Dad has to shoo us away momentarily, as he is about to open the cabinet and doesn't want any little hands or additional electrostatic discharge getting in during this delicate operation.
I should mention dad is an electrical engineer and (literally) a rocket scientist. He works on ring laser gyro navigation systems for Atlas and Centaur rockets. So, dropping in a Language Card to the computer's slot 0 to expand the memory up to a whopping 64 KB is not a big challenge for him.
I didn't realize how cool this was at the time. Most kids, if they even had a computer, did not have one with two floppy drives -- allowing you to leave your boot disk in while loading another program off the second disk -- and also qualifying you to be the neighborhood hero who could copy disks!
And those other kids certainly did not have a dad who, even before plugging in his computer for the first time, maxed out its memory, allowing It to run almost any program (and fast!)
Dad finally has everything connected: floppy drives, a killer green and black CRT monitor, cables, game controller ... it looks like those systems you see in Mission Control before launch.
He inserts a master system disk into the first floppy drive. It clicks into place, and he closes a little hatch over it, locking it down. He has already rigged a strip to power on both the monitor and computer at the same time. He reaches back and switches on the power. There's a single "beep", and we hear a fan blowing inside the cabinet, while a light comes on the floppy drive, and guttural sounds emit from it.
Something happens on the green monochrome screen. It says:
DOS VERSION 3.3 08/25/80
APPLE II PLUS OR ROMCARD SYSTEM MASTER
(LOADING INTEGER INTO LANGUAGE CARD).
Don't let the keyboard's SHIFT key fool you; everything is in caps on the Apple ][ Plus.
Dad informs us that DOS is "Disk Operating System." He explains that it's the software that runs all the programs on the computer and lets it interact with the computer's Central Processor Unit (CPU), memory, and storage.
This wonderful new nomenclature is mellifluous to my ear.
Because of the computer's Language Card, we can run both Integer BASIC and AppleSoft BASIC.
Steve Wozniak wrote Integer BASIC, and it was pretty good, except for one thing – it didn't support floating point arithmetic; because Woz was primarily interested in writing games, for which integers alone were sufficient.
But to compete with the Commodore, which has floating-point capable BASIC, Apple bought this other BASIC from Microsoft and made it the main language for the Apple ][. In fact, we learned that to get into Integer BASIC, you type INT, and to get into AppleSoft BASIC, you type FP (floating point).
When the system stops booting up, there is a ] prompt with a flashing green block.
Dad is quickly perusing the manual to see how to get a directory listing of the disk.
My little brother (age 8) has wandered off, as there are just green words on the screen. My 16 year-old sister has also lost interest, as a boyfriend has called. My two older brothers are still in the living room talking about what's for dinner and the games they want to get.
I eagerly await Dad's typing of a command to see what this amazing machine will do next:
] CATALOG
DISK VOLUME 254
HELLO
ANIMALS
APPLE PROMS
APPLE VISION
BIORHYTHM
BOOT 13
BRIAN'S THEME
CHAIN
COLOR DEMO
COLOR DEMOSOFT
COPY
COPY.OBJ0
EXEC DEMO
FID
FPBASIC
INTBASIC
...
Some of the programs have an A in front of them, meaning they're AppleSoft BASIC programs. Others have an I, meaning they're Integer BASIC. Still others have a B.
Dad says don't worry about those -- they are binary programs that the computer runs itself during boot up. Of course, I should've paid more attention to those BINs early on, as it might've helped me with binary exploitation CTF challenges in the future.
Dad runs the BRIAN'S THEME program, Copyright 1979 by Brian Howard. It tells us "Stepping by 5", and it is drawing these beautiful vectors on the screen. They are all expanding out from a central vertex, but they have this circular, swirling pattern in them. It's mesmerizing.
The image disappears, and now it's "Stepping by 4" and drawing something equally amazing. We go through several iterations of this before we "PRESS THE 'ESC' KEY TO STOP." I quickly learn what that key does.
Dad types "LIST" to show us a listing of the source code for BRIAN'S THEME. I look at the code and try to understand what it's doing. There are line numbers to order the code. Stuff with a REM looks like human comments, not program code. Those must be ignored by the computer.
VTAB and HTAB evidently move to different parts of the screen. PRINT prints something to the screen. There are some mathematical equations and FOR X = 1 to 1500. Not sure about those. PEEK and POKE are rather mysterious. I shall learn about those later.
Dad runs the COLOR DEMO program, which tells him to use the game controls and buttons to draw. He is drawing all over the screen with this joystick thing and lets those of us who are left try it as well.
Soon, everyone has come back into the room to witness the spectacle. I don't remember eating dinner that night or how late we stayed up playing with the new toy.
The next day, I jump out of my bed before dawn to get first crack at the new rig. I bring it to the ] prompt with the flashing cursor. I load up BRIAN'S THEME and ANIMALS and other programs and list their BASIC code.
And then, I am ready to write my own first program:
] 10 PRINT "JEREMY"
] 20 GOTO 10
] RUN
JEREMY
JEREMY
JEREMY
JEREMY
JEREMY
...
It fills the screen and just keeps going. It's pretty cool at first. It looks animated. I have animated my name to the screen. But then, I panic a little when the ESC key doesn't work to stop all of those JEREMY's. I have not learned CTRL-C yet. So, I just power off the computer.
==========
PART 2
The year is 1983. We have now shed our 300 baud modem in favor of a new, incredibly fast 1200 baud Hayes Smartmodem. I have memorized the dialup sounds and can tell immediately if we have a successful connection or if something is off-kilter.
Initially, on the 300 baud modem, it was a high-pitched sound, followed by an answering lower pitched sound, and then some modulating noises. On this new 1200 baud Hayes Screamin' Machine, it's a pulsing high-pitched sound, followed by a higher, steady sound, and then a "static" sounding jumble before everything is connected and kosher.
I have also learned a little about the modem command language which allows the computer to make control requests over the same RS-232 interface used for the data connection.
Long Form Short Form n value in ATXn
0 1 2 3 4
OK 0 x x x x x
CONNECT 1 x x x x x
RING 2 x x x x x
NO CARRIER 3 x x x x x
ERROR 4 x x x x x
CONNECT 1200 5 x x x x
NO DIALTONE 6 x x
BUSY 7 x x
NO ANSWER 8 x x
I connect to an online service called CompuServe and play a trivia game. All night. I am ranked DEF CON Forums in the world on this game.
About a month later when he receives the bill, Dad tells me to "cut it out." He changes his password. After about 10 attempts, I guess his new password, and I'm on again. Did I mention that the computer is actually hosted in my room? How did my folks possibly think I would not be up all night on this device?
Dad changes the password again. This time it is something hard and unguessable. However, he has written it down on a slip of paper that's in his wallet. Obtaining this is -- trivial.
I'm on once again, and this time when the bill arrives, my folks have a "come to Jesus" meeting with me. I mean, it's crazy the price of these online services. You can buy a printed newspaper out of the bin for 25 cents, or you can download one in about two hours at a cost of $5 per hour (after 6 PM).
Obviously, the hundreds of dollars per month bills are putting a bit of strain on the family budget.
Fortunately, I find out about something else online in a CompuServe forum – it's a way to access information freely via something called a bulletin board system (BBS). This is incredible. I'm able to get to games and forums for freeeeeee!
I even go to a local meetup that's being organized by someone called a sysop (the BBS administrator). I am 16 now and drive there with two of my high school friends whom I have also gotten to dialup into the BBS. Most everyone else here is in their early 20s.
There is a lot of beer and drinking and exactly one girl (out of about 25 people). I come to realize that the sysop's sole reason for having the party is to meet this one particular girl. He is all over her, and I don't think she's that much into him. We are not that much into drinking, and for whatever reason, the people here aren't that much into talking about gaming and computers. So, we leave; I guess we'll just limit our interactions to the online kind from now on.
In school, I am taking an Intro to Computer Science class. It's cake. I am actually teaching our teacher, Miss Morrison, a thing or two.
We also are pulling a few dumb stunts, such as telling the TRS-80 to print out the value of Pi to the printer on a Friday afternoon. It is using that green and white lined paper with the perforations on the edges to allow it to be fed through the Epson MX-80 dot matrix printer. When everyone comes in on Monday, we have printed out the entire box of paper. No one admits to it, and I think Miss Morrison is somewhat bemused. However, she is not going to waste that paper. For the rest of the term, we have to print out on the other side of it.
For my final project, I write a game called "World War III" in AppleSoft BASIC. It is a text-based adventure game with some opening splash screen graphics and 8-bit music. It is about 10,000 lines of code that makes heavy use of GOTOs and GOSUBs, which I find out later on in college computer science classes is a bit of a no-no and leads to unmaintainable "spaghetti" code.
But my program works great; everyone who plays it loves it. Except Miss Morrison. I get my grades in the mail at the beginning of summer break, and she's given me a C- in the class. I am flummoxed and immediately call her up to find out what's up. She says the floppy disk I gave her with the game was unreadable. This happens sometimes when you reuse those 5.25" floppies. I had taken one and hole-punched the other side of it so that I could load it upside-down and use the flip-side.
Upon bringing her a new disk and playing the game with her, she is astounded. She changes my grade to an A+, and I get a paper certficate as top CS student at the end of the year awards ceremony. Something to add to the ol' scrapbook.
==========
PART 3
The year is 1991. Somehow, I made it through four years of college in only six years. It's those doggone labs -- one credit hour for something that takes all week.
I am now at a defense contractor writing Ada code. Yes, it is named for *that* Ada, the daughter of Lord Byron, considered one of the first software developers for programming Charles Babbage's 1837 Analytical Engine. Ada is a strongly typed language considered to be good for software engineering. Basically, if you can get it to compile correctly without any warnings, you are in pretty good shape (unlike C, in which you are just beginning your problems!)
As software engineers, we are rated by a few things -- e.g., how many source lines of code (SLOCs) we produce and how few software problem reports (SPRs) are written against our code.
As I am going through the legacy project code, I find this giant, and I mean humongous, IF-THEN statement that has about 1,000 conditionals. I see that it's poorly programmed and mind-numbingly inefficient. I reduce it to a type definition with separate representation clauses for each of the conditionals. That takes it down from 1,000 SLOCs to one. However, this throws off the coding metrics. The program is now shrinking instead of growing, and that is bad. I am instructed to revert back to the inefficient code.
Then, there are total of five unresolved SPRs written against about 20,000 SLOCs to which I contributed. That is a 0.00025 rate. I am taken to task for this during my annual review. However, I have come in armed with data -- that industry averages between about 0.020 and 0.048 bugs per SLOC are normal. I am orders of magnitude better than that. It doesn't matter. I am told to take this as "coaching" and just improve for the future.
My disillusionment with the software development world is exacerbated by my experience in the test lab.
We develop all of our code on a VAX VMS system, and then, we have to copy it over to run on the testbed in the lab. That testbed is rig with 12 Motorola 68040s connected via a VME parallel backplane data bus.
We have a common login on the lab testbed, but everyone has to copy his or her code over from their own account. Someone has made this simple by writing a script that takes your login credentials and does all the copying for you. I realize that it is a simple matter to alter the script to store a copy of people's credentials to a file in /tmp. Within a week, I have the passwords of everyone on the team.
I decide to tell the lab "czar" about this and recommend that we kill the shared account and use only individually named accounts on the system. But instead of welcoming my bug discovery and responsible disclosure, I almost get fired for "hacking."
==========
PART 4
The year is 2007. I have now been teaching my "Principles of Computer Security" class as an adjunct faculty member at the university for about seven years. I am in Las Vegas at the Riviera Casino, where our student hacking team has made it to the finals of Defcon Capture the Flag -- considered the world championship of hacking.
We have captured lightning in a bottle: that one moment when everything comes together and people accomplish a Big Thing.
I had approached the university back in 2000 looking for some advanced graduate coursework in cryptography and network security. They didn't have any.
But I had just finished up an internal company course on crypto (we were making cryptographic key fill and in-line encryptor devices for three-letter-acronym agencies) and had gotten my CISSP credential; so, I had a lot of study materials on "infosec basics."
The school asked if I could put together an undergraduate course in computer security. I foolishly said yes, and this would take up a lot of my time over the next 20 years.
Back when I graduated from college, there was no such thing as cybersecurity. I was a computer science major. Back then, you found yourself in security either by accident or necessity.
Today, they have tenure track faculty teaching security, and they have a bachelor's degree, master's degree, and doctorate in Cybersecurity. There is a $30 million state-funded Center of Excellence. I would like to say I had a little bit of influence on that.
Early on, the computer science faculty were convinced that my intro to security class was just a fad, and that infosec studies would surely go away at some point.
In 2001, a student told me about Defcon. She went every year and hung out with thousands of other hackers. It sounded cool, but I didn't know if I would ever get there. I had never been to Sin City. It sounded like a boondoggle.
Then, in 2004 my company sent me to the Black Hat Briefings, and I got a free Defcon ticket with it. I went to the first day of the con and was blown away. Technical talks in giant circus tents. Geeks walking around in shorts, many shirtless. A CTF room that had lasers and pulsating music. It looked more like a rock concert than a technical event.
Enthralled by competing in that atmosphere, I came home and told my class we were going to start a CTF team. I hung a few flyers around campus, and when the word got out, it created a buzz. The school newspaper splashed the headline: "Can you hack it?" I got called into the dean's office for a chat about this venture. I assured them it was on the up-and-up, and that we were primarily concerned with teaching outside the classroom and providing an outlet for critical thinking. They said they were going to keep a close eye on it.
The university sent in some of their IT leadership to investigate at our first meeting. They quickly realized that we were well-intentioned and *mostly* posed no harm.
There were a few incidents over the years. Some of our guys ran a password cracker on the school's supercomputing cluster for about two years before it was noticed. And there were some unsolicited bug notifications on the school website (SQLi and XSS) and payroll system (allowed directory traversal to see anyone's SSN). In my opinion, the school should've thanked us for the responsible disclosure of the latter, but as was the case with my own lab czar experience, this was perceived as unwelcome "hacking." I ended up talking to the dean's office on behalf of club members three times.
There was standing room only at our first meeting. Almost 100 people showed up. I am not kidding you; it was in Room 1337 of the Engineering Building. I have to say, that was a bit of room reservation serendipity.
We didn't know what we were doing, but we figured it out. Our first real competition was iCTF put on by the Shellphish team at UC Santa Barbara. We finished 13th. By the next year, we moved up to third.
I still recall our first CTF breakthrough. It was on a Web challenge. Basically, by manipulating the URL directly, you could pull up other pages and view/change content. Pretty low-hanging fruit by today's standards, but back then, it was CTF gold.
I worked all night once on a CRYPTO 500 challenge and finally figured out the decrypt key was the first letter of each country from which you had to proxy in a network connection to the server. Crazy!
For the Kenshoto 2007 Defcon CTF qualifiers, there was Jeopardy! style board with different categories on it:
BINARY LEETNESS FORENSICS WEB HACKING POTENT PWNABLES TRIVIA
We had gotten pretty good at all of those. I can picture every challenge in those quals. The first was a road sign at the corner of 0Day and Illuminati Streets that turned out to have some EXIF metadata in it that led to some location in Massachusetts.
We stayed up for almost 48 hours. When you have that much Red Bull and that little sleep, there are going to be some issues. I had to unwrap one guy's hands from another guy's neck at one point. But eventually, we all made up and got some sleep. We finished sixth and made it to the finals.
Here I am in the finals of Defcon CTF. I have to pinch myself. This is the end of a long journey that started with that first Apple ][+ and guessing passwords and reverse engineering scripts and learning crypto. Now, I am at home with my people. And we are hacking.
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