But everything can change in a heartbeat.
It's inconceivable until it happens. But everything can change in a heartbeat.
I hardly ever do this. This is maybe the fourth time in my 20-plus years. I just couldn't take it any longer. I had secluded myself in my little bungalow far from town, doing contract coding. My only real contact was with the delivery folks, and even they usually left stuff at the door. My nearest neighbor was miles away, so I had plenty of privacy. I lived on the edge of nowhere. On the cusp of the grid. And that was the way I liked it.
I had no problem with the 'outside world' or the people in it. I had a problem with me. I had never been comfortable in my own skin, and I used to hide under it. 85 pounds overweight and obscured by a sea of frizzy hair and a beard that grew like kudzu, I'm sure I resembled two eyes buried inside a bristly dandelion. There was a definite 'mountain man' vibe when I interacted with the world. People kept their distance, and I was relieved.
But this time in public, I was utterly unrecognizable. I had become so sick of the self-loathing that I decided I must do something. Suicide was one option. That would stop the pain. I knew there was another option.... a real long shot... one that I'd avoided all my life. I decided to take the hard road, knowing that if things didn't work out, ending it all would always remain an option.
Thanks to the internet, everything I needed was at my fingertips and I didn't need to explain myself to anyone. With my slowly growing self respect, losing the weight and getting in shape was surprisingly fast and less difficult than expected.
I liked becoming who I finally decided to be and it was a joy seeing all the work pay off. The beard was gone, the hair was trimmed and in a ponytail. I always ate healthy and had good skin. Growing up I was often told with barely hidden scorn, that I had inherited my mom's features. The countless online makeup tutorials were profoundly helpful and my skills had become adequate. Some brutally effective body shapers rounded out my hips and behind, conveniently cramming away the troublesome bits, while cinching my middle and supplying an adequate imitation of what nature had neglected up top.
I put on my peg leg jeans, low heel leather boots, a crew neck top and suede bomber jacket. I deliberately dialed down the femininity. I didn't want to look like a cross dresser going to a DAR meeting in my wool skirtsuit and pearls. I wanted to look like an ordinary woman, in sensible but stylish clothing, going out for errands and to get her hair done.
When I drove into town, I didn't expect anyone to recognize me as the burly mountain man. That was 80 lbs and an acre of facial hair ago. I did worry that I'd still look like a dude in ladies clothes, so I was really quite stressed. Especially at the prospect of walking into the hair salon.
I needn't have worried. If they did clock me as a male, they didn't let on, and were happy to sit me down and take my money. It was the best money I'd ever spent.
I tried my best to wrestle my unruly hair into a ponytail before visiting them. I didn't want to trim or do anything to it, because I wanted them to have the most raw material to work with.
While initially a bit shocked when they saw what they had to work with, they quickly got it washed, rinsed and detangled and came to share my view that all that now-lustrous hair gave them much more styling latitude. They cut and styled it, and I immediately embraced their suggestion to do something with the coloring. A deep bronze with foil highlights made me feel a bit like Jessica Rabbit.
They were nearly as stunned with the outcome as I was. I tipped them so generously, I think I became legend. If not for the mousey tomboy they turned into a stunning diva, then for my 100% gratuity.
They strongly suggested I go next door to their affiliated salon for a mani-pedi. I was reveling in the moment, so I jumped at the suggestion. My 'girls day out' was going far better than I dared hope. I had initially dreaded it, but the further I went down the rabbit hole, the more confident and believable I felt - and the less I worried about being read.
Then it all went to shit.
I had spent a few carefree hours shopping for shoes and clothes, getting some really helpful makeup advice and another bag full of cosmetics & fragrance. I was looking and feeling more like who I was really meant to be after each stop & mini-makeover on my shopping spree.
Waiting to cross a busy street, a van blocked the crosswalk when suddenly I was grabbed from behind by a couple of big guys in hardhats and sunglasses wearing utility worker coveralls.
They threw me headfirst into the van where the doors shut behind me, and a someone threw a sack over my head, cinching it tightly at the neck and plunging me into darkness. I was immediately groped by a sea of hands. I thought was this some twisted trans-bashing cult? Am I about to get the living shit kicked out of me – or worse? They yanked my arms behind my back and ziptied my wrists and ankles, then bound them to each other. I had been hogtied with zipties. It was still pitch dark, so I couldn't see how many there were. We got tossed around as the van sped to its destination. I instantly knew I'd better keep my voice as feminine as possible because a masculine voice could only make things worse. “What the FU...” I started to say when someone wrenched my head back and lifted the hood enough to slap duct tape across my mouth.
“Tell renops we got her.” someone said to the panel separating us from the front seat.
“Copy that.”
“Yeah... we got her GOOD” another chuckled. As he forced the burlap hood back down and tightened the collar around my neck.
“You didn't think you'd evade us forever did you? You of all people should know our eyes are everywhere.”
“Who are you and why would I even want to evade you? I was just walking down the street minding my own....”
“Cut the shit Eve. Do you think we're stupid? You elites think you're so much smarter than the rest of us”
“How do you know my name? Elites? What do you mean 'elites'?”
“All you computer types with your fancy college degrees, decadent morals and wiseass attitudes looking down on the rest of us.”
“You have me tied to a chair, I have no idea where I am or even who the hell YOU are, you hold all the cards in this situation.”
“Damn straight”
“So why are you so neurotic?”
He had been pacing like a tense animal, his hands clenched into fists like he wanted to strike out at something, but that was when he completely lost it.
“I'll have you know you arrogant bitch, that I went to college too!” He bellowed, pressing his nose against mine and covering my face with his spittle. “Ever heard of Quantico?”
I raised an eyebrow and looked him straight in the eye, I couldn't imagine this volatile man cutting it in the FBI. “You graduated Quantico?” At which point his face turned so red I thought his head was about to explode... which I took as my answer. He said 'went', not 'graduated'.
He turned his back to me and addressed his minions with menacing calm. “Get. That. CUNT. Out of here.”
“Hey!” I said, my indigence suddenly overriding my fear. “I don't need to take that kind of abuse!”
Suddenly his fury was replaced by something much much darker... malevolent humor, as he turned back to me with the most chilling smile I'd ever seen.
“Yes. Yes you do. Lady, you don't know the meaning of abuse. But you're about to get a graduate course.”
“Don't I get a phone call and a lawyer?”
This question truly caught him by surprise and he laughed with unexpected delight.
“Who the christ do you think we ARE? The fuckin' COPS?” At that he motioned with his hands and his two goons dragged me off.
OK. It wasn't the police, or the FBI, but there was something cop-like about them. Maybe more like the Gestapo or other old school secret police. They photographed and fingerprinted me like real police, then they held me down while they swabbed my cheek for a DNA sample. They then took me to my 'hole' a 3 by 3 concrete room with a very crude sink/toilet contraption in one corner and a ccd camera embedded in the ceiling. They forced me to strip but let me keep my underwear. Fortunately, I was well tucked and had covered my silicone breasts with makeup to better blend into my own chest. They hadn't realized I wasn't actually female. But it was inevitable. And I knew with these goons, it could only make things worse.
I don't know how long I was in the hole. There was no light, so I had to grope around to find and use the toilet-thingy which would have been foreign enough had I actually been able to see it. I was sure the ccd camera was infrared capable and that my captors could see everything at all times. I took great pains to conceal my secret for as long as possible while trying to sort out who these people were, and who they thought I was. I was not wearing well. I could already feel slight beard growth and knew it was just a matter of time.
“LADY Eve!” the voice boomed from somewhere in my tiny cube. I raised my head.”Time for a chat”. I guess they ran my prints. I was made. The lights came back on and two goons hauled me out again. I was marched back to another interrogation room, this one seemed more like a walk in refrigerator, with a large metal door and some kind of thickly insulated metallic walls. My tormentor was back. Pacing like a pleased predator deciding just how he was going to strike.
“Yves Guillaume Derosiers 21. Born St Albans VT to Marie and Laurent Derosiers. Only child. Parents deceased. CS degree RPI, abandoned graduate studies and disappeared 2 years ago. Actually all of this fits the profile we already had worked up on you.... except for this.” He pointed to a blow up of my drivers license with the M circled repeatedly in red sharpie.
“See? I told you you had it all wrong.”
“You were right. We never took your boyfriend for a fag.” he smiled “his LADY Eve was a dude all along”
“I still have no idea what you're talking about. OK. You caught me. I'm a crossdresser. But you know everything about me, I quit school because I got too many good offers to do lucrative contract coding. I figured I could go back to school later and be better able to afford grad studies. I'm sure you've run my tax returns and know this. So I'm not who you think I am.”
“Well, we didn't know you were a male. That was a surprise, but everything else still fits the profile. Of course you would forge a solid cover while you were collaborating with your terrorist boyfriend.”
“Terrorist boyfriend?”
“Don't play dumb with me bitch.... I, um, mean buddy.”
I don't know why, but I took the fact that he still had a hard time addressing me as male as a small victory.
“I really don't know who you're talking about. Just assume, that I'm not who you think I am and explain to me all the details that you think the real Lady Eve should already know. What leverage would you lose?”
He thought about it for a while.
“OK. We know you have been collaborating with Aaron Cohen in his repeated acts of treason and subversion of U.S. interests domestically and abroad”
“Who the hell is Aaron Cohen?” I sighed.
“I suppose that with you people, he might never have told you his real name.” He suddenly had a thought that made him laugh. “Hell, for all I know, somehow you managed to keep him from learning that you're a fucking guy!” His distant stare indicated that he was filing away that notion for later. “OK. Maybe your boyfriend never told you his real name and you only knew him by his hacker name..... 'R00tkid'”
“Holy shit. The grayhat who leaked the bank records of the payoffs to financial regulators?”
“We're going to get him back”
“What is this, the Federal Bureau of Revenge?”
“Look lady... er... just look... if you actually don't know who we are, it's because you're not cleared to know, so just shut the fuck up and keep it that way.”
“So you think I'm R00tkid's girlfriend?”
“Don't THINK”
“Got THAT right” I smiled.
“Shit. What if it really isn't his girlfriend?” one of the others said.
“The recognition engine made a 98% match. It almost never scores that high, even in tests”
“Yeah, well it told us to abduct a GUY.”
“Does that look like a guy to you?”
“Well, a little bit more now with the 5 O'Clock shadow”
“What if it isn't his girlfriend?”
“What if he isn't a fag?”
“The plan doesn't change. The recog says 98%. He'll run it and think we've got her. Then we'll have HIM”
“So, I'm BAIT?”
“This isn't going to work, he's looking more like a dude all the time.”
“Yeah... We're going to need outside help.”
They held me in the metal room they called the thermos, which I later surmised was some kind of super secure sound & vibration proof faraday cage. Apparently the 'outside help' they called was the black ops version of a style channel makeover team. I was waxed and preened, and when they were through, I looked better than I'd ever been able to do on my own. They also gave me a couple of jabs in the buttocks. When I asked, I was simply told this would help with the beard growth problem since they were too busy to attend to me daily. My tormentors also did a little work between my legs, securing things up inside and gluing the scrotum skin into something that really did resemble a labia. They arranged things so I could still pee, but due to the geometry, I would have to squat and wipe. I just shrugged, thinking I always struggled with the desire to be female, and here under these draconian circumstances, I had come closer than I'd ever dreamed. After my “makeover” my tormentor – who I heard someone call “Lynch” returned to inspect their work.
“Damn. You look good enough to fuck. ….If I were bent that way. I get what he sees in you.”
“You still think I'm his 'girlfriend'?”
“Doesn't really matter what we think. Doesn't matter whether you are or not. Only matters that HE thinks you're her, and that we've got you....which we certainly do”
“So I'm just bait?”
“Let's see if he takes it.”
...to be continued
It didn't take long for the darknet to buzz with news that the goons had grabbed 3V3.
Someone posted surveillance footage of the abduction and backtracked it to the nail salon, the hair stylist and other errands. The real surprise was that she was being so open, since she was usually so cautious and discreet, and there was a bit of surprise that she appeared in the Catskills, but then someone posited that it would be the last place anyone expected to look.
The Catskills... Aaron Cohen thought. Who was monitoring the grid in the godforsaken Catskills? He knew SIMon would easily expand to cover the entire surveillance grid, and no doubt, the goons had managed to implement full extensibility. He was a little surprised that another hacker had gotten the footage, presumably through SIMon. Well, he reflected, the Surveillance Intelligence MONitor I designed for the powers that be is not my baby anymore. It's out there working for others, my adversaries for sure, but others too. I can't believe it pegged 3V3.
He tapped into the SIMon stat system and ran the logs. Holy crap. 98% make? That's incredible. 'I can't reliably get a 96% make on myself two days in a row', he thought.
Then he stopped thinking about the obvious flaw in the recog engine that could generate such a strong false positive and rewatched the footage, the raw data being much higher resolution than what was posted on the darknet. Others may have cracked into SIMon, but he could still play it like a virtuoso.
The footage was incredible. This girl was a dead ringer for 3V3. No wonder SIMon 'made' her. And no wonder the goon squad snatched her as soon as she was made.
That poor girl. She has no idea what deep dung she's fallen into.
Aaron didn't have to look too hard to find the ransom notes. The encryption was laughably poor. Presumably they wanted everyone to crack it, so the whole community knew the goons were holding R00tkid's girlfriend and were going to smoke him out ...or any other unwitting scriptkiddie who took the bait.
Then he wondered, did they deliberately use bad encryption or were they just more incompetent than even he thought. No matter. The effect was the same. The battle lines were drawn and armies and alliances were coalescing. The Helen of Troy scenario was running and there was no stopping it.
To be continued...
The sparring had begun. R00tkid posted an 'open letter' to the community - using a stronger encryption key - explaining that the whole 3V3 thing was a setup and the goons were setting a trap in their own clumsy way.
He urged everyone not to fall for it. As proof, he posted a vid of himself and Lady 3V3 together reading his statement, with the hi-rez surveillance vid and cable news running in background monitors as a timestamp. They both explained that she was safe and where she had always been, and that this was just a trap by the goons.
Then the discussion turned to whether they actually had a prisoner or had managed to synthesize the likeness of Lady 3V3 for their 'leaked' surveillance footage.
“I know these guys.” R00tkid posted “They're not that good.”
Everyone quickly agreed. Adding that no one was.
'Almost no one' thought R00tkid as Lady3V3 left his side and walked off camera. He discreetly terminated the overlay and concentrated on the remainder of the videoconference.
“OK. They can't fake this. But the REAL Lady 3V3 is still with R00tkid. So they must have someone. I wonder if she has any idea what's happening to her.”
“Doubtful.” R00tkid replied. “These guys don't explain themselves like a Bond villain.”
“So what do we do? She may not be Lady 3V3, but they still have her. And we have to save her. Anyway, she's really hot!” Everyone eagerly echoed their agreement on that.
“We do nothing for now. They won't hurt her. She's of no use to them damaged... she will just have to marinate until we come up with a plan. If we go off impulsively without a plan we're no better than they are. And we MUST be better – much better – if we want to succeed.” No one was happy to wait, but neither was anyone able to make a compelling argument for a better plan of action, so the troops gathered in wait.
“What the hell is IN those shots you keep giving me?” I asked the guard as he dragged me out for another series of injections. He just shrugged. Curiosity was not in his job description. I imagine it would be considered a grave liability. “Well, could you ask? ...for me?” I really began to worry if they were some sort of psychotropic, because I was gradually feeling much edgier and raw. I had been able to tough out the first few days, but as time went on, I would find myself overwhelmed with despair and loneliness. I was becoming very emotionally fragile. I was never very emotional, but that had changed, and these were the most vivid, overwhelming emotions I'd experienced. I seriously thought the only way to escape my situation was to kill myself, but my captors took away every means to achieve even that goal. I was bereft and inconsolable. Which seemed to really please my captors. I knew they were constantly watching me on the security cameras. I wondered if anyone else was watching too.
The live feed from the pen had become a permanent window in Aaron's display. SIMon's internal diagnostics were just as capable of monitoring the secure intranet as it was the public grid. They must have known that because they kept her in camera sight nearly all the time. He had no doubt she was not a clone of HIS Eve. She was not a sim. He was watching a flesh and blood human. And it caused him increasing distress to witness her emotional unraveling.
I had lost all concept of time. There was no day or night, so consequently there were no days or weeks or maybe even months. There was me in my box, and the occasional 'hygiene breaks' which really meant time away from the unblinking eyes of the surveillance cameras. Hygiene really meant being put up against a wall and sprayed with ice water by a pressure hose, which took all of 5 minutes, then 20 minutes of 'debriefing' where they would always ask me the same senseless questions that I couldn't answer. Then 5 more minutes of being restrained and subjected to another series of injections and blood drawing. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it, yet after long enough it became a familiar ritual, and as the only ritual left in my now unanchored existence, became a singular source of perverse comfort.
During one of our pointless 'debriefs' I momentarily gained the temerity – and lucidity – to ask what happened to my “real” life. I mentioned that even though I was not close to anyone, at some point, someone would notice that I was missing, and that they had better seriously consider this. The nameless man who always asked me the same pointless questions broke from his routine long enough to write down some notes. Maybe my questions got his attention. Maybe he was forwarding them to someone and I began to hope against hope that someday I would get an answer. I never dared hope for them to let me go, but I was so despondent that even the most terse answer to my most simple question would have been like crumbs of bread to a starving man.
I think it was 2 or 3 times after I'd conjured up the courage to ask my rhetorical questions, when I finally got my answer. My regular interrogator was joined by agent Lynch, who thanked me for pointing out a loose end. He informed me that my cabin had been raided very conspicuously by an anti-terrorist SWAT team, who proceeded to blow up my home and burn the ruins to a charred pit. They then let it be known to all my neighbors and local authorities that I had suicidally detonated all the explosives I was making when my terror campaign to outdo the unabomber was thwarted by the SWAT raid. They also claimed that I was funding my terror by cooking meth, and it was the presence of all the toxic drug-making chemicals that forced them to quarantine an acre in every direction and post guards to keep nosy locals away “for their own safety”.
Lynch was quite pleased to inform me that my “real” life was gone, and thanks to my convincingly staged suicide, Yves Derosiers was now dead - officially, as well as virtually. With that he nodded to the two guards who dragged me off for my forced injections. Only this time the injections were different, as I felt consciousness quickly falling away, I thought “it is done. They are finally free to kill me.”
I always was an optimist.
Aaron was getting worried. 'Actual EVE' – he had started thinking of her as that, to differentiate from his own 'Virtual 3V3' had disappeared from the scans on schedule for the 30 minute shower period, but this time she failed to return. With a mix of curiosity and alarm, he searched the logs of the holding facility referred to as 'the basement' and often pronounced 'debasement' by The Enterprise – the rogue black ops organization, ...and his ex-employer.
They didn't see it that way when he unilaterally severed his contract. Had they realized how good he really was, they never would have hired him. They probably would have killed him so that no one could hire him.
He designed all their systems of surveillance and control. He knew better than anyone how powerful they were, and when he saw how his tools were being used – most sane people would say abused – he walked away and went underground.
Of course it wasn't as simple as it sounds, and he never sought revenge. No point in aggravating such a powerful enemy. His intention was merely to rebalance the ecosystem.
It was only when they went after him that it became personal, and this hostage business took it to a whole new level.
He protected himself and those close to him skillfully and effectively. He never thought to protect the Lady 3V3 because she never actually existed anyway. She was untouchable.
He never dreamed that they would mistake an innocent stranger and use her as a pawn. Or deliberately use an innocent stranger as a pawn. They were that evil but they weren't that creative. He was nearly certain that they believed that this actually was his partner, and therefore there was nothing they wouldn't do to her to get to him.
Since he singlehandedly coded all their ops systems, getting back in was not an issue. He had never been out.
The times they brought teams of contractors in to replace pieces of his code, the system spiraled into cascade failures. No doubt they told themselves that he had trip-wired the system to fail at interference. In truth, his code was just so lean and delicately balanced, that when a chunk of it was replaced by clumsy bloated contractor code, the fragile dependencies of his macrosystem quickly collapsed and collateral failures spread like shockwaves.
They had no choice but to keep his original system intact until they came up with a complete rewrite of the entire system, which he reckoned would take decades, years if they got AI assistance, and require hardware many orders of magnitude beyond their already vast – yet insanely efficient and codependent massively parallel network mesh. He never messed with their net. He was loath to deface his own work, Anyway, he didn't want to harm it. He just wanted to continue to use it. And since he understood its capabilities far better than those who hired him to build it, it was always far more useful to him than to the enemies who actually built it.
There was no clue in the system logs to explain the prolonged disappearance of Actual Eve. Scanning for anomalies, he did turn up requisitions for an atypical amount of med supplies including a lot of blood. Clearly the emergency surgery was in use, but unless there was a firefight and heavy casualties, that would never register an anomaly on a logscan. He searched for any instance of casualties and only came across one line. Prisoner remanded medsurg post incident.
The prisoner had to be Eve. But what incident? There were a lot of surgical supplies used, and the power monitors showed the surgery in use for over 8 hours. Personnel lists showed 18 med tech and related outside staff temporarily on premises. Something had happened. But until she got back on the grid – or god-forbid on the morgue log, he could only speculate.
I don't know how long I struggled to wake up, it seemed like a long time I tried to organize my thoughts. Who was I? Where was I? What was going on? Finally, slowly, things began to come into focus. And I instantly regretted my returning awareness. I tried to howl from the pain but all that came out was a hoarse rasp. I tried to writhe from the agony, but I felt as if I had been sewn down.
“Hey, she's coming to.” said a voice from somewhere.
“Isn't it too early?” said another.
“Fuck it. What's she gonna do about it?” said someone. A handful of voices laughed.
True. What could I do about it? I closed my eyes and tried to die.
Eventually I managed to at least pass out from the pain.
When the group escorting ...no, this time they were literally dragging Eve to her pen appeared on survnet, the motion detector bots woke Aaron immediately.
He quickly wondered why the Motion monitor triggered but the recog bot didn't.
Then he saw her.
She lay in the corner of her pen, propped like a ragdoll placed to face the camera.
The slits in her swollen face completely obscured her eyes, her face was so bruised and bloated he couldn't tell if she was conscious. Looking at her mangled bandaged body, he prayed that she wasn't.
What the hell had happened? What had they done to her?
Had she tried suicide? If they wanted her dead, she would be dead. They must have wanted her alive, but she had other plans.
She looked like she had been hit by a bus. She was bandaged like a mummy from her neck to her knees. The way her limbs splayed, he wondered if they were all broken. One thing was certain, none of them had been set. It was as if they had completely removed the bones from her limbs, leaving her limp as a ragdoll. Again, he would not put that past them, but he didn't really think they had, simply because they weren't that creative.
His heart ached for this poor girl. Still, there was nothing he could do at the moment, so he increased the sensitivity on the motion alarm, and returned to bed and a nightmare wracked sleep.
“You look like shit” Lynch laughed as he stuck his head into my tiny cell. I tried to turn my head toward him and failed. Any movement was excruciating. It even hurt to blink. Finally, I was able to muster the energy to get out one, whispered syllable,
“why?”
“....because we can.” the bastard laughed. “Get up, bitch.”
I still didn't move. I couldn't.
“I said get UP!” he motioned to the guards who stood to each side of me as I remained curled in the corner. “Kidneys and thighs only. Don't want to damage our fine work.” Then they began their kicks interlaced with screams of “UP!”
After about 5 minutes of this, they either realized this was not working or they just got bored. One of them reached down and grabbing a large rope of my hair, yanked me off the ground. As soon as he let go, I collapsed onto his feet.
“Oh Christ. This is pointless” he muttered as he again grabbed my hair and dragged my limp body from my cell.
Aaron watched this all as he fed the live videostream out to the others in the hangout.
Their gasps and sobs only reminded him how hard he himself had become in dealing with these guys. He was neither surprised or appalled. He had come to expect exactly this sort of thing from his old employers.
Once she disappeared off camera, dragged to the unmonitored interrogation wing, he addressed his colleagues.
“It's not clear that she is in any shape to travel.”
Many nods as people fought to regain control of their emotions.
“But it is clear that she can not stay any longer where she is. So we must act soon. Acting puts her at risk, but not acting guarantees that her fate will be worse.”
And with that, the plan was hatched.
The team began removing the bandages and changing the dressings. One of them gave me a shot of morphine before being yelled at by one of the guards. Apparently this medical team was not part of my captor's sadistic group, because they kept treating me with human compassion until yelled at not to.
Turns out that my 'injuries' were actually surgeries. Since they destroyed my real life, I no longer officially existed, and they decided they would do anything they wanted with me.
What they decided they wanted was to actually, surgically turn me into they hostage they originally wanted.
After years of crossdressing and wondering what life would be like had I been born female. These psychotic animals had surgically transformed me into their Lady Eve. They also laced scars up and down my limbs and neck to resemble suicide attempts. 'Sweetening the bait' they called it.
After years of longing and dreaming, I had perversely achieved my hearts desire under the most sadistic dehumanizing circumstances. I managed a bitter laugh through the pain.
It didn't matter now. Nothing mattered. The battered soul inside was irrelevant to my captors. All that mattered was the shell. I was just a piece of bait, and if I stood any chance to survive this – which I doubted – or however long I managed to endure, the best thing I could do for myself was to try to disassociate from the physical world as much as possible. Catatonia may not have been achievable, but it was the only goal I could imagine, so I tried with my entire being.
The medical team replaced the dressings, examined the healing tissue, repacked everything and sent me back to my box. This repeated 3 or four time over what must have been several days. I had become an inanimate object, and eventually the guards stopped physically assaulting me to obey their commands. I think they just got tired of wasting their time. I was dragged around by the hair like a toddler's doll. I registered all this, but none of it mattered. I was slowly learning to tune out anything happening in the physical world.
Aaron had fed the security feed to the darknet, so when the next phase started, the outrage from the net was nearly as quick as his motion detectors to alert him of this latest change. The bandages had been removed and Eve's scarred and battered body was splayed naked before the camera displaying all the sutures and bruises. No doubt her captors wanted to show off their handiwork, so she was no longer even permitted underwear. It didn't seem to matter to her. Her eyes remained as lifeless as they had been since her injuries. He wondered if they had lobotomized her, but could see no evidence of cranial scarring.
Maybe it was an extreme defense mechanism, he wondered. If so, it was the only defense possible. When the guards gathered and began the gangrape, Aaron threw his careful plan out the window, and activated the detention wing's fire suppression system.
As the doors autolatched and the speakers blared their automatic halon warnings, Bill Lynch watching from the surveillance hub chuckled to himself. “Now we've got you, you little prick.”
Modesty was never one of Lynch's shortcomings. His absolute confidence in his ability – however misguided – had gotten him far in government service, especially dealing with superiors who knew less than he did and mistook confidence for ability. R00tkid and his “rogue army” had no such misconception. They counted on Lynch's clueless hubris for their plan to succeed. And as always, he more than met their expectations.
The guards quickly left the detention wing for the emergency exits at the halon alarm. If they thought about it, they would know the likelihood of fire just as they were about to begin their gangrape for the security camera was next to impossible, and was just a ploy to distract them. But they weren't paid to think. In fact, years of training had conditioned them to not think and simply, blindly, follow orders. And their training was, at the halon alarm they had less than 30 seconds to get to safety before all breathable air would be replaced with toxic fire suppressant gas.
In just under 20 seconds, the detention wing was deserted. Except for the one detainee. Still slumped like a ragdoll in her cell.
Lynch quickly ordered the guards to fortify the perimeter of the detention unit, knowing they would be coming for her soon. He also monitored the facility entrance, wondering how they were planning to storm that.
Nikolai Yeshenko never imagined himself as a ninja. He was a nerd. Far more comfortable decompiling an algorithm than slogging through utility tunnels like some hollywood action hero. Still, he was probably the most fit of the group, and with his childhood filled with martial arts lessons, school sports, and ballet training his mom insisted were as grueling athletics as any of the sports his dad insisted upon to get him away from his computer, he had a diverse and oddly suitable skillset for this mission. But he knew they really chose him because he was crazy enough to do it and succeed.
R00tkid had him and his team holed up in a motel near the facility while they devised a plan. When the GO came, it seemed a little frantic. He didn't know what had changed, but that just raised the stakes and made it more of a rush. He felt like he had just been bonused a level, and knew the adrenaline rush would raise him to the challenge.
Lynch and his team scoured the monitors, waiting for the strike. But everything was normal. “We're dealing with a bunch of punks, not trained commandos. It may take them time to get their assault on.”
“Maybe they're waiting for a bus” someone said. Everyone laughed.
“It took us weeks to set this trap. I'm not going to fuck it up now by being impatient.” Lynch bellowed to the team. That shut them up.
Aaron wondered if they would notice that the live surveillance footage was suddenly replaced by playback from the loggers. If he had time to do it right, he would make sure that each camera showed the same combination of personnel from the last time they all worked the same shift, but there had been no time. He had to count on them not noticing. He needn't have worried. When he signaled his gopher team to begin their final move, he fed his stream into the surveillance hub. Suddenly everyone noticed as the internal monitors switched to outside feeds from dozens of surveillance cameras around the country.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Holy shit. That's my parent's house” exclaimed one guard as on the monitor the SWAT team surrounded it readying their assault.
“Where's that?” asked another.
“My ex wife's house” Lynch laughed. As the terrified woman and 4 screaming children were carried from the house by another SWAT team.
“Your kids?” someone asked.
“I only have HER word for that” Lynch sneered. “OK. That little prick has gone too far. Lock us down.”
“No response.”
“Call the gate guard.”
“No response.”
“What the fuck? He's just sitting there!”
“Wait, Cooper's on post. I saw him when I checked in. That's... is that Braden?”
“It's a fucking playback! How long?”
“No idea”
“Sound the general alarm”
“No response”
“Fuck.” Lynch darted over to a handscanner on a wallplate and a weapons locker opened. “Grab a piece and come with me”. The door was locked, but he expected that and keyed in the override. As soon as they began to open it, the Halon gas began to pour in.
“Fuck! Shut it!” He scowled and paced it. “I told you to disable the Fire Suppression” he screamed at a tech.
“I did.” He was meek but adamant. “It must have been reenabled ….and triggered”
“No SHIT!” Lynch spluttered.
It was masks on and into the breach as Niko and his two companions undid the service panel that led into the facility. The Halon cloud was so thick, they couldn't see a thing. But R00tkid was watching everything through the surveillance systems and he caught the three heat sigs the moment they left the service duct. “To your right and 30 meters. I'll have the door unlocked by the time you reach it. And he was as good as his word. Each door opened at their request until they were deep inside the detention compound. When the cell door finally opened and Niko saw the limp figure he had become so obsessed with on his monitor, he was momentarily overwhelmed. He looked for a flash of recognition in her blank unfocussed gaze. He imagined he saw one, even though he would later admit it was probably his imagination. He wanted her to realize that her deliverance was at hand. Acting as if she had acknowledged his entrance to her cell, he flipped up his mask and grinned stupidly.
“I'm Luke Skywalker and I'm here to rescue you! …..I've always wanted to say that!” He searched for some response on her blank, bruised face, but saw none. His disappointment was shortlived.
“Stop screwing around and GO!” R00tkid yelled through his earpiece.
Back on mission, Niko took a mask from Lisa, his number two, and placed it over Eve's head. He picked up her limp body and draped it over his shoulder.
“Christ. She weighs nothing! Jesus... IS she just a fucking doll?” He poked at one of the scars to see if it felt real, and heard her let out a little groan. He blushed, allowed himself a nanosecond of remorse and then got them the hell out of there.
I had hoped I'd never wake up again. And for a while I thought I was getting there. Things became more distant and unreal and it was a relief. But now I felt the fog lifting as I slowly slid toward consciousness. The more I tried to resist, the quicker I became lucid. So I just relaxed back and waited for the wave of pain.
And I waited.
I finally began to entertain the notion that for once, the pain was not going to come. Which is when I expected to be overwhelmed by it. Still nothing.
I finally realized that I must be awake by now. But I felt no pain. In fact I didn't feel anything. Or see or hear anything. No. I heard my heartbeat and blood coursing through my veins. But I couldn't see anything. As I lifted up my arm with considerable difficulty – had I really become that frail? - I felt for my body. I was here. And seemingly full of needles and tubes. What the hell were my tormentors up to now? After what seemed like ages, I heard a stirring outside my....wherever I was... and a lid slowly opened above me. A sea of faces were silhouetted against the blinding light, as I heard one of them say “Welcome. To the REAL world.”
Another elbowed him and he let out a yelp. “Quit with the movie quotes. This is serious!” she said. “I'm Lisa. You're safe now. This is Niko. And Jose."
“We rescued you!” said the younger voice.... Jose?
“No. We just got you out.” Lisa said. “HE rescued you!” and the three faces pulled back to reveal a fourth silhouette leaning over my...wherever I was.
“Jesus Christ!” he muttered quietly... as if to himself. Then he quickly regained his composure, and as I tried to focus my eyes, I saw his warm smile. “Hi. I'm Aaron.... I didn't rescue you. I got you into this mess.”
“R00tkid” I managed to hoarsely whisper. He smiled sadly and nodded.
“And you, it would seem... are the REAL Lady Eve.”
I tired easily and they were very lenient with me, letting me rest after every exhausting conversation. I'm sure none lasted a whole five minutes. Over time I learned that I was in a saline suspension tank which they felt would speed my healing and avoid any jarring sensory stimulation. It felt like being in a big old womb, and I welcomed it. I felt like I had been in there for weeks, but apparently it was only days.
I had a brief conversation with Lisa, who it seems in her 'real' life was some sort of hotshot medical researcher. She expressed some concern over my bloodwork and asked when I was expecting my next period. I laughed bitterly and told her that wasn't going to be an issue. She took a good look at my scars and asked if my captors did that to me. I replied with a feeble smile that I hoped I'd look good on the application papers to adopt, because that was the only way I was going to be a parent now. She went pale and shuddered, and said she'd add hormonal supplements to the other therapeutics they were pumping into me.
I was getting I.V. drips of all sorts of things... nutritional supplements, painkillers, anti-inflammatories and, I was told, some mild psychotropics.
I probably should have been alarmed, but after what I had been through at the hands of my last captors, I felt protected and coddled. I was surprised to find that I was actually feeling a little more human each day. My previous experience began feeling like a terrible nightmare, fading as I progressed toward wakefulness.
I was told that this was the psychotropics. Apparently my new protectors knew as much about assuaging trauma as my previous captors knew about inflicting it. It was probably the drugs, but these people made me feel more than protected. I felt cherished.
I got out of the tank after about 10 days and gingerly rejoined the human race. Lisa loaned me some yoga pants and a cami, and generously donated some brand new underwear. “We can send someone for your old stuff. Just tell us where to get it.”
I explained how my previous captors, beginning to wonder if they had abducted the wrong person, covered their tracks by destroying my home and faking my own death, disguising it as a terrorist suicide bombing. Everyone seemed shocked by this – except R00rkid.
“I will admit I am surprised. But not by their ruthlessness... only that they were clever enough to cover their tracks.”
“I may have said something that gave them the idea” I admitted sheepishly. He smiled sadly and nodded.
“Well. You can't go home. You don't even have a life to go back to. What now?”
“I'm too emotionally exhausted to be vengeful. But these people can't be allowed to go on doing these things. They must be stopped. I'd like to help.”
R00tkid smiled. “Welcome to my world. I know exactly how you feel. And welcome to our team.”
“So how can I help?”
“I'm sure there will be many ways as we get to know you and learn about your skills and talents, but for now, I'd like you to do one major thing.”
“What?”
“For the moment. Could I ask you.... would you permit.... um, I need you to... no I'd LIKE you to...”
“Would you just come out and SAY it?”
“Be Lady Eve?”
That was the last thing I was expecting to hear.
“You want ME.... to be Lady Eve?” He nodded.
“I'd like you to meet my crew. Some people. My associates. Maybe attend some events together. Give interviews together to trusted bloggers?”
“As some sort of distraction? As some kind of decoy or ringer?”
He shook his head. “No ringer.”
“What about the REAL Lady Eve? How will SHE feel about this?”
He smiled guiltily and cast his eyes down to the floor. He fished a thumbdrive out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Ask her yourself.”
“O.K.” R00tkid said sheepishly. “Now you have me. You know my darkest secret. Something no one.... I mean NO ONE else knows.”
“There IS no Lady Eve? - There never WAS??”
“Well. There IS.... she's just.....”
“Virtual.”
He blushed.
“There were a lot of reasons behind it. It started out as an exercise in scaling the uncanny valley.... which is..”
“In my former life I was a programmer and an avid gamer. I get it. But you actually DID it? She was that believable?”
“You be the judge.” he said, taking the flashdrive and plugging it into his dock. Suddenly I was looking at my own reflection.... without all the scars.
“Christ....”
“Yeah.” R00tkid blushed again. “It's no wonder they picked you up as soon as they saw you on the grid.”
“So you knew all along I wasn't real... since there is no Lady Eve.”
“On the contrary. I knew you WERE real. Which is why their little stunt worked and they smoked me out. One of the many points behind the enigmatic, reclusive, stunningly beautiful Lady Eve being virtual is that I could finally have a public partner that I wouldn't endanger. They couldn't use her to get to me because there actually WAS no “her”. I was feeling pretty smug. I made a sim that totally fooled my adversaries – which admittedly is not that hard and nothing to brag about, but which also was believable to my colleagues and associates.... who are very, very hard to fool. None of them still know.”
“But no one got suspicious that they never MET Lady Eve?”
“Not until they helped me rescue you” he smiled.
“So these goons abducting me, supplied you with a real Lady Eve.”
“I had never imagined such a scenario. In fact, when I designed Eve I vetted her against a copious image base to filter out accidental false positives. You never showed up anywhere. And my database isn't just culled from public image bases but from a store of surveillance data you can't imagine. It's like you suddenly appeared out of ….”
“...Out of the ether?” I smiled sadly. He nodded.
“Well, I didn't always look like this. You see, I have a dark secret too.”
I explained everything to R00tkid. And for the first time since I met him, I saw genuine surprise on his face.
“I can't believe it. You're actually a GUY?!?”
“Not anymore” I shook my head sadly. “Thanks to your brutal friends. Once they destroyed my old life, they felt free to do whatever they wanted. And this is what they did.” I said passing my hand up and down my bruised, scarred, but completely female body.
“But why?”
“I think they were confused. They were beginning to doubt that I was really who they wanted to abduct, so they made me into her.”
“I thought I was hardened enough that nothing they did could surprise me. I was wrong. Oh my God. I'm SO sorry.”
“For what? You did nothing. This was all them. Yes, it was a tragic coincidence that I resembled your virtual ...girlfriend”
R00tkid went crimson
“...but what happened to me was all at their hands. Your only involvement was stepping in and saving my life.” I began to tear up.
“But I'm responsible for stealing your life ….your....manhood”
“Nonsense!” I stopped sniffling. Sentiment being washed away by indignation. “Those bastards stole my life. And my.... “
“manhood”
I smiled sadly. “It's not like I was doing much with it anyway. Hell. There's a reason I was walking around town looking, as it turns out, like a dead ringer for Eve. I was never comfortable in my skin for as long as I could remember. When I was 3 I had no clue what gender identity was. While I couldn't conceive of the problem, I still knew there was a problem. Always was. I kept to myself, not wanting to lie to people any more than possible. I let them believe what they wanted, which was that I was an antisocial guy. I just kept to myself. Then one day, I decided life's too short. I have the money and the internet resources, it's time to explore the part of me I kept shut away because I didn't know what to do with it. I began to nurture it and feel the beginnings of a self-respect I never felt. I discovered other transgendered folks online and realized that while not just like everyone else, I was far from alone. I finally got enough self confidence to step out in public as the outer manifestation of the inner person.... and it all hit the fan.”
“So you actually always wanted to be a woman?”
“I actually always felt I had a feminine spirit ...a female soul. And I dared to think one day, somehow, I might bring the body to match the soul. ….But I sure as hell never imagined it would happen this way!”
“I'm still sorry I got you involved in all this.”
“Yeah. Well, what's done is done. Again, I don't blame you in any way. You were as much a victim of unexpected circumstance as I was.”
“But you're the one they tortured. You're they one they scarred.”
“Physically, yes. But I'm hopeful someday I can do something about the cosmetics. Mentally, I'm surprised at how it seems like something that happened to someone else. I expected to be much more traumatized by what I'd been through. But while I recall it all vividly, it's... an intellectual... dispassionate memory. There's no visceral emotion attached. I find that really odd. But not unwelcome.”
“Um. That may have been us.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You were in that tank for quite a few days. And while we set your bones and worked hard to heal your physical abuse, we also tackled the psychological abuse. We pumped you up with a lot of drugs”
“Oh, really?”
“Well, the DOD has some very covert research on antipsychotic drug regimes for troops repeatedly sent into the field. The aim is to erase symptoms of PTSD so they can send refreshed troops back into battle. It's pretty brutal, repairing the psyche just so you can send it back to be assaulted again. But we siphoned some of their research, and as a one-time salve for a brutal trauma, it worked far better than we had dared hope. You were near-catatonic when we found you.”
“I remember. The only option I could find was to detach into myself.”
“Right. So we had to treat all that mental scar tissue and heal the underlying trauma.”
“May I ask what you pumped me up with?”
R00tkid blushed again. “It sounds very ...Walter Bishop... he was the..”
“I'm familiar with 'Fringe'” I smiled, sensing what was coming.
Well, it was a mixture of sedatives, psychotropics, and a hefty dose of MDMA.
“Roofies, acid and E?”
“I wouldn't put it THAT way.... but in essence, yeah.” He smiled sheepishly.
“So much for my body as a temple” I smirked. “But I can't argue with the results. Thanks.” I leaned over and gave him a tight hug. Which made him very tense.
“OK. What's that all about? Are you freaked that I just thanked you for using me as a lab experiment? Or that I used to live as a boy?”
“I don't know. Maybe all of it. It's a lot to process.”
“We both have a lot to process. Would you have rescued me if you knew?”
He didn't hesitate. “Of course! I got you into this mess. I had to get you out.”
“OK. So what's the problem? You asked me to pretend to be Lady Eve. Since I have no life to go back to, I can do far more than pretend. If you'd like, I can join you in your quest to take down these bastards. After all, it really is my quest too now. No pretending about that.”
He looked at me incredulously. “You'd do that?”
“Where else am I going to go? I no longer exist in the 'real' world. But are you ready to retire your original Eve?”
He fingered the thumbdrive. “Well, she doesn't have to retire. We could tweak the algorithm to give her your scars.”
“Or you could help me get rid of mine.” I smiled.
“This will be easier for now” he smiled holding up the thumbdrive. “But we will work on the other part” he stopped and turned to me “Um... one other thing.... people think you're my....”
“Girlfriend. I get it. OK. THAT we can pretend.”
He let a relieved grin out and resumed walking away.
“So you think I'm hot?”
He turned to stare at me, blushing.
“I mean you could have made your Eve look like anything, but she looks exactly like me. So you think I'm hot.” I smiled. He went crimson.
“You know you're kinda cute too. When you blush.” Which he did. Again. Deeply. Then quickly scurried away.
“Shit. It WAS her! That sonofabitch. We had him by the balls and you let him get away.” Bill Lynch was addressing the troops at an all hands meeting at the compound.
The image of R00tkid and Lady 3V3 giving a live interview via Skype to Sky News filled the far wall of the briefing room.. They were going on about “shadowy pseudogovernmental forces” wrecking havoc with legitimate governments and organizations across the globe, leaking evidence of financial tampering, rogue 'revolutions' that were staged shadow coups, and showing surveillance footage of Eve's rendition and heavily edited scenes from her detention.
Lynch could tell by the scars, that this was indeed the prisoner they lost. He was apoplectic that their pawn had become his enemy's Joan of Arc, rallying the feuding factions of the other side against them. He berated his minions mercilessly, completely ignoring the fact that they strictly followed his flawed orders.
They took it unflinchingly, as trained. There was no risk of dissent here. This was his pack, and he was the undisputed alpha dog. They had to regain the upper hand, and he would make sure his people didn't rest until they did.
It felt like the post millennial underground railroad. Traveling across the country, and even across borders covertly. Meeting with hacker groups at flash meetups. When you're the one who designed the surveillance grid, you know best how to get around it.
My favorite meetup was the flashmob dance party in Greenwich Village's Washington Square. We handed out headbands and glowsticks to the crowd, each covered with flashing LEDs and many IR LEDs that gave everyone wearing one a 'halo' like a flashlight being aimed at the surveillance cameras. We held our meetup in public, surrounded by hundreds of dancing strangers in their headbands, unaware that they were our cover. After our brief meetup, the maker who designed the headbands keyed a sequence into her iPhone that made all the bands pulse in unison, which ignited the crowd to a joyous roar... Unaware that the pulses were spelling out “R00tkidFTW” into the surveillance cameras, followed by a sequence that forced a buffer overflow and caused the entire surveillance network to reboot. Harmless. But a reminder that we still pwned the grid.
I never had imagined how vast the darknet was. Or how revered Lady Eve was. I needed little coaching to play the part, and soon Aaron stopped even giving me pointers, often just complimenting me for an inspired improv.
Like the time when someone confronted me, asking why I had been so reclusive and now was in everyone's face. I replied that what I had endured was a brutal awakening that there was no safety in stealth, so I decided I had nothing left to lose by taking the opposite approach and becoming as mainstream as possible.
I conceded that I wasn't really a 'people person' and enjoyed my previous reclusiveness – which seemed to resonate with the crowd – but that I had to get over that and become more public because the threat was too big to hide. Only risking exposure by shining a light on these shadowy activities of our adversaries, could we demonstrate to decent, honest people across the planet how they were being manipulated to their own peril, by this pernicious evil.
It brought the crowd to their feet, and I finally began to believe I was making a positive contribution. I was beginning to feel like I wasn't entirely a faker.
Over time my old life began to feel like someone else's. It was as if I had read a biography, and could recall every event intellectually, but there was no emotional attachment. I don't know if it was a post-trauma defense, an effect of the 'healing' process and all the mood-altering drugs I'd been pumped with to prevent emotional scarring, or just the fact that who I now was and the world I now lived in was so profoundly different from everything that came before it, but I really felt that Yves Derosiers had died when they assaulted and destroyed my home and life. I still wasn't sure who I was, but it became more clear every day who I was not.
Aaron kept my 'Dark Secret' and I kept his. Any stumbles I had becoming Lady Eve were attributed to my well documented mistreatment and psychological torture. No one knew, that despite always wondering if I'd make more sense as a a female, the intricate details of being in the world AS a female, without the lifetime of preparation inherent to those born and raised female, was a bit daunting.
I eventually stopped consciously thinking “what would be the feminine way to do this” and just started trusting my instincts. My growing self confidence served me much better than any conscious attempt to “act female”. I realized that everyone had subtly different ideas of 'appropriate behavior' and that included femininity. I just needed to learn to be comfortable in my own skin, and own myself. The more comfort and self-confidence I showed, the less anyone questioned anything about my behavior. I can't say I became Lady Eve. Maybe Lady Eve became me. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle. But eventually, I never questioned who I was. Neither did anyone else.
The 'girlfriend' thing proved awkward. It was pretty useful when I did get hit on, which actually happened a lot more than I'd have expected. I had no idea how much unwanted attention women had to fend off. Fortunately, I seemed to have a natural knack to derail or defuse amorous advances. A few other women commented on how effortlessly I'd managed to dissuade admirers without having to bruise their egos excessively. I smiled and dismissed it as a remedial task, since I was dealing with geeks who were predisposed to getting shot down. I assured them that dealing with Wall Street sharks, politicians or other alpha males who only heard the sound of their own voice, I would have to resort to the pepperspray like everyone else.
I bonded surprisingly fast with the other women in the grayhat community. We were a niche within a niche, and we watched out for each other. I will admit that not all the passes I fended off were from the guys. I was equally gracious in demurring from the ladies, claiming that, while flattered, I really couldn't see myself with anyone else, but if that ever changed, for them to know that they had made an indelible impression on me. So far, that worked every time.
As for the 'not seeing myself with anyone else' part, I never actually said Aaron and I were an item, but it was strongly implied.
It was my disingenuous way of keeping up appearances with R00tkid, who, being the only one to know my 'dark secret' obviously had as little amorous attraction to me as I did to him. Or so I thought.
One night in Portland after a local meetup, we were settling into a loft secured for us by one of the gathering's organizers. Since we were 'a couple' we often found ourselves sharing accommodations. It never bothered me, because Aaron had seen me at my absolute worst and knew all my secrets. Not to mention that whole 'saving my life' business.
I was completely comfortable around him and thought he felt the same about me. I guess if I had to describe it, I thought of our relation like maybe brother and sister – without the sibling rivalry. Or maybe old married couple without the years of pent up annoyance over idiosyncrasies. In other words, I felt we got along well, and were completely comfortable with each others company. Which was rare for two loners thrown together.
One thing I never felt was 'sexual tension'. Maybe I was just blind. Maybe he was just drunk. Undoubtedly we were both exhausted, physically and emotionally.
As I was getting undressed, ready for my ritual hot shower and preparation for bed, I felt his eyes on me. “Do you have any idea how hard it is?” he asked. I had no idea what he was talking about, so I tossed off one of my usual glib responses.
“Don't worry. I'll save you some hot water, and I'll leave the lotion by the shower” I laughed.
He didn't.
“I'm serious. Do you have ANY idea? I've known you for what, going on a year now? I remember when they brought you in, bruised and battered. I wasn't even sure if you would live. I wasn't sure you even wanted to.”
The lightness of our usual banter was gone. I was overcome by the seriousness of this conversation as well. “Neither was I” I admitted. “But you wouldn't let me die. You took extraordinary measures to bring me back. Then you gave me a ready to wear life, when I no longer had one of my own.”
“It fits you well” he smiled. “I never could have imagined how well”
I smiled. Uncomfortably. I was not sure where this was going, but it made me uneasy.
“Have you ever wondered where Lady 3V3 came from?” He asked, staring right through me. He tapped his index finger to his temple. “Right here.” Then he lowered his hand and started tapping his heart like a repentant Catholic. “And here.” He kept staring.
“I think you need to move much lower” I quipped. He laughed bitterly.
“Shit.” His expression was really pained. “You were my fantasy girl. I knew someone like me would never meet someone like you, even if you really did exist. So I made you.”
“That wasn't me.”
“That's what I kept telling myself. It was just an amazing coincidence. The goons never knew you weren't real, and thanks to their ignorance and brutality, they actually MADE you real.”
“You know who I really am.”
“I know who you were. Can you tell me in all honesty that that person is not dead?”
I lowered my eyes and stared at my painted toes. I shook my head. “But I am not her. I don't know WHO I am.”
“You are you.”
“Yes.”
“And who YOU are …. IS her.”
“No. That's just a convenient ruse.”
“I kept telling myself that. Well, actually, I..” he tapped his temple “kept telling...” he tapped his heart. “But I don't even believe it myself anymore. You are more Eve than 3V3 ever was. In so many more ways and more intricate detail than I could ever fabricate.”
“That's because I am real. Reality is full of intricate details.”
“Exactly. 3V3 had been my fantasy for years. And now you are more Eve than 3V3. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“Confused?”
“There's an understatement.”
“Conflicted?”
“Not as much as you think. I know who you were. I know who 3V3 was – I programmed her. Both of them are gone. Replaced by you. And you are greater than the sum of both parts.”
“I never knew you felt this way.”
“Of course you didn't. I never told you. Until now.”
“I should have seen this coming. Should have picked up on it.”
“Don't start knocking your 'woman's intuition' “ You're very perceptive. But I'm a hell of a poker player.”
“Well, thank you for showing your hand. But you know I don't feel the same way.”
“I presumed as much. But I had to be honest. You already know my secrets.”
“As you know mine.”
“Now you know another. Look. I know this life... in that body... was kind of forced on you. But think about what you're going to do with it. Don't you ever get lonely?”
“You mean horny.”
“Same difference.”
“No. It's not.”
“Maybe it's a guy thing”
“No. They were always different things. Even when I was a guy.”
“I'm not sure you ever really were a guy”
I had no response to that.
“Look” I said lapsing into my stock turn down. Something I never dreamed I'd be using with Aaron. “I'm very flattered you think of me that way. But please know I don't feel the same way. If that ever changes, I promise you'll be the first to know. But don't dwell on it, because in all honesty I can't imagine the circumstances that would lead to that happening.”
“Had you ever imagined the circumstances that led you to where you are now?”
Again I had no response.
“I'm taking a shower. And I'm NOT leaving you any hot water. You need a COLD shower.” I smiled. I hoped my levity would defuse the situation. Still, as I headed for the shower, I wasn't sure it had.
The next morning Aaron was really quiet. I don't know if it was his terrible hangover or the aftermath of our too-candid-for-comfort conversation the night before. Maybe it was a bit of each. I kept trying to defuse the awkwardness by being more light and playful than usual. Only later did it occur to me that he might have thought I was taunting him.
Our relationship had changed. Up until now, it was light and airy, we enjoyed each others company and felt completely at ease together.
All that was gone. Replaced by tension. ….Sexual tension? I didn't know, but I sure hoped not. I never thought of him that way. Then again, I never thought of anyone that way. Not even in my old life.
I began to question myself. Was I some kind of freak born with no libido whatsoever? What kind of life would that be? A lonely one, for sure. Could I fake it? It sure seemed easier to do so now than it would have been before. Maybe I could do it, but would I want to? That seemed so unfair to whoever I faked it with. I couldn't ...no, wouldn't con someone into thinking I had feelings for them just to keep from being alone.
It hit me that I had never even thought about this in my old life. I guess at that point I was so desperate to get away from my own company that I never thought of bringing someone else into it. While Aaron was busy avoiding me, I spent a lot of time in introspection. I had always felt I made more sense as a woman. Isn't part of that becoming engaged with the world and letting others in? Figuratively and literally? I had a lot to sort out, and decided I'd squandered too much time already.
I tried to think of Aaron that way. He wasn't a bad looking guy. He kept himself in exceptional shape for someone who spent much of his time indoors in front of a keyboard and monitor. He was trim and fit. If he resembled any sort of athlete, it would probably be someone who ran track.
I smiled at the thought that he could outrun any potential bully. And if he was cornered, he would probably surprise any predator. While not bulky like a bodybuilder, he was wiry and muscular like a wrestler. He looked unassuming, but I'd never bet against him. He was graceful and had a subtle confidence that hinted that he was not to be underestimated.
Many of the other girls I met at the meetups expressed a bit of envy that I'd found myself one of the good ones and asked if he was as hot as he looked. I kept up the pretense and always hinted at his prowess and attentiveness in bed. The grayhats looked up to him, but I was helping to build up his cred as a romantic superstar as well.
I was happy to do it. I enjoyed making this stuff up and telling stories that had the other girls salivating. I think I just liked captivating my audience and never gave any thought to what deep, suppressed part of my psyche came up with these electrically erotic tales.
Until now.
Maybe the best way to explore those feelings was through stories... written strictly for myself. I'd channel that part of me that came up with this intricately detailed erotica, then put on my readers hat and try to get lost in my own story.
Something told me that normal people could just disappear into their reverie in one step, but it seemed like I had to pull it from one compartment and consume it into the other. I began to think maybe I did have a libido, but had kept it buried for so long, I could no longer access it directly. Maybe this two step process could reopen that channel.
Writing sexually charged erotica was, to my surprise, something for which I showed a prolific facility. I wove thousands of words of graphic, steamy scenarios that made E.L. James seem like Mother Goose.
I thought for a moment about posting them anonymously to adult sites to see what kind of reception they got. Then I remembered my original point. To get in touch with my own passions and desires... not to get the rest of the web more hot and bothered than it already was. And if I was to post these, I'd have to be sure to go through and change all the names.
Since I was writing this strictly for my own consumption and exploration, all the characters bore a startling - if supercharged - resemblance to real people in my life. Down to the names.
A tip to those who don't already know better. When you're living with a hacker, don't write anything on a computer that you intend to keep private.
File under “Duh”.
We were riding in the back of a van to a meetup in Sacramento when Aaron slid closer and regarded me for an uncomfortably long time.
“What? Do I have something hanging form my nose? Arugula in my teeth? What?” He just kept grinning like an idiot.
“Nothing. I was just thinking....” I knew by now, that always meant trouble. “Things between us have been.... strained... the past few weeks.” He paused and searched for a reaction. I gave him nothing. “I feel like I'm to blame.”
“Ya think?” I tried to be lighthearted about it, but not let him off the hook. His unprompted confession of his feeling was the thing that put this wedge of awkwardness between us.
“They say confession is good for the soul” He smiled apologetically.
“Maybe YOUR soul.” I snorted. “It made me feel VERY....”
“...Objectified?”
“I was going to say self conscious. But now that you mention it. Yes. That too.”
“I really am sorry. I never intended this.”
“You're a bright guy. You shouldn't have been surprised at an equal and opposite reaction.”
“In hindsight, I'm not. How can we go back to the way we were?”
“How do you feel about castration?” That got a bitter laugh. But at least I made him laugh.
“I was hoping for something a little less....drastic. I miss your friendship.”
“I miss you too.”
“Well, at least we have that in common. It's a start. Truce?”
“It was never a fight.”
“OK. An awkward standoff, anyway.” I couldn't deny that, and I nodded in assent. “So. Friends? Compadres? Pals?”
“More than pals. I'll at least give you that.” I smiled.
“Good!” He broke into a broad grin and gave me a bear hug. As he pressed up against me, it became clear his feelings hadn't changed, but he was willing to put those aside. As I felt him press into me, I was beginning to wonder if my reticence was softening as he was doing quite the opposite.
“Of course we have it all under control.” Bill Lynch was barely able to hide his contempt for the political appointee on the other end of the phone. 'Stupid little pissant' he thought to himself, 'you'll be back at some candyass ivy league school as soon as these current clowns get voted out, and I'll still be keeping the world safe for ingrateful little limpdicks like you.'
He forced a sharklike smile. “They only seem like they have unfettered media access and travel access. We want them to start believing they're untouchable, so when the hammer falls “BAM!” he shouted so loud and violently he could hear the person on the other end jump back and drop his phone. This gave Lynch immense satisfaction, knowing that even over a poor voice connection he could still scare the living SHIT out of a so-called superior.
“You just leave this operation to the Big Boys, and we'll hand you this cocky little bastard's head on a platter, and round up so many of his circle jerking minions that you're gonna need to build a shitload more prisons.” Lynch crowed.
His icy laugh sent a shudder down the secretary's spine. Preston Thatcher always fantasized about a prestigious political appointment. He never imagined that he would become the ersatz supervisor of the most feared man in the halls of power, not just in Washington but across the globe. This man was undeniably dangerous, and containing his reckless ambition and capacity for brutality to forestall a major government scandal, was the seemingly impossible task with which he was commissioned.
“Well Bill, just keep me apprised before you take any action.” Tucker said, whith as much authority as he could muster.
“You expect us to ask permission before dispensing justice?” There was no longer even the pretense of hiding his contempt.
“I just want... NO... we need to be in the loop on this. I don't want to find out about another one of your stunts by seeing it on cable news, We're a team. We communicate. Am I clear?”
“Sure thing bossman. I have your number. Just wait for my call.” And with a snort he ended the call and threw the phone against the wall, watching with animal satisfaction as it exploded into a thousand pieces.
“Um... I'm not so sure about this.” I confessed.
“Hell. I haven't been sure about anything for months.” Aaron replied. “The one thing I am sure about is that ignoring the elephant in the room wasn't getting us any closer.”
“Closer to what?”
“Closer. To each other. To sorting this shit out. Tell me you don't feel it too.”
“I didn't.”
“But now?” ...I blushed.
“I know you feel it too.”
“How do you know?” My eyes locked with his. He blinked. Then he blushed.
“Oh my God. You read my stuff. My PERSONAL.... PRIVATE stuff!”
“...information wants to be free” he squeaked in a timid voice.
“GREAT! I didn't think I needed locks on my doors... figuratively or literally. You already knew my darkest secrets.”
“I didn't know ...that” he volunteered meekly.
“That was nothing. Just a psychological exercise.” I glared at him. How much longer could I feign 'righteous indignation' before I was overwhelmed by the embarrassment that Aaron had read my most private, uninhibited desires and fantasies.... all involving a fictional hero I named after him?
“I was just... just...” he stammered.
“This conversation is over!” snapped. I wasn't actually angry. I was frantic. There was no way I could think of to get myself out of this, so I just feigned fury & unilaterally terminated the conversation. To my amazement ...and relief...it worked.
After a long, awkward silence, I couldn't take it any more. Someone had to speak. I guess it was going to be me. I tried to find a subject we could agree on.
“Just wondering. When do we stop parading me around to rally the troops and actually bring Lynch and his storm troopers down? And do you have any idea how?”
Suddenly Aaron's eyes gleamed. “Soon my love. And yes... I've been thinking of little else.”
“So suddenly I'm 'little else'?” I smiled.
He rolled his eyes and smiled ruefully. “I just can't win, can I?”
“With me.... we'll see” I smiled. “With your former employers... we're all counting on it.” I squeezed his hand and impulsively gave him a peck on the cheek.
“No pressure, eh?” he laughed. Then he got serious. “I won't let you down. While you've been meeting and greeting, I've been twining the threads of the trap. Payback will be epic.”
No one would call R00tkid humble. But he never bragged, because he never had to. He had a grasp of things few could match. He could hold staggering amounts of details in his head and see how they counterbalanced and interacted with each other.
That was why he was so valuable to the goons. He gave them the surveillance tool they scarcely dreamed of. And when they realized how bright he really was, they knew he was too dangerous to live.
Fortunately , he was always dozens of moves ahead of his employers. He knew they would eventually realize that their greatest asset could be their worst nightmare if he were to fall into the wrong hands. He also knew they wouldn't dream that he figured out their plan, so they would keep him around until he delivered every tool they asked for. SIMon was fully operational, but they didn't know that. And the even more ambitious LILITH his Logarithmicly Iterated Layered Intelligence for Transactional Heuristics would be able to monitor global money and commodities markets, geopolitical tactics and strategies and other complex systems projecting the near-immediate future with a staggering degree of accuracy. It couldn't tell you what was going to happen more than a hundredth of a second from now, but it was so accurate within that 10 millisecond window, that it seemed that reality had a built-in latency, and wherever it went, LILITH was already there.
This instantly gave the organization access to essentially unlimited funding. They could skim in the ebb and flow of any market they analyzed, in such small amounts that it was never perceived as more than faint background noise to guardians and regulators, yet the combined effect of these countless tiny threads was staggering.
Lynch now had all the tools to achieve his will to power. SIMon quickly compiled juicy dossiers on his political enemies, and LILITH could manipulate markets with such subtle finesse than it could make – or break – anyone financially.
Aaron explained his background with The Enterprise to Eve because it was necessary to explain how he built these powerful tools to understand how he intended to turn them against their alleged masters.
R00tkids real claim to fame wasn't ambition or audacity, though he possessed both in abundance. Those who really grokked his reputation, knew it was his subtelty, attention to detail and seemingly infinite patience that made him such a formidable force.
The plan had been gestating even when Aaron was working for the goons. Simon was riddled with rabbit holes, and LILITH's higher functions were not even dreamed of by its operators.
“The problem is, doomsday devices and tripwires. Lynch was always a big fan of cold-war style assured destruction”
“You mean Mutually Assured Destruction” I corrected.
“No. He never understood the mutual part. He is incapable of grasping that. That's one of the things that makes him so dangerous. He would bring the world down out of spite.”
“Isn't that a bit hyperbolic?”
“No. Not at all. He may not be able to imagine the power of the tools at his disposal, but he won't hesitate to wield them as a weapon. Trillions in capital could disappear in an instant. All digital records... financial, deeds and titles, hell, even simple personal identification could disappear like that.” He snapped his fingers. “It would be instant anarchy. Civilization would lurch back three thousand years in the blink of an eye. Even I can't imagine the scope of the damage, and I pride myself on my imagination.”
I just stared at him trying to grasp the scope of what he was describing.
“Bringing him down is child's play. Always was. Preventing him from unleashing any chaos on the way down is what's taking so much time and planning. But we have a plan that we're sure is as bulletproof as we can make it, and the trillions of tiny pieces are almost in place.”
“Trillions? I don't want to call 'Hyperbole' again”.
“So don't. You've heard of 'the internet of things'? ”
“Of course” I nodded. “The latest media buzzphrase.”
“Old news. Really old news. You're a geek. Remember what Bill Gates and Paul Allen were working on before the Altair put visions of Microsoft into their heads?”
I nodded. “Some sort of automated traffic control system.”
Aaron smiled. Suddenly I felt really proud of having my 'geek cred' validated by the legendary R00tkid.
“Really just a precursor of the 'Internet of Things'... do you have any idea how many semi-dumb devices are networked? Thermostats, streetlights and office lights, temperature and moisture sensors, motion detectors, baby monitors, aquariums, smoke alarms and radon detectors, the list is staggering. And how many of them do you think have spare cpu cycles available?”
“Nearly all of them?”
R00tkid smiled. “Getting access to such a vast and heterogeneous ecosystem was non-trivial. What we've done makes Stuxnet look like the original Morris worm.”
I had to smile. This was as close to a brag as I'd ever seen Aaron come. “But you did.”
He nodded.
“To what possible end?”
He looked me in the eye and said quietly. “When that madman Lynch tries to crash the modern world, the modern world is going to fight back.”
Preston Thatcher was running late for his first meeting with members of the homeland security oversight committee. He dashed into his usual bistro, hoping Natalie would start his half caf machiato as she saw him walk through the door, and get in line.
Instead, another young woman in the familiar brown polo and green apron pressed a steaming to-go cup into his hand as he walked through the door.
“Just in time. Congratulations, you've been upgraded to our psychic service circle. Aren't you late for a meeting?”
He was somewhat nonplussed, but as he vetted the familiar aroma and confirmed with a small sip, he smiled and relaxed his guard.
“Time?” The woman tapped her watch, and Thatcher got back on track and headed for the door. Only to see he was being accompanied by the woman from the coffee shop.
“Don't you have to work?” He really didn't know what to make of this odd behavior.
“I am working, and we're both on the clock Mr Thatcher.”
He stopped in his tracks. “Who ARE you and what is this about?”
“First, let's keep walking. It will take us just over 2 and a half minutes to get you to your meeting, so I don't have much time.”
“First of all, who ARE you. You look familiar.”
“I should hope SO.” she laughed.
“Wait, are you some reality star? One of those prank shows?”
“I suppose you could consider me a reality star, in a very perverse way. I'm known to the public as 'Lady Eve'” She tugged at his arm as he stopped dead in his tracks. “Will you KEEP WALKING? We don't have much time!”
Thatcher resumed walking, trying to pay attention to the tsunami of information she was overwhelming him with, all the time reeling from being approached in public by America's most notorious escapee. ...or was that kidnapee? Even he wasn't sure anymore. He did pick up snippets of conversation. Rogue ops. Financial Armageddon. Congressional blackmail. And 'stay out of this' until the cleanup.
He also heard Patriotic Hero, Vice Presidential shoo-in, and Lynch on a meathook. He didn't understand much of what this girl was saying, but he liked what he was hearing.
“Well, THAT was fun!” I said half-facetiously as I rejoined Aaron and his crew. I was still on an adrenaline rush after my first time unaccompanied in “the real world” since the 'incident' in Prattsville.
Aaron gave the nod to return SIMon to real-time data and the surveillance grid covering the district seamlessly returned from 'the sandbox' to its usual live-feed.
This was equal part proof-of-concept and performance art.
I was the 'performance art' portion, trying to convince the bureaucrat that we were on the same side, and we were as good as we boasted. We were counting on him being bright enough to test our claim.
As for the proof-of-concept, Aaron was certain that he was able to feed near-realtime simulations into the grid, so that while I was walking in broad daylight with the director of counter-terrorist operations, the grid would be showing him traveling across town with an uncanny simulation of one of his aides, who he presumably met and acquired at the coffee shop. Nothing at all suspicious.
When Preston Thatcher thought to call up the log tapes and saw the grid coverage of himself walking to his meeting with Colin Fitch, a member of his personal staff, he was duly impressed. He began to think the outrageous claims the girl had made were more than idle boasts.
Maybe the psychotic mister Lynch wasn't so untouchable after all.
The pieces, methodically and patiently placed over the preceding three years, were all falling into place, and having laid dormant, were apparently still undetected. The end game was ready to begin.
Over the months Aaron and I had spent many long nights discussing the situation, and I was beginning to truly feel like the partner and co-collaborator that everyone always presumed the fictitious Lade 3V3 to be.
I learned a little more about my mysterious knight in shining armor. The guy I thought of as the one who saved my life... and who thought of himself as the one who recklessly put it in danger in the first place. One thing we both agreed on. He changed my life completely. And, strange as it may seem, I can't imagine life as that shell of a human being living a solitary ….subsistance.... in his isolated cabin.
I had barely allowed myself to daydream of life as a woman. Nevermind working with a staggeringly gifted collection of software and hardware engineers, neuroscientists, statisticians and financial analysts, cryptographers and assorted geniuses and legends in their various fields. It seems, the cream always rises, and when it does the best of the best have their individual – and universal epiphany. Suddenly they all saw the puppet strings controlling the world as they knew it. And they all traced it back to the puppetmasters. And the same insight that allowed them to see the truth hidden in plain sight, also allowed them to see and recognize each other. They came together by mutual attraction and a shared vision and obsession.... to fix what was broken. To 'patch' human society.
As people shared their stories with me I was struck by how individual they were, yet how they fused seamlessly into the big picture. Like threads in a tapestry, or individual instruments in a massive orchestral symphony. The 'origin story' that resonated with me the most, for obvious reasons, was Aarons.
He was the typical atypical. Diagnosed as a problem child with all sorts of presumed mental deficiencies by bureaucrats who noted that his development wasn't where it should be and presumed that it meant he was behind, never even imagining that he was actually lightyears ahead and battling profound boredom and frustration. He kidded that he was lucky he was born when he was, where he just got shipped off to a mental health facility and not in a time where he would have simply been hidden or possibly killed for possessing blasphemous gifts. The doctors at the psychiatric hospital quickly figured out what was going on and wanted to keep him as a lab rabbit, but Aaron's parents quickly withdrew him from the care of the doctors – and the public school system, and managed to get him scholarships for the gifted to a number of private institutions. He finished his Doctorate at fifteen and a half and was immediately offered an 'advanced study' program at an elite think tank. Which turned out to be government run. He was courted by various three letter agencies – including NGOs – when mysteriously all offers but one were withdrawn. He didn't mind the lack of choice, since the one remaining was the one he was likely to take anyway. The opportunities they were offering a sixteen year old were too amazing to pass up. So he ended up going to work for 'the goons' – or as they referred to themselves 'the Enterprise'. He thought it was a sly Star Trek reference, but he quickly realized that there were no trekkies remotely involved with these folks. They just envied the way CIA referred to itself as 'the Company' so someone found a thesaurus and they became 'the Enterprise'. His first few years were a heady rush. He'd been assigned extremely daunting – some might say impossible, tasks. This was exactly the challenge he was looking for and he marveled at how his employer always gave him expectations that forced him to always push himself and be his best, which he loved after a lifetime of coasting with facile tasks that bored him to depression.
His first project was Cornerstone. The grid network and collaborated processing architecture that would support all his other projects. He was surprised at how his employers did not even blink at the staggering costs and scope of his initial project. And how they didn't seem the least surprised or excited that it worked flawlessly the first time this fractal mesh of edge-shattering technologies was actually powered up and tested.
Emboldened by his Cornerstone success, Aaron quickly got to work on Rosetta, the decryption UI that quickly sliced through to the order in any entropy and made the world's secrets an open book. It also had a welcome side effect of creating encryption that was unlikely to be cracked by any other technology to be developed in at least the next 50 years using current encryption paradigms. So, his bosses could read everyone's files and no one would be able to read theirs for at least half a century.
His next assignment was SIMon, and he practically salivated at the opportunity to create a network that fed nearly infinite inputs into a neural net, which he patterned after the brain of an insect with a myriad of eyes, to quickly wring order from the chaos of an impossibly expensive and pervasive network of surveillance systems as well as covertly leeching data from existing networks owned by individuals, corporations and even other nation states. SIMon could simultaneously process information from single cameras and the entire meta-network. Paired with impressive and ever improving pattern recognition, little happened in the world that SIMon wasn't aware of , and paying at least subliminal attention to. Aaron used to joke that he wanted to call SIMon SANTA because it knew when you were sleeping, it knew when you'd awake, it knew if you were bad or good.... etc.
After every 'impossible' task, his employers managed to raise the bar even higher. His next – and what was to turn out to be his final project, was the most ambitious yet. It was an A.I. Running atop Cornerstone, aided by Rosetta and SIMon, which would monitor markets. Not just financial and commodity and currency markets, but 'news futures' as well, which political or religious or social power structures were rising, which were due for a downturn, and predict – with astounding short term accuracy – economic and geopolitical currents. It also had a component that combined with its uncanny predictions, managed to add a few microseconds of latency into financial markets, enough to allow its own transactions to effectively 'jump queue' and benefit principally from any change of state. Like harvesting the tides whichever direction they were flowing. The transactions were infinitessimally small, and myriad. A few dollars profit on a transaction of hundreds of millions was pretty much noise-level to regulators and other monitoring interests, however when applied to hundreds of billions of transactions worldwide, this microskim resulted in such a windfall that his bosses need never had to worry again about congressional appropriations. They had essentially become autonomous. His latest creation was the mother of all A.I.s, which is why he chose to call it LILITH. The Logarithmic Iterated Largely-intuitive Interpreter of Transactional Heuristics. He had already begun unwinding by reading creation myths of various cultures, and he was quite familiar with Genesis from his own, reasonably secular yet seriously intellectual upbringing. He worried that people might think it was hubris on his part, that he was getting some sort of 'god complex' but he was really just curious to see how people tackled such profound yet fundamental issues as the nature and purpose of existence.
It was while he was finishing work on LILITH and wondering what his next project could be that he was approached by the ones he jokingly referred to as 'The Elders'. I guess most people would immediately think Elders of Zion or something equally lofty, but I immediately smirked when he said it, thinking of 'The Elders of the Internet' – an old joke from BBC's 'The I.T. Crowd'. He gave me a smile and said..... “you got I, didn't you?” I smiled back and nodded, then shuffled uncomfortably when I remembered other aspects of that particular episode. I saw Aaron's expression change at nearly the same instant as mine, and knew without a doubt we were having exactly the same thought... as we did alarmingly often.
He coughed slightly and shuffled a bit. “Well, they reached out to me as an intriguingly subtle anomally in a dataset that I quickly recognized as ….the first in a series of breadcrumbs. It was actually a quickly realized obsession as I detected and worked through the escalatingly obtuse puzzle that brought me into contact with ….them. It was a sort of a test. Although it quickly became clear that they had no doubt I'd pass, but seemed surprised by how quickly I'd progressed to the end and found myself deep down the rabbit hole. It was also a method of protecting themselves – and me. By the time I had dug my way down to the end, it was extremely unlikely that anyone – or anything, with the possible exception of LILITH, would be able to track where I was or what I was doing. They explained themselves a little. They watched over the world. Shifting balances of power and fortunes. Their only mission, they claimed, was the protection of modern civilization.... from nuclear war, financial collapse, religious upheaval by forces who villainized and vowed to 'cleanse' millenia of human progress, and other 'existential threats to human progress'. I thought it must be some kind of prank, but it was far too elaborate and too complex to be a joke. I asked what their interest was in me, and they claimed that they had been aware of me for quite a while. Usually, 'recruits' reached a certain point in their development where they became aware of and reached out to 'The Elders'. But for the first time they were reaching out... to me... because of the gravity of the threat. They followed with considerable interest... and I later learned, a bit of awe, as we deployed Cornerstone, Rosetta, and SIMon. That all turned to dismay when they learned of LILITH. They pointed out to me all the ways the powerful tools I crafted for my employer could also be used as weapons. Which I had never even imagined. They gave me proof that that was in fact their principal use. They also opened my eyes to the devastating power of LILITH, and how it would make my employers virtually invincible. At which point, I would be of no further use to them. Since I could offer no additional benefit and posed an immeasurable threat should my 'big brain' fall into other hands, it had already been decided that the moment I delivered LILITH that the asset – me, would be retired – killed.
This came as a shock to me, but I quickly came up with an idea which 'The Elders' vigorously approved. I would continue 'work' on LILITH, all the time building in additional hooks – modeling them after cellular protein receptors – in the machine code. I did the same to Cornerstone, Rosetta and SIMon too – explaining that I needed to 'evolve' the codebase to interact seamlesly with LILITH. This passed muster with their code inspectors, who.... not to be snide about it, were like a bunch of fourth grade arithmetic students proofing Fermat's Theorem.
So, once LILITH was finished, but not reported, I arranged one of the 'day trips' I sporadically took to clear my mind when I was working on an especially tough problem. With help from my new secret friends and a bit of the new functionality I build into SIMon, I was able to 'drop off' the grid. My new benefactors suggested that we move quickly on a distraction and a strategy to disarm my former employers. I was shuffled around in a covert human network, I guess others would call it an 'underground railroad' but that seemed a bit too 19th century, so I started referring to it as the 'undernet' and I guess people liked it because it caught on. I was surprised by how many of us there were, but we all remained anonymous. Something learned from French resistance fighters and many other roots-up groups. It seemed sound mesh architecture to me. Each puzzle piece knew only its adjoining pieces. Still, it was decided that this loose affiliation needed a face or at least a figurehead. I was approached with the idea of being the public face of the unseen movement, since I seemed to have by far the greatest means to protect myself – being the only one with access to the tools I built for my former employer. So, R00Tkid was born ...or hatched. I quickly found that while it was originally just an iconic identity, the image and I were quickly becoming the same thing....”
“Tell me about it” I laughed. Aaron smiled knowingly.
“So... R00Tkid. Grassroots organizing, getting the germ of the idea of what we would do. Lots of preliminaries and small steps... baby steps... laboriously designing the DNA of each and every seed we would plant in this vast jungle.... this entire ecosystem of taps and hooks and hacks and levers to rebuild the weapons of oppression as the tools of liberation and cut the strings of the sinister forces manipulating global events. Sure enough, R00tKid distracted the goons, who had already discovered that LILITH was complete and enabled her. Chasing me would preoccupy them while we laid the framework for deploying our ….patch. But, I was kind of tired of being the only face of the movement, so I dug into my old skillset and brushed up my VR chops. I had become pretty adept at A.I. after all my work for the goons, so crafting a photorealistic, semi-autonomous companion wasn't all that challenging. To my relief and satisfaction, not even my most elite associates twigged to the fact that The Lady 3V3 was ….not of this world. Until the events of which you are all too familiar.” He smiled. “Which brings us up to now. So where do we go from here?”
“Do you ever miss her?” I asked.
“Who?” He genuinely didn't know.
“3V3. Your EVE. Not.....” I scowled and looked down at my body “this pretender.”
“Wait wait wait wait....hold ON.... YOU are no pretender. It's uncanny how much you're like her.”
“Yeah, I know. ...Except for the scars...” I grimaced involuntarily.
“No, NO! The personality construct.... when... when you came into our... my... life.... as I got to know you I decided that it would be prudent for you and 3V3 to be as congruous as possible. So I dove into the A.I. Code to tweak her personality... her behavior, her tastes and temperment... and I found the required tweaks to be....inconsequential. OK, your sense of humor is far more developed and...um... she is more unreservedly fond of me.... at least openly fond....” I blushed as he eyed me quizically “...but yeah, she was already pretty much you. Just... kind of 2-dimensional.”
“Are you calling me FAT?” I glared. He went beet red and started moving his mouth like a fish. I couldn't hold my poker face and burst out laughing. That brought a slight scowl.
“As I was saying about her sense of humor. Anyway, 3V3 is now pretty much you. In fact, she's kind of your biggest fan. Her A.I. monitors all your activity...” Aaron caught himself “I mean PUBLIC activity.... emails, interviews, every appearance you've done. Everything you do becomes part of her memories. She is your shadow, your echo, your reflection in the virtual world. And because she is essentially you, yeah... she's your biggest fan and supporter.”
Aaron addressed the group in the Alt-TOR-net hangout.
“The dominoes are all all in place. Thank you all for your focus and perseverance. This is a payoff that's been a long time coming. Yet I feel as positive as I ever have about anything, that our insanely thorough – read complicated (laughs and nods from the crowd) – mousetrap ...no RAT trap... will meet and quite likely exceed our expectations. I can't thank you all enough for your contributions to this undertaking. Once this begins, we will have no further contact – for everyone's safety. I only wish you all good luck, godspeed, a happy life, and maybe I'll see you at the reunion when and if the statute of limitations for what we're about to do expires. (more laughs and solemn nods)
“The first domino is actually just 126 bytes of code to a traffic control system in Nogales, but my ...partner in crime...” Aaron nodded at me and grinned, a delighted and mischievous twinkle in his eye “The Lady Eve... convinced me that the beginning of the rebalancing sequence – which she also helpfully named 'operation gordian knot' should be more symbolic.... more.... “ he glanced at me and I knew what he wanted.
I stepped in front of the camera, placed my arm around his waist and said “Ceremonial. A little bit of performance art. If you're not capturing this stream already, you should start now!” I smiled and handed Aaron 'the Gizmo'.
He smiled at the theatrical absurdity of it, but I think he was a bit tickled to have this little bit of ceremony, that - if all went well, they could one day show on cable news and future history classes as 'the moment change began'.
It was a deliberately absurd prop: An old Staples “Easy-Button” Painted with a yellow circle and slash, fitted with a usb cable to Rootkid's hackbook. The crowd laughed out loud when Aaron held it up to the webcam, and with a flourish worthy of a Vegas magician, ceremoniously pushed the 'Not-Easy' Button and declared “Time to reboot the world”.
“It has begun.” he smiled to the hangout. “No stopping it now. I strongly recommend you begin your disappearance protocols right now. It will take them at least 20 minutes to notice anything is up, but once they do, they will be swift, brutal and sloppy. You need to be so far gone that they can't even get you by accident with their inevitable carpet bombing. So be well, stay stealth and see you on the other side.”
No one really knew how long it would take for the goons to notice something was up. The hack really was a slow boil. The comandeered devices began seeking and attaching to each other. The model was suggested by Lisa the medical researcher, and modeled the formation of the brain in a living embryo. Pathways would form and bond and increase exponentially... not just for communication but for shared processing. The purpose was twofold. To find and exploit “leaks” ...communication channels that could bypass the traditional routing system and circumvent any attempt to thwart the process by shutting down routers that could dam off compromised parts of the network. Second was to apply massively parallel processing to change the keys on all the goon's resources. In essence, to lock them out of their own systems and to decrypt and distribute their files – the digital evidence of every one of their dirty tricks and blackmail to the subjects of those files. Not making them public, Just handing control of the information to the victims it had been used against. And releasing general records of their sordid operations to news organizations and legitimate law enforcement agencies across the globe.
The call was unexpected. Bill Lynch was never surprised, but he was going to have to get used to it.
“Just checking in on the ...search for your misplaced item.” Preston Thatcher inquired with a hint of a smile in his voice. Lynch was unused to being addressed with anything other than respect or fear, so the snide tone of voice went completely unnoticed.
“Things are always progressing but that's none of your concern. I told you earlier, when you need to know something I will contact you.” he hissed with menace.
“Riiiight....” Thatcher replied with a gleam in his eye, trying his best to sound like the passive-agressive boss from 'Office Space' and betting that Lynch had never seen it. He was now certain his encounter with the Lady Eve had indeed been completely off the radar. His confidence was bolstered. “You see, the thing is.... technically.... I'm the director... and you're a division chief.... so.....” and he held the vowel waiting to be interrupted by his volatile subordinate. He didn't have to wait long.
“Don't pull that org chart bullshit with me!” Lynch roared. “You're just another political hack playing musical chairs, and you may think you can fuck with me because technically you're my boss” ...Thatcher could hear the air quotes... “but long after you return to being an ordinary civilian tar...” the words were so conjoined in his experience, Lynch had to catch himself mid-phrase. “...long after you're just another face in the crowd, I'll still be here... running this. You do NOT want me as an enemy”
“Why, Mr Lynch, an ordinary ...civilian ...whatever...” he grinned “might interpret that declaration as a threat.” He paused as long as he dared. “But we're all professionals here and I understand that it was a candid tactical assessment.” He waited for a response, but just heard hard breathing on the other end, so he went on. “I understand the ramifications to having you as an enemy. I also understand, unlike so many.... that not everyone is your enemy....” he paused again. Still no response. “Aside from enemies, you also have …tactical assets...” That was met by a snort from the other end of the line.
“So, keeping in mind that we both have a keen interest in the situation with your ...missing asset... being resolved, I'm trying to be a good administrator and keep on top of the situation... So, nothing to report?”
Lynch had checked his rage and returned to his stock, menacingly icy demeanor. “Nothing warranting escalation up the ...command tree...” Thatcher smiled as he imagined the bitterness of those words in Lynch's mouth. “We'll contact you when the situation warrants.”
Feeling uncharacteristically cheerful, having gotten all he came for and knowing that Lynch was utterly unaware of the shifting power dynamics, Thatcher was upbeat and magnanimous. “Good to know. I'll let you get back to things until I hear from you then. Carry on.” Lynch merely hung up. Thatcher was certain at that moment, that it had been their last direct conversation. He sat back, steepled his fingers and wondered what disruptive mischief the Lady Eve and her cohorts had up their sleeves.
“I don't care if he's meeting with Jesus Christ himself! Interrupt him and tell him the goddamned head of the goddamned intelligence committee needs to speak to him NOW!”
John B Forrest was famously unrufflable. In his long sordid political career he'd had to be. The stunned aide had never seen him like this. It was as if decades of suppressed fury were unleashed in one pinpoint moment. Apoplectic didn't even begin to describe him.
“Mr Chairman. This is ...unexpected.” The icy Mr Lynch said over the speakerphone.
“I just got a call from 'The Guardian'. They wanted my reaction to release of 'the dossier'”
“Dossier? What dossier? What did you tell them?”
“I can only imagine it was your fucking dossier. The one you're always holding over my head like a fucking sword of Damocles. I always thought you were bluffing, because you only hinted at things, but they came right out with it. The blood diamond mines, Mexican zeta connections, dosing that ACLU asshole before the televised debate, even the goddamned cheerleader! You never mentioned that but this HAS to be your file! What the FUCK???”
“Are you on speakerphone? ….are you calling from your office?” a few clicks from the other end of the line and it was evident Lynch knew exactly where the call originated and everywhere it was being routed. “Jesus CHRIST.” click.
Forrest was beside himself that the chief of the black ops division, for whom he had done so many favors.... well, actually with whom he had so many mutual ….business interests... had brusquely hung up on him. He was furiously trying to decide how to react to this unexpected rebuke when there was a slight shudder and the entire office was plunged into darkness. His aide stuck her head through the door. “I just looked into the hallway. I think the whole building is...” when she was interrupted by the flashing strobes and klaxons of the fire alarm.
They both knew the drill, so he motioned for his aide to start out while he gathered some sensitive papers and would join her at the designated area outside. Once she was gone, he sealed his safe, locked his computer, grabbed his secure Blackberry and made his way to the secure evac corridor known only to a handful on the succession list.
He was met in the sub basement corridor by a few colleagues who seemed as in the dark as he was. A uniformed guard met them halfway down the corridor and escorted them to electrical carts for travel through the miles of tunnels connecting the capitol.
“What happened?” Forrest asked as the guard shrugged.
“Have to assume the worst. Terrorist device, and work it back from there. May end up just being a transformer explosion at a power substation. You know the drill.”
Forrest nodded. He'd helped write the protocol. Assume the worst then back it down as facts warrant. He knew the guard was escorting him to a situation room while his colleagues were headed for safe locations.
His reaction to the guard turning on him with the taser would be an unnecessary pun.
When he came to, he tried to grab his splitting head, only to find his arms tightly lashed to the gurney. As he slowly gathered his wits, he heard the wail of the siren and recognized the inside of the ambulance. While dressed as EMTs, the two lurking above him looked more like soldiers.
“He's awake.” One said to the driver.
“Minutes away” came the response through the partition. The two sets of eyes regarded him closely, but dispassionately. Like researchers staring at a specimen.
The vehicle turned off its siren, then quickly negotiated a series of turns followed by ramps. They were headed down. Deep. But that was no help. They could be anywhere around the district or the greater control zone. The vehicle lurched to a stop and the back doors flew open as Bill Lynch stormed inside.
“What the FUCK were you thinking???” he bellowed, his spittle showering the face of the still restrained Intelligence Committee Chair who wanted nothing more at this instant than to wipe his face.
“I was blindsided by that goddamned newspaper. I was too shocked to even bluff, so they'll probably take my hanging up on them as confirmation. I knew that had to be your shit-file because it was so thorough. I wanted to know why you sold me out and at that point figured I was the walking dead, so I didn't really care about discretion or security protocol.”
Lynch instantly became calm. His change in demeanor was so drastic and so sudden, it was deeply unsettling.
“We didn't ….I didn't 'sell you out'. I don't know where they got that information. We're tracing logs to see if anyone else accessed our files.” He smiled to himself. “Not very damned likely.” Then he stared at the congressman. “By your reaction to ...preposterous and unsubstantiated allegations... you sold yourself out. And by your insecure call on a public telecom network you implicated US.” He frowned, regarded the congressman for a moment, and a slight grin formed. “You were right about one thing.”
The congressman stared up at him from his lashed gurney, and tried to read his eyes. They were expressionless. And terrifying.
“You are the walking dead.” Lynch turned and left the ambulance, calling over his shoulder “ICE him!”
John Birch Forrest had not lived an exemplary life. If it were to flash before him in his final moments, he expected all of his dirty tricks and strategic betrayals ...or at least the highlights... the planted kiddie porn found in the car of that former school teacher who ran against him for city council... What a feather in the cap of the officer who made the routine traffic stop for the 'broken' tail light. His star rose too and eventually he became head of the state highway patrol and a very useful ally. The young campaign aide who became even more useful when he was able to pin her underage pregnancy and eventual suicide on that irritating minister who tried to rally community groups to oppose his state senate race. The former ACLU lawyer and peace corps activist who ran against him for congress and tripped his brains out during a live televised debate. The strategic alliances he made on getting to the capitol, proving that he understood the game and well understood the concept of 'the enemy of my enemy'. It had proved more lucrative than even his oversized ambitions could have imagined. And it appeared his elaborate jenga tower of deceit and betrayal was about to crash down on him. He wondered, surprised by his calm resignation, how they would dispose of his body. So he asked.
His 'handlers' laughed. One turned to him. “You've been watching too many movies congressman. We're not going to kill you. ….you're just... well, speaking of movies... do you remember what they did to the guy in Star Wars? Kind of vacuum packed him for storage?” Forrest nodded. “That's what we mean by iced. Just stored away safe. Only we don't have that sci-fi stuff...”
“...Carbonite” the other muttered.
“Yeah. Like that. We just have to do it the old fashioned way.” And with that he turned the valve on the I.V. and the world went away.
“What do you mean we can't access the logs? Of course they're encrypted, it's a seclayer5 system. What? Re-encrypted? How is that possible? Well it's your job to find out!”
Lynch slammed his phone down. They would be back at C&C in under 10 minutes. If that pencil neck didn't fully grasp how unacceptable the situation was from the phone call, Lynch would make it painfully clear in person.
It should have taken them 10 minutes to return, but every traffic light turned red just as they arrived at the intersection. Lynch had noticed but not thought anything of it at first. After the sixth light turned red only moments after turning green and just as they arrived at the intersection, Lynch took notice.
“Someone's fucking with us” he said to the driver. He looked around at the empty intersection and motioned to the driver. “Fuck it. Run it.”
No sooner had they passed through the intersection than they heard the blip of the siren. Lynch was roiling with disbelief. The driver eyed him in the mirror and he nodded. “...pull over”
As the motorcycle cop walked up to the drivers window, Lynch rolled down the rear window. “Didn't you see the plates?”
The officer stopped and regarded him. Expressionless.
“You DID make the plate. Yet you still pulled us over.”
The officer unbuttoned her holster and turned to Lynch. “I owe you no explanations. I'm doing my job and this fleet vehicle was reported stolen minutes after an ...incident... at a congressional office complex...”
“I'm well aware of the incident. We're just returning from there with critical data. Something's up. Something big. First the explosion... and then the stolen vehicle report....” Lynch fished for his credentials. The nondescript DOD credentials he kept for outsiders. The officer took it and nodded. “Whoever is doing this is up to something BIG. We don't know how big yet, and they're trying to stop us. First the stolen vehicle APB, and...” he pointed to the traffic light which had resumed normal functioning. “did you notice how that light turned green and seconds later when we got there it turned red again? Somebody's fu... excuse me... someone is tampering with the traffic control system. And I'm certain with the surveillance camera network too. I know, because that is MY network. I'm trying to get back to our command and control center with vital information about the congressional office explosion and you are tying us up with this stop. You are being PLAYED officer. We are BOTH being played. And I want to know by who.”
The cop listened calmly and gave no indication on whether or not she was buying this when her radio cackled 'all available units backup requested Wyoming and K. Shots fired. Officer down.'
The cop startled and looked around at the placid intersection of Wyoming Avenue and K Street. She turned to Lynch. “We ARE being played. They'll come in with guns blazing. Get the hell out of here and try to get to the bottom of this. I'll try to talk them down when they get here.” She gave the fender two hard thumps and the driver sped off.
Those little shits overplayed their hand. They're not as bright as they think.
His smugness was shortlived as it became apparent that they were being monitored by SIMon and the police and national guard were waiting for them everywhere they turned.
Triggering a possible terrorist incident at the congressional office complex seemed like a handy way to get Forrest alone for rendition, but it also activated all the security protocols, so they were not just being pursued by police, but military forces as well.
Their vehicle was well protected against police rifles, but Lynch did not want to face down anti-armor weaponry. His driver was the best. He managed to thread the needle and avoid the tightening security net. Lynch had himself let off in a back alley so quickly that it seemed that the car had rushed through to avoid main streets. He had instructed the driver to avoid capture as long as possible and when that was no longer possible to drive into the fussilade inflicting maximum damage and buy him time while they pored through the wreckage. The driver was well trained. He gave just the slightest nod of acknowledgment at the order of his suicide mission. Lynch scanned the alley to confirm the absence of cameras, and jumped into a nearby dumpster, burying himself under the bags and formulating his next move.
The “Subject:” line was my idea, And Aaron seemed delighted at the suggestion.
“The truth will set you free. ...But first it will piss you off” he grinned.
“One of my personal favorites from the ever-quotable Gloria Steinem” I smiled back.
“Eerily appropriate. OK. We'll have LILITH re-encrypt the dossiers, ship them off to their subjects with your wickedly droll cover letter and a one-time decryption key that only they could know.”
“How can you use a key that only they can know, when they're not expecting this email and can't possibly know the key?”
Aaron gave me a sly smile and his eyes did that twinkle they did when he was really proud of something. “Deep data mining my dear. LILITH will ask them something that even they didn't know they knew!”
I know he chided me on constantly giving him 'the Spock eye', but I couldn't help raising my eyebrow at this claim. I knew him too well to doubt it, but I still couldn't wrap my brain around how he was going to do it.
He snorted at my raised eyebrow and skeptical face, Then, as I knew he would, he explained. OK, I had really set him up to boast how he did it, which he would be too modest to do unless I challenged him with the Spock-eye.
“Everyone who has a dossier has something to hide. Some of it is scandalous, but the goons data mining is so thorough, most of it is boring but not widely known. So, we mine the mundane and arcane to stitch together a 'clue' to a one-time password that only the recipient has a likelihood of discerning.
Let's find an example...” he sat at his hackbook and queried LILLITH.
“OK. Here's a clue for one recipient 'Four fields. The password to your unlisted account at Bank Geneve followed by the middle name of your illegitimate child, the year and make of the car your father first let you borrow when you got your license, and ….oh LILLITH you have outdone yourself!.... your oldest living aunt's childhood bestfriend's older brothers nickname.”
“How can LILLITH know any of this stuff?”
“I did mention that the network is ….thorough.... didn't I?” he beamed “...but this... this is even more than I expected. And I know better than anyone what LILLITH is capable of.”
“OK. But the Aunt's friends, brother's ….what the hell?”
Aaron twisted his face a bit still grinning. “Yeah, that one surprised me too. The clue was supposed to be the most mundane and arcane bits LILITH could find... but... that... let me dig....” and he turned back to his hackbook. A few moments later he raised his head beaming with ….pride?
“Oh Eve, you're gonna LOVE this! LILITH did a search through genealogical records of the recipient's family tree, cross referenced relatives with phone and email records of the recipient. It turns out he has an elderly aunt who emails him at holidays from her AOL account. So she's still alive, and he knows how to reach her. Digging through her records, it came across a phone conversation she had years ago with her oldest childhood friend who was in hospice care across the country...”
“Wait. LILITH accessed an old telephone conversation?”
“Off topic.” Aaron waved his hands. “Old long distance calls were multiplexed microwave or maybe satellite, Any hop across borders or outside of ….domestic airspace.... constitutes an 'international connection' and domestic surveillance restrictions come off.”
“But!...” I started to protest, wide-eyed at this casual revelation. He quickly waved me off.
“Off...TOPIC!”
I bit my lip.
“So, the aunt is reminiscing with her dying friend and talking about the crush she used to have on her older brother Tobias when they were girls....” he grinned.
“So the recipient will call his old aunt ask her this crazy question and find out the piece of the decryption key is ….Toby?...” I nodded. This WAS impressive.
Aaron grinned widely and his eyes lit up as he shook his head. “Spanky!” he clucked.
“Spanky?”
“Apparently young Toby fancied himself the ladies' man and he was notorious for swatting his sisters prettier friends on the behind as he passed. They reminisced about that in their conversation.”
“The DOG!” I gasped. But couldn't help but laugh.
“Good luck to ANYONE else who thinks they will be able to break THAT key!” Aaron howled. “Like I said, the one time keys are things only the recipients could know... and even THEY don't know that they know them!”
“Arcane and mundane! R00TKID, you're a genius!” and without thinking, I bent over and planted a huge kiss on his cheek.
I'm not sure which of us blushed more, but Aaron got suddenly shy again. “It wasn't really me. It was LILITH and SIMON” he peeped.
I refused to break my smile. “And WHERE exactly did LILITH and SIMON come from?” I put my hands on his shoulders, and held him in front of me, holding his gaze. “You must be such a proud papa!”
At that he broke into a wide smile and clutched me to him in a hug so tight I nearly had the breath squeezed out of me.
That went on for an awkwardly long time, until it was clear that his pride had been replaced by another emotion. And I wasn't sure I was quite ready for that.
So, as I always do, I changed the subject.
“OK. Blackmail dossiers are going out to their subjects. Collaborators' dossiers are going to the media. Goons' encryption keys are being changed so they can't access their own records. Financial market siphons are being redirected to recompense their former victims. Now it's time for the really fun part.”
“Operation fingertrap” he grinned.
“I still wish you had let me call it operation 'roach motel'”
“Hey, spygirl... you're lucky I let you call it 'operation anything'” he grinned.
“Hey. We all voted. Your people liked my idea. Democracy dude.”
“Hmmph. The Lady 3V3 never turned my troops against me.” he mock scowled.
“Maybe you just never gave her the opportunity” I petulantly shot back. “Maybe like LILITH she would have surprised you.”
He turned to me. Took my hands in his and said softly. “She already HAS....”
I think we both grew up on too much TV, because I knew he too was thinking 'fade to black ...annnd... commercial....”
Instead there was this awkward cough, breaking touch, shuffling, and getting back to helping the goons self-destruct.
It had been at least a half hour and no one had come looking for him. Bill Lynch pulled himself from the dumpster and wiped the filth from his tailored suit as best he could. He fished the secure Blackberry from his jacket pocket and rang C&C.
“Operator.”
“Raptor. Code 6. S-I-X. Sector C. Charlie. NOW!”
click
“Operations.”
“Dayton. What the fuck is up?”
“Sir? ...umm... secure?”
“Jesus Christ! Of course secure. I'm in field and being pursued. What the fuck is up?”
“No idea sir. Everything here is nominal. We were beginning to wonder where you were.”
“Being hunted. Like I SAID! ...fuck... S.I.Monitor's compromised. You saw nothing?”
“No sir. Just the usual ordinary.”
“We 're being fucked with. They rigged every traffic light. Put false traffic on secure police channels. Put a fucking A.P.B. out on us. ….No... On ME..... that little fuckstick is coming after ME personally.”
“Who sir? And why would anyone go after you?”
“Well, he's not going to get away with it. Him and his pencil neck army.... and that goddam bitch of his.” Lynch laughed bitterly at the thought that it was him who made her his goddam 'bitch'.
“Activate RenOps. Protocol Alpha. I repeat ALPHA. I need a grab 10 fucking minutes ago.”
“Alpha. Yes sir. Target?”
Lynch laughed. “Me.”
The RENdition Operations team was well trained. They were the elite of the elite. Nothing phased them. But when the order came for a Protocol Alpha sortie, they all looked at each other.
No one spoke. They were too well trained. They knew Protocol Alpha as well as any of their missions. Still, they had never done it outside of drills and training. They wondered if this was just the most realistic drill yet. They would know soon enough. If any of them returned alive.
Protocol Alpha was the plan in the playbook designed for renditioning high-profile, heavily protected targets.... hostile heads of state, religious leaders, drug kingpins.... the top of whatever organizational pyramid it was used against. It was designed to provoke mayhem and raise the noise level, distracting defenses so that when the actual, targeted action went down, security and defense forces were too overwhelmed and distracted to react in time to prevent it.
Put simply, it was designed to create maximum collateral damage.
As they scattered to their separate unmarked vans, the commander yelled out after them the mantra they already knew so well.
“Remember. Maximum casualties, minimum kills. Injured take a team, bodies just take a bag.”
As the sea of vans pulled out of the nondescript office parks that littered northern Virginia and southern Maryland, and details of the mission were given to each team as they headed for their positions, they listened intently and said nothing. As trained. However every man was thinking they could never actually envision circumstances in which protocol Alpha would be triggered. And they couldn't begin to wrap their minds around the fact that it was being used on home soil, as government commandos were being unleashed to wreak violent mayhem on the nation's capitol. They were too well-trained to be distracted by such deeply alarming thoughts, so they focused on their individual roles in this elaborately choreographed exercise.
“So, he's hiding in a dumpster in DC... with all the rest of the vermin.” I chuckled. “What's next?”
“We let him go.” R00tkid said quietly.
“What?” I couldn't believe what he was saying, much less the quiet, emotionless way he said it. Then I realized... he was methodically extrapolating this chess move.
“We've rattled him. That will make him even more reckless. Now we let him get back to Command and Control …barely, and he will be sure by his own wiles and wits. It will make him even more cocky and he will construct an even bigger noose for us, which he will slip himself into without even realizing.”
SIMon's pattern alarms turned our attention to the multiple windows showing white vans streaming from corporate parking garages ringing the district. It looked like something out of those old 1960s movies... or Mike Myers' parody in the first Austin Powers film. Multiple windows on large monitors all showing seemingly the same thing... scores of unremarkable white vans streaming onto highways and connectors headed for the city.
“What the hell is he up to? This is BIG.” R00tkid rubbed the back of his neck.
“Is he planning some kind of diversion?” ...it was the only thing I could think of, yet still it made no sense.
“That would be like starting a forest fire to hide the fact that you were littering. It's insanely disproportionate.”
Then Aaron's eyes got distant and I could see he was deep in thought.
“Sonofabitch. That's exactly what he's doing. Insanely disproportionate is his trademark!”
And with that he ran to his hackbook and started querying Lillith.
“Holy shit. I think this is protocol Alpha!”
“What's protocol Alpha?”
“It's this ridiculous wargame scenario that makes all the military boys breathe hard. It's like something out of a bad Tom Clancy knockoff... or Dr Strangelove. I think it goes back to when certain think tanks were tasked to come up with insane schemes to kidnap and brainwash Stalin... then they updated it for Castro... Qadaffi, Hussein, Kohmeni... you name it they have a variation. Basically it involves throwing an insane amount of covert commandos into a hostile theater to create total confusion while the leader is snatched & bagged. This is like porn for pentagoners. Like global thermonuclear wargames, no one would actually DO this.”
“Except for our rattled and reckless friend.”
Aaron nodded solemnly. “ I believe so.”
“So what's the point? Who is he kidnapping?”
“Well, there was that whole hoax at the Senate office building, but they already nabbed the committee chair. SIMon logged that. I can't think of any other targets valuable enough to warrant this extreme an action....”
R00tkid furrowed his brow, obviously searching for an answer that fit, no matter how unlikely. Suddenly he burst out in the widest grin I'd ever seen.
“Hahahahaha” he cackled with glee. “It sounds ridiculous, but I think there's only one target he would consider important enough to provoke this extreme rendition offensive.”
“Who?” I was lost... I could usually almost keep up with Aaron, but this time I had no idea where he was headed. “Who the hell could Lynch want to grab badly enough to unleash US commandos on the damned capital?”
Rootkid beamed the most menacing grin I've ever seen and replied quietly “Himself”
I was stunned. We planned to rattle him, and I thought we had succeeded, but this was mind boggling.
“You mean he's having hundreds of guerrilas randomly attack Washington DC just to get himself out?”
“Looks that way.” R00tkid smiled. “I guess he scares much more than we thought.”
“That WEASEL!” I was beside myself. My fury was uncontrollable and I had no desire to control it. Words can't describe the ….contempt... I felt towards this evil sociopathic ...coward!
“How many people are going to be injured or killed by this stunt of his?”
“No telling. As many as possible, that's the point. Maximum distraction.”
“We have to stop this!”
“No kidding. I'm still working on how...” Even while he was talking with me, explaining his theory about what was really going on and why, Aaron was already frantically working his hackbook, planning a dozen moves ahead. As always.
“They're still about 10 to 12 minutes from their marks, when they will deploy and start raising hell. We don't have much time.”
I had a thought. “We don't have an army of our own, but we do have the grid. What if we tamper with traffic signals and cause accidents to block their path? I know it's dragging random folks into the battle, but it seems they will do worse.”
His face was somber. “Yeah. Much worse. That's the point. I hate to stoop to their tactics, but it may be the best option. Wrecked cars and exploded airbags beats a deliberate massacre. Time to create some surgical collateral damage to prevent massive collateral damage. Eve, you're brilliant!” He smiled. I blushed. And I hoped my spur of the moment idea actually worked.
It didn't take long to find out. It's amazing how people will proceed into a busy intersection just because the light tells them to, ignoring cross traffic that shows no signs of slowing, let alone stopping. I guess that's why some people follow their GPS devices into lakes and over cliffs.
Yes. My crazy scheme worked. And R00tkid sweetened it by tampering with natural gas regulators and electrical transformer controls to cause spontaneous explosions in utility tunnels, the end effect was launching heavy manhole covers like projectiles as the target vans passed on the roads overhead. I marvelled at how quickly R00tkid conceived of this plan, worked out how to implement it, and put it into action, becoming quite precise amazingly fast. It was like watching a virtuoso gamer instantly pick up a difficult game moments after first encountering it. His face was an odd mix of intense concentration and deep satisfaction at his quick mastery. I knew that he was keenly aware this was no videogame. Still, the skills he had honed as a geeky kid, served him well in protecting countless scores ...perhaps hundreds of innocent bystanders from getting caught up in Bill Lynch's savage wargames.
I helped by disrupting communication channels. The goon's command center had no idea that their plan was rapidly falling apart. The only chaos actually unleashed was on them. None of the strike teams could get through to report failure of their prime objective and seek alternate orders. And these folks were not trained to show initiative or think for themselves. In fact they were brutally conditioned NOT to think for themselves. So, barring any orders, they just waited. Harmlessly.
The one mission that DID get through was the prime team sent to retrieve the target. Only they didn't lose communication. They just had their communication – and their orders – adjusted. By us.
The original orders were to 'nab' the target, but they were to specify that this was not in fact a hostile, but the Director. Making this not a kidnapping, but a rescue. The mission would remain the same until contact. At that point, the Director would be treated as a valuable recovered asset, not a prisoner. However R00tkid and I decided to 'tweak' the orders. The rendition team was informed that they were grabbing an enemy hostile who had infiltrated the organization by being a doppelganger for the director. He was to be renditioned 'with extreme prejudice'.
Maybe I should have felt hesitation, or at least ambivalence about lowering myself to his level, but after thinking about what that son of a bitch did to me. Destroying my life and God knows how many others, any trepidation lasted less than an instant. I felt no desire for vengeance. But I was completely bereft of any sympathy or compassion for this brutal sociopath.
“Sir. Supplemental orders.” The young man sitting next to the van driver handed the LCD back through the panel.
“About time.” The commander keyed in the decryption code. “Son of a BITCH!”
He addressed the 5 commandos riding with him in the back.
“Looks like we've got ourselves a mole.” He scowled.
He explained about the imposter masquerading as the director. How he didn't know his cover was blown, and would act like the actual director. How C&C uncovered the deception, and how he was to be brought back for extreme debrief at all costs. The rest of his crew simply nodded. No matter how outlandish their mission, they were trained and drilled to follow orders. Understanding things was above their paygrade.
Bill Lynch saw the plain white van turn into the alley so he stepped out from behind the dumpster and flagged them down.
“Jesus. TOOK you long....”
“ON YOUR KNEES” the commando bellowed.
“What the FU..” Lynch began to berate them as the other commando jabbed his rifle butt into the base of Lynch's spine, collapsing him like a folding chair.
“I'm gonna FRY your as..”
“SHUT. THE FUCK. UP!!!” the third commando screamed as the tazer pins deeply pierced Lynch's chest from extremely close range.
While the seizing body convulsed in on itself, special forces commander Joaquim 'Jock' Montillo turned the body over with his foot, rolling it into a shallow puddle, which sparked and sizzled from the tazer leads. He took a good look at the mole, who was the spit and image of the director, and wondered what the bastards had done with the real director. He wondered if they'd ever get it out of the mole, who seemed to be choking on his swallowed tongue. A swift, hard kick in the sternum with his combat boot and the mole's face exploded with a burst of air, his mangled bloody tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dogs.
“Get the traitor in the van and let's get out of here.” he barked.
Aaron intercepted the 'Package acquired' message and stopped blocking the communications to the rest of the Alpha team, who immediately began calling in and receiving their updated orders, which amounted to 'mission accomplished - return immediately.' They needed the open channels to coordinate the retrieval of all the disabled vans and the teams within. Quickly SIMon indicated the deployment of sizable fleets of Black Navigators and Escalades from the same parking garages to the sites of every disabled van. If any bystander did see the teams in their full combat gear and weaponry, Aaron felt sure it would be explained away by the response Lynch himself triggered with that stunt at the Senate office building.
'The roaches are all returning to the motel' Eve chuckled to herself. No matter if Aaron wouldn't let her publicly call it 'operation roach motel' … to herself, she could call it whatever she damned well pleased.
When the van arrived at the sealed loading dock, Clark Dayton recoiled in horror when the back door burst open and Bill Lynch's broken body exploded from the back as the commandos hurled him like a sack of rice into the steel pillar.
“What the fuck?” Dayton just glared at the commander. “What the FUCK????”
Jock Montillo beamed at the duty officer “Got your package sir. Nice and tidy.”
Dayton just stared at him.
“What the FUCK?????”
“Sir?”
“What the fuck happened to him?”
“Well sir” a corpsman smirked. “ he might have slipped and fell.”
“...or injured himself trying to escape” smiled another
“Jesus CHRIST! You were under specific orders.....”
“Yes SIR!” beamed the commander. “Apprehend with extreme prejudice.”
“Apprehend?.... but.... NO!.... What the FUCK???? This is the goddamned director!”
“No sir. That's the mole we were sent to retrieve. Does look just LIKE the director though, don't he sir?” he grinned.
“No. Nonononononono NO! ….oh fuck.... oh christ... there IS no MOLE.... this is the goddamned DIRECTOR! ”
“No sir. Our orders were to apprehend the mole. Damn good copy, huh? He even acted just like...”
“That's because he IS the goddamned director, you stupid sonofabitch!!!!” Dayton was frantic.
“No sir.” he smiled indulgently, pulling the LCD with the orders from his pocket. “He's a mole. Our orders specifically state...”
“Goddamit, there WERE no orders! There IS no mole! This is the Goddamned director! Jesus Christ. We're all royally fucked!”
“No sir.” the commander was unflappable.... as trained... “our orders....”
“There WERE no orders! I give the goddamned orders! And I sure as HELL didn't give any goddamned orders about any goddamned MOLE! Your orders were to retrieve the director....”
“Sir?” The commander respectfully proffered the LCD again. Dayton yanked it from him and threw it hard against the steel pillar, where it shattered into countless pieces.
“Goddamit. Don't you GET it? Someone's FUCKING with us. You just beat the living SHIT out of the goddamned DIRECTOR!!! Jesus.... we're all fucked.”
“Oh shit sir.” The commander's face fell as he finally got it.
“For fuck's sake, don't just stand there.... get him to the infirmary!!!”
The commander sprang to action and barked at his corpsmen “GO.. GO... GO!!!!!” as they picked up the limp moaning body and ran to the elevator.
It was about 40 minutes later when Bill Lynch staggered into C&C. He was barely recognizable. He walked up to Clark Dayton and stared at him through saucer sized pupils.
“Jesus Christ I'm sorry sir. I had no idea. Goddamn, I was just following your orders. I sent the message exactly as you said. Someone must have...”
“That pencil dick little cocksucker” Lynch spat out in a rasp. “Fuck him. Fuck him and his whole goddamn fucking nerd army. Time to take that little corpsefucker down. He wants to bite the big dog, huh? Well fuck him. Fuck them all.”
He staggered to a console and leaned in for a retina scan. Which failed. He punched the camera into the console and wiped his now bloody hand on his shirt as he placed it on the biometric scanner. When the secondary log-in came on screen, he pounded in his credentials and waited while the screen quickly flashed page after page of security protocol overrides.
He leaned into the console and with his one unbroken finger stabbed in “ROOT. SYS. RUN: Damocles”
The screen flickered for a few minutes more and then everyone's console winked out for a moment and resumed. Except the one Bill Lynch sat at. It simply displayed LILITH.ROOT.SYS.\ RUN Damocles | Are you SURE? {Y/N}
Bill Lynch screamed so loudly the entire room stopped and turned “Fuck YES I'm sure!” and let out a wail as he stabbed the “Y” key.
Once again, all the consoles in the room winked. Only this time they all refreshed to display the same message.
LILITH.ROOT.SYS.Damocles. - executing
“Oh ho HO!” Aaron exclaimed, glancing from the alarm that chirped on his monitor.
“He did it! That dirty evil slimy dirtbag actually DID it!!!” He jumped from his chair and pumped his fist in the air.
“He DIDN'T???” I exclaimed. I wanted to believe it.... and Bill Lynch was by far the nastiest excuse for a human being I'd ever encountered, but even I ….after all he'd done to me.... couldn't imagine that he was capable of triggering the end of the world as we knew it. Or at least thinking he did.
“Oh, dammit.... I would so LOVE to be there to witness this!” He shouted triumphantly.
“I wouldn't want to be within miles of that place when all this goes down.” I shuddered.
“Yeah. Actually you're right. It's going to get really ugly, really fast. Put out the word, we've got to get all our resources on line immediately!”
So I sent the GO code. A seemingly simple tweet from a dormant account, directing all our scattered colleagues and their resources ...personal or comandeered... to fortify the mesh net running the Damocles sim.
“What just happened?” Clark Dayton said to Bill Lynch. Who stared right through him with his saucer like eyes. “What the hell did they give you sir?”
“Something for the pain” he gargled out past his sutured tongue “Not fucking enough” and he motioned for his minion to follow him as he walked from Command and Control and turned down the corridor that led to the detention wing.
They arrived at the detention wing where Lynch and his number 2 were waved through and he strode – as much as his broken body would permit, to a cell containing his 'retrieval team'.
The commander turned to him with a stricken face and said “Jesus Christ sir! We were just following....”
Lynch swung the Glock from his holster and blew a hole through the commander's larynx.
“Shut the fuck up!” he rasped. The commander, sprawled against the wall and gushing blood from his severed carotid artery just gazed at Lynch through wide, glassy eyes. The other three commandos instantly sprang to their feet, despite their arms being shackled behind their backs.
“You!” Lynch whispered and shot one through both kneecaps. “That's for the rifle butt.”
His comrades looked straight ahead as their brother collapsed to the cell floor. These guys were WELL trained.
“Like your little taser asshole?” He spat as he shot the next soldier in the groin. And smirked at the howl before he punched him in the throat, crushing his windpipe and silencing him.
“Thanks for not letting me choke on my tongue motherfucker” he said to the last soldier as he pressed the barrel under his ribcage and aimed up for the base of his skull through his torso.
Clark Dayton swallowed hard. He knew the director was tough as nails and intolerant of failure, but even he hadn't been able to imagine what he just witnessed.
Bill Lynch turned to him and gurgled through his swollen, sutured tongue. “I'm not the sadistic motherfucker you all think. After all, they were just following orders.” and he quickly shot each one between the eyes, abruptly ending their misery. Then he turned back to his second in command “...YOUR orders...” and delivered his last bullet through the brain.
Command and Control was in a frenzy. No systems were responsive, yet they were able to monitor SIMon and their media taps, witnessing the havoc taking place in the world outside the bunker. Nuclear powerplant meltdowns, planes hurtling from the skies as their autopilots quickly aimed them at the ground or into buidings. Crude Oil tankers discharging their cargoes in the middle of the ocean. Satellites de-orbiting speading supersonic schrapnel throughout air corridors and raining bits of debris like machine gun bullets onto major cities, Power grids collapsing, Hydro dams opening their gates, sweeping away surrounding communities in a wall of water, internet backbones shutting down, virtually killing all communications since everything these days touched the internet somewhere. Absolute havoc and pandemonium everywhere... but this was no cyber attack... not even a worst case scenario from a wargame. This was happening everywhere. In every nation that could be monitored. All at once.
It was only a matter of time. Everyone knew this. With all the other hell that was breaking loose, no one was surprised by the final development. The contrails were unmistakable. Arsenals had been deployed while they still could be. Whether by the same malfunction that had sabotaged everything else, or as a deliberate action by someone with the authority who panicked when everything else went to hell, the missiles were in the air. Confirmed both incoming and outgoing. Who fired first was irrelevant. Everything was going to shit incomprehensibly fast. Within three hours, four thousand years of human progress would be seared away. Those who tried to call their loved ones found all outside communication lost. Despite the psych evals, some of the staff actually became so disconsolate that they used their service weapons on themselves.
The others huddled to see how long they could survive within the sealed bunker before venturing out into whatever was left of the world.
Imagine their surprise five months later, after using every means necessary to survive – including using the quickly preserved carcasses of the suicides and prisoners as food stock, when they finally broke the seal of their bunker to face the devastation they had created and were greeted by a squad of federal marshals.
Bill Lynch was a survivor and damned proud of it. Let those damned lemmings rot in their living crypt. He was heading for the hills. He made it out of the bunker before the Damocles safety protocols would have sealed the place. He still thought it likely that Damocles was actually executing, but if that dog-blowing little poindexter had managed to tamper with even Damocles, at least he wouldn't be caught in the trap when the damned cops raided the damned bunker.
It took weeks, and every resource he had, but Lynch was nothing if not thorough. He had scattered enough survival resources in enough places that he could get anywhere he needed to be. He knew within a day that Damocles had failed. That did not deter him from his omega plan. If anything, it strengthened his resolve. His resources got him across the border and off the damned grid. He made his way from safe house to safe house as he worked his way further south.
They were expecting him when he finally arrived at his final destination. The former FARC commander brought him to the hut that had been prepared for him and congratulated him on his escape from the jaws of the imperialist dog impudent enough to turn on its master. Lynch nodded his assent. The abscess on what was left of his tongue made it too painful to speak casually. Instructing the guerrillas became an exercise in willpower and discipline, and every student recognized the effort the master put into teaching them his brutal arts. They were recruited from all over... Asia, Africa, the Middle East and the Balkans, throughout South and Central America and even 'citizen-militia' brigades scattered across the northern plains of the US and Canada. They came to learn from the master. They came to be tested and tempered, and those who survived his savage combat school, could name their price in mercenary services anywhere in the world. They were the best of the best. The most brutal of the brutal.
The commandante congratulated his old benefactor on a job well done. There was not a drug gang or separatist group in the world who would not pay top dollar for these first-rate human weapons. They had proved their worth by surviving his training. By enduring the torture and abuse he used to 'temper and tutor' them. He assured the commandante that he taught them everything he knew.
The commandante nodded and addressed the 'graduating class'... congratulating them on surviving their ordeal and proving themselves worthy. They would be sent into the field as soon as they finished their final test. Demonstrating everything they had been taught on their old teacher to make sure he wasn't holding out and had indeed taught them everything he knew. If he had any secrets left, he would surely divulge them by the time they were through with him. Or they would be lost forever.
With that, four 'students' began to draw and quarter Bill Lynch while another set the oil to boil and the last sharpened the flaying knife.
While the goons were panicking in their sealed bunker watching the convincingly real doomsday simulations, and Lynch was slithering his way toward the southern border, R00tkid and Eve turned their attention back to the national news media.
Bloomberg and CNBC were reporting turmoil in the futures markets as seismic waves were rippling through petroleum and grain exchanges after the leak of confidential reports regarding the actual state of oil reserves and harvest estimates.
Monetary exchanges were reeling when massive debt attributed to non-aligned countries, forcing drastic currency devaluation, was revealed to be the result of faulty financial algorithms. Economists would spend weeks sorting through the forensics of the analytic code, but trillions in debt to world banks and international financial organizations vanished from the books like a mirage at dusk.
The political channels were ignoring these headlining events because they were dealing with an avalanche of revelations of their own.
The Guardian blog about Senator Forrest started a frenzy of fingerpointing among parties mentioned in the expose, while Senator Forrest himself remained elusive, no doubt in hiding while his organization formulated some approach to spin control.
The search for the evasive Senator itself was overshadowed by the tsunami of 'leaks' involving multinational corporations and hostile nation states, human trafficking and outright slavery in third world manufacturing compounds, massive environmental contamination and veritable laundry lists of corrupt officials tasked with keeping these violations quiet.
Then there were the reports of the private 'think tanks' covertly fomenting and funding religious and ethnic extremist groups to incite genocides, effectively removing uncooperative parties, and once the extermination was complete, procuring extensive (and lucrative) military support for the war against the 'genocidal extremists'.
There weren't enough news channels or talking heads to cover the fire hose of revelations that seemed to be gushing from every imaginable source.
“My only real concern is information overload” Aaron confessed to Eve. “This iceberg's been building for so long, I worry that by exposing the whole thing, people won't be able to wrap their heads around the enormity of the corruption and manipulation. If people just close their eyes to the truth we expose, nothing will have changed.”
She took his chin in her hand and turned him to look her in the eye.
“Even if that does happen ...and I'm not convinced it will.... You HAVE rebooted the world. That iceberg you mentioned... all those shadowy secrets... all that corruption and duplicity and manipulation... all those diverted funds have been returned to those from whom they were stolen. Every corrupt official stands naked in the sunlight to anyone who chooses to look. The puppet regimes and terrorist groups have had all their strings and connections made visible. Honesty and integrity may not trump corruption and deceit... but you have reset the game. Both sides are starting from scratch. The white hats with the resources that had been stolen from them, and the black hats without their ill-gotten gain. It's up to people to give a damn, and open their eyes, and see the shadowy world you have exposed, and decide, now that we're restarting from a level playing field, if they want to do things differently the next time around.”
“And if they don't?”
“Don't take this the wrong way lover...” she smiled “but though you're the most ….gifted, courageous, decent human being I've ever met.... you won't be the last of your breed. Who knows? Maybe one of your heirs will pick up the torch if it's needed.”
“I won't have any heirs. Haven't you figured it out by now? There's no one for me but you. Never had been. Never will be. I never imagined you'd be a real flesh and blood woman.”
“Or that I wouldn't be without you?”
Aaron laughed hard and bitterly. “I will never make peace with myself over that.”
“You must. I have. Without knowing. Without trying. You made it possible for me to live the life I never thought possible.”
Aaron stifled a bitter laugh. “At what cost? I destroyed your old life.”
“Wasn't doing anything with it. Not missing it.”
“I put you through hell.”
“You didn't. THEY did. And it's far enough behind me ...thanks to YOU Doctor Bishop...” she smiled
Aaron grunted morosely.
“...that I can say that the scars are stronger and more resilient than the original tender flesh.”
“Don't start quoting Nietsche on me...” he chuckled ruefully.
“No need to tell you what you already know. You were consumed by the system too. And like me, you turned your tribulation into strength and beat them at their own game.”
“They did it to themselves.”
“Wouldn't have happened without you.”
“Or you.”
“Or her.” Eve pointed to the thumbdrive with the 3V3 overlay.
“You wouldn't be here if not for her.” R00tkid whispered softly into Eve's ear.
“And I will be eternally grateful to her for that. And for the other thing...”
“What?”
“She will be the one who will give you the heirs you need to keep up the good fight. They will be your legacy... her offspring.... with you.... and maybe a little help from uncle SIMon and aunt LILITH...” she winked. “They will be the ones to guard against what you set right ever going wrong again.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Well, I can't be jealous of 3V3 for giving you what I never can. Still, I hope she won't become jealous of me if I can give you something she never could?” Eve said, wrapping her arm around his back and snuggling her head into Aarons chest.
“How could she possibly be jealous? You know, she's your biggest fan....”