Illustration by Joi Rudin.
Marcus was alone in the small room again. He was sitting in the metal chair, handcuffed to the metal table. He had no idea how long he'd been there, staring mindlessly at the empty metal chair across the table. There were no windows in the small room, and the fluorescent light that bounced off the steel walls and floors gave him no information about the passage of time.
For the last couple of weeks, ever since he was caught and brought to this detention center, his routine consisted of being woken by WDI correctional officers, eating a tasteless and awful-looking breakfast, and then being beaten until he threw up said breakfast. He guessed by the looks and attitude of the officers that those beating sessions took place in the morning. They were still sleepy; they didn't have the vigor they showed during the other beating sessions of the day.
That particular day, Marcus estimated he had been beaten for three hours in total across four different sessions. Then, they'd brought him here, to the small room where that disgusting human being named Connor had tried to get some answers from him back when he had just arrived. Clearly, the WDI approach was now to beat him until he was bruised and tender and only then question him. So Marcus was sure Connor would walk through that door any second now. And sure enough, after what felt like an eternity but could have been only a few minutes, the only door to the small room slid open with a hiss, and Connor entered.
Connor's coat caught the fluorescent light, revealing an intricate pattern of matte Ws. This was the kind of subtle product placement that also served as an intimidation tactic one would expect from a senior employee of Wardlord Defense Industries. The coat said, "I'm more than a man; I'm a whole death monopoly incarnated." Connor sat in the empty chair across from Marcus.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Marcus," said Connor, removing his armless glasses and carefully putting them in a leather case. "Although I heard from the officers, you had a rough morning. I'm sure you appreciate having some time off from getting your skull bashed in." Connor smiled, both with his mouth and with his eyes. Marcus had spent his morning being the punching bag of four WDI goons whose only purpose in life was taking amphetamines and breaking inmates' bones. Connor enjoyed that fact, even if he hadn't been there to hit Marcus himself or even witnessed the beating. That was the extent of Connor’s sadism.
"I would have come earlier, but I got caught up trying to contain the repercussions of your mess." Connor's smile faded a little but didn't disappear entirely. The man pulled a small tablet from the inner pocket of his matte black coat and placed it on the table. A few taps later, a holographic projection hovered in front of Marcus. It was a wall of text, an article from the Spirit of '92, an independent media outlet that always sided with any Runner against any Corporation. The article explained that an unknown Runner had managed to land a big hit on WDI's Titan’s Web, leaving 40 WDI operators unable to disconnect from the Grid. That was incorrect; Marcus estimated having infected at least 200 WDI operators with his attack. The operators' status was described as similar to being catatonic, but Marcus knew that wasn't accurate either. The operators weren't comatose or anything like that. They were fully conscious: he had ensured that the virus he introduced into Titan's Web did nothing to numb their senses. The virus simply made the Grid identify the operators as unauthorized foreign entities and place them in quarantine. The WDI employees were left isolated and completely incommunicated. If someone tried to unplug them and bring them back to the meatspace, the virus tampered with the thermal settings of their neural connectors to fry their brains.
"The underground press is celebrating you, Marcus. Congratulations," said Connor. "Is this what you wanted? Recognition? Well, in any case, I doubt this will get any more attention. Adonis Digital Group won't cover the story at all, so only your fellow vermin Runners will ever hear about it. If your goal was to show us as weak, I'm sorry to say you've failed." The rhythm of Connor's words gave away enough for Marcus to understand where he was standing. Connor showing him the article and then dismissing it meant that WDI was on damage control. They still hadn't figured out a way to safely disconnect the operators, and they still hadn't decided to cut their losses and accept that the operators were as good as dead. Connor was here to negotiate, not to gloat.
"My bosses are reasonable people, Marcus. If you help us undo the damage you caused, they might consider improving your current situation. Give us the information we need about your virus to disconnect our operators safely, and the beatings will stop. Maybe even the food will get better," said Connor while staring at Marcus. Marcus said nothing. Connor continued, "And if, while you're sharing, you begin to understand which way the wind is blowing, we might even offer you a job. I can't guarantee you'll ever be free again, but maybe you'll get transferred to a WDI employee housing complex. That'd be nice, wouldn't it? Having a real bed, eating proper food, seeing the sun. Wouldn't you like that, Marcus? It's still in your reach. We can make it happen."
Marcus swallowed, trying to lubricate his throat, sore from screaming during torture sessions, enough to speak his piece. Connor leaned closer to hear him, smiling.
"Have they stopped controlling sphincters entirely?" Connor's smile faded. Marcus continued, trying to control his incipient laughter, "Your operators, I mean. The way I wrote the virus, they should have lost the ability to process solid foods days ago. You're probably feeding them through tubes. But I wonder how the logistics of having 200 human beings unable to unplug from your Grid works when it comes to basic bathroom etiquette." Connor's face was now one of disgust. Marcus laughed even louder, "Is WDI providing them with diapers, or have you placed their bodies on toilettes to reduce costs?"
Connor began to put away his tablet and prepare to leave. Marcus stopped laughing and said in all seriousness: "If you want your operators back, all you have to do is reboot Titan's Web. The system will disconnect them during initiation. It's as easy as that. But you won't do it. How long would that take? Two hours? Maybe less? But you just can't do it, can you? Having Titan's Web offline for even two minutes leaves you too exposed. Every Runner on the planet would notice. We'd take over Titan's Web and lock you out. And if you don't get your operators back, you're 200 people short, people who kept your Grid safe from us. Either way, I think your weakness is evident." Whatever happiness had caused Connor to smile before was long gone now. "I've won this game already, Connor. I made sure of that before I made my first move."
Connor sighed as he walked towards the door. "You know, Marcus. I wonder about things as well. I wonder what it's like for those operators to be completely cut off from the world, their bodies slowly decaying, and their minds every day a little bit more broken. I can't imagine what that's like." The door hissed open, and without turning, Connor said, "Maybe I'll come back, and you can tell me all about it."
For the last couple of weeks, ever since he was caught and brought to this detention center, his routine consisted of being woken by WDI correctional officers, eating a tasteless and awful-looking breakfast, and then being beaten until he threw up said breakfast. He guessed by the looks and attitude of the officers that those beating sessions took place in the morning. They were still sleepy; they didn't have the vigor they showed during the other beating sessions of the day.
That particular day, Marcus estimated he had been beaten for three hours in total across four different sessions. Then, they'd brought him here, to the small room where that disgusting human being named Connor had tried to get some answers from him back when he had just arrived. Clearly, the WDI approach was now to beat him until he was bruised and tender and only then question him. So Marcus was sure Connor would walk through that door any second now. And sure enough, after what felt like an eternity but could have been only a few minutes, the only door to the small room slid open with a hiss, and Connor entered.
Connor's coat caught the fluorescent light, revealing an intricate pattern of matte Ws. This was the kind of subtle product placement that also served as an intimidation tactic one would expect from a senior employee of Wardlord Defense Industries. The coat said, "I'm more than a man; I'm a whole death monopoly incarnated." Connor sat in the empty chair across from Marcus.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Marcus," said Connor, removing his armless glasses and carefully putting them in a leather case. "Although I heard from the officers, you had a rough morning. I'm sure you appreciate having some time off from getting your skull bashed in." Connor smiled, both with his mouth and with his eyes. Marcus had spent his morning being the punching bag of four WDI goons whose only purpose in life was taking amphetamines and breaking inmates' bones. Connor enjoyed that fact, even if he hadn't been there to hit Marcus himself or even witnessed the beating. That was the extent of Connor’s sadism.
"I would have come earlier, but I got caught up trying to contain the repercussions of your mess." Connor's smile faded a little but didn't disappear entirely. The man pulled a small tablet from the inner pocket of his matte black coat and placed it on the table. A few taps later, a holographic projection hovered in front of Marcus. It was a wall of text, an article from the Spirit of '92, an independent media outlet that always sided with any Runner against any Corporation. The article explained that an unknown Runner had managed to land a big hit on WDI's Titan’s Web, leaving 40 WDI operators unable to disconnect from the Grid. That was incorrect; Marcus estimated having infected at least 200 WDI operators with his attack. The operators' status was described as similar to being catatonic, but Marcus knew that wasn't accurate either. The operators weren't comatose or anything like that. They were fully conscious: he had ensured that the virus he introduced into Titan's Web did nothing to numb their senses. The virus simply made the Grid identify the operators as unauthorized foreign entities and place them in quarantine. The WDI employees were left isolated and completely incommunicated. If someone tried to unplug them and bring them back to the meatspace, the virus tampered with the thermal settings of their neural connectors to fry their brains.
"The underground press is celebrating you, Marcus. Congratulations," said Connor. "Is this what you wanted? Recognition? Well, in any case, I doubt this will get any more attention. Adonis Digital Group won't cover the story at all, so only your fellow vermin Runners will ever hear about it. If your goal was to show us as weak, I'm sorry to say you've failed." The rhythm of Connor's words gave away enough for Marcus to understand where he was standing. Connor showing him the article and then dismissing it meant that WDI was on damage control. They still hadn't figured out a way to safely disconnect the operators, and they still hadn't decided to cut their losses and accept that the operators were as good as dead. Connor was here to negotiate, not to gloat.
"My bosses are reasonable people, Marcus. If you help us undo the damage you caused, they might consider improving your current situation. Give us the information we need about your virus to disconnect our operators safely, and the beatings will stop. Maybe even the food will get better," said Connor while staring at Marcus. Marcus said nothing. Connor continued, "And if, while you're sharing, you begin to understand which way the wind is blowing, we might even offer you a job. I can't guarantee you'll ever be free again, but maybe you'll get transferred to a WDI employee housing complex. That'd be nice, wouldn't it? Having a real bed, eating proper food, seeing the sun. Wouldn't you like that, Marcus? It's still in your reach. We can make it happen."
Marcus swallowed, trying to lubricate his throat, sore from screaming during torture sessions, enough to speak his piece. Connor leaned closer to hear him, smiling.
"Have they stopped controlling sphincters entirely?" Connor's smile faded. Marcus continued, trying to control his incipient laughter, "Your operators, I mean. The way I wrote the virus, they should have lost the ability to process solid foods days ago. You're probably feeding them through tubes. But I wonder how the logistics of having 200 human beings unable to unplug from your Grid works when it comes to basic bathroom etiquette." Connor's face was now one of disgust. Marcus laughed even louder, "Is WDI providing them with diapers, or have you placed their bodies on toilettes to reduce costs?"
Connor began to put away his tablet and prepare to leave. Marcus stopped laughing and said in all seriousness: "If you want your operators back, all you have to do is reboot Titan's Web. The system will disconnect them during initiation. It's as easy as that. But you won't do it. How long would that take? Two hours? Maybe less? But you just can't do it, can you? Having Titan's Web offline for even two minutes leaves you too exposed. Every Runner on the planet would notice. We'd take over Titan's Web and lock you out. And if you don't get your operators back, you're 200 people short, people who kept your Grid safe from us. Either way, I think your weakness is evident." Whatever happiness had caused Connor to smile before was long gone now. "I've won this game already, Connor. I made sure of that before I made my first move."
Connor sighed as he walked towards the door. "You know, Marcus. I wonder about things as well. I wonder what it's like for those operators to be completely cut off from the world, their bodies slowly decaying, and their minds every day a little bit more broken. I can't imagine what that's like." The door hissed open, and without turning, Connor said, "Maybe I'll come back, and you can tell me all about it."
Written by Espeche, original idea by Brulo.