Illustration by Joi Rudin.
The gig was supposed to be simple. Get in, take out a couple of Sentinel ICEs, erase the mainframe, and get out.
The target was the Collections Department of a medium-sized Mwandez-based digital bank. Our intel said that surveillance on that Grid was mediocre at best; cheap fucks hadn't invested in new security measures in ages. We were always up to free people from economic debt. We loved those kind of jobs. It's just that we got caught off guard. Why would Zebra Synthetics' proprietary Elite Sentinels be swarming around that Grid? By the time we realized we were outnumbered and overpowered, we were in too deep. Disconnecting then would have sounded all kinds of alarms. We had to push through to the mainframe to exit that Grid without a trace.
It's not like we were amateurs; we already had some interesting runs under our belts: the Wardlord container we lifted from the port of Toulouse and the New Water campaign we hacked so much Karaguchi had to take it down. But getting out of that Mwandez bank's Grid was going to take stealth and finesse, and I've always been a more basic kind of runner—blunter. I guess that's why she forwarded me one of her programs. She was the one with the finesse. She was probably the best programmer I'll ever meet, too.
The program she lent to me was a real piece of art. I demoed it as soon as I received it to get a feeling for it, and it ran smoothly as silk, even without pre-loading it. Every instance where I knew the code ought to be stressing my console, the temps inexplicably dropped. It was subtle and sophisticated—exactly the opposite of my style. I guess that's why we were such a good team; we balanced each other out.
So I followed her lead, and we avoided every detection system right up to the mainframe. However, the dozen Sentinels guarding that specific node left no room for stealth. So, I did what I did best. I started blasting programs left and right. She did, too. We'd taken out a couple of them when we realized they were calling for backup, and we needed to end it fast. It was time to turn it up to eleven. I'd done it before: I'd take one of my hack programs, run it with a modified latency command, and amplify it, repurposing my console's hardware. It usually left my console pretty banged up, but it did the job; it was a Hail Mary move, all or nothing. And we needed to get out of there fast. The thing is, I'd only ever done it with my own programs. Simple hacks that had few caveats. When I executed the command, I didn't realize my console had queued the program she'd given me.
At first, it felt like thunder was coming out of my console, jumping from Sentinel to Sentinel, scorching everything in its path. The ICEs twitched and glitched out of existence. It felt good. But then the electric current got out of control, exploding randomly around the Grid. I got blown away and almost knocked out.
I looked for her but only saw the empty node and a clear path to the mainframe. I smelled burnt wires and knew my console was done for. Maybe she had exited the Grid once the Sentinels were out before I got up. Either way, I had to get out, so I did.
When my neural implant switched off, and I was back in the meatspace, I saw her slouching on the sofa. She still had her visor on. Her thorax wasn't moving. I froze. It took me a few minutes to figure out what happened. Back in the Grid, the lighting must have jumped from one of the ICEs to her, overwhelming her console and causing her neural implant to shortcircuit, frying her brain. It's known to happen, either because some really overpowered ICEs, but usually because some idiot like me fucks up.
I can still smell the burnt wires and hair. At least, I think I do. I just can't shake the stench. But maybe that's for the best. It keeps me focused. It reminds me that when I fuck up, people get hurt. It's a good incentive to fuck up as little as possible.
The target was the Collections Department of a medium-sized Mwandez-based digital bank. Our intel said that surveillance on that Grid was mediocre at best; cheap fucks hadn't invested in new security measures in ages. We were always up to free people from economic debt. We loved those kind of jobs. It's just that we got caught off guard. Why would Zebra Synthetics' proprietary Elite Sentinels be swarming around that Grid? By the time we realized we were outnumbered and overpowered, we were in too deep. Disconnecting then would have sounded all kinds of alarms. We had to push through to the mainframe to exit that Grid without a trace.
It's not like we were amateurs; we already had some interesting runs under our belts: the Wardlord container we lifted from the port of Toulouse and the New Water campaign we hacked so much Karaguchi had to take it down. But getting out of that Mwandez bank's Grid was going to take stealth and finesse, and I've always been a more basic kind of runner—blunter. I guess that's why she forwarded me one of her programs. She was the one with the finesse. She was probably the best programmer I'll ever meet, too.
The program she lent to me was a real piece of art. I demoed it as soon as I received it to get a feeling for it, and it ran smoothly as silk, even without pre-loading it. Every instance where I knew the code ought to be stressing my console, the temps inexplicably dropped. It was subtle and sophisticated—exactly the opposite of my style. I guess that's why we were such a good team; we balanced each other out.
So I followed her lead, and we avoided every detection system right up to the mainframe. However, the dozen Sentinels guarding that specific node left no room for stealth. So, I did what I did best. I started blasting programs left and right. She did, too. We'd taken out a couple of them when we realized they were calling for backup, and we needed to end it fast. It was time to turn it up to eleven. I'd done it before: I'd take one of my hack programs, run it with a modified latency command, and amplify it, repurposing my console's hardware. It usually left my console pretty banged up, but it did the job; it was a Hail Mary move, all or nothing. And we needed to get out of there fast. The thing is, I'd only ever done it with my own programs. Simple hacks that had few caveats. When I executed the command, I didn't realize my console had queued the program she'd given me.
At first, it felt like thunder was coming out of my console, jumping from Sentinel to Sentinel, scorching everything in its path. The ICEs twitched and glitched out of existence. It felt good. But then the electric current got out of control, exploding randomly around the Grid. I got blown away and almost knocked out.
I looked for her but only saw the empty node and a clear path to the mainframe. I smelled burnt wires and knew my console was done for. Maybe she had exited the Grid once the Sentinels were out before I got up. Either way, I had to get out, so I did.
When my neural implant switched off, and I was back in the meatspace, I saw her slouching on the sofa. She still had her visor on. Her thorax wasn't moving. I froze. It took me a few minutes to figure out what happened. Back in the Grid, the lighting must have jumped from one of the ICEs to her, overwhelming her console and causing her neural implant to shortcircuit, frying her brain. It's known to happen, either because some really overpowered ICEs, but usually because some idiot like me fucks up.
I can still smell the burnt wires and hair. At least, I think I do. I just can't shake the stench. But maybe that's for the best. It keeps me focused. It reminds me that when I fuck up, people get hurt. It's a good incentive to fuck up as little as possible.
Written by Espeche, original idea by Windd.