The first thing that jumps out at me is that there isn’t a lot of information in the file. His name and all of his personal info, like his birthday and height and weight and the like, are on it, but most of the other sections are blank, including his employment dates and any other information other than his job title.
His photo is of a generic white guy in his late twenties with brown hair and dark eyes, but there’s something about it that triggers my uncanny valley instincts. Something is off, but I can’t place what it is.
“Am I the only one whose Spidey sense is going off looking at this guy?” I ask.
“Nope.” Jace zooms in on the photo. “Check the top left corner.”
“What the fuck?” I mutter, leaning closer to the screen.
Just around the edges of the top left corner of the photo is a line of blurred pixels, and they’re the only ones on the entire photo that aren’t sharp and clear. “Why do they look like that?”
Jace taps a few keys, and the image shifts as it changes slightly. Then he brings up the original photo and puts it beside the new one.
The differences are small, and unless someone took their time comparing both photos, it would be easy to mistake them as being the same image. Kind of like how some fraternal twins can look eerily alike while still being distinctly different from each other.
“Whoever put his ID in the system used an AI algorithm to create those changes,” he explains. “The blurred parts are what we call AI noise, and they’re one of the visual ways you can spot AI on images and videos. A smart person would have taken the time to fix them, but whoever did this is obviously not a smart person.” He picks up a pen and twirls it around his fingers a few times. “They also didn’t bother getting rid of the digital watermark, so I’m assuming this wasn’t done by a tech personbecause that’s a rookie mistake. Or they’re so arrogant they didn’t think anyone would check the file. Either way, they’re a dumbass.”
“Can you trace who did it?”
“Not directly, but I know the algorithm they used, when it was done, and where.” He stops spinning the pen and drops it on his desk. “And you’ll never guess where this image was created.”
“I want to say here, but that feels too obvious.”
He grins darkly. “Sometimes the most obvious answer is the correct one.”
“Can you trace the exact location?”
He shakes his head. “Just the vicinity. So it was either on campus or in town, but I can’t pinpoint where without more data.”
“And all this is in the drive?” I ask.
I would have bet money that I looked through the entire thing when he gave it to me, but Jace’s organizing skills are as chaotic as he is, and it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve overlooked something because I didn’t see it in the chaos.
“The staff file and his identity are, but I was still looking into it, and him, when I handed it over, so the different photos and everything I found beyond the basics aren’t.” He shoots me a pointed look. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask about them, but I got bored, so I’m telling you now.”
“Why would someone upload a slightly altered photo of him in the database?” I ask.
“To help him hide in plain sight.” Jace rocks back and forth in his chair a few times. “The photo was altered enough that it wouldn’t show up on any searches if someone decided to look into him. And I’m not sure if they did this on purpose, or if it’s just a happy accident for them, but it’ll also make it harder for people to remember him if he looks different in his picturethan he does in real life. People will trust the photo over their memories, so it’ll be like he was never actually here.”
“That’s actually brilliant, but it seems risky considering all the facial recognition we have on campus. He could have easily been flagged as a threat if the system hadn’t recognized him and thought he was an intruder.”
“He could have,” Jace agrees. “But whoever created the algorithm kept the margin of error within the built-in fail-safes of the system. It was essentially created to trick the school’s main systems.”
“So whoever did this was smart enough to stay within the margin of error specific to the school, but not smart enough to fix the pixels or remove the things that make the photo traceable.”
“Pretty much.” Jace grabs the silver butterfly knife next to his mouse pad and flips it open and closed a few times. “Which leads me to believe that the person who created the algorithm and the one who created the photo and uploaded it are different people.”
“So what do we know about Jeremy Reynolds?” I ask. There’s no way in hell he didn’t do a deep dive on the guy.
Jace grins and spins the blade around his fingers. “A lot. Including that his name isn’t actually Jeremy Reynolds.”
“Of course it isn’t,” I say when he pauses for dramatic effect.
“And he’s dead.”
“He is?”
Jace brings up another file on a different screen, only this one looks like it’s part of a police report. “Bro offed himself in his accommodations three days after the attack. Single gunshot to the temple. Campus LEO ruled it a suicide.”
