The audacity is truly astounding. Breathtaking, almost.
To my credit, I don’t scoff, or even roll my eyes. Someone nominate me for sainthood. “Good luck with that one, Fred.”
“The team needs you, especially with the Safe-T Keeper product launch around the corner. We’re drowning since Erica quit.”
“Hmm… That’s a tough one. But—hear me out—maybe you should consider hiring someone to replace her instead of pushing her work to everyone else to save on her salary. I know it’s a wild concept.” His jaw falls as I hit him with his own signature finger-guns. “I’ll see myself out. Should I leave my badge with security?”
Looking completely shell-shocked, he falls back into his leather office chair, which rolls back a few inches from the momentum and throws him off balance. “Uh, yeah, with security.”
“All right, then. It’s been… um… fun?”
“What the fuck just happened?” he mutters to himself.
I almost feel sorry for Fred. He’s a tool, but he’s not the worst boss I’ve ever had. At least he wasn’t sexually harassing his assistant, like the last asshole I worked for.
I’m almost at the door when I hear a faint, almost shocked, “Madison?”
I whirl at the sound of my name but find him staring at his phone in his hand. My movement catches his eye, and he glances up at me, brows raised. “Oh… never mind,” he says, tucking it away, his tone oddly bright. He tries to tamp down on a smile, like he’s seen something funny and he doesn’t want to share the joke. It’s fucking creepy.
“You take care,” he says.
Right.
Knowing I was biding my time here, I didn’t bother to decorate my cubicle. All I need is my sweater and my purse, and I’m on my way towards security. The guard at the desk is expecting me, and has the metal detector wand at the ready. It’s all part of the sudden-departure protocol to ensure I’m not stealing company property. Because I’ve departed suddenly and stolen company property so many times now, I’m ready. Most of these guys are retired cops or wannabeswho couldn’t hack it at the academy. They mostly check to make sure you’re not stealing office supplies—intellectual property is above their pay grade. They never think to check the cute pink panda on my keychain, which can actually hold 128 GB of data.
My breath catches as he glances at my keyring, but he waves me off with a scowl. When I get to my car, I nearly collapse into the driver’s seat.
What a rush!I pulled it off. I never have to see or come back to this godforsaken building ever again.
SmarTech, my great white whale. I’d have loved to hack them properly, but I know my limitations. To be fair, I did want that security risk closed for my own reasons—it was a happy coincidence that I could kill two birds with one stone. Because now I’ve got the intel I need for my next payout from mytío, and some bonus data to sift through. I’ll bet some of the rich, powerful corporations and CEOs who depend on SmarTech tools have some naughty, nasty secrets.
As soon as the door of my apartment shuts behind me, I’m greeted by a cat that’s starving to death. He screams at me; in true cat fashion, it’s somehow both urgent and aloof.
“Hey SB, how you livin’? Same, same,” I tell him, working the panda USB drive off the ring, then tossing my keys into the brightly painted dish by the door.
I feed my fur-child, feed myself, and head back to my room, where my L-shaped desk occupies about half the space. I stick the ass end of the panda drive into the port and jiggle the mouse to start the download.
Since I’m still logged into my favorite IRC, I pull up the window and grin as I see my favorite nerd online—one of the moderators of one of the forums I use to fence my stolen intel.SpyderMan.
On the whole, I don’t much like people, and I don’t have a lot of respect for men—they tend to expect it without earning it, and fuck that shit. Like Fredward. And Todd. But SpyderMan isn’t like that. He’s the only guy I ever actuallywantto talk to. A top-tier hacker in his own right, he’s smart and resourceful and funny… and I can get behind what Isuspecthe’s doing with whoever he reports to.
I’m a hacker. I’m super into pattern recognition. SpyderMan’s pattern has been pretty clear since the beginning. It’s sporadic and—until recently—geographically widespread, but his targets are known gang leaders, corrupt low-level politicians, sexually predatory billionaires and healthcare CEOs happily taking six-figure bonuses while their companies reject claims from cancer patients and the physically disabled. Real scum of the earth.
And while it’s not like every job he gives me is about some high-profile asshole, lots of them are. Some of those assholes disappeared or ended up in jail after I sold SpyderMan the secrets I’ve collected and hoarded through the years.
I never ask why he wants the intel because that’s not really how this works—I choose to take the jobs, and the “mind your fucking business” part is implied. But I like to think he’s taking out the trash. I wish I could.
I know I’m probably deluding myself. He’s probably some criminal or mob boss, or working for one, using what I give him to blackmail and destroy lives—potentially even killing them. At best, I’m in the pocket of some up-and-coming FBI agent using my hard work to get ahead in his career. Luckily, my identity is buried, and I take precautions against being found by even the biggest brother: the US government.
I’m old enough to know and jaded enough to believe that nothing in our fucked-up system is black and white… and I know stealing data and selling it isn’t exactly honorable. But if these people are on the evil side of the spectrum, and my actions help bring them to some kind of justice, doesn’t the karma kind of cancel out?
Good thing I’m totally comfortable with shades of morally gray. And I can mind all of my own fucking business for the right price.
But it’s not just the promise of bitcoin or satisfying my overzealous sense of right and wrong that brings me back to the IRC every day… because the little butterflies in my stomach dance around as I click on his name, then go into a fluttering frenzy when he messages me first.
SpyderMan: Was just thinking about you
mermaidav: Of course you were. I’m your favorite distraction.
