Disclaimer for this story: I do not own Death Note. I do not own any of the characters from the manga or anime. This is all respectfully written for fun only, not for profit.
Story Info
Title: Wired and Ready
Rating: R (or M)
Summary: What if Matt and Mello had never been close friends at Wammy's House? In their early twenties, they discover the friendship that should-have-been, when Mello gets in trouble with the law and Matt finds out that he can help. But nothing is easy when you're orphan geniuses trying to make your way in the world, and perhaps their friendship can become something more. [Matt/Mello]
Pairings: Matt/Mello, Matt/OFC, Mello/OMC
Warnings: Drugs / Alcohol / Violence / Sex / Angst / Language
Lastly—a note. Fanfiction, for me, is freedom. I work on original fiction quite a lot, and fanfiction is my escape from having to research and fact-check and make sure everything is perfect. Also, I have never read the manga; I have only watched the anime. So please—if I have made a mistake, whether it be in regards to how something works (e.g. hacking) or something I got wrong with one of the characters, just let it go if you can. I am not an expert. After all, this is for fun. :)
Chapter One
Matt lowered his orange goggles, letting them hang around his neck as he stared at the computer screen. Numbers and code flitted across the monitor directly in front of him. He glanced to the side, checking a feed on one of the many other monitors in his workspace, and his lips curled with satisfaction.
He'd done it again. He was in to Shovos Corp.'s system.
Now it was a simple matter to implement the virus. With practiced keystrokes, he transferred a number of files into the system with instructions to replicate itself in the local network. The virus would create a backdoor into the operating systems of each computer connected to the Shovos network, allowing Matt to monitor transactions and set up blocks for the ones he didn't want to go through. If he desired, he could bring the company to a standstill by stopping all communication and access. He could even delete nearly all of the company's data on a whim.
However, Matt knew that his boss, Lewis, wasn't planning on that, so he didn't write it in the code. Pity. There was something beautiful about destroying data with mere clicks of a mouse, creating such chaos with so little effort.
Finally he added the last bit of instructions: a trigger command for the virus to stop itself in seven days and three hours.
The plan was simple. For the first couple of days, Shovos would probably try to fix the problem on their own. They'd hire competent "white hat" hackers to figure out what was wrong and fix it. Of course they'd have no success. There was no getting through Matt's work. He was the best in the business.
They'd finally resort to contacting Hygeia, the group Matt worked for. Their services were ridiculously pricey, but they always came through, promising that their people could fix any computer-related problem in two weeks, guaranteed—for a pretty penny. In fact, this time it would only take seven days. They—namely, Matt—would "get rid of the virus" when it stopped functioning, just as planned. A miracle! And then, because Hygeia had saved the company and gotten Shovos out of a tight place, Matt would be compensated well. Very well.
It was rather funny, really. Matt did occasionally get assigned some jobs to break viruses that were not of his own making, but for the most part, Hygeia made their money by fixing the problems they created, with no one the wiser.
Yawning, Matt fished in his pocket for his cell phone and called Lewis, letting him know with a few words that the virus had been implemented. The call was short and to the point, and in no time Matt was left bathing in the glow of his computer screens as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Detachment settled over him once more. Creating that virus and breaking into Shovos's system had given him a momentary boost of energy, but again he felt drained and dead inside.
It had been like this for nearly three years.
At twenty-one years old, he knew he had it good. He was wealthier than he had any right to be, he was young, and he had no one holding him back from doing whatever he wanted. He'd been working, illegally, as a hacker since the age of thirteen. He had no parents or siblings to care about him. He was loaded with cash and absolutely free.
None of it mattered, though. Not when he didn't care.
Suddenly feeling a craving break through his emptiness, he found his lighter and lit up a cigarette, stepping out to the balcony to stare at the Chicago skyline and taking a long drag. He didn't even feel the buzz from these anymore, but it still gave him the feeling of satisfying a need.
He leaned on the railing and gazed out for a good twenty minutes, smoke puffing around him, as he the city lit up while the sky grew darker. He remembered, in a vague kind of way, the elation he'd first felt when he moved here, to this huge, expensive apartment building. He'd been newly eighteen, then, and finally able to live in an apartment that was actually under his name (well, his fake name). Gone were the years of old bosses finding him shady housing situations just so they could employ a teenage hacker without the government knowing.
It had been such an adventure at first, but now he sometimes regretted ever leaving Wam—
He was distracted from his thoughts as the soundbite of a chest opening from Zelda played in his pocket, along with a rhythmic buzzing. Mildly interested, as he hadn't been expecting anything, Matt grabbed his phone and opened the text message.
Lindsay: i want u 2nite
"Really?" muttered Matt under his breath. His voice was scratchy with disuse. He hadn't seen Lindsay in weeks, and the last time they'd talked she had screeched that she never wanted to see him again. Something about him being a callous, inattentive bastard.
His phone buzzed again.
Lindsay: i need a good fuck, matty, get over here
He considered his options. It wasn't like he was going to be doing anything else tonight, but for the past few months, dealing with other people in actual social interaction had grown increasingly exhausting. It was why Lindsay had broken up with him in the first place. Yeah, the sex had been great, but anytime they ever went on a proper date, he had been bored out of his mind. It had made Lindsay clingier than ever to get his attention, and as a result he only pushed her away more.
Still. He wanted to do something. He wanted to feel alive again, and he couldn't deny that she was hot. If a booty call was all she was asking for, then what could it hurt? He typed a quick message.
Matt: Just a fuck, no strings attached, right?
Lindsay: ya ofc u idiot, now get here now
Matt somehow doubted it would be that simple, but nevertheless he grabbed his car keys and laced up a pair of combat boots, resigned to the idea. Slipping a condom into his wallet, he grabbed a six pack of beer out of the fridge and took the elevator down to the parking garage.
Maybe, for once, he'd break through the fog and feel something again tonight. Maybe the clarity and the energy would last longer than a few sweaty minutes.
Maybe, but probably not.