This is one of two fics I wrote for my discord server's secret Santa event. This one is dark sbi, just a head's up :3c There'll be four chapters!
The dim shine of Techno's computer screen is the only thing lighting up the bedroom.
He's in the kitchen when he hears the telltale ping that accompanies a new message. After pouring the water into the instant noodles he's making and carefully folding the lid closed, Techno carries it and an energy drink over to his desk, putting them in the corner. He should probably learn to be more mindful of eating around his valuable equipment. One little spill could easily destroy over a thousand dollars worth of electronics. But so far, Techno's never had an issue. And the tiny dorm room doesn't have a comfortable place to sit aside from his fancy desk chair, unless he wants to mess up his bed.
He nudges the mouse with his wrist as he reaches to crack open the can, bringing the screen to full brightness.
While skimming over his emails, he also opens the laptop standing to the side. Techno really should invest in a second monitor. He certainly doesn't lack the funds, he just hasn't gotten around to it. And his current setup works, anyway.
Eventually, he checks the new notification.
[Request for two-way chat access. Subject line: Protesilaus.]
Techno accepts the request.
A black chat box blinks to live on his laptop. Techno drags it over to his main monitor, leaning back in his chair as the other person starts typing. They've chosen the username 'Dante'. Dramatic, but Techno supposes he can't be a hypocrite. He picks a different Greek hero each month for people looking to hire him to add to their requests when reaching out. That way, he can filter out a lot of spam requests, or law enforcement. He's careful in what information he leaks publicly. The channel itself is secured and doesn't store any information.
Dante says: Is this Cyberknife?
Techno frowns slightly at the nickname the cops gave him.
You say: Call me Dave
Dante says: Dave?
You say: Dave. What do you want?
Why do some people feel such an annoying need to beat around the bush? It's not like Techno is a full-time college student on top of his hacking gig, note the sarcasm. He doesn't have time for theatrics. Dave is a good enough name when he wants anonymity. There are probably a hundred Daves going to his university right now.
Dante says: I need somebody who can make some stuff I said online go away.
You say: What kind of stuff?
A series of screenshots follow his question. Techno opens them, knowing his airtight antivirus would have caught anything harmful being sent his way. The screenshots Dante sent are simple cutouts from social media. Dante went through the trouble of blurring out his real username and the ones in the comments. He didn't obscure the profile picture though. Amateur moment.
Techno starts reverse image searching while reading the posts.
They're… Honestly, they're disgusting in a lot of ways. Nothing new for Techno, who spent most of his time trawling the internet when he was a reclusive, asocial teenager finding refuge in online spaces. Dante would have to try harder to truly shock him. But he's grossed out all the same.
You say: Looks like somebody has been exercising his right to free speech. But you do know you can delete posts after making them?
There's obviously more to what Dante needs than just that. You don't hire a professional hacker for something any layman can accomplish with a few clicks. Techno gets his explanation immediately, as if Dante has been preparing how to phrase 'I want to avoid the consequences of my actions' in a more palatable light.
Dante says: The originals are deleted. But screenshots and copies float around online, and I need those gone too. No trace of these statements can remain. At all.
Dante says: I'm going into politics soon and you know how those vultures will dig through anything to discredit a good candidate.
This time Techno actually snorts out loud in amusement.
Going by the original dates the social media posts were made, it's extremely unlikely this Dante guy had a true change of heart. He still stands by everything he wrote, he's just trying to sweep it under the rug for his own gain. Techno can easily confirm this since he has already found Dante's real name - who the heck names their son Larry? - and can see everything else the man has posted in the last few weeks. Not to mention the people he follows, the online forums he's a part of. Techno doesn't have to put a lot of effort into it.
Dante is only trying to get rid of the things that are so extreme they would put even a conservative political career in jeopardy. Yikes.
You say: Nothing ever goes away completely on the internet. Once something is reposted, it spreads like wildfire. Do you expect me to get rid of all of it?
Techno reaches for his cup of noodles, stirring them with a fork. The lifted lid lets out a trickle of steam that fogs up his glasses and he takes them off, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
Dante says: Are you saying you can't?
Grinning, Techno puts his cup down again to type.
You say: I can. Just want to know what the expectations are.
Dante: I don't care how much it costs or what you need to do. Completely delete people's profiles, hack into their personal files and fry their computers for all I care, whatever it takes. Money is no issue.
Techno opens a new tab.
You: What about people who already saw these posts?
Dante: Don't worry about that. I'll take care of it. I only need you for the online part.
Ominous. But at least Dante is as transparent as a bag of air. Another point in favor of him becoming a politician, then. Techno has already started running his application in the background, taking a bite of the noodles while watching the code work. After getting Dante's full legal name from his profile, the rest is child's play. He really should be more careful with that information, though he was going to be forced to dox himself to Techno anyway before he would agree to take the job.
Dante says: So? How much?
You say: Getting impatient, aren't we?
You say: I wonder what your mother would think if she knew what you've been saying about women online.
Dante immediately starts typing. Then stops. Techno can practically feel the hesitation, the small amount of confusion and panic. He'd give a lot of money to see Dante's face right about now.
Dante says: She doesn't have any social media.
Techno copies the text he needs and opens another window, dragging the screenshots into the attachments of the mail he's about to send.
You say: She uses email, I see.
Dante says: What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
He sends the mail out before answering.
You say: Have a nice life, Larry.
[You blocked the two-way connection]
Techno sighs as he rubs his stinging eyes and puts his glasses back on. As entertaining as that was, it's kind of annoying to waste time on something that won't earn him any money. Techno didn't become a hacker to turn a profit, but it is currently the only source of income available to him. He puts on some random video while he has his dinner, preparing to lock in for more assignments when he's done. His professors always seem to think that the end of the semester is the perfect time to bury the students in essays, as if they're not already busy studying for exams.
Techno would love for something nice and easy to be offered to him for once. Something that won't keep him up all night crunching code so he feels like an exhausted shell of himself in the morning.
His laptop pings again, a brief flash illuminating the room. Techno should really invest in a desk lamp.
[Request for two-way chat access. Subject line: Protesilaus. Urgent.]
Techno doesn't believe in destiny or anything like that, but the timing of the message is almost suspicious. He moves the mouse over and opens the chat.
Crow says: We have an important assignment, looking for somebody who can fix a critical leak in our cybersecurity as quickly as possible. Time is of the essence.
Getting straight to the point, aren't they? Techno won't complain.
Security is slightly different from what he usually takes on though. He's often the guy breaking into people's systems, rather than keeping others out. He wonders at the kind of company that wouldn't just hire a legitimate cybersecurity firm for something like that.
You say: Time is of the essence? How so?
Crow says: Leaked information poses a danger to our clients and the members of our organization.
You say: What type of organization? I don't take assignments unless I know exactly who I'm working for.
He watches the cursor blink, the long pause before their answer comes is in itself a deterrent for Techno to take the job. And seeing their answer, he knows he can't accept it.
Crow says: We are known as The Crow Network.
[You blocked the two-way connection]
Quickly, Techno closes out of all applications.
This must be a cosmic sign that whatever deity rules the universe does have a sense of humor, and it enjoys making Techno miserable specifically. Two declined offers in one night? Techno could be cursed or something.
But he's smarter than to take a job from the mafia.
Techno won't even lie and pretend that doing something illegal scares him off. Hacking isn't exactly the sort of thing that endears you to the government either. Techno started when he was a teenager, bored out of his mind and having only the internet to entertain himself. He tried to force his way into secure systems just to see if he could, then that snowballed into him hacking the school network for his peers when they offered him snacks or money during recess. Change a grade here or there, make a missed attendance go away, fake a sick note. Nothing big, Techno didn't want to get caught.
Then he got better at it because he couldn't stop wanting to see what could come next.
He didn't really blow up until he started to steal funds from certain high-profile people and organizations. The fact that a charity would usually get an untraceable, anonymous donation the next day did not go unnoticed. But since nothing could be proven in court, the money could not be retrieved and whatever charity got the donation, got to keep it.
Techno didn't do anything by half measures. By the time he was seventeen, he had built a persona around himself. And while he was still careful about not getting caught, the cops did take notice of him. To them and to the media, he is known as Cyberknife - some moniker inspired by how effortlessly Techno manages to 'cut' through whatever the system uses as a defense against hackers. Others online call him a hero, a digital Robin Hood that steals from the rich to balance out the injustice in the world. For his own part, he usually goes by the name Dave.
Techno is known in some circles too for doing jobs for the right price when requested, anything that doesn't go against his moral code.
Working with The Crow Network would definitely go against Techno's moral code.
Again, not because they're doing illegal stuff. However, that specific organized crime group is particularly known for its ruthless approach and lack of consideration for collateral damage. They dabble in the weapons trade, drug trafficking, murders, all the nasty stuff that Techno doesn't want to get anywhere near. He has standards. Not to mention getting involved in a group as shady as The Crow Network could only spell trouble down the line. Techno just wants to earn enough money to get a degree and live comfortably. It isn't worth the risk.
Besides, he's sure that with the amount of funds those guys possess, they'll find somebody else to do their dirty work for them.
Techno gets up to throw away the now empty cup of instant noodles and grab a new energy drink, before settling in for an all-nighter of college essays instead.
"I'm really glad you could give me a moment of your time." As the words are spoken, a measured frown is aimed at him.
The head of the administrative office at Techno's university does not like him.
None of the faculty does, really. Nor the students. Techno sticks out at this prestigious school like a sore thumb, so he's used to getting stares on a daily basis. Some people go out of their way to avoid him in the halls, afraid that his thrift store clothes and grimy combat boots would rub his lower standing off on them. A few years ago, the university finally allowed an outdated dress code rule about no dyed hair to expire despite the school's reputation as being on par with an Ivy League college in quality of education and how hard it is to get in.
From the way this administrator looks at Techno, they did not expect that to mean male students might now start running around with long, pastel pink hair. How scandalous!
"I'm missing a lecture for this," Techno says. Because he is. One of his favorite classes actually.
"Hm, well, yes…" The woman shuffles some papers on her desk with both hands, pressing the edges into perfect parallel lines. Not an inch out of place, not a single crease. She flicks some imaginary dust off her polished watch for good measure, before finally giving up the charade of uncomfortableness and looking at him. "I wanted to personally inform you of the financial expectations this school has."
That's a very fancy way of saying he needs to pay his bills. Techno shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. "I paid the entire trimester upfront."
"I'm aware," the woman replies, on the edge of snappy. Then she overcorrects into a wide smile that reveals too much teeth, landing closer to creepy than inviting. "You've always been very prompt with paying your fees, for which we are grateful. Even our top benefactors are known to indulge in tardiness from time to time."
Techno is staring at some point over her shoulder, vaguely around the height of a framed diploma with cursive text he can't read. He hopes his inability to make eye contact without wanting to die will be mistaken for cool disinterest that way.
If they had any clue where the money Techno uses to pay for his courses comes from, he'd be out of this place faster than he can hack into an investor's account.
And they're already looking for excuses to kick him out. Techno was accused of cheating on his entrance exams or falsifying his GPA - coincidentally two things he has done for other people but never for himself because he has no need to. He's good at keeping up his grades, it's something he takes pride in. The only thing he did do was make it so his application got judged anonymously, without any information on who his parents are or how rich his family is. The less this university knew about him during the enrollment process, the better. Somebody from his background would never get accepted otherwise.
Techno didn't do anything wrong, he was just playing the game within an unfair system.
He got in on merit alone, and he worked hard for it. So he won't let himself be forced out again. No matter how ill-fitting he is among the other students, children of lawyers and surgeons and politicians. People like Dante.
The administrator clears her throat. "Regardless, while all your current payments are up to date, considering your… unique situation." Her lips pull down around the word, gagging it up with distaste. "I thought it wise to personally inform you that next semester, the financial burden of the courses is going to increase. We have to adjust to a changing economy, you understand?"
"I understand," Techno says, calmly. "That won't be a problem." His hacking earns him enough money. He's unconcerned.
Going by how her face falls minutely, she might have hoped that wouldn't be the case. Man, she's really preying on his downfall.
"Good. That's all I wished to discuss, unless there's anything else…" She trails off and gives him a questioning expression as if she's not the one who pulled him out of his lecture for this. Techno shakes his head. She gestures at the door.
"Thanks," he says as he gets up from the overly plush chair. She looks mildly disgusted by the informalness of it all.
Once outside, he knows he can't go back to his class. That professor is pretty strict about not letting students join when they're too late. Bummer, he was looking forward to the dissection on sun and moon symbolism in fiction across the ages. Techno decides to go to the library instead until his next class starts.
As soon as he opens his laptop, a new notification greets him.
[Request for two-way chat access. Subject line: Protesilaus.]
Techno opens it without thinking and regrets it instantly.
Crow says: It is very important that you hear us out.
Ugh, of course the murderous crime syndicate is the one that'll turn into a persistent customer. Techno considers cutting off the connection again, but it'll only block the current IP used to contact him. They could just get on another device to reach out again. Or it wouldn't surprise him if The Crow Network is using a proxy server. They should be if they're not idiots.
And they can't be idiots, since the cops haven't made any arrests after years of evidence piling up.
You say: Stalking me? Cringe.
Crow says: The leak is currently contained, but could spill information to outsiders that will directly get one of our own killed if we don't act quickly.
You say: Sounds like you need to take care of that then.
Crow says: We will pay whatever you want. And extra if you can get it done today.
Techno sighs. He glances up, looking at the other people in the library, then shifts his body and laptop so the screen is facing the wall properly. He's using his phone's data for the internet connection, Techno never trusts public wifi. But if somebody catches him right now, he'll be kicked out of his university for sure, and it won't even be for a bad reason. 'Striking deals with the mafia' is probably against this school's code of ethics.
You say: I don't work with criminals. Get somebody else to do it.
Crow says: You're the best.
You say: Flattery is cheap. If this is really so urgent, you wouldn't care about who is the best at it, as long as it gets done.
Techno's skills are impressive, and that's not even him being prideful. He knows that he's objectively one of the best hackers in the country, perhaps even the world. But there are others who can do what he can - sloppier or slower or with a bit less flair. Patching a leak is easy though.
The Crow Network doesn't need him, specifically.
Crow says: We want the best. We want you.
Techno minimizes the window and opens his essay. He's not even going to entertain that particular thread of thought. He works for about five minutes before The Crow Network realizes he's not taking that bait.
Crow says: We cannot trust anybody else. We need somebody who can cover their tracks properly, and who isn't already working for one of our competitors or potentially could be bribed by them. We need loyalty.
And that's the real problem, isn't it? Most hackers of Techno's proficiency have already taken jobs from shady people, or have shown they're willing to. They're only in it for the money, whoever is paying.
You say: So you're murderers looking for somebody who doesn't want to work for a murderer. That's a bit ironic.
Crow says: Desperate times call for desperate measures.
You say: Should have thought about that before killing innocent people.
[You blocked the two-way connection]
Techno is very aware he's applying a band-aid onto a weeping wound with this. The chances of them trying to get in touch again are high, and he'll have to keep refusing whatever they offer. A pain, but maybe if he does it often enough, they'll give up. Or realize there are other people who can take the job. Maybe Techno should find one or two and next time The Crow Network bothers him, send a referral. That might work.
For now, he has other things to worry about. Like what to have for dinner.
He hasn't made omelets in a while.
Techno forgot his reusable plastic bag.
He often does, since he never plans to go shopping properly with a list and everything. He just decides on a whim to stop by the store near his dorm room on the way back from class, then has to shove all his groceries into his backpack between the books and papers.
The eggs for the omelets - being a more breakable cargo - he's holding in his hand for now. His dorm is only down the road, so it's not the end of the world.
The street is deserted this late in the evening. Techno lives in the proverbial 'shitty part of town'. The downside is that he commutes for almost an hour to get to university, which is especially annoying during autumn and winter, when his evening classes stretch until sundown and it's dark by the time he's walking home. However, what he saves in rent makes up for the inconvenience in his opinion. One of the lampposts flickers eerily, neon glow blinking in and out for a few seconds and drawing Techno's eyes up toward it. The shine makes the shadows stand out against the pavement, and makes it hard to see what hides in the darkness of an alleyway.
As he walks past it, a pair of arms shoot forward and wrap around Techno's neck.
His eggs fall to the ground, several of them cracking as they hit the pavement. Damn, he paid good money for those. Techno is pulled against somebody's chest. With one hand, the attacker starts to shove something into his mouth. Techno locks his jaw, the fabric pushed back by his tongue so he can spit it out. He half expects the sweet, lingering taste of chloroform, but Techno is very aware that's a simple cliché and you can't actually knock anybody out that way. Not unless you get them to breathe in the fumes for several long minutes, which is kind of hard when your victim is struggling. He twists his body against the tight hold on his shoulders.
"Calm down. Just come along quietly and we won't need to hurt you," the wannabe kidnapper says, trying to drag him along.
Techno jams his elbow into their stomach.
They grunt in pain, arms loosening and allowing Techno to slip free and turn around. He's pushed into the wall hard enough for the back of his head to hit the bricks, their fingers finding purchase in his shirt to hold him still. They're wearing a long coat with a hood over their head, and a mask that covers their lower face, though it doesn't completely prevent Techno from catching sight of light brown eyes and darker messy curls. The attacker is several inches taller than Techno and probably stronger too.
But you don't spend your entire childhood raised in the foster care system without learning how to throw a good punch.
Techno winces when his fist connects with the attacker's cheek, shaking his hand to feel the echo of pain run all the way through his elbow. The guy stumbles back and Techno wants to seize this chance to run, get out of the alley and anywhere that there might be people around. He could sprint back to the store.
He didn't expect there to be a second kidnapper.
This one winds his arm around Techno's middle from behind and then there's a quick, sharp pinprick of pain on the side of Techno's throat.
Coldness spreads through him too quickly, a foreign feeling that seeps from the injection point into his veins and limbs. Techno tries to squirm free again, but can already feel his muscles relaxing against his will under the drug's influence.
"I had it covered," the first guy says.
"Yeah, I can tell," the man holding Techno replies sarcastically. "Get his legs."
Techno's lips feel too numb to speak, and he can only squeak in dismay as he's lifted easily, carried toward a suspicious white van parked further in the alleyway.
"He's more feisty than he looks," the first guy adds. "I didn't expect a nerd like him to put up a fight."
The other man laughs, adjusting his grip under Techno's armpits. "You should have read his file like I told you to, mate."
Techno's face twitches helplessly, pantomiming almost at a frown. A file? This can't be a random hit then. Was he targeted? Who the heck are these people?
All thoughts that swirl through his head but he fails to hold onto, slowly turning more liquid as exhaustion and haziness wash over him. Every blink makes it harder to keep his eyes open. He's aware long enough to feel a hard metal surface beneath him, and an engine trembling alive.
Then the darkness forced over his brain like a too tight blanket consumes every sensation left.