1.1-1.3 Gazing down the Rabbit hole
f1onagher
Well-known member
A/N: So this started life as a Tron 2.0 fic several years ago after I had finished said game. Being that my writing skill was even worse back then the idea was quickly abandoned, but a rather large partial chapter had already been written and saved. I tripped across that abomination of literature while on my recent nostalgia trip and got the idea to re-purpose it as a Worm cross. It's not a true cross as I wanted some flexibility, but its closer to Tron 2.0 than any of the other properties. Tell me what you think!
Sietch Note: I figured that I would start to copy my writing projects from SB over to here. I apologize that the first one is a Worm fic.
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Computers are interesting things. Physically they’re no more than fragile bits of assembled silicone and metal. Yet, humans are no more than fragile assembled blobs of water and carbon. And like people computers are so much more inside than they are outside. I should know, I’m stuck inside of one.
Well, not anymore. I guess I should go back to the beginning… Or you know what, forget that. Lets focus on the fact that I’m currently flying down a bizarre blue and black corridor riding a hover sled made out of data, I’m fairly certain it used to be used for IM transfers, running from some very pissed off security systems.
Said security is currently shooting at me with some sort of blaster which succeeds in destroying my ride. Fortunately, athletic ability is not concurrent in here and I manage to save my fall with a humanly impossible vault and roll. I don’t have time to celebrate the last minute gymnastics as the three systems now have a bead on me and are attempting to put me down for good.
Holding my hand out, a long staff materializes out of a cloud of pixels and I begin to spin it. When the red bolts hit the staff they are deflected away as if my weapon was a lightsaber. This was one of the first tricks I’d learned when I’d gotten trapped in the school computer systems. It was also the weapon I was most comfortable with.
The security systems I was currently facing were a bit higher grade than normal and instead of just shooting until they got unlucky they spread out and attempted to flank my defense. I took advantage of the lull in fire to charge the one on my right. Immediately they all opened fire again, but I was able to get close enough to use the other aspect of my weapon. A short bolt of lightning covered the remaining ten ‘feet’ (how do you measure distance inside of a non-physical realm?) and temporarily shut down the system. I had learned the hard way what leaving a computer unprotected lead to and I really didn’t want the police mainframe to suffer a complete shutdown in response to viral takeover.
The remaining two security bots changed tactics and charged me, glowing baton-like extensions expanding from their blasters. I parried the first swing with my staff and preempted the second by jabbing the bot in its midsection. Unlike the school security systems the police’s bots didn’t have an exposed head with a single, easy to hit, eye to strike critically, they had a simple black dome on top of their torsos leaving me without an easy way to knock them out physically. I attempted to stun the first bot but the system had already adjusted its active defenses to the attack and I didn’t have the time to reset the stunner. Not seeing much option I knocked its baton into the recovering second bot. The baton melted through the system's arm and its bright red armor deactivated leaving it mute grey with glowing red lines indicating that it was still ‘alive’. I jabbed a stunner into the damaged system to ensure it stayed down.
The final bot had withdrawn, obviously trying to decide what to do. I acted before it could reach for the general alarm on its arm. I jabbed the staff at the appropriate arm to knock it aside and then kicked it in its knee, sending it sprawling. Disassembling the staff in exchange for a different tool I brought the simple sword down on its arm. Normally the edged weapon wouldn’t have pierced the active armor but I had poured a ‘slicer’ code, usually used for opening minor access doors, into the weapon and it managed to hack through the thing’s arm. Kicking the limb away I switched back to the staff in time to block the bot’s arm blade. Forgoing style for speed I jabbed the weapon into the bot’s midsection three times and then brought it down on the head. The active armor deactivated and I used the opening to stun the security system.
Looking over the battlefield I assured myself that there would be at least one bot left to protect the access port while the others were repaired before continuing on my way. Getting caught by security had been sloppy on my part, but I was still new at this. Relatively speaking of course.
Working my way through the internal systems was easier. Obviously security was laxer from the inside, convenience of use, and as such I was able to spoof my way past most of the internal security. And the two guard programs that did catch me were easier to dispatch. After what felt like several hours I found what I was looking for. A small secondary mainframe access point.
What I was trying to do didn’t necessitate accessing the police’s mainframe, only a regular data entry computer, so there was no point to me trying to pierce the much sterner security the valuable information hub boasted. Once I had access to some police secretary’s computer I materialized a small data packet in my hand. Because I was lacking in imagination at the moment it looked like a regular phone you saw all the tourists using, the one with the touch screen.
‘Plugging’ it into the data point I fed the information I had ‘liberated’ off of Emma and Sophia’s phones as well as the emails I had saved and attached them to a pending case file. I filled out the form and got it authenticated, but conveniently forgot to attach a name to the form. The paper could only be filled out by certified police officers and I didn’t feel like adding ‘Impersonating a Police Officer’ to my list of recent crimes.
I slid the file into a detectives inbox and marked it with a regular priority sticker. If luck held it would get reviewed by a detective sometime tomorrow and passed down the line to someone appropriate. I didn’t have particularly high hopes for my plan’s overall success, but maybe it would bring a little heat and attention down on the bullies. At the very least Emma would have to deal with the embarrassment of knowing a cop read all her sexts. Seriously, there were like, three different guys she was leading on. At least I hoped she was leading them on.
Before I left I noticed a connection flag between my file and another. Accessing it I realized it was my mother’s accident report. Not wanting to relive that experience I reached to disconnect when I noticed two words in the report: suspected murder. I took a moment to process that. Realizing that I was running out of time before another security sweep I copied the report to my mobile drive and then disconnected the link from the report.
Disconnecting from the computer I took a detour down to the security hub. As expected it took a little while for the security programs I had bushwhacked to limp in to report the intrusion and receive repairs. I waited for the report to be completely downloaded before I cracked open the console and deleted the intrusion report. As long as nobody thought too much of the missing internal programs there would be no trace of my tampering.
Sneaking my way back out of the police network I caught a ride on what I assumed was an email, it was a massive bus-looking thing filled with boxes I had learned contained raw data such as pictures or text, and rode it until I was close enough to my exit point. Hopping off I waved at some of the more humanoid programs that were unloading another bus, ironically more complex than the data they were unloading. Computer programs were a little weird, the more complex a program was, the more human it appeared. Simple message programs were frequently completely inanimate, while administrative ones were nearly human. Of course, even the nearly sapient ones were completely lost outside of their programming. I could ask the programs currently unloading the bus about what they did and they could go on for hours about it. The moment I brought up a question about time zones or security protocols though, they completely blanked out. Or I could question a word processor and have a complete conversation until I used a word or phrase it didn’t understand. Security programs were the creepiest: smart enough to perform infantry tactics, yet incapable of speech outside of compliance/non-compliance interactions. Point being, despite some of them being able to fake it, I had yet to run into a sentient program.
Hiking my way down a traffic-less ‘lane’ I found the connection I was looking for. Putting my hands on said connection I felt the still unfamiliar sucking sensation, like I was being squeezed into and out of a syrup bottle, and soon found myself back in the library’s bathroom.
Getting up I picked up the phone I had used as my access point. It was the cheapest one I could find that had an internet connection and it showed. I had owned the cheap knockoff for less than a week and already it was getting hiccupy. Turning the crappy thing off, I checked the time on my watch. As expected it had been less than four minutes since I had first entered the phone. Made sense considering that my ‘months’ trapped in the school network had equaled about 18 hours in the real world.
Exiting the building I made my way home, doing my best to hide my anxiety. I had just broken into the police database after all. Wasn’t that supposed to have repercussions? I made it home with no complications and sat down at the ancient computer in dad’s utility closet-cum-home office and turned it on. I then went to go make some tea as the damn thing would need a few minutes to boot up.
Once the piece of crap had gotten itself running (no way in hell I was ever going to go into that thing) I held out my hand and materialized my mobile drive. Yeah, that was pretty cool, being able to bring some of the simpler tools I had acquired into the real world. Heavy limit on the 'mass' I could access, but totally worth it. Plugging the temporary construct into the computer I brought up the file I had copied from the police database.
The report was short and to the point. There were only two paragraphs on it. The first was a short observation by the first responding officer and the second, and much longer, paragraph was from the detective that followed up. There was a short mention of suspected sabotage and a desire to investigate further. Less than 72 hours later the allegations of foul play were dismissed ‘due to lack of evidence’ and it was filed as an accident. There was, however, an addendum that referenced the evidence box for the case. As I took note of the boxes number I heard dad walk in the door and hastily pulled everything out and dismissed the drive, the construct dissipating in a clod of floating blue pixels.
“Hey kiddo, how was your day,” he asked wearily as he dropped his bag on the sofa.
“Enlightening,” I said after a moment.
“Oh?” he inquired.
“Dad, was moms accident really an accident?” I finally asked.
“Oh Taylor,” he said, an odd look crossing his face, “I miss her too. But we need to move on. And I mean that for me too.”
“But, it was all so…”
“Sudden, I know,” he hugged me, “Just promise me you’re not going to do something over a stupid theory .”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I lied through my teeth.
**********************************************************************************
Elisha Blackwell was not in the mood for this.
“I’m sorry run that by me again?” she asked the police officer, a Sgt. Drebin from his name tag.
“I asked if you had a more thorough report over what happened to one Taylor Hebert on Wednesday January 5th?” the officer asked again, the smarmy smile never leaving his face.
“We can dig officer, but that was the day our entire computer system collapsed. Things were obviously hectic and most of our electronic records were lost. We’re still digging through our physical records to replace the lost information and our IT department is still trying to get the school network back online,” she left out that, thanks to a tweaking secretary F-L of their student directory had never made it to paper, leaving them with a massive gap in their files that she was desperately trying to cover up.
“That’s completely understandable ma’am,” the aggravating grin never left the graying cop’s face, “but from what we understand Ms. Hebert was electrocuted sometime in the morning around 10 a.m., but the computer failure didn’t occur until somewhere between midnight and two in the morning the next day. Ms. Hebert wasn’t discovered until the police responded to the misfiring alarms.”
“What are you implying,” she had had quite enough of this self important shit, “that we intentionally left her there? When she didn’t report for 2nd period she was marked truant. A habit she’s developed if you’d bothered to look at her record.”
“The record that’s currently lost due to technical difficulties correct?” the sergeant pulled a thin file out from behind his back, “We also have these files, unfortunately turned in anonymously, that leave a rather… unflattering picture as to why Ms. Hebert was so frequently absent. Tell me Principal Blackwell, do you make it a habit to ignore student reports of harassment?”
“Repeated reports from a single disruptive student that had already been proven false or exaggerated,” who did this pompous blowhard think he was, “Her claims were repeatedly refuted my multiple of her peers.”
“Because groups of people are incapable of lying, of course. But did you have any staff actually investigate the matter. Even the first time?”
“I’m sorry officer, but I’m attempting to run the city’s designated delinquent dumping ground. I’m sorry I didn’t pander to a single, disruptive student when I’m busy trying to deal with multiple gangs running rampant in the school with little to no support from city hall or the police department,” she bit bit back.
“Oh yes, your anti-gang campaign,” Drebin received a very, very thick file from one of the other officers, “The one you managed to browbeat the force into assisting you with. We can’t help but notice that there’s been some… discrepancies in the updates you’ve sent us, regarding both activity and financial reports."
He plopped the hefty file on her desk. It read 'Winslow Corruption Investigation 2008-2011'. Blackwell managed to avoid whimpering.
**********************************************************************************
I would admit to being surprised at the enthusiasm of the police response to my fake report. I understood that it wasn’t just for me; the cops had rounded up about a dozen of the most blatant gang recruiters and had called in nearly a hundred students for interviews on the school, including me. Before walking into the teacher’s break room I had a ten minute session with a lawyer from the DA's office assuring me of what I could refuse to talk about should I so choose. I chose to tell them everything I knew about the gangs, the staff, and certain other ‘negative influence’.
The school day ended in a more normal fashion and instead of heading for the bus I made my way to the computer class. Unlike most of the computers in the school, Mrs. Knotts’ personal computer was not networked and thus had been spared the viral fate of the rest of the school. Only bothering to ensure that it was still on I ‘jumped’ into it and found an interfacing location to plan out my route.
My first stop was back at home, where I had left the crappy phone as the access point. Once there I changed into dark gray cargo pants, heavy black boots, a black hoodie, and fingerless gloves. Once dressed I hopped back into the phone and navigated to my destination for the day: the BBPD Evidence Storage facility on the edge of town.
Getting access to the building was the hard part. Everything inside the building was closed circuit. The guards weren’t even allowed to carry wireless devices into the building. The convoluted solution involved the facility’s third party alarm system. Unlike the warehouse, Fortress Securities (a subsidy of Fortress Construction) had a wirelessly connected system. Unfortunately their security was freaking insane.
Unlike the rather mundane protective programs used by the school and the cops, Fortress’ security bot’s were floating four armed monstrosities. They were also supported by a plethora of auxiliary programs: sniffers that looked like headless robotic dogs, reactive firewalls woven by hordes of glowing digital spiders, flying automatic alarms that squealed if someone so much as changed the thermostat without permission, massive deployable fortresses that stayed hidden in the walls until an alarm was tripped, and more. Fortress’ security was practically invincible from external infiltration. Thank God for human error.
One of the guards had an unsecured phone in his pocket and I easily hitched a ride in it until he entered the local Fortress Securities central security hub. When he turned to leave I hopped out of the phone and face planted on the room’s floor. Before he or the men watching the monitors could react I touched one of the computers and let myself get sucked into the local mainframe.
Fortress’ internal security was also abnormally tight, but unlike the external protective measures I could navigate the internal systems. It took a lot longer than I preferred, but I managed to get the information on what system was installed on the warehouse by using a conveniently open access port. Seriously, why did this Calvert guy need two separate computers with an internal access bypass?
After getting to the hub that connected all the different systems Fortress managed it was fairly easy to fake a software update and ride it into the evidence warehouse. Upon finally getting into the building’s closed system I got access to the camera feeds. After the hell that was the Fortress systems the lackadaisical police systems were practically a vacation. Since I didn’t know how to loop video feeds (it’s a lot harder than Hollywood makes it look and I’m on the inside!) I caused the camera on the aisle I wanted into to malfunction.
“Crap,” I heard the man in the monitor booth groan through the camera in the room, “Daniel, one of the camera shorted out again.”
“Mother-,” the other guard swore over the radio, which was apparently monitored by the installation's black box, “Which one?”
“D-19,” the first reported, “All I’m getting is static.”
“Have Jerry camp on the aisle and I’ll hunt down the diagnostic kit,” Daniel ordered.
I switched my observations to the cameras the guards wore on their chest. Smart security measure, really inconvenient for me. As it turned out though, Jeremy Higgins was a very lazy guard and after a few passes he took a spot at one end of the aisle and popped a squat on a wooden box. Sensing a moment I hopped out of the malfunctioning camera and very quietly hunted down the appropriate evidence box.
Bringing it out I quietly opened it and looked inside. Mostly there was a lot of paper. Reports from the forensics team, write ups from every single individual that touched the case, a small dossier on my mom. And pictures, lots and lots of pictures. I couldn’t bear to look at them so I flipped the bag they were in over and dug through the miscellaneous. There were a few small car parts, obviously damaged, in evidence bags and a small legal pad’s worth of notes.
The notes turned out to be the interesting stuff. There were written by one Detective Gibson, who was convinced that foul play was at work, judging from the damage to the break line and the circumstances surrounding the accident. As I got towards the end of the notes the tone began to change. Gibson seemed more and more reluctant about the information he was finding out, until the last note spelled it out.
‘I’d already gotten a few hints from the station chief, but now the captain all but told me to mark this one down as an accident and move on. I can’t say that the idea has no appeal, the more I learn about this ‘Annette Hebert’ the less I want to. This case has already started leading into the Lustrum movement, that should be all the red flags I need but, I’m just so tired of letting this shit go. It seems like I let more criminals go than I actually bring a case against, and of those that I do manage to go after most get away with a slap on the wrist at best. There’s something deeply wrong with Brocton Bay, and anyone that has looked into always disappears.
I’m not doing it, I won’t do that to Rachel, I’m just going to sweep this one under the rug. Again. If anyone decides to cold case this, find my archived files, maybe you will have better luck with these cases than I have.
God I’m such a coward.’
On the back of the note was a bunch of letter and numbers that I realized must be his personnel file. I took a picture of it with a conjured recorder and was placing the box back when a light illuminated me.
“Hold it right there!” the guard was back and was aiming his gun at me.
I froze, I had no idea what to do. The jumpy cop made the decision for me.
“I said don’t move! Central I got a-“ he pulled the trigger on his gun.
It was probably an accident on his part, but ingrained instincts had me summon up my armor. Glowing blue lines ran up and down my clothing in linear patterns and I knew similar and much denser lines were forming on my skin. Shortly after the lines were in place, glowing panels formed over my chest, back, and limbs, less than a centimeter from my now fortified clothes. A black gasmask with blue lenses and defining lines formed over my face, its hose leading to a port in my hoodie-cum-armor. It had been vital for surviving rooms swamped with toxic code. It also made me look like an extra from a post-apocalyptic movie.
“C-cape!” the guard screamed before unloading his entire magazine.
I had never tested my equipment in the real world and the light armor I was currently wearing had never been resistant to much. My hovering pauldron took two bullets before winking out and letting a third bullet strike my right shoulder. The hardened hoodie absorbed most of the damage, but a glowing blue crack had formed where the bullet struck. It had also hurt like a bitch and knocked me to the ground. The guard was hastily reloading his gun, but his shaking hands were crippling his reload speed.
Not giving him another chance to shoot me, I charged him, dual shock rods forming in my hands. I would have preferred my staff, but my inhuman martial and physical prowess did not transfer into the real world. Better to keep it simple. When I got close he held up his freshly reloaded pistol and attempted to shoot. I jabbed both rods into his chest causing him to contract and fire exactly once. The bullet impacted the glowing chest plate doing no damage and the cop fell to the ground unconscious.
I wanted to stop and catch my breath, but the sound of pounding footsteps reminded me of how much crap I was in. I quickly jumped into his mounted camera were I thorough corrupted his recording. And by thoroughly corrupt I formed up one of my hard won cluster bombs and chunked it behind me as I fled through the system.
Once I got back to the security hub I slowed down my processes again so I could watch what happened. Through the shirt cams the other guards were wearing I saw them storm through the aisle and check on their fallen comrade. Once I was certain he was fine and that they had no idea where I had gone I returned to normal speed and proceeded to erase any record of my presence, including the backup recording of the first guard’s shirt cam. Once I was certain I had left nothing to identify myself I hoped a ride on the signal the alarm sent to the Fortress hub every five minutes. From there I simply jacked this Calvert guy’s unused computer connection and sent an unsecured email to the library. Hopefully nobody would notice.
From there I hopped out of one of the terminals in the basement and snuck my way back into the public areas. Checking the time I realized it was nearly five o’clock, I had forgotten to account for all the times I had slowed down to synchronize with the real world and time actually spent in said world. I hate time limits. Upon arriving at home, mercifully before dad, I collapsed into my room.
“Oh God, I attacked a cop!” I didn’t accomplish much else that night.
**********************************************************************************
“Talk to me Willis,” Sgt. Drebin stormed into the central office for the evidence warehouse.
“Talk to me Lieutenant Willis,” the older man stressed in return, “I don’t care if your captain Chase’s personal bloodhound, at least pretend to respect the chain of command.”
“My apologies lieutenant,” the middle aged sergeant apologized half-sincerely, “I just want to know why I was the one called down to look at this. We finally brought the hammer down on Winslow and there are way too many scrambling cockroaches for my tastes.”
“Because I need this report shortcutted to your captain,” the lieutenant turned his computer screen to face Drebin, a short report vicisble, “You know we had a break in, but the only witness insists the intruder was a parahuman.”
“Son of a bitch!” Drebin swore.
The PRT had been trying to get jurisdiction over all evidence storage in the city for some time, but the BBPD’s rare record of excellence concerning that facility had ensured that they kept control over it and more importantly the contents within. If a parahuman had managed to steal or tamper with evidence inside of the secure facility that would give the PRT a big stick for their case.
“Please tell me this witness was high,” he asked after a second.
“No, Officer Higgins is clean. About the only good thing that can be said of his performance, but since all our footage was either blocked or erased he’s the only lead we have.”
“Do we know what the perp was after?” Drebin pinched the bridge of his nose.
“We have it narrowed down to one of five boxes. Unfortunately Higgins actually shot several of the boxes and doesn’t remember the exact one tampered with,” Willis admitted sheepily.
“Wonderful,” Drebin took out his phone and dialed his boss.
************************************************************************************
The rest of the week was rather surreal at school. After Monday the school resumed operations as usual, though there was quite a bit of shuffling amongst teachers to cover for the staff members that were ‘otherwise occupied’. Coolest of all for me was the bullies, or rather lack thereof. Sophia had disappeared and didn’t attend school at all. Madison and a large number of hanger-ons suddenly found ignoring my existence to be a fascinating pastime, not that I was complaining. Emma was the only one who attempted to continue the campaign, but with so much of her popular support backing off the best she could manage was passing comments and one sabotaged desk seat.
I wish I could have appreciated the experience more, but I was still panicking over the incident at the evidence warehouse. I kept expecting a horde of police officers to break down the door screaming my name or for me to get pulled aside for ‘questioning’. By the end of the week I had run myself ragged with worry.
On Saturday I finally worked up the courage to investigate Detective Gibson’s personnel file, an endeavor that turned out to be rather anticlimactic. The police archives were under the central precinct and all I had to do was ride the closed circuit security cameras until they led me to the less than properly covered archives. From there I had hunted down Gibson’s file and found a notebook labeled ‘Incomplete Cases’. I flipped through the detailed book while recording with my handy drive and got out of the building with none the wiser.
Now I was back at home going over the pictures. Detective Gibson had apparently dropped a lot of cases under suspicious circumstances, and judging from his commentary that was far from unusual. Burrowing into my bed for better comfort I settled in for a long night. There was a lot to read.
**********************************************************************************
Sophia sat impatiently as Piggot continued to ignore her while doing paperwork. She didn’t see why the woman insisted on these power games, but it’s not like she could just storm out this time. The electrically charged anklet weighed on her like a ball and chain.
“What were you thinking?” Piggot finally asked without looking up.
“Thinking about what?” Sophia asked petulantly.
“Thinking when you left an electrocuted girl passed out in a puddle of water?” the woman’s tone remained even and conversational.
“Two of the girls doused her with a bucket,” Sophia defended, “She was hardly unconscious when we left her. Wouldn’t have been an issue if the spaz hadn’t of stolen Emma’s project.”
“Ms. Barnes’ project?” Piggot inquired, “Why would this Hebert girl steal her project?”
“Why should I care? She’s always been a freak,” Sophia claimed dismissively.
“So why did the girl remain in the corner of the library for eighteen hours? That doesn’t seem like something someone would do unless they were, oh yes, unconscious,” Piggot finally looked at Sophia, her eyes lethal.
“Hey, we didn’t do anything to her,” Sophia insisted, keeping to her story.
“Bruising on her arms and legs plus first degree electrical burns on her back. The first responders found her lying in pool of water and suffering from electric shock from a burnt out power strip. Tell me Sophia, if your little group didn’t do anything, how did she receive these injuries.”
Sophia had no answer.
“Ultimately it doesn’t matter,” Piggot sighed, “as of four hours ago you’re not even under my jurisdiction anymore. Even just witnessing the assault and not reporting it counts as violation of your probation.”
“You can’t prove jack!” Sophia hissed.
“I know, which is why you’re being sent to the David Wheeler Parahuman Juvenile Rehabilitation Center instead of just plain juvie. Hopefully,” the word practically oozed sarcasm, “they can help you solve your inner problems and become a productive member of society.”
“What the hell?” Sophia asked.
“There’s been a new branch added to PRT and Protectorate Internal Investigations: the Wards Review Board. They’re handling any issue involving discipline with underage heroes.”
“Wait, isn’t that the thing those morons in the-“
“Don’t say their name,” Piggot deadpanned, “it gives them power. At any rate you’ll spend tonight confined to your quarters. Tomorrow you will be transported to The Ranch and become someone else’s problem. You mother has already taken care of the legal and logistical issues from her end and says she’s already told you goodbye.”
“Yeah, she sure did,” Sophia admitted through gritted teeth.
“Goodbye Ms. Hess,” Piggot said as a pair of PRT troopers came into the office to escort Sophia out, “please try to not shoot yourself in the foot again. It’s a bad habit to get into.”
**********************************************************************************
I tore through the virus-laden pornographic site in a daze. The shambling amalgamations of code that festered in these places didn’t really offer much of a challenge beyond the occasional Trojan hiding amongst the detritus. The damn things looked like snails from hell and their shells could take on different shapes, but ultimately they were only dangerous to idiots that let them close. After I had read the detective’s file on my mom I had needed to blow off some steam, and a place like this was perfect. Also, tearing a virus-ridden porn site from the internet could only be a good thing.
Dad had told me that mom had been part of the Lustrum movement, but he had never specified what exactly she had done and I was happy to maintain an idealized memory of my mother. As it turns out ignorance really is bliss.
Back when she was operating, Lustrum had had an inner circle, mostly made out of capes. Foremost of these parahumans were Gladiatrix and Harlequin. Gladiatrix had been the unofficial leader of the extremists in the women’s rights (or supremacist, depending on who you asked) movement. She had been the one that advocated violence against males and was infamous for chasing lower ranking members out of the organization when she discovered that they were in relationships with men. Harlequin on the other hand had led the moderates. They had wanted to use the respect and fear granted to parahuman led organizations to force dialogue between the advocates and lawmakers.
Harlequin had died under suspicious circumstances and her death had been used as a rallying cry for the bloodthirsty members of Lustrum’s movement which had led to infamous castrations. Notably Harlequin’s supporters had faded away shortly before the movement jumped the rails. Including Harlequin’s personal agent and aide Knight-4.
I had looked at the handful of pictures he had taped into the notes and knew without a doubt that that was mom. She had been wearing an impossibly tight leather catsuit and had worn a bandanna over her face, but it was her. The things one never wants to know about their parents.
So now, here I was, plunging a naginata into another heavily corroded program, trying to figure out what to do next. My running fight found me at the site’s host connection. Hopping up on the massive ‘Death Star shaft’ pillar thing I took a seat and just watched the milling viruses.
Gibson’s notes had mentioned that Gladiatrix had been released from prison several months before my mom’s death, but due to the Identity Act he couldn’t find out who she was. There was also a list of people who might have wanted my mom dead for her role in supporting Harlequin. The list was impressive: several business magnates, a half dozen senators, no less than three advocacy groups, and at least nine mercenary companies, four of which were defunct. No wonder the detective was happy to drop the case. But that only returned me to my original question: what was I going to do?
Sighing, I stood up and attached a timed bomb to the central hub. I had constructed it from the salvaged cores of four security programs. Not enough to bring down a properly maintained website, but overkill for this cesspit. I repeated my trip back at a faster clip and watched from the safety of a search engine as the entire thing collapsed on top of itself when the bomb went off.
I jacked the search engine, it was three a.m. in the real world so I wasn’t too worried about disrupting someone in the middle of using their computer, and set a route for my phone. I plopped down on its roof and just thought. In a movie this would be where I would suddenly remember something wise or insightful someone told me earlier, but I heard nothing but my own thoughts.
I could just let it go. It had been two years after all; any traces of the perpetrators would be cold and covered at best. And did I really want to do that? I hadn’t told dad about my powers because… well no reason really. Just because once I let that particular cat out of its bag I could never get it back in. Selfish, I know, but I just really didn’t want to tell him about it. His distance didn’t help, he seemed to prefer being at work these days to home, not that I could blame him.
On the subject of telling dad I could join the Wards. It would definitely give me some options for the future: better school, accumulative funds, connections, a place to belong, maybe even some friends. But again, a bridge I could only cross once.
And then there was my mom’s death again. Why should I do this? A lot of the footwork I would have to do was definitely illegal. And I would be risking the wrath of a whole lot of dangerous and nasty people. I could get arrested. I could die. I could get my dad killed. It was stupid and pointless, revenge never got anyone anything. But there was a visceral part of me that did not want to let the people who had killed my mom get away with it.
I could do the smart thing: tell dad, join the Wards (he’d definitely make me if told him), be a hero. Become famous and possibly rich, have a team of people to watch my back, keep me safe in the dangerous world of capes. Government backing, be on the legal side of the law, have a decent, moderately safe, and comfortable life all set up for me.
Or I could do the stupid thing. Run off on my own. Tweak the noses of dozens of very powerful people, many of whom had the law on their side. Risk being hunted down by criminals and law enforcement alike. Effectively sabotage any attempt at that comfortable life if I got caught or identified. Even with my abilities it would take months if not years to run down all the clues Detective Gibson had left behind on my own. I would end up doing this for years if I took that path. It would be dangerous and uncomfortable, working towards a goal that would not benefit me in the end.
…and if Neo had been smart he would have taken the blue pill.
I arrived back home and hopped back into my real world bedroom. For better or worse I was going to find out who killed my mom. And when I did… I would cross that bridge when I got to it. I retrieved a fresh spiral notebook from my desk and set it down. On the front I wrote “World Issues notes #2”. On the third page I wrote “Annette Hebert murder investigation”. I spent the next two hours writing down all the info I had recorded from the detective’s notes.
Making a physical copy was far from smart, but I wanted something solid to hold in my hands, something real. That and I had already confirmed that I was not a smart person. Tomorrow I would start with the least risky POI on the list, maybe hunt down Mr. Gibson as well. It would only be the small start to a long investigation. But somewhere deep in my gut, something stirred in excitement. Right or wrong I had a set course before me for the first time in years. The certainty was invigorating. For a moment I wondered if this was what it was like to be alive. Then I fell asleep.
Sietch Note: I figured that I would start to copy my writing projects from SB over to here. I apologize that the first one is a Worm fic.
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Computers are interesting things. Physically they’re no more than fragile bits of assembled silicone and metal. Yet, humans are no more than fragile assembled blobs of water and carbon. And like people computers are so much more inside than they are outside. I should know, I’m stuck inside of one.
Well, not anymore. I guess I should go back to the beginning… Or you know what, forget that. Lets focus on the fact that I’m currently flying down a bizarre blue and black corridor riding a hover sled made out of data, I’m fairly certain it used to be used for IM transfers, running from some very pissed off security systems.
Said security is currently shooting at me with some sort of blaster which succeeds in destroying my ride. Fortunately, athletic ability is not concurrent in here and I manage to save my fall with a humanly impossible vault and roll. I don’t have time to celebrate the last minute gymnastics as the three systems now have a bead on me and are attempting to put me down for good.
Holding my hand out, a long staff materializes out of a cloud of pixels and I begin to spin it. When the red bolts hit the staff they are deflected away as if my weapon was a lightsaber. This was one of the first tricks I’d learned when I’d gotten trapped in the school computer systems. It was also the weapon I was most comfortable with.
The security systems I was currently facing were a bit higher grade than normal and instead of just shooting until they got unlucky they spread out and attempted to flank my defense. I took advantage of the lull in fire to charge the one on my right. Immediately they all opened fire again, but I was able to get close enough to use the other aspect of my weapon. A short bolt of lightning covered the remaining ten ‘feet’ (how do you measure distance inside of a non-physical realm?) and temporarily shut down the system. I had learned the hard way what leaving a computer unprotected lead to and I really didn’t want the police mainframe to suffer a complete shutdown in response to viral takeover.
The remaining two security bots changed tactics and charged me, glowing baton-like extensions expanding from their blasters. I parried the first swing with my staff and preempted the second by jabbing the bot in its midsection. Unlike the school security systems the police’s bots didn’t have an exposed head with a single, easy to hit, eye to strike critically, they had a simple black dome on top of their torsos leaving me without an easy way to knock them out physically. I attempted to stun the first bot but the system had already adjusted its active defenses to the attack and I didn’t have the time to reset the stunner. Not seeing much option I knocked its baton into the recovering second bot. The baton melted through the system's arm and its bright red armor deactivated leaving it mute grey with glowing red lines indicating that it was still ‘alive’. I jabbed a stunner into the damaged system to ensure it stayed down.
The final bot had withdrawn, obviously trying to decide what to do. I acted before it could reach for the general alarm on its arm. I jabbed the staff at the appropriate arm to knock it aside and then kicked it in its knee, sending it sprawling. Disassembling the staff in exchange for a different tool I brought the simple sword down on its arm. Normally the edged weapon wouldn’t have pierced the active armor but I had poured a ‘slicer’ code, usually used for opening minor access doors, into the weapon and it managed to hack through the thing’s arm. Kicking the limb away I switched back to the staff in time to block the bot’s arm blade. Forgoing style for speed I jabbed the weapon into the bot’s midsection three times and then brought it down on the head. The active armor deactivated and I used the opening to stun the security system.
Looking over the battlefield I assured myself that there would be at least one bot left to protect the access port while the others were repaired before continuing on my way. Getting caught by security had been sloppy on my part, but I was still new at this. Relatively speaking of course.
Working my way through the internal systems was easier. Obviously security was laxer from the inside, convenience of use, and as such I was able to spoof my way past most of the internal security. And the two guard programs that did catch me were easier to dispatch. After what felt like several hours I found what I was looking for. A small secondary mainframe access point.
What I was trying to do didn’t necessitate accessing the police’s mainframe, only a regular data entry computer, so there was no point to me trying to pierce the much sterner security the valuable information hub boasted. Once I had access to some police secretary’s computer I materialized a small data packet in my hand. Because I was lacking in imagination at the moment it looked like a regular phone you saw all the tourists using, the one with the touch screen.
‘Plugging’ it into the data point I fed the information I had ‘liberated’ off of Emma and Sophia’s phones as well as the emails I had saved and attached them to a pending case file. I filled out the form and got it authenticated, but conveniently forgot to attach a name to the form. The paper could only be filled out by certified police officers and I didn’t feel like adding ‘Impersonating a Police Officer’ to my list of recent crimes.
I slid the file into a detectives inbox and marked it with a regular priority sticker. If luck held it would get reviewed by a detective sometime tomorrow and passed down the line to someone appropriate. I didn’t have particularly high hopes for my plan’s overall success, but maybe it would bring a little heat and attention down on the bullies. At the very least Emma would have to deal with the embarrassment of knowing a cop read all her sexts. Seriously, there were like, three different guys she was leading on. At least I hoped she was leading them on.
Before I left I noticed a connection flag between my file and another. Accessing it I realized it was my mother’s accident report. Not wanting to relive that experience I reached to disconnect when I noticed two words in the report: suspected murder. I took a moment to process that. Realizing that I was running out of time before another security sweep I copied the report to my mobile drive and then disconnected the link from the report.
Disconnecting from the computer I took a detour down to the security hub. As expected it took a little while for the security programs I had bushwhacked to limp in to report the intrusion and receive repairs. I waited for the report to be completely downloaded before I cracked open the console and deleted the intrusion report. As long as nobody thought too much of the missing internal programs there would be no trace of my tampering.
Sneaking my way back out of the police network I caught a ride on what I assumed was an email, it was a massive bus-looking thing filled with boxes I had learned contained raw data such as pictures or text, and rode it until I was close enough to my exit point. Hopping off I waved at some of the more humanoid programs that were unloading another bus, ironically more complex than the data they were unloading. Computer programs were a little weird, the more complex a program was, the more human it appeared. Simple message programs were frequently completely inanimate, while administrative ones were nearly human. Of course, even the nearly sapient ones were completely lost outside of their programming. I could ask the programs currently unloading the bus about what they did and they could go on for hours about it. The moment I brought up a question about time zones or security protocols though, they completely blanked out. Or I could question a word processor and have a complete conversation until I used a word or phrase it didn’t understand. Security programs were the creepiest: smart enough to perform infantry tactics, yet incapable of speech outside of compliance/non-compliance interactions. Point being, despite some of them being able to fake it, I had yet to run into a sentient program.
Hiking my way down a traffic-less ‘lane’ I found the connection I was looking for. Putting my hands on said connection I felt the still unfamiliar sucking sensation, like I was being squeezed into and out of a syrup bottle, and soon found myself back in the library’s bathroom.
Getting up I picked up the phone I had used as my access point. It was the cheapest one I could find that had an internet connection and it showed. I had owned the cheap knockoff for less than a week and already it was getting hiccupy. Turning the crappy thing off, I checked the time on my watch. As expected it had been less than four minutes since I had first entered the phone. Made sense considering that my ‘months’ trapped in the school network had equaled about 18 hours in the real world.
Exiting the building I made my way home, doing my best to hide my anxiety. I had just broken into the police database after all. Wasn’t that supposed to have repercussions? I made it home with no complications and sat down at the ancient computer in dad’s utility closet-cum-home office and turned it on. I then went to go make some tea as the damn thing would need a few minutes to boot up.
Once the piece of crap had gotten itself running (no way in hell I was ever going to go into that thing) I held out my hand and materialized my mobile drive. Yeah, that was pretty cool, being able to bring some of the simpler tools I had acquired into the real world. Heavy limit on the 'mass' I could access, but totally worth it. Plugging the temporary construct into the computer I brought up the file I had copied from the police database.
The report was short and to the point. There were only two paragraphs on it. The first was a short observation by the first responding officer and the second, and much longer, paragraph was from the detective that followed up. There was a short mention of suspected sabotage and a desire to investigate further. Less than 72 hours later the allegations of foul play were dismissed ‘due to lack of evidence’ and it was filed as an accident. There was, however, an addendum that referenced the evidence box for the case. As I took note of the boxes number I heard dad walk in the door and hastily pulled everything out and dismissed the drive, the construct dissipating in a clod of floating blue pixels.
“Hey kiddo, how was your day,” he asked wearily as he dropped his bag on the sofa.
“Enlightening,” I said after a moment.
“Oh?” he inquired.
“Dad, was moms accident really an accident?” I finally asked.
“Oh Taylor,” he said, an odd look crossing his face, “I miss her too. But we need to move on. And I mean that for me too.”
“But, it was all so…”
“Sudden, I know,” he hugged me, “Just promise me you’re not going to do something over a stupid theory .”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I lied through my teeth.
**********************************************************************************
Elisha Blackwell was not in the mood for this.
“I’m sorry run that by me again?” she asked the police officer, a Sgt. Drebin from his name tag.
“I asked if you had a more thorough report over what happened to one Taylor Hebert on Wednesday January 5th?” the officer asked again, the smarmy smile never leaving his face.
“We can dig officer, but that was the day our entire computer system collapsed. Things were obviously hectic and most of our electronic records were lost. We’re still digging through our physical records to replace the lost information and our IT department is still trying to get the school network back online,” she left out that, thanks to a tweaking secretary F-L of their student directory had never made it to paper, leaving them with a massive gap in their files that she was desperately trying to cover up.
“That’s completely understandable ma’am,” the aggravating grin never left the graying cop’s face, “but from what we understand Ms. Hebert was electrocuted sometime in the morning around 10 a.m., but the computer failure didn’t occur until somewhere between midnight and two in the morning the next day. Ms. Hebert wasn’t discovered until the police responded to the misfiring alarms.”
“What are you implying,” she had had quite enough of this self important shit, “that we intentionally left her there? When she didn’t report for 2nd period she was marked truant. A habit she’s developed if you’d bothered to look at her record.”
“The record that’s currently lost due to technical difficulties correct?” the sergeant pulled a thin file out from behind his back, “We also have these files, unfortunately turned in anonymously, that leave a rather… unflattering picture as to why Ms. Hebert was so frequently absent. Tell me Principal Blackwell, do you make it a habit to ignore student reports of harassment?”
“Repeated reports from a single disruptive student that had already been proven false or exaggerated,” who did this pompous blowhard think he was, “Her claims were repeatedly refuted my multiple of her peers.”
“Because groups of people are incapable of lying, of course. But did you have any staff actually investigate the matter. Even the first time?”
“I’m sorry officer, but I’m attempting to run the city’s designated delinquent dumping ground. I’m sorry I didn’t pander to a single, disruptive student when I’m busy trying to deal with multiple gangs running rampant in the school with little to no support from city hall or the police department,” she bit bit back.
“Oh yes, your anti-gang campaign,” Drebin received a very, very thick file from one of the other officers, “The one you managed to browbeat the force into assisting you with. We can’t help but notice that there’s been some… discrepancies in the updates you’ve sent us, regarding both activity and financial reports."
He plopped the hefty file on her desk. It read 'Winslow Corruption Investigation 2008-2011'. Blackwell managed to avoid whimpering.
**********************************************************************************
I would admit to being surprised at the enthusiasm of the police response to my fake report. I understood that it wasn’t just for me; the cops had rounded up about a dozen of the most blatant gang recruiters and had called in nearly a hundred students for interviews on the school, including me. Before walking into the teacher’s break room I had a ten minute session with a lawyer from the DA's office assuring me of what I could refuse to talk about should I so choose. I chose to tell them everything I knew about the gangs, the staff, and certain other ‘negative influence’.
The school day ended in a more normal fashion and instead of heading for the bus I made my way to the computer class. Unlike most of the computers in the school, Mrs. Knotts’ personal computer was not networked and thus had been spared the viral fate of the rest of the school. Only bothering to ensure that it was still on I ‘jumped’ into it and found an interfacing location to plan out my route.
My first stop was back at home, where I had left the crappy phone as the access point. Once there I changed into dark gray cargo pants, heavy black boots, a black hoodie, and fingerless gloves. Once dressed I hopped back into the phone and navigated to my destination for the day: the BBPD Evidence Storage facility on the edge of town.
Getting access to the building was the hard part. Everything inside the building was closed circuit. The guards weren’t even allowed to carry wireless devices into the building. The convoluted solution involved the facility’s third party alarm system. Unlike the warehouse, Fortress Securities (a subsidy of Fortress Construction) had a wirelessly connected system. Unfortunately their security was freaking insane.
Unlike the rather mundane protective programs used by the school and the cops, Fortress’ security bot’s were floating four armed monstrosities. They were also supported by a plethora of auxiliary programs: sniffers that looked like headless robotic dogs, reactive firewalls woven by hordes of glowing digital spiders, flying automatic alarms that squealed if someone so much as changed the thermostat without permission, massive deployable fortresses that stayed hidden in the walls until an alarm was tripped, and more. Fortress’ security was practically invincible from external infiltration. Thank God for human error.
One of the guards had an unsecured phone in his pocket and I easily hitched a ride in it until he entered the local Fortress Securities central security hub. When he turned to leave I hopped out of the phone and face planted on the room’s floor. Before he or the men watching the monitors could react I touched one of the computers and let myself get sucked into the local mainframe.
Fortress’ internal security was also abnormally tight, but unlike the external protective measures I could navigate the internal systems. It took a lot longer than I preferred, but I managed to get the information on what system was installed on the warehouse by using a conveniently open access port. Seriously, why did this Calvert guy need two separate computers with an internal access bypass?
After getting to the hub that connected all the different systems Fortress managed it was fairly easy to fake a software update and ride it into the evidence warehouse. Upon finally getting into the building’s closed system I got access to the camera feeds. After the hell that was the Fortress systems the lackadaisical police systems were practically a vacation. Since I didn’t know how to loop video feeds (it’s a lot harder than Hollywood makes it look and I’m on the inside!) I caused the camera on the aisle I wanted into to malfunction.
“Crap,” I heard the man in the monitor booth groan through the camera in the room, “Daniel, one of the camera shorted out again.”
“Mother-,” the other guard swore over the radio, which was apparently monitored by the installation's black box, “Which one?”
“D-19,” the first reported, “All I’m getting is static.”
“Have Jerry camp on the aisle and I’ll hunt down the diagnostic kit,” Daniel ordered.
I switched my observations to the cameras the guards wore on their chest. Smart security measure, really inconvenient for me. As it turned out though, Jeremy Higgins was a very lazy guard and after a few passes he took a spot at one end of the aisle and popped a squat on a wooden box. Sensing a moment I hopped out of the malfunctioning camera and very quietly hunted down the appropriate evidence box.
Bringing it out I quietly opened it and looked inside. Mostly there was a lot of paper. Reports from the forensics team, write ups from every single individual that touched the case, a small dossier on my mom. And pictures, lots and lots of pictures. I couldn’t bear to look at them so I flipped the bag they were in over and dug through the miscellaneous. There were a few small car parts, obviously damaged, in evidence bags and a small legal pad’s worth of notes.
The notes turned out to be the interesting stuff. There were written by one Detective Gibson, who was convinced that foul play was at work, judging from the damage to the break line and the circumstances surrounding the accident. As I got towards the end of the notes the tone began to change. Gibson seemed more and more reluctant about the information he was finding out, until the last note spelled it out.
‘I’d already gotten a few hints from the station chief, but now the captain all but told me to mark this one down as an accident and move on. I can’t say that the idea has no appeal, the more I learn about this ‘Annette Hebert’ the less I want to. This case has already started leading into the Lustrum movement, that should be all the red flags I need but, I’m just so tired of letting this shit go. It seems like I let more criminals go than I actually bring a case against, and of those that I do manage to go after most get away with a slap on the wrist at best. There’s something deeply wrong with Brocton Bay, and anyone that has looked into always disappears.
I’m not doing it, I won’t do that to Rachel, I’m just going to sweep this one under the rug. Again. If anyone decides to cold case this, find my archived files, maybe you will have better luck with these cases than I have.
God I’m such a coward.’
On the back of the note was a bunch of letter and numbers that I realized must be his personnel file. I took a picture of it with a conjured recorder and was placing the box back when a light illuminated me.
“Hold it right there!” the guard was back and was aiming his gun at me.
I froze, I had no idea what to do. The jumpy cop made the decision for me.
“I said don’t move! Central I got a-“ he pulled the trigger on his gun.
It was probably an accident on his part, but ingrained instincts had me summon up my armor. Glowing blue lines ran up and down my clothing in linear patterns and I knew similar and much denser lines were forming on my skin. Shortly after the lines were in place, glowing panels formed over my chest, back, and limbs, less than a centimeter from my now fortified clothes. A black gasmask with blue lenses and defining lines formed over my face, its hose leading to a port in my hoodie-cum-armor. It had been vital for surviving rooms swamped with toxic code. It also made me look like an extra from a post-apocalyptic movie.
“C-cape!” the guard screamed before unloading his entire magazine.
I had never tested my equipment in the real world and the light armor I was currently wearing had never been resistant to much. My hovering pauldron took two bullets before winking out and letting a third bullet strike my right shoulder. The hardened hoodie absorbed most of the damage, but a glowing blue crack had formed where the bullet struck. It had also hurt like a bitch and knocked me to the ground. The guard was hastily reloading his gun, but his shaking hands were crippling his reload speed.
Not giving him another chance to shoot me, I charged him, dual shock rods forming in my hands. I would have preferred my staff, but my inhuman martial and physical prowess did not transfer into the real world. Better to keep it simple. When I got close he held up his freshly reloaded pistol and attempted to shoot. I jabbed both rods into his chest causing him to contract and fire exactly once. The bullet impacted the glowing chest plate doing no damage and the cop fell to the ground unconscious.
I wanted to stop and catch my breath, but the sound of pounding footsteps reminded me of how much crap I was in. I quickly jumped into his mounted camera were I thorough corrupted his recording. And by thoroughly corrupt I formed up one of my hard won cluster bombs and chunked it behind me as I fled through the system.
Once I got back to the security hub I slowed down my processes again so I could watch what happened. Through the shirt cams the other guards were wearing I saw them storm through the aisle and check on their fallen comrade. Once I was certain he was fine and that they had no idea where I had gone I returned to normal speed and proceeded to erase any record of my presence, including the backup recording of the first guard’s shirt cam. Once I was certain I had left nothing to identify myself I hoped a ride on the signal the alarm sent to the Fortress hub every five minutes. From there I simply jacked this Calvert guy’s unused computer connection and sent an unsecured email to the library. Hopefully nobody would notice.
From there I hopped out of one of the terminals in the basement and snuck my way back into the public areas. Checking the time I realized it was nearly five o’clock, I had forgotten to account for all the times I had slowed down to synchronize with the real world and time actually spent in said world. I hate time limits. Upon arriving at home, mercifully before dad, I collapsed into my room.
“Oh God, I attacked a cop!” I didn’t accomplish much else that night.
**********************************************************************************
“Talk to me Willis,” Sgt. Drebin stormed into the central office for the evidence warehouse.
“Talk to me Lieutenant Willis,” the older man stressed in return, “I don’t care if your captain Chase’s personal bloodhound, at least pretend to respect the chain of command.”
“My apologies lieutenant,” the middle aged sergeant apologized half-sincerely, “I just want to know why I was the one called down to look at this. We finally brought the hammer down on Winslow and there are way too many scrambling cockroaches for my tastes.”
“Because I need this report shortcutted to your captain,” the lieutenant turned his computer screen to face Drebin, a short report vicisble, “You know we had a break in, but the only witness insists the intruder was a parahuman.”
“Son of a bitch!” Drebin swore.
The PRT had been trying to get jurisdiction over all evidence storage in the city for some time, but the BBPD’s rare record of excellence concerning that facility had ensured that they kept control over it and more importantly the contents within. If a parahuman had managed to steal or tamper with evidence inside of the secure facility that would give the PRT a big stick for their case.
“Please tell me this witness was high,” he asked after a second.
“No, Officer Higgins is clean. About the only good thing that can be said of his performance, but since all our footage was either blocked or erased he’s the only lead we have.”
“Do we know what the perp was after?” Drebin pinched the bridge of his nose.
“We have it narrowed down to one of five boxes. Unfortunately Higgins actually shot several of the boxes and doesn’t remember the exact one tampered with,” Willis admitted sheepily.
“Wonderful,” Drebin took out his phone and dialed his boss.
************************************************************************************
The rest of the week was rather surreal at school. After Monday the school resumed operations as usual, though there was quite a bit of shuffling amongst teachers to cover for the staff members that were ‘otherwise occupied’. Coolest of all for me was the bullies, or rather lack thereof. Sophia had disappeared and didn’t attend school at all. Madison and a large number of hanger-ons suddenly found ignoring my existence to be a fascinating pastime, not that I was complaining. Emma was the only one who attempted to continue the campaign, but with so much of her popular support backing off the best she could manage was passing comments and one sabotaged desk seat.
I wish I could have appreciated the experience more, but I was still panicking over the incident at the evidence warehouse. I kept expecting a horde of police officers to break down the door screaming my name or for me to get pulled aside for ‘questioning’. By the end of the week I had run myself ragged with worry.
On Saturday I finally worked up the courage to investigate Detective Gibson’s personnel file, an endeavor that turned out to be rather anticlimactic. The police archives were under the central precinct and all I had to do was ride the closed circuit security cameras until they led me to the less than properly covered archives. From there I had hunted down Gibson’s file and found a notebook labeled ‘Incomplete Cases’. I flipped through the detailed book while recording with my handy drive and got out of the building with none the wiser.
Now I was back at home going over the pictures. Detective Gibson had apparently dropped a lot of cases under suspicious circumstances, and judging from his commentary that was far from unusual. Burrowing into my bed for better comfort I settled in for a long night. There was a lot to read.
**********************************************************************************
Sophia sat impatiently as Piggot continued to ignore her while doing paperwork. She didn’t see why the woman insisted on these power games, but it’s not like she could just storm out this time. The electrically charged anklet weighed on her like a ball and chain.
“What were you thinking?” Piggot finally asked without looking up.
“Thinking about what?” Sophia asked petulantly.
“Thinking when you left an electrocuted girl passed out in a puddle of water?” the woman’s tone remained even and conversational.
“Two of the girls doused her with a bucket,” Sophia defended, “She was hardly unconscious when we left her. Wouldn’t have been an issue if the spaz hadn’t of stolen Emma’s project.”
“Ms. Barnes’ project?” Piggot inquired, “Why would this Hebert girl steal her project?”
“Why should I care? She’s always been a freak,” Sophia claimed dismissively.
“So why did the girl remain in the corner of the library for eighteen hours? That doesn’t seem like something someone would do unless they were, oh yes, unconscious,” Piggot finally looked at Sophia, her eyes lethal.
“Hey, we didn’t do anything to her,” Sophia insisted, keeping to her story.
“Bruising on her arms and legs plus first degree electrical burns on her back. The first responders found her lying in pool of water and suffering from electric shock from a burnt out power strip. Tell me Sophia, if your little group didn’t do anything, how did she receive these injuries.”
Sophia had no answer.
“Ultimately it doesn’t matter,” Piggot sighed, “as of four hours ago you’re not even under my jurisdiction anymore. Even just witnessing the assault and not reporting it counts as violation of your probation.”
“You can’t prove jack!” Sophia hissed.
“I know, which is why you’re being sent to the David Wheeler Parahuman Juvenile Rehabilitation Center instead of just plain juvie. Hopefully,” the word practically oozed sarcasm, “they can help you solve your inner problems and become a productive member of society.”
“What the hell?” Sophia asked.
“There’s been a new branch added to PRT and Protectorate Internal Investigations: the Wards Review Board. They’re handling any issue involving discipline with underage heroes.”
“Wait, isn’t that the thing those morons in the-“
“Don’t say their name,” Piggot deadpanned, “it gives them power. At any rate you’ll spend tonight confined to your quarters. Tomorrow you will be transported to The Ranch and become someone else’s problem. You mother has already taken care of the legal and logistical issues from her end and says she’s already told you goodbye.”
“Yeah, she sure did,” Sophia admitted through gritted teeth.
“Goodbye Ms. Hess,” Piggot said as a pair of PRT troopers came into the office to escort Sophia out, “please try to not shoot yourself in the foot again. It’s a bad habit to get into.”
**********************************************************************************
I tore through the virus-laden pornographic site in a daze. The shambling amalgamations of code that festered in these places didn’t really offer much of a challenge beyond the occasional Trojan hiding amongst the detritus. The damn things looked like snails from hell and their shells could take on different shapes, but ultimately they were only dangerous to idiots that let them close. After I had read the detective’s file on my mom I had needed to blow off some steam, and a place like this was perfect. Also, tearing a virus-ridden porn site from the internet could only be a good thing.
Dad had told me that mom had been part of the Lustrum movement, but he had never specified what exactly she had done and I was happy to maintain an idealized memory of my mother. As it turns out ignorance really is bliss.
Back when she was operating, Lustrum had had an inner circle, mostly made out of capes. Foremost of these parahumans were Gladiatrix and Harlequin. Gladiatrix had been the unofficial leader of the extremists in the women’s rights (or supremacist, depending on who you asked) movement. She had been the one that advocated violence against males and was infamous for chasing lower ranking members out of the organization when she discovered that they were in relationships with men. Harlequin on the other hand had led the moderates. They had wanted to use the respect and fear granted to parahuman led organizations to force dialogue between the advocates and lawmakers.
Harlequin had died under suspicious circumstances and her death had been used as a rallying cry for the bloodthirsty members of Lustrum’s movement which had led to infamous castrations. Notably Harlequin’s supporters had faded away shortly before the movement jumped the rails. Including Harlequin’s personal agent and aide Knight-4.
I had looked at the handful of pictures he had taped into the notes and knew without a doubt that that was mom. She had been wearing an impossibly tight leather catsuit and had worn a bandanna over her face, but it was her. The things one never wants to know about their parents.
So now, here I was, plunging a naginata into another heavily corroded program, trying to figure out what to do next. My running fight found me at the site’s host connection. Hopping up on the massive ‘Death Star shaft’ pillar thing I took a seat and just watched the milling viruses.
Gibson’s notes had mentioned that Gladiatrix had been released from prison several months before my mom’s death, but due to the Identity Act he couldn’t find out who she was. There was also a list of people who might have wanted my mom dead for her role in supporting Harlequin. The list was impressive: several business magnates, a half dozen senators, no less than three advocacy groups, and at least nine mercenary companies, four of which were defunct. No wonder the detective was happy to drop the case. But that only returned me to my original question: what was I going to do?
Sighing, I stood up and attached a timed bomb to the central hub. I had constructed it from the salvaged cores of four security programs. Not enough to bring down a properly maintained website, but overkill for this cesspit. I repeated my trip back at a faster clip and watched from the safety of a search engine as the entire thing collapsed on top of itself when the bomb went off.
I jacked the search engine, it was three a.m. in the real world so I wasn’t too worried about disrupting someone in the middle of using their computer, and set a route for my phone. I plopped down on its roof and just thought. In a movie this would be where I would suddenly remember something wise or insightful someone told me earlier, but I heard nothing but my own thoughts.
I could just let it go. It had been two years after all; any traces of the perpetrators would be cold and covered at best. And did I really want to do that? I hadn’t told dad about my powers because… well no reason really. Just because once I let that particular cat out of its bag I could never get it back in. Selfish, I know, but I just really didn’t want to tell him about it. His distance didn’t help, he seemed to prefer being at work these days to home, not that I could blame him.
On the subject of telling dad I could join the Wards. It would definitely give me some options for the future: better school, accumulative funds, connections, a place to belong, maybe even some friends. But again, a bridge I could only cross once.
And then there was my mom’s death again. Why should I do this? A lot of the footwork I would have to do was definitely illegal. And I would be risking the wrath of a whole lot of dangerous and nasty people. I could get arrested. I could die. I could get my dad killed. It was stupid and pointless, revenge never got anyone anything. But there was a visceral part of me that did not want to let the people who had killed my mom get away with it.
I could do the smart thing: tell dad, join the Wards (he’d definitely make me if told him), be a hero. Become famous and possibly rich, have a team of people to watch my back, keep me safe in the dangerous world of capes. Government backing, be on the legal side of the law, have a decent, moderately safe, and comfortable life all set up for me.
Or I could do the stupid thing. Run off on my own. Tweak the noses of dozens of very powerful people, many of whom had the law on their side. Risk being hunted down by criminals and law enforcement alike. Effectively sabotage any attempt at that comfortable life if I got caught or identified. Even with my abilities it would take months if not years to run down all the clues Detective Gibson had left behind on my own. I would end up doing this for years if I took that path. It would be dangerous and uncomfortable, working towards a goal that would not benefit me in the end.
…and if Neo had been smart he would have taken the blue pill.
I arrived back home and hopped back into my real world bedroom. For better or worse I was going to find out who killed my mom. And when I did… I would cross that bridge when I got to it. I retrieved a fresh spiral notebook from my desk and set it down. On the front I wrote “World Issues notes #2”. On the third page I wrote “Annette Hebert murder investigation”. I spent the next two hours writing down all the info I had recorded from the detective’s notes.
Making a physical copy was far from smart, but I wanted something solid to hold in my hands, something real. That and I had already confirmed that I was not a smart person. Tomorrow I would start with the least risky POI on the list, maybe hunt down Mr. Gibson as well. It would only be the small start to a long investigation. But somewhere deep in my gut, something stirred in excitement. Right or wrong I had a set course before me for the first time in years. The certainty was invigorating. For a moment I wondered if this was what it was like to be alive. Then I fell asleep.