"There are forty seconds before the alarms go off and we're toast. You have to hurry!"
That's Wallace, my supervisor. He's an old dude who was around when FORTRAN was hot stuff. Now, he works for the underground in outbreaks against the hunters, a mob of government, corporate, and independent mercenaries who go for the cash. Our side has more people, but less money. There is power in numbers if it's a fair fight. Unfortunately, it's not.
About two years ago, Wallace and I met at an assembly of protesters turned revolutionaries. Protestors like us started getting arrested and never returning. These people were too angry to continue under the terribly unfair laws and taxes of the middle and lower class citizens.
I was there for hours. All these people from all walks of life could be unified with such passion about the issues of the world, and it was invigorating to feel such energy in the room. But this feeling was thrown away when we heard a loud knock at the door. Junebug, as she was called for those four hours, hurried downstairs to see who it was. The rest of us continued talking until we heard screaming downstairs, and gunshots too. Junebug was defenseless and taken by surprise. She was shot five times on both knees, her head, neck, and heart. The police poured into the house with menace in their eyes. They had NO right to do that, and it was the last straw. From that point on, Wallace and I have invested our lives in fucking things up for the enemy.
On this particular day, we were pulling a prank of sorts on the largest corporation of all, the Cubonics Personality Firm. They are in the business of spying on internet users and their massive computer network assembles data. All possible predictions and correlations about who you are is sold to the highest bidder. Today, at their nearest office, I snuck into their garage undetected. Now, I shall hotwire their cars and place them in a huge spiral, with the highest ranking employees' cars at the very center so it takes them the longest to fix the mayhem and get out of there. For us, the mayhem had just begun. A moment too late, I saw a laser scanner and three cameras. I was tagged.
That's Wallace, my supervisor. He's an old dude who was around when FORTRAN was hot stuff. Now, he works for the underground in outbreaks against the hunters, a mob of government, corporate, and independent mercenaries who go for the cash. Our side has more people, but less money. There is power in numbers if it's a fair fight. Unfortunately, it's not.
About two years ago, Wallace and I met at an assembly of protesters turned revolutionaries. Protestors like us started getting arrested and never returning. These people were too angry to continue under the terribly unfair laws and taxes of the middle and lower class citizens.
I was there for hours. All these people from all walks of life could be unified with such passion about the issues of the world, and it was invigorating to feel such energy in the room. But this feeling was thrown away when we heard a loud knock at the door. Junebug, as she was called for those four hours, hurried downstairs to see who it was. The rest of us continued talking until we heard screaming downstairs, and gunshots too. Junebug was defenseless and taken by surprise. She was shot five times on both knees, her head, neck, and heart. The police poured into the house with menace in their eyes. They had NO right to do that, and it was the last straw. From that point on, Wallace and I have invested our lives in fucking things up for the enemy.
On this particular day, we were pulling a prank of sorts on the largest corporation of all, the Cubonics Personality Firm. They are in the business of spying on internet users and their massive computer network assembles data. All possible predictions and correlations about who you are is sold to the highest bidder. Today, at their nearest office, I snuck into their garage undetected. Now, I shall hotwire their cars and place them in a huge spiral, with the highest ranking employees' cars at the very center so it takes them the longest to fix the mayhem and get out of there. For us, the mayhem had just begun. A moment too late, I saw a laser scanner and three cameras. I was tagged.
