chapter two:// dream ridiculous implausible
"I see you looking over your shoulder
tell me, what do you think’s out there
I see you reaching for your four-leaf clover
believe me, there ain’t no luck out there..."
Bon Jovi . Fear
In the plush Denver apartment of the one known as [subliminalsilence], the television flickered in its chaotic element, casting the omniscient blue glow across the faces of the two people across, sitting comfortably in the leather chair. At either end, their bodies each wedged between the arm and the back, their legs draped over the center cushion and intertwined. His hooded sweatshirt bloomed loosely over his torso, and his extremely wide-legged jeans draped over the front edge of the couch, nearly covering the entire top and front of the cushion. She, with her tight and sheer long sleeve shirt and nearly as tight flared jeans focused her attention entirely on the television showing one off the new super high tech cop and robber dramas that had become quite plentiful since the explosion of ‘CSI’. She was amused, it was a decent show, but the subject matter hit a bit close to home, and she had a good old time making mental notes about all their inaccuracy, most notably the fact that they had the “Secret” Forums for her trade plastered across the mass-accessible Boards of America Online. Something’s, however, were best left inaccurate.
“Bobby?” she stretched her back, resembling a feline’s lithe body.
“Yeah, kiddo?” He looked towards her, flipping the bill of his hat around so he could see her without obstruction.
“Must we watch this shit? C’mon, I can’t stand it, it’s driving me insane with the bullshit they’re talking about. They should’ve researched their information better.” she scoffed, smiling slyly at him.
“Good point.” he lifted the remote from the glass table and began thumbing through the channels, finally settling on HBO, which was showing the Stephen King flick ‘Hearts in Atlantis’ for the umpteenth time, and it was the umpteenth time they had watched it from some random point in the middle, this time, however, closer to the beginning, catching a part they had yet to see. “You know, as it stands, I think we’ll finally see the entire thing in a couple years time.” he smiled at her, directing his sole attention to her.
“Perhaps you’re right. Only time will tell.” her eyes lit up, and if it had been a movie, you would probably hear a ping, or other form of random noise. “I gotta tell you this story.” he nodded, showing he was listening. “The other night, I was at home and just floating around between networks and you’d never guess what I happened into,” she paused, waiting for a response, finally getting it in a second silent nod, “fucking HBO, I figured they’d have higher security than that, being one of the biggest television stations in the universe, next to ...” she thought about it for a second, “MTV. But I slid right in there, and it was empty. No one else floating around. So I just started perusing their files, and found all kinds of steamy shit about exec’s with interns, Clinton-style, and their ties with the government, just all kinds of nice, juicy morsels. It was absolutely surreal.”
“Ha ha. Right on, but I got that beat. I got into FAO Schwartz, and ordered them a thousand extra cases of the new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles toys.” he smiled triumphantly, slipping up and off the couch, and walking over to his opened Dell Inspiron 7500 laptop, booting it up.
“Ooh, aren’t you the rebel. Christ, that’s like ordering twenty pizzas under the name Chuck U. Farley and having them delivered to police headquarters. However, it is pretty impressive, the fact that you got into FAO. Oh yeah, I was in the forum the other night, and I noticed a lot of talk about launching an attack on the White House. Just all kinds of stupid bullshit about sabotaging Bush. Probably just a bunch of fifteen year old half-wits, ‘eh?”
“You’re probably right; the kind of degenerates who think that it’d be cool to take on the U.S. government, and end up with their asses getting pounded at San Quintin. Absolute morons. Nothing better to call them, nothing at all. They’re the kind of stupid bastard’s who would find it cool to spray paint a huge anarchy symbol on the wall of their junior highschool gym.”
“Exactly. Although, I was thinking about slipping into the IRS and doing some altering of the richie-boys returns, and sending them straight into poverty. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”
“Yeah, that’d be fun. Actually, I’m thinking about jumping onto the forum, to see what all’s going on and shit. It’s been a few days. Gotta’ see what the word is.” he slipped into the chair, waiting as Windows XP finished loading, his back to the laptop, and eyes focused on the flashing television screen; Anthony Hopkins’ was having another of his fits. It was a decent flick, especially for King.
Outside, down on the street, four stories below, he heard an overly loud car engine, something not heard in Denver, even in the slummiest parts off town. Full of curiosity, Bobby leaned the chair over against the wall, and peered out the window and down, searching for the car. Unable to see anything, he righted the chair and stood up, pulling the blinds open and pressing his forehead hard to the cold glass. Down below, he found the cause of the racket, now parked across the street. It was an old car, in perfect condition; definitely not a subject of Denver with their plethora of salt-trucks running near year round, eating most cars into a rusty pulp. No, this car was absolutely perfect. Slick, smooth design, it had to be from the mid-fifties, it was a goddamned monster of a car, an absolute tank. Every door swung open, the street near empty at three in the morning, and four men stepped out. All were dressed the same from where he was standing, crisp gray suits, matching fedoras, and he could see that one had a white button down beneath the suit jacket and a narrow tie - he was sure the rest did as well. Reaching back, he snapped his finger and motioned for her to join him. “Lori,” he spoke, voice quivering, “get over here, now.” he heard the swish of her clothes as she left the couch and hurried to his side. “Look there, across the street. You’ll see what I’m talking about.” Bobby took a step back, letting her into his spot, watching as her eyes scanned the street. As she laid eyes on the four men, her jaw slackened and her eyes shot open.
“No way. No fucking way. That couldn’t be –?” she stammered, her palms pressing against the glass, her entire body leaning further forward, like she was about to pass through the double-layered quarter inch glass.
“I think it is. I think, think it is.”
“Fuck...” she exclaimed, quickly taking two steps back and letting the blinds slide down the chord.
Slipping down in front of the computer, [subliminalsilence] logged into the usual forum and headed straight for the message boards, his fingers flying with nervous energy and precision, his brow beginning to perspire nervous sweat. His nerves were reaching the breaking point by the time he finally reached the particular board and entered a quick and simple message:
Pacing the room in opposite directions, each checking the forum as they passed, waiting for someone to reply. After what seemed like an eternity, but only about five minutes, someone did, an [emptystar]. He told him a story about a large black car creeping by his house out in the country in the middle of the night, when and where no one usually was. After they replied with a ‘thank you’, they saw that yet another person had posted, a [sl0wm0tionri0t], telling them about a hauntingly realistic dream she had, had the night before, with full orchestration and five-part harmony. Again, the formal ‘thank you’ reply was sent, and they continued pacing, not feeling at all better about the situation; one person had seen the same thing they had, and the other had a dream so real that the individual could taste it in her mouth when they awoke. Another ten minutes passed before anything else popped up, this time a fairly lengthy post.
At that, they sunk low into their seats, staring blankly into the computer screen, the message still burning brightly. Slowly Bobby leaned over to the window, and peaked out one of the slats in the blinds, watching the men move slowly but surely through the small crowds on the street below, almost clueless. Like a blind animal searching for its food. Blood hounds. Wolves. Dogs. They would be hunted down, and taken to only God knows where.
“Christ...” they both muttered simultaneously, looking at each other, eyes wide with fear.
[inhealingwaters] logged in, continuing the thread with [LockePik] and began learning more valuable and useful information; about the gray men’s supposed origin, how they can be fooled, and tale-tell signs of their presence - most notably, the great presence of undying fear and paranoia in the guts. As they were about to hit a great breakthrough of information, the forum logged off, completely disappeared, and [inhealingwaters] was unable to log back in, she tried again and again, with Bobby at her side, troubleshooting the best he could, but nothing was seeming to work. They’d get dial tone, they’d dial out, get the carrier signal, and as it was about to fully connect and give them access, it dropped it all, like a wide-receiver with greased hands.
In the five years they had been signing into this server, at all times of the day and night, they had never been booted, or unable to connect. There was some other foul play afoot, here. Finally conceding, and deciding that they had gained enough knowledge from the three individuals who had replied to them and later talked to one on one, most notably the one who seemed to have all the answers, they went to the bedroom and passed out from sheer exhaustion as the first rays of the sun crept slowly over the horizon.
First in fluorescent purples, followed by neon blues and pinks, and finished with the bright golden orange and yellow of the fully-risen sun. As the sun awoke, they went to sleep, with hearts and minds still racing from the four men they saw trolling around outside on the street, in the crisp gray suits and the oversized and ancient car.
The network was simple enough, electronic pulses being sent through a UNIX system, standard-ness to no end, the true ingenuity and genius was in the location of the server - America Online headquarters. The groundwork was laid by one of the first developers of the online service, mythically known as [Trevor], who also supposedly still posted under a slew of aliases in the most obscure of boards, some legends are bullshit, but the one that created the forum was real, and a genius.
The number that was dialed went into the America Online system, through a backdoor that even the current employees and programmers didn’t know existed. If inclined, it was said, one could easily penetrate the actual America Online network and dismantle it from the inside out, without a single security tech knowing the wiser until it was far too late. Many talked about it, but they also never even considered it out of respect for the people the wanna-be hacks preyed upon. Some of the forum members even made patches in the AOL software, weeding out the nastiest of viruses. A Robin Hood mentality so to speak.
Most of the individuals inside were true-hackers, ones who simply poked around the giant networks, not necessarily infesting them with viruses such as the nasty little Trojan. No, they just poked, prodded, adjusted, and took care of their own. They were on the search for knowledge; things to look out for, things worth knowing, and things the Almighty Government does not like the herds to know; like the true identity of the man who assassinated Kennedy, or how Bush Jr. got into office. Little things that were good to know, or just trivial information. Snooping and finding, perhaps - but destruction? Even the worst of the true-ilk frowned upon it. They had been known to, from time to time, in their younger years, or when there was no other option for escape; they could do it, but chose not to.
Most of the forums were divided up locally by state, nothing too specific, because they liked to keep their anonymity, but close enough that what they were saying was relatable. A few, were very broad and read by everyone, for general questions and information. A good majority of the threads were password or number based, with the occasional oddball post about the mafia, chickens, and how they were both tied to the Kennedy assassination. They were a paranoid and untrusting lot, but they were who they were, and no one there looked down upon anyone, unless one of the teenie-bopper hacks weaseled their way in, wanting to be like ZeroCool from the flick ‘Hackers’. There’s one in every bunch, it’s just the way the world was.