The Last Hacker

The Last Hacker

         There are some people who are unimaginably creative, thinking even when they are not required to think, knowing instinctively how to bend the world to their will. Persuasion is not skill for these people, it is second nature. Multi-tasking is a way of life. These people are rare gems among the monotony of everyday life.
         These people are hackers, and this is the story of their unseen toils. This is the unveiling of the hidden allegory behind the world of technology.

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         Bluish light shone from the screen, illuminating the frowning face of Ian Cunnings. Tension was in the air, suppressing the recent celebratory sentiment. The room became stiflingly hot within minutes. Ian wanted to open a window, yet he could not leave his computer for any amount of time.
         The constant tap, tap of his fingers on the keyboard never once subsided except to allow Ian’s right hand access to the mouse. Sweat poured down his face. Someone was on his trail, and he had a feeling whoever it was wasn’t his friend. Even if it was, he couldn’t take the chance. Too many of his kind had disappeared in the past year for risks to be taken.
         At first, the online communities had suspected that security had just been tightened. No big deal, they had said, the hackers will find a crack in the system within a week. They didn’t. In fact, some of Ian’s correspondents never showed up on the net again. That was when he started getting suspicious.
         After countless times getting close to the answer and many friends simply disappearing from the internet, Ian knew something was afoot. The general public would never know, they were too gullible and dim-witted to even guess. But he and his friends would get to the bottom of it, and avenge their fallen brethren.
         Well, that’s what they had said. Hackers defend hackers, no matter what the odds. But soon enough, there were only a few of them left, mostly hiding in the anonymity of new email addresses. None of them fought the government’s security anymore, save Ian.
         As he wrapped up his work, a loud knock came from downstairs. Ian started. Had they traced him? Quickly, he typed “erase RAM cache” and shut down his computer. A small screen on his desk showed a video feed of his front porch. There was a man in a uniform waiting for him, gun in hand.
In a way, it made him proud. They suspected him a big enough threat to arrest him at gun-point. The other part of him was scared. The man pressed a button near his door. It was the intercom.
         “Mr. Cunnings, this is FedEx. We have a package for you.”
         Good, they didn’t know about the video-cam. “Be right there,” he said hurriedly. He looked towards the window, picked up his laptop, and began to formulate an escape plan.

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To: [e-mail] [ONLINE]
From: [e-mail] [ONLINE]

We need to talk. They’re on to me. I know you said you’d never do it, but they’re going to get me. Something’s afoot. LAX at 4:00 p.m. Sunday. Meet me at Encounter.

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MORE TO COME