Mickey lay back in his chair... The only light in the room was that of his computer screen. He noted the screen size. 24". It was smaller than the last one.
"I'll buy a new one.." he thought. He could buy many more. He was rich. He pressed a button on his designer Nokia and it lit up. No message or call. Still... It was only 1.20 A.M. The designated time was 1.30.

Mickey sighed deeply and extracted a cigar. Smoking comforted him. He could buy the best cigars in the world. Ride the best cars. Have the best girls. He was young. He was rich. There was very little he could not do.

One of them was gain his love.

How many people had he killed to get his way? he could no longer remember. His trades were many. He hated competition, and competition was high. But his tools were many too. He would get what he want. Or destroy it.

Again he checked the phone. It was fast becoming a habit. Still nothing. He lay back in his chair, closed his eyes and let the tobacco soothe him. This was taking too much time, this job. None of the others had taken this long. But then again, none of his previous jobs were carried out by "newbies". This job was special. This newbie special. This victim too, in a way, was special.

Which brought his thoughts onto the victim. Or at least, victim-to-be. She was a female, in her late teens, most likely. Internet savvy like most people of her age. He did not know her personally. In fact he hardly knew her at all. A person with sympathy might even feel bad that she was involved in one of the cruelest Internet related murder. Her sin: She attracted the attention of the guy he loved.

He did not know this guy very well, but that had not mattered. He had come up to him asking for job. In Mickey's line of work, there was a perpetual vacancy for new guys. Mickey wanted him close. Mickey would keep him close.

He opened his eyes and surveyed the display. It showed a webpage: The Endless Void. Not many knew of it. Even fewer remained sane after being there. It was a place of wickedness, black magic cultists, drug addicts... the usual people found in his profession. Mickey smiled. The Void was where they had met. Him and his assassin. A few internet chats resulted into meets and eventually this.

A name flashed across the screen, in the Live Chat box. She was still alive. The girl who had dared to 'borrow' his love away from him. But no matter.

He had killed his own mother because she refused to let him buy a toy when he was young. He could not bear people getting in his way. However, he had long learned that such small matters like people interfering could be handled with ease. He had watched for days as his love and the girl chat longer and longer. His Love preferred her over him. Mickey knew he had to do something about it. His resolution made stronger when He started wondering if they could meet up. She said no. But Mickey knew it was a matter of time.

He had his people find out her address and other details. He probably knew the girl better than her parents. Mickey smiled again, staring at the name. Soon...

Then He came to him and hesitantly asked for a job. He needed money. Mickey had money. Mickey had a job. Mickey wanted vengeance.

The girl typed: be right back...

five minutes later, his phone beeped: A message.

Mickey read the two words: "Its done"

He smiled, lay back and closed his eyes... what better death than the one given by your lover? Even if its just a virtual love....

Smoke circles. They are very entertaining. Especially when you have to stay inside a rundown apartment for 3 days and you have forgotten to take your usual supply of Playboy. I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, think about the assignment. It had been 4 days back that I got a call. The number was unknown, but only three people had known this number and two of them were dead. By my hand.

It wa a short conversation. One sided. I was given the target's name and address. This flat was recommended as the temporary accommodation. Price was good. Not upto my usual standard, but I wasn't expecting to be get a job after that motherfudgeer Shady Incident. How long has it been since then? My scars say, not much.

I had reached this flat without incident and set up my gear. It was evident that my employer, some pocky who worked for the new Mafia lord, Mickey, was not in FBI or the CIA. How do I know that? Well, the flat did not give a good view of my hit area. That was fine. I could improvise. Secondly, they forgot to mention that the real tenant was to return today. I looked across the room, by the door. There lay a body bound by restrains. It was not moving. Oh yeah, it also had a bullet hole in its head. I thought "Sorry John.. nothing personal.. well not that it matters now..."

I looked back up at the ceiling. I was feeling a little jittery. The Shady Incident had left me near death. Jadore helped me regain my confidence, but I had not undertaken something so big since the Shady Fiasco.

I focused on the current facts: My target was an celebrity named Diego. Apparently, he was popular. He was also using his rallies to spread message of peace and bullchocolate, and drawing attention to popularly unpopular government policies. They never change,celebrities, politicians, lawyers, academics... According to them, everything they do is fair. Well.. not my job to comment.
My instructions were clear: Diego was to die. Headshot. No to electronics gadgets that can be traced. Payment to be credited in my account after the job was completed.

I glanced at my watch. It was a cheap digital one. It said 18:30. Time to get to work.

I quickly assembled the brand new M109 Anti-Materiel Payload Rifle, even the Army didn't use this yet. I moved out to the terrace from where the venue of the rally was seen, 1500 meters away. The M109 had a range of 2000m. I could not miss. I lined up for my shot and saw through the telescope that already people had crowded for a show. They would get a show alright. That of the 25mm armor piercing round blowing up Diego's head.

18:53. Diego had come in his car and was out now and waving his hand, moving towards the stage. I could get him now. But I would wait till 7...

18:55: I have assumed a new name. People call me as Derek Damian Tanks. I quite like the name... It was suggested by my sole contact in the Underground. No James Bond lifestyle for me.
18:57: I recieve msgs addressed to a Ded@7.
18:59: Diego was at the podium. My crosshairs on his forehead. You know, Ded@7 and my new name have ben derived from the fact that I exclusively kill at 7... Ded @ 7... DErek DAmian Tanks. Diego's lips were moving. My trigger finger tightened a little...
19.00..  

He loved the chant of his name. Diego... Diego... Diego...

People loved him. Adored him. Worshipped him. He was the King. He was the Diego.

He looked out out of his car window and saw the city speed by. It was practically his city. What he said, happened.

He studied his reflection in the window. The girls sure had a reason to go crazy over him.

It was soon after he launched his career with the utterly unorthodox band, The Beatbox Midgets that he knew the path of his life.

Superstardom.

He knew the power and influence celebrities had. He wanted it all. Money, fame, luxury, sex... all of it.

Soon after the fame, came local rights groups. Animal rights, social rights, human rights... so many things had Rights nowadays, that it was a wonder that they lived together.

But they all paid him under the table. He had to show the face of a charitable individual. They would write his script, he would speak it out with passion. People would cheer. He would get money. It was a fair trade.

Some Security people had called up his assistant to warn him about the possibilty of strike on his life. Fools. Everyone loves me. I am the Lord of the Beatbox Midgets. I will never die.

He looked across his seat. His assistant sat there, looking out the other window. She had many qualities that he liked. Smart, hard-working, caring, good stats and good in bed. But most important, she did not get all chummy and lovey-dovey. No matter how many girls he bedded, he could still have her, the next afternoon.
She practically ran his Public life. He had not carried a phone on his person since the Fame.

"So... is this rally worth anything?" he said. She looked at him and smiled. Mr. Pocky woke up.
"Not really. Our client wants you to address the war and its irrelevance. You've read what I wrote for you."

Not good. He didn't like to do such things for cheap. He had left the cheap life long back.

He glanced at her boobs, pushing against her designer shirt, her short skirt and then at his Cartier. He was early, for a change. He liked to arrive in style. Late.

"Do I look good?" he asked. He had been in Bahamas to get a tan. He was handsome. He ensured that he stayed that way.
"Yes, D"

The car took a turn and he saw that they had reached the venue. He could see is posters. Yes... This was life. People must have been screaming his name, but he could not hear due to the sound insulation in his limo. He could see the flashes of the cameras. It was about time. He leaned forward, toward his assistant, who complied, kissed her gently, caressed her breast lightly and then sat back and smoothe his jacket. Armani.

The car stopped and a moment later, his door opened. He was greeted to a roar of screaming fans. Chanting his name. He got out as more flashes started going out with increasing regularity. Superstar. He waved to the public.


He slowly walked up to the stage. Savoring this moment. He had experienced this many times, but it was his drug. More was never enough.

"I am the King." he thought.

He reached the podium and looked out towards the people. He could not see them due to the lights on him, but that did not matter. They could see him.

He spoke:
"Hello, friends... here, and everywhere... welcome!" Panache... the roaring crowd approved. He waited for them to quiten down. He surveyed them (or at least where he thought they were) with his dazzaling smile. He glanced at his Cariter again. It was almost 7 P.M.

The crowd was still roaring, calling out his name. This was the life. No one could take it away from him.

He was immortal!

Code Name: osnap1584
Type: Recon

---

osnap sat back in his seat and let his hands fall away from the control Unit. Despite his customisation, the robot was not moving as smoothly as it ought to. He was Type Recon. The silent watchers. His team leader had set a simple objective for him, observe the enemy mecha units from Grid 2, while remaining unseen, and report total number of enemy mech units, active artillery and key establishments. It was his job to gather intel.

But something was wrong, the HUD scrambled at random intervals, distorting his view. Add to that, the fact that his controls were not being smooth. Twice he ran into trees because his mech refused to turn. At least he had not encounters enemy RADRs. The Rapid Assault Deployment Robots were heavy duty. Their weapons would shred his light armor. Type RECON was intended to be quick and silent. Its weapons were good enough to deal with ground troops, light armored vehicles and mechanised units, though if he struck silently without being seen. A simple RPG would cause a break in his armor. Type RECONs special ability was Human Soul Factor. A stealth mode which erased all metallic and inorganic signatures on the Advanced Grid Mapping System, instead giving him the signature of a ground troop. As most AGMS were perpetually so calibrated to identify only Mech units to avoid clusters of Ground Troops, he was practically invisible to RADRs and others Mech units. Furthermore, they had advanced cloaking to make them blend in the environment. His Type RECON had the most advanced cloaking available. If he stayed still in shadows, no one would notice him there, unless they walked into him. Type RECONs were also the quickest mech units. RADRs had approximately 3 cannon shots before a RECON out maneuvered them and sped away. RECONs relied on speed. Not weapons.

But for that to happen, he needed the controls to be responsive. Else, it was a suicide.

His earpiece crackled: "osnap, be advised, RADRs spotted near your current grid. Uploading data."
"copy, TL. Reached Destination. Waiting for further instructions." osnap was crouched on a hilltop. 2000 meters away was the enemy base camp.
"stand by, getting in position for preemptive strike"
"Roger. Scanning enemy camp." He hit the key and his HUD changed to Zoom Scanner. He located the enemy camp and zoomed. Again, his HUD started acting weird. It would stick at one point then suddenly accept double commands and zoom 4x. He cursed under his breath. Finally, he got the appropriate zoom, and started scanning the enemy camp. The pan was very slow and it took him time to move his scope. The system was not responding.

"TL, what is the status on those RADRs?"
"I see them in your grid, but I can't sya exactly where they are, with ref to you. Where are you?"
"Hilltop ledge, scanning enemy camp"
"HOLY Spoon! GET OUT OF THERE! THERE IS A RADR RIGHT NEXT TO YOU! AT THAT RANGE, HE'LL SPOT YOU!!"
"WHAT?!!"

osnap tried to cancel zoom, but the system wasn't responding.
"FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!"

Finally, the HUD switched to normal view. Just in time for osnap to see a Black RADR jump up the ledge, swing its laser sword towards him and strike....

---

He exhaled out slowly, and got up. He needed to pee..

He looked back at his screen and saw the message "You were killed. Game over. You cannot respawn till your team completes the mission or fails or restarts the mission. Send restart request? Yes | No"

Fuck...

He thought to himself... "I need more RAM and a nice graphics card..."

---

game over.

I was thinking... that thinking is good for the mind. There are all sorts of things to think. Good things, bad things, indifferent things, philosophical things, religious things, sex things... ooo... yes... that is a good topic to think about. After all, its hard to think about any other thing when you are lying back on the sand, on a Nude beach, with LOTS of chicks around, wouldn't you agree? I could see all sorts of chicks. Since you ask, I'll classify them: There were Big Boobs, Small boobs, big donkey, tiny donkey, tall and skinny, tall and curvy, short and skinny, short and curvy.. (decency prohibits me from going into more detail... your fault that you were not there.. so... ). It must have been some sort of group trip or something cause a whole lot of these babes were wearing red bikinis. What was left of the red bikinis in any case.

They were running here and there. Playing all sorts of games. Some were single and alone, some with their boyfriends (the bastards) who were having a hard time (in all senses), while the others were moving around in groups. I watched them all closely. Studying. Thinking.. remember?

I was watching a group of girls ( No, I would watch guys as well, as a part of my study, but its just that guys are so dull... ahem...) playing beach volleyball, when it happened. It was totally unexpected and, understandably, caught me off-guard. I could not think what the next course of action should be. Here I was in my reverie. I was watching babes without clothes for free, without the Net (No... you perverts... I am not thinking in those lines... I'm a professional when it comes to studies. Making casual comments on the pics subtly clicked by the Polaroid ([/i]Professional, remember?[/i]), when this was to happen. No... it must be a joke of some sort. I could not believe it. I must be dreaming! There is no other possible explanation!

It was terrible.

No...

What you ask? No, I cannot say. It would entirely freak you out, and remembering the trauma again would be too horrible for me. But... ok. I shall share it with you. The great tragedy that befell me on the fateful day.

As I said, I was busy taking pics with my Polaroid, when suddenly... out of the blue...

My battery went dead.

There is a problem in being a Professional Hacker. Everyone knows you.

At least the people you'd rather not have you know, know you. Of course, I'm referring to the so called Authorities. They gave me work, occasionally. Testing the solidity of a new setup, penetration testing, "legal" hacking,.. etc. They would pay well. Not as much as the private parties, maybe, but it kept me rich. But all this fame sort of ensured that I do not engage my talents in ways which, lets say, would be tough for them to react to.

The second problem is that you tend to cross off the people you'd rather not cross off. Although, my employment would always be carried out under pseudonyms ans aliases, lets face it, Police are pretty stupid and getting information out of them is a job that probably a toddler might fail to do. Soon after my last assignment, which involved hacking into the computer of the new Mafioso's right hand man, some Squee666, and extracting all information about their deeds. Apparently, the Police labeled their deeds as "Illegal". I won't comment. Each man to his own. It was a simple enough job. Not requiring all the skills that I possessed, I managed to locate him on a weird site, the Endless Void. Obtaining his IP from their was no biggie. Either this guy had no fear of hackers or simply didn't thing that he could be hacked, sitting behind all his firewalls and intrusion prevention software.

As I scanned his ports for a weakness, I marveled. It was a formidable security system. For a kid who had just been given his first computer. People actually feel relaxed by installing a couple of firewalls and antivirus programs. Its like almost insulting the skills that a real hackers possesses. A great hacker ones said: "If its built, it can be hacked." No software firewall was gonna stop me. It may have been a little more interesting if he had had a hardware firewall installed. But then again, he had no reason to. Squee666 was his internet alias. No one in real life was supposed to know that it was him in real life. How I came by it is a no-brainer. There are a million ways to find that out. In fact, finding that out had been my last assignment.

It was not long before his node had become a zombie. I took care so as to not alert him. No antivirus warning flashed, the firewall did not notice a successful intrusion attempt. He did not notice that I had taken over his machine. Soon after, I had copied the contents of his hard drive onto my SCSI setup. All of it. Pictures, Documents, OS files, hershey kisses everything. It would be analysed by the authorities and they would deem what was illegal and what was not. They'd probably keep the hershey kisses and purge the rest. After all... they did not know how to get free hershey kisses. Poor people.

I had completed that assignment efficiently, 100% sure that I had not left any fingerprints on any network or on his computer. I had taken all possible precautions. I was sure, I would remain unknown to Squeee666 and his bunch of hackers. The Non-legals ones. The ones who got all the fun.

But I was mistaken. As I said, face it. Police are dumb. Someone undoubtedly muttered of a hacker named MehHakker. Because that was the only possible solution to understand the events that had occurred today. MehHakker was about to die. I could not do a rat's donkey worth anything about it. I gulped. Counting the time until Squeee extracted his revenge. That thought gave me a chill. I tried to think of a plan. Nothing came up. Ones a alias is busted, good hackers waste very little time in finding out the face behind that mask, his address, credentials, bank accounts, personal details, even his vital stats, if they can find it. Some may even hazard a guess about the size of their targets manliness or womanliness. Once that happens... everyone has seen Die Hard 4.0. That was no exaggeration.

I felt sad. The reality catching up with me. MehHakker will die... all his genius and fame with him....

I closed my eyes. Running was futile. Soon... I'd feel nothing. I went to my window, and pulled the curtain aside a little. It had been long since I had stepped outside. I could see a building in front of me. I glanced down to the ground and saw a van. It dod not belong there. I see... its time... I wondered how they would act. The {delete} button scenario was a bit too obvious. I waited. There was a knock on my door.I sighed and closed my eyes, went to the door, opened it and five minutes later sat down on the sofa eating a pizza.

That evening, my neighbor came to my room
"Hey Euan.."
"Sup!"
"Do you know about the incident in the next building?"
"Incident?"
"Yeah... you know that guy Dexter? he was killed this morning..."
"What? how?"  
"Dunno. Cops all over the place. I think someone broke into his apartment and shot his balls off with a silenced pistol."
"how do you know?"
"Didn't hear any shots, did you?"

After he had left, I sat down on my sofa. And I smiled.

Another great hacker ones said. "The greatest hacker is the one who no one knows exists."

Too bad...

Squee, as people him called him, was smoking a cigar, driving an Audi. He didn't particularly like cigars, but they signified status. Not that he needed to stoop to cigars to exhume his power. Not at all. He was wearing an Armani suit, Rolex, Xperia, Audi... he had lot many things to show off his power. But he needed none of those. The name was power onto itself. Being the Mafia boss's right hand man had its own advantage.

He hated Mickey. The fart was gay, obsessed with the internet, indecisive for most part and in general, a pain the the donkey. A major one. Not to mention that he had already lost interest in ruling the Dark Underworld. He was also Squee's only living relative. Long back, Squee had killed everyone else. No one but he knew why. Mickey, his cousin, didn't ask why. He just made use of that dangerous skill. In the first year that Squee spent under the protection of Mickey, he was given the job of killing three other major crime lords. Squee had finished the job. That was that.

That had been 5 years back. Now was now. He had almost taken over the entire operations from Mickey. Secretly, of course. Mickey's men respected him to the point of stupidity. Squee had no intention of losing so many men, by going against Mickey. He didn't need to. Mickey slowly started going into "retirement" due to his new f ound obsessions. He slowly and steadily put Squee in charge of all the major businesses. All was going well.

Until two nights ago.

Squee had a weakness. Like most men with money, his pocky seemed to never have had enough. And like with all men with money, there was no lack of bitches with fudgeable pussies to be found at an arm's distance. That night had been particularly wild. There was booze, weed, three girls, Squee and a lot of sex. Any man would have become careless. That is the simple curse of Testosterone. While he dozed in fine slumber, he forgot that he had not logged off his computer. The internet was still connected. that fudgeed up site was still on the screen.

"Fuck Mickey!" he thought as he drove. "What the fudge did he need to find a fudgeing homo on that fudgeing site. And why the fudge did he want me to keep an eye on the meatstick and his bitch! FUCK!!

Squee was an expert in computers. The moment he woke up with a major hangover and sat in front of the screen, he knew something was wrong. It took him several moments to read the notice flashing on his screen.

".........Network Transfer Wizard..................
File Copy complete: Total Files Copied: 22334565 (345 GB).
Network Destination Connection Lost. Click Find to rediscover"

What.... the..... fudge....

Squee had installed this program for one purpose only: To pop up if someone tried to copy anything over a network.

He sighed and exhaled the smoke. He really did not like cigars. The shock of knowing that all his files were compromised, had still not left him. If Mickey found out, no one would ever see Squee ever again. The man was a jackass, but he was a powerful jackass.

Still, Squee was just as powerful. He pulled up his car to a stop, and lowered his window and looked out. Before him was the Police Department Cyber Crime Division. Presently, a policeman came out, carrying a case of some sort. He barely even glanced at the Audi parked at little distance, got into an unmarked car and drove off. Squee followed him into an alley. It was empty. It had been decided earlier.

The police guy was sitting in his car, eyes staring through the rear view mirror. As soon as Squee's car stopped, he got out and ran almost ran back to meet him. Squee studied him from over his Gucci sunglasses.
"So?"
"Yea. I have the tapes. With every fudgeing last record of your activities and your plans. I got your hershey kisses and hell.. I even got your OS files. If all clean, you'll be in for pirated OS." The police man smirked. Such moments were rare.
"And do your people know of it? Any copies made? The deal is off, with your balls, if any copies survive." Squee didn't need to use a threatening tone. His polite speech was enough to make this dickhead piss, spoon and kiss his own donkey, all at the same time. The policeman swallowed.
"Whatever. As a matter of fact, I'm supposed to be on my way to hand over this case to the Forensic department. No one had made any copies. But I want double. Its not easy for a bad cop to disappear easily, you know."
"And what of the Hacker?"
"I have the name, but I want another $100000 for that. Its a secret you see." This policeman was pushing all the wrong buttons.
"Fine."
"Its some goon called MehHakker. That's all I know. Oh fudge!" Squee smiled and quick as a snake, pulled out his silenced pistol and shot the cop in the head three times. Blood splattered on the car. Sheez!

Two men came running from behind. Squee shut his eyes.

"Boss, that was not planned!" said one man. Squee just smiled and glanced at the corpse. The second man broke open the case and removed a hard drive, put it in a portable case and plugged it into a laptop. After a few moments, he looked up and nodded. Squee looked at the corpse again and thought:

"Always get the money and security first, motherfudgeer!"

Now... to take care of this MehHakker.

Squee removed his Xperia, wondering if the suit caught some blood, and dialed a number.