Burn Code

Four

I left Fesserton’s place after telling him I'd think on it. Programming a longer route for the cab ride home, I accessed the case files he gave me as I slouched in the back seat.

I ignored the photographs. The case notes themselves were chilling enough.

Nothing was known about Grendel other than the name. Two kills were directly tagged, but a half a dozen others were associated because of the gruesome methods utilized.

Beyond turning medical devices into killing machines, he mutilated tech. A pharmacist had bled to death with his tattoos carved from his body. A mother was blinded after her optics fused to her corneas.

None of his victims revolved in the same circles — it was as if he had randomly chose them. A man in a check out line at a store. A woman waiting for a cab.

A manifesto was left behind in the data stores of one of his victims. Outlined inside was his amusement at humanity in general. He took great pride in his control of life and death. To him, they were nothing more than tools to research just how dependent on technology we had become.

Companies made billions selling software to paranoid people who were afraid of being hacked but used nanotech regardless. Majority were safe if they used it for mediocre means — emailing and texting loved ones, making phone calls, ordering things from legitimate shops.

Immersion sites took the tourism industry to new levels. Directly channeled into a user’s optics, one could fly planes and travel to the most luxurious locales without even leaving the living room. It was great for socializing — host a party for two-hundred of your closest friends without the clean up or cost of catering.

More socially deviant pastimes also used nanotech. The waning pornography industry saw renewed interest in utilizing immersion tech. Users paid extraordinary amounts to virtually screw their favorite actors or actresses. The ones that traveled in those circles were more likely to be hacked simply because more ports were accessed and utilized. It’s how I made money as a virtual dancer and I had no qualms about exploiting it.

But instead of hacking those that made immersion porn a life choice and not an occasional dalliance, Grendel targeted every day people. In a way his torture and murder methods said no one was safe.

I opened my club again that night once I got home. Passing off Fesserton’s visit as a harassment call, I lured back in my usual customers.

Motion sensing cameras relayed my movements to the avatar I used. As I danced, she gyrated on stage. I left one of my optics on my computer screen, tracking the port sniffer as it combed my virtual crowd. A few clients paid extra for me to trigger their stim tattoos — I targeted them first. The repeat customers I ignored since it wouldn’t do me any good to continually rip them off. What kept them coming was that I’d only occasionally skim so my pattern stayed hidden.

All told, I skimmed four complete account numbers and countless direct access ports to sell to the troller companies before I finally closed shop at three AM. On top of the few thousand in profits from entry fees, it had been a profitable evening and a decent distraction.

A message from Fesserton waited for me in my private email. I hesitated before opening it. Another potential victim of Grendel’s stared at me from the file jacket. He had targeted the cochlear implants of a fifteen year old boy.

Help me catch this guy, Cara.

That was all he wrote in the header.

I sat on it one more day before replying.

Bring the offer. You know where I am.

“I’m not doing this for you,” I said when he showed up on my doorstep an hour later.