Cipher

One

I think about how long until they create artificial sunlight. It's not far away. I scowl at the cracked window, at the white paint along its border chipping off.

I push a hand through my hair, the water slipping out and down my wrist, then trailing a path down my back, and survey the flat. The floorboards creak with every breath I take, the walls have rainwater seeped in, the paint over them bubbling over, threatening to fall any moment off, the bed a sad little wooden snare - with a mattress that is perhaps much less depressing than the rest of my flat because of the recent mattress formula they created a few years back. It's the cheapest yet most satisfying thing.

The only thing interesting in this hovel other than my spectacular mattress and the Autosic- the electric board that hovers half a feet above ground- is my AirN3. The notebook, sitting in all its shining glory at a desk I brought in as soon as I bought this hovel.

Wiping my wet palm against the denim hanging loosely on my waist, I walk forward and grab the notebook off the table. I open the program holding the last of my huntings- the last I tried to look for it anymore. I bring up a page that displays the specifically crafted cyberbounty page. My eyes scan the page quickly, stopping at the latest entry, an offering prize of 2349 notes. I do a quick calculation and find that the dollar equivalent is exactly 160000.

This is by far the biggest bounty they have put up. Ever.

A bubble of excitement begins to rise up inside my chest, lifting my gloomy mood a bit as I look deeper into the page for the document. 2349 notes. I could win this. Easy peasy, I could finally get to paint the walls a bit. Or perhaps I could leave this city. The flashback of Scotland Highlands hits me abruptly. I press a hand to my mouth as I try to stop it; the swirling black mass of desire for freedom to a place untouched by the destruction that is humanity.

I close my eyes and force myself to let go of the eerily realistic memory of the Highlands.

Somewhere deep in the crevices of my mind, I am aware that the bounty comes across as something too good to be true, but I discard that thought- because this is as official as it gets. A password is daily replaced, one all the bounty hunters have to crack through to gain access to the site. The Government does not want the unwarranted attention of all the guileless people of the country to land on the problems they might look too deep into. The cracks through the perfect facade. Which is brilliant, because often bounty hunters don't spare a thought that would distract them from the ultimate goal; the bounty prize. The money is all that matters.

I do a mental wipe of anything unnecessary that would shift my attention before focusing on the screen of the notebook once again. That's when I finally get the visuals to fade. All my attention is now held by this little screen of my AirN3. 

I keep staring. The incredulousness of the situation hits me after a couple of blinks.

"What the...?" I mutter disbelievingly as my eyes roam the illuminated screen, unblinking. I keep trying to scroll- a futile attempt, though unable to stop. There must be something, there should be something but... nothing.

There is no data.

No input.

No likeable places to search for it, no websites to help us look for the file. In the page, under the bounty, only one description is given.

Document name: TRESDQ.jv.

Beyond that- a clean blank slate.

I curse under my breath. This is... this is sick. 2349 notes. Of course, the government wouldn't just hand over a sum like that without a purpose. Whatever this document is, it is important. Of course, every goddamn document or piece of paper they put on as the bounty is important, all of it impossible to decode and break into. The government keeps track of us while we keep track of all those after the bounty. As soon as one finds the package, the government officials are there to have it. Before that, they keep a close eye to the person who holds it. Shields of all sorts are applied to the documents before they are in their possession, so no one can access them.

I tried once. Aware of their tactics, I kept quiet. I am supremely good at disappearing. The lunatics put in Shields after Shields- the time it took me to break through one, another was already waiting. The female who accepted the file though seemed thoroughly enlightened after I let her find me finally, because they had given me an ultimatum; surrender government property or suffer six months in jail. That bounty was the second most important document. The bounty was 1500 notes. I won it two years back.

Since then, I haven't tried retrieving any other bounties. Even if I keep tracking them, even if it's good money, I cannot seem to move forward and claim that bounty reward. I don't know, maybe it's the insecurity of where the government might put me if I decided to be defiant, so yeah, that's probably what's stopping me from wreaking a havoc around their artificial world.

Though today, I want to go after a package, because again- 2349 notes: irresistible.

But this. I keep staring at the one lined bounty detail. As if staring at the eight alphabets would somehow magically change it. Add more description to it.

I feel furious at the government. I am gritting my teeth so hard I think my jaw will come unhinged, not that I really care.

This is a joke. It has to be.

I slam my fist against the mahogany desk in frustration. My thoughts calm slightly as the familiar sensation of pain roams over my knuckles. In my life, there's only the government, and there's me. It is always my unending irritation with them and them tracking my every move. I have Shields all around my own database, but this little act of rebellion appears flimsy against the government. Expert hackers are employed from all over the world and I am one self-taught hacker. The Shields I put on myself are reliable though. The government would not enter what I don't want to share.

And I have too much that I'd rather not share.

As the pounding in my hand slowly abates, I continue to watch the eight lettered detail. The empty paleness around the twenty-one lettered bounty is making me want to break something. It doesn't let me think, it just continues to mock me.

You cannot crack this you cannot crack this you cannot crack this you cannot cra-

I get up, dress, sling the Autosic over the back and exit the stuffy flat.