Zero Cool-down {Hacker, a BNHA Villain! OC story}

Chapter 1: Good Morning Corruption

After that I checked the status of charge for my devices; My phone on my bed-side table was charging all night so it's easily at 100% charge, my tablet was also charging beside my laptop-...

Well fuck me with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire I forgot to plug in my damn laptop last night.

And I was writing codelines for new ideas all night without even bothering to grab my cable so at best my Laptop's working on less than half of it's juice. I cracked open the screen to check the moment of truth to only be met with the low battery symbol which is NEVER a good thing to see on a laptop you were working with all night, and you weren't sure if you saved all your tabs right so you might've lost a bunch of really good data in the fabric of time and space never to be recovered again!

"You gotta be fucking me."

As if today couldn't go any more wrong, it could! But it can't possibly get worse than this can it!?Anyway, as pissed off as I already was I decided it wasn't the end of the world, plugged in my laptop so it could get at least a little bit of charge if I had to leave and take it with me and stumbled out of my little safe-space bedroom to the kitchen. There was only a short hallway separating my bedroom door from the kitchen entrance so it wasn't a far journey.

In my drunken-like sleepy stepping I made my way to the kitchen not noticing the spare cable I left in near my kitchen counter because there's an outlet near that wall. Huh, another optimal time where I could've plugged in my damn computer to charge it, but again, I didn't. Whatever, it was in the past, and I generally don't hold onto grudges for long anyway. I made my way to my little happy corner where the coffee machine was and pulled out the glass coffee pitcher to bring it to the sink adjacent from that side of the counter to fill it up.

Little did I know I needed that coffee more than I anticipated, as I accidentally tripped on that damn spare cable that trailed across the kitchen floor, fell right over like a drunk teenager that fell of the back of the truck and the pitcher fell right out of my hand onto the tile floor. The dreaded ear-splintering sound of glass shattering and scattering across my kitchen flooded my hazy and heavy head as I was still recovering from the sudden adrenaline rush from the fall. And as one would say, karma's a bitch, because today somehow got even worse.

I got a pretty bad cut on my left palm that stretched all the way from my middle finger to the pulse reading point of my wrist so it was already pissing blood which only made my aggravated panic worse. I got up and somehow managed to get around the scattered pile of glass to my bathroom that was the left door on the hallway on the way to my bedroom. I crouched in front of the bathroom mirror to open the cabinet and sifted through to find my standard first aid kit. Ripping the damn thing open because of my panic I found some antiseptic wipes that I used to clean my cut which stung like a bitch before I wrapped it in gauze and bandages. Tight enough to stop the bleeding, but not too tight so it didn't cut circulation to my fingers.

Yeah, as much as that scared the living hell out of me and only made my already dreadful morning worse, I managed to pull myself together long enough to get my injury under control. Guess I'm not getting coffee from home with a broken coffee pot, fuck that.

I sat there on the bathroom floor and collected my thoughts. What exactly was I gonna do that didn't immediately entail me getting screwed over inevitably?

"Hey Bixby, turn off my music"

Just that sentence shut down the music and the return of the ear-ringing silence of my apartment. I picked myself up and took care of the broken glass in the kitchen before heading back to my room to get a couple of things.

I negotiated with my thoughts and agreed on just going to that small coffee shop that's just a few blocks away for coffee, maybe breakfast too. Maybe that way it'll be a lot easier not to fuck up the rest of my day effortlessly. I pulled my gray and burgundy bomber jacket out of my closet and strapped on my adjustable sneakers. I also put on my protective knee guards because I might decide to put on my roller skates to make it a little more scenic to get to the coffee shop.

Checked the charge of my laptop: 45% charge"Whatever, it'll work for now"

Not needing a motive to be in a worse mood, I closed my laptop and secured it in my bag. I walked back through the chaotic battlefield that was my kitchen floor and picked up the cable I tripped over and stuffed it in my bag. There were definitely public power outlets at the coffee shop and it's a relatively known study-place so of course I could charge my laptop there. I grabbed my headphones and strapped my cassette player to my left thigh. There were a few mixtapes in my laptop bag in case I was feeling a certain way and wanted some tunes. But today, my phone will provide today's music.

Nobody needed to know I fought with my coffee machine this morning, so I put on my artist's gloves to hide my bandages and didn't roll up the sleeves of my jacket. On my way out I saw her propped up against the wall in my entry-way closet. Sasha.

Who's Sasha? My sniper rifle. Do I have a license to carry her? Hell no, but nobody really knows that, and I can just fabricate the verification. I thought, what are the chances that somebody pisses me off so much, that I'd actually think past the impulsive thoughts of killing them?

I pulled up my laptop and just like that, Sasha became nothing but numbers and lines of code, tucked away safe in my mind. But luckily her identification code is logged in my laptop so I know what to remember if I need her.

The bad morning was more than enough to tell me the chances somebody dies today are more than plausible, my bitchery toleration meter has officially reached it's peak. Again, my condolences to the ignorant fool who makes me burst.

Code: Sasha

hjl/assets/weapons/023/501/323/medium/SASHA-sniper-rifle-SA01-kawaii-01