A̶ ̶S̶W̶I̶F̶T̶ ̶C̶R̶A̶C̶K̶ ̶O̶F̶ ̶M̶Y̶ ̶N̶E̶C̶K̶ ̶F̶R̶E̶E̶D̶
it up, allowing me to dive back into the metadata analysis unfolding before me without any more stiffness holding me back.
Despite the weight of my heavy boots, I can still sense the chill seeping through the floor, but it doesn't faze me much; the cold running through my veins could freeze that icy floor solid, like I'm living in Elsa's fucking Frozen kingdom.
I sensed a slight buzz in my sleek black pants and swiftly grabbed it, but instead of unlocking it, I casually placed it on the desk next to my keyboard.
They know I'm not one to pick up when I'm knee-deep in work, so they're wise to keep quiet and refrain from making my phone buzz for a second time;
On my way back from the phone, I took a moment to swipe my hand across my face, hoping to shake off the fatigue from hours of screen time that had me glued to the display.
Man, fucking human frailties like needing sleep always leave me frustrated, thinking about all the missed opportunities to do something productive in the meantime, nothing groundbreaking though.
As I reached up, I smoothed down my hair, taming the chaos on my forehead, until my hand found the fabric of my hood, enveloping my head snugly.
Taking a quick breather amidst the meta-analysis grind, I leaned back in my seat, crossing my eyes and letting them roam over the screens that were doing all the heavy lifting for me, verifying the latest info I'd gathered;
"Anthony Gomez's latest information has been effectively incorporated into Quantum's Metabase," — The smooth hum of robotic voices filled my ears, serenading me with the symphony of a successful tech operation, coaxing a slight smile to curl up on the corner of my lips, satisfied.
"And that's precisely why I adore technology so damn much," — Cracking my knuckles, I leaned in, my eyes glued to the main screen as my fingers danced effortlessly across the keyboard, swiftly summoning Anthony Gomez's full profile display without skipping a beat;
"There have been no updates in Anthony's recent activity," — Once again, the automated voice chimed in, unveiling more detailed files — "He hasn't handled any cases in the past ten months, with the majority of his responsibilities being managed by Max Cooper."
"The FBI, minus their top dog, starts spilling the beans on how the empire is basically a house of cards, but it's coming out real slow and steady," — With a subtle flash of my teeth, my tongue teasingly glided across the pristine surface — "Lucky for me, patience is practically my middle name."
"Keep in mind, Anthony's public support and trust are on a steady rise, soaring to levels far beyond where they were just a year ago," — The loading page began to spin — "When comparing his public survey results from a year ago to now, it's evident that his position has only grown stronger."
"Dude's got the whole world in his hands, so having him is like owning the world," — Checking out his stats, I gnawed on the end of my pen, letting out a menacing chuckle.
Flipping to another tab to check out Mr. Head of Dogs' stats, I dove deeper into the info rabbit hole, finding more evidence to back up my suspicions. Turns out, not only does he have a ton of social backing and trust, but he's also got politicians from every corner—even ones you'd think would be against him—lining up to support him.
No shocker there, politicians are just jittery chihuahuas in fancy attire, willing to do whatever it takes to climb higher up the ladder, inching closer to those cushy lifetime seats as senators or congressmen.
These are the ones that really grind my gears. Lazy, suck-up attention-seekers, living it up in whorehouses while their partners handle the real work at home, all the while pretending to care about public issues; meanwhile, they're just lining their pockets with more and more cash, indulging in drugs, booze, and partying like there's no tomorrow.
Am I hating on them for pulling all that off? Nah, not really. It's more about how they flaunt their intentions without even trying to hide them, yet they still get labeled as heroes. Truth is, there's nothing that truly sets them apart from us, except for the fact that we're tagged as villains while they're hailed as heroes.
Heroes and villains, the classic tale; it's funny how from day one, kids are spoon-fed this simplistic and shallow narrative. Parents read them these lovely tales packed with despicable behavior from ugly, treacherous, snake-like villains, wagging their fingers in warning, drilling into their heads to steer clear of such paths, lest they become just like those dreadful antagonists.
Checking out those heroes up there, it's no wonder they always cook up these edgy anti-heroes to face off against the pristine do-gooders. Some of these characters, who stands behind the most clichéd tales, could probably shatter a mirror into a million pieces with just a smile. So, at least they make themselves look good on paper, getting back at the bad guys by leaving scars on the villains, sending a clear message to kids to steer clear of them.
The deeper I dive down there, the clearer it becomes; heroes not only steal our chance at a "happily ever after," but they also make sure to set themselves apart with our divine, otherworldly aura of beauty, probably as some sort of revenge, from what I can gather.
You can disagree all you want, I don't give a fuck, but once you get a taste of that morally murky vibe, there's no coming back from that slice of that inappropriately sweet and pleasant kind of hell.
Tales of superheroes and Prince Charmings saving the world are for the goody-two-shoes, conformist types, fitting snugly into society's cookie-cutter roles. They're like dull little girls just waiting to be trapped in the web of perfect lies, perpetuating the age-old tradition of pigeonholing people based on gender and "shoulds."
This whole drill started way back, way before the eternal fairytale of a God, designed to keep everyone as scared, obedient puppets dancing to the tune of the Big Guy's gaze. And let's be real, that gaze has always been the weapon of choice for anyone following religious leaders.
But here's the kicker; those same God-fearing folks would gladly tear you to shreds if they caught wind of any insult aimed at their Big Dude.
We're all cut from the same cloth, just wearing different, official masks—some good, some evil.
We're all ready to sin, but their weakness leads them to spill their guts to some random dude in a confessional booth, who's struggling not to doze off while they unload their curses, family dramas, and drug issues for the hundredth time.
He'll slap them with a quick "May almighty God have mercy on you, and having forgiven your sins, lead you to eternal life. Amen" and throw in a generic task to do a good deed—probably one of the fifteen he's been dishing out for the past fifty years, just mixed up so it sounds fresh.
Just hearing that knock of his finger against the wooden wall, it's like theirs pulling the release cord, and suddenly their conscience can finally breathe easy. It's only when others confirm it, that's when they start to feel absolved, truly free.
They all are just puppets on a string, letting anyone—even their imaginary pals—yank them around.
Meanwhile, instead of groveling before the messengers of God, we're just soaking it all in, wondering why we actually didn't try harder.
Here, on the other side, there's the dark side, for people who have outgrown the shallow, cliché narratives and crave something real, something that'll truly make them feel alive.
"Data collection hit a snag while trying to gather information on Elena Gomez and Jake Danford. No activity was detected."
Even with the soothing hum of mechanical glitches in the background, hearing that announcement from the bot still managed to tick me off, prompting an eye-roll as I shifted my attention to the two screens beside me;
Elena Gomez and Jake Danford, ruling the fairy tale scene, sweethearts, the poster children of goodness, setting the standard for all to follow.
Their saccharine act nearly had me emptying my guts, but I reined it in, reminding myself I'd just splurged on a new keyboard; top of the line, displaying stars at night in the place of keys.
A whim.
It'd be a shame to cloud that celestial view with lingering, inner smog.
I've been around this block long enough to confidently say there ain't a more pathetic and utterly ridiculous couple on this planet than those two.
And I mean, it's not just a figure of speech. I've tried diving into their love-story melodrama at least 50 times; every time I geared up to tackle all the summaries my team prepared, I'd throw in the towel after just five pages—couldn't bring myself to push through.
Once I decided to dive into those layering chapters, man, my creativity hit levels I never saw coming; I started by tidying up my computer wallpaper and organizing icons, then moved on to reorganizing not just my computer, but also my basement office setup—I was shuffling furniture around, trying out every possible combo.
And yeah, I even ended up counting rice grains.
I hate rice.
I was basically doing everything but diving into that story, trying to postpone the inevitable waste of my time, energy, and last grey cells on this shit.
I seriously can't wrap my head around how their love story manages to hook millions of onlookers worldwide. I was already over it after just a few chapters, feeling like I was wading through a saga longer than a history textbook chronicling events from before and after Christ.
There's not a single soul on this planet who could convince me they're fully sane while also enjoying that comedy-drama.
And, eventually, I never really bothered to dig any deeper into reading that shit;
But my bot, Quantum, did—reciting the key twists of that drama to me—and I gotta say, it was one of the smartest moves I've made.
Why?
Well, for starters, it kept me from dozing off while listening.
Second, as I juggled rice, I realized that rice wasn't actually even close to the top of my "things I hate" list; just chilling comfortably at the second spot.
And last but not least, I expanded my knowledge by learning that a one-kilogram bag of rice contains 49,999 grains.
Assholes swiped one of my gains, equivalent to about 50k, if my quick math is right and each gain weighs 0.020 grams. But I ain't about that BS game they're playing with me;
So, I ripped the head of the brand's owner;
Quite literally.
And while he was picking out my lone, elusive grain from between his teeth, his bare chest and stomach were serving as a live canvas for my medical research, sans anesthesia.
As his teeth gave way to the pain and smashed the grain of rice, I smoothly reciprocated by smashing his head in return.
Right after that, I commandeered his HQ for my drones to run some tests, then I set them loose to rain hellfire on the place, wiping that rice brand off the map without a single trace of its existence;
Yeah, I've got a bit of a perfectionist streak;
But soon enough, another dick stepped in to fill the gap at the rice-supply market; here's hoping I won't have to test his kilogram package capabilities.
Unless, of course, he's better than the last guy and actually delivers the right amounts to the clients.
"Their present location remains undisclosed," — The robotic voice interrupted my train of thought again — "All devices have been powered down, thus impeding our ability to glean valuable information through surveillance, such as analyzing their communications or overhearing live conversations."
"They'll be back, sooner or later," - I said, rolling the pen between my teeth again - "It's just a waiting game, that's all."
And I love games;
"Nevertheless, based on the information I've acquired, it appears that Max Cooper has informed Anthony Gomez about Joseph Carvossa's death."
"Already gearing up for a fiesta?"
"More, untouched and unimpressed."
"I'm starting to take this personally."
"I would venture to say that he anticipated its inevitability. Hear for yourself."
A rapid cycle of dots swirling in the loading page, until my eyes caught the waves of recording...
•
•
[AUDIO]: Am I surprised? No. He was a cunt, so he was in for it.
[AUDIO]: Someone got under the FBI boss' skin?
[AUDIO]: He was a scum. He and his cursed CIA have much more dirt under their skin than all USA presidents put together. He was spying on countless countries' representatives, selling those pieces of information, and using them against them, sometimes leading to wars where innocent citizens died. Not so long ago, he was also trying to spy on me and George, but as I found out about it, I sent some agents here and there for them to explain to him why it's not the best idea to mess with me.
•
•
"We'd make quite the team," — I chuckled, a hint of pride in my voice — "So, how's the whole takeover of Nymos going?"
"Work in progress..."
My eyes skimmed through another open screen window, parsing through the entire metadata of Nymos;
"Nymos stands as a formidable and highly secure software, yet it has remained untouched and unupgraded for months, left to its own devices without the care of its owner. Despite this, the safety barriers remain intact, though not impervious. I require a bit more time to navigate the metadata stealthily, ensuring I remain undetected to prevent triggering an emergency alarm. Rest assured, I will accomplish this within the next few days. While Nymos may be powerful, without its owner and regular updates, it is vulnerable. I've already gained access to overhearing mode."
"You're quite the fan of playing along with your digital nemesis, aren't you?" — A soft chuckle slipped from my throat, brimming with pride.
"Like owner, like program. I must admit, delving into it like an undiagnosed cancer is strangely satisfying."
"And that's daddy's pride," — I winked, reaching for the cigarette — "Rip it apart mercilessly, but savor every moment; consider it a gift from me."
Dragging the cigarette over my teeth and tongue, I slickly sparked it, letting that bitter toxin fill my lungs.
Am I hooked?
Nah; I'm hooking.
Cigarettes just jazz up my boring moments; no substance can match my vibe, and you'll catch on to that real soon.
Another peek at Elena and Jake's metadata on the monitors; still empty since November 4th, but it's all good; these ten months of staying clear of their drama felt like a chill spa getaway.
Couldn't help but fixate on Jake Danford's digital stance, with a smirk plastered on my face. He's a real sneaky one, the epitome of evil, the genuine monster; yet, he's hailed as a national hero for stuff I pull off daily.
He's just another one of us, like me, but the big difference is we're not pretending, not hiding behind the facade of heroes.
But his day will come, mark my words. With one decision, he set off a chain reaction that's unstoppable now; he basically served up all the power to me on a silver platter, but ain't complaining.
That's why he's gonna be my grand finale, 'cause his deeds scream for a send-off fit by the ruler of hell, making it his Last Rites.
Spoiler alert; cruising through hell, I caught a few knocks from above, signaling Liam's still trapped in purgatory.
Fuck him; he was a loser — He was just a dude in the wrong spot at the wrong moment.
Still, so fucking hilarious.
Leaning my head back, I kicked it against the headrest, closed my eyes, and let out a puff of smoke from my lungs, throat, and nostrils, until my ears picked up another solitary buzz on my table, indicating another notification.
"Consider it a notification from the underground. You're free to leave; I'll handle the rest from here," — The bot chimed in once more.
"Your Majesty's too kind," — I chuckled, rising slowly to my feet.
"I'm simply mindful of their deficiency in knowledge and professionalism. Since you're here, you should ensure that everything continues progressing within your world system, enabling me to maintain my digital world and systems at the highest level."
"Alright, just don't pine away too much," — I grinned, reaching for my mask — "And if you start missing me, just gaze at a photo of yours truly to ease the ache."
"Oh, don't fret about a thing. Just the mere act of alleviating my frustration with Nymos, witnessing its gradual weakening, instantly liberates me from any negativity."
Bringing the soft, rigid material to my face, it didn't take much to smoothly cloak myself in darkness. The black shroud engulfed my entire face, leaving just two purple "X" marks over my eyes and a stitched pattern of sealed lips, still in that same purple hue.
My digital masterpiece slid effortlessly into place on my face, adhering perfectly to my contours without any glue—more like a magnet, ensuring it stayed put until I decided to peel it off myself.
Running my finger along the mask's edge, I activated the voice-change simulator, ensuring that my voice would be constantly filtered through the stitched lips, rendering it unrecognizable to anyone listening.
They're clueless about who I really am, never caught a glimpse of my face.
And that's my ultimate jackpot.
Nobody has a clue if I'm lurking nearby, blending into the crowd, playing the friend, not even when I'm chatting face-to-face. Up there, they've got no clue if I've already crossed paths with them or not.
Down here, under the cover of night, I'm X—unrecognizable, untraceable, unknown.
Up there, I could be their ride-or-die, their brother, their cousin. I might play the part of a paramedic, a doc, a legal eagle, or just blend in as a regular Joe at a fishing shop—or heck, I could even pull off being a beggar.
And they'll never know if I'm not lurking around the corner, or if they've already unknowingly let me into their houses.
Who knows? Maybe I was also that half-asleep dude in the confessional, knocking away at your sins through the thin wall, without you even catching on?
My boots slid effortlessly, the ground cracking with each step as I approached the door. With skin gloves covering my hands, I grabbed the knob, twisted it, and strolled out of my own hideout into the depths of hell;
As my slow steps echoed on the metal floor, I delved deeper into the darkness with each stride. It was a paradox—down here, teeming with life, was way more visible than up there.
Reaching out to the side, I ran my skin glove along the metal frame of the stairs, climbing higher and higher with each step until I reached the top platform.
From there, I had a view of the entire underground empire, nestled even deeper than hell itself;
Sweeping my eyes from side to side, I carefully assessed the overall harmony of the scene, ensuring that nothing was veering off course or getting out of hand.
Engrossed in computer analysis and science, a single line of monitors, led by Quantum, buzzed with activity, likely having a blast hacking into random systems and maybe even causing some top-notch corporations to crumble.
The rest of the crew, no surprises there, are busy whipping up and bagging doses of our drug concoctions, raking in hundreds of thousands of dollars daily; we're the big dogs leading the drug game across the entire United States.
Right next to them, we've got a team counting cash and divvying it up for every single member of our Society.
I'm generous with them as true loyalty can only be bought with a fat stack of bills, squashing any doubts or notions of betrayal; their secure bank accounts make it downright irrational to cross me—it just doesn't pay off.
Hackers;
Dealers;
Murderers;
The most wanted outlaws by the government;
Everything you stumbled upon up there has its heart here; all the "monstrous" deeds our copycats were pulling off.
We're the bosses of the sorry lot, those cute but scared criminals roaming the streets up there, talking smack when the law tags them as villains.
They're just our puppets, taking orders from down here, but they'll never set foot in our legendary domain.
Only the chosen, the worthy, the strong—they're the ones who get in.
We're the fuel for heroes' actions, pulling their strings to battle us in the name of the Greater Good, making them feel like the defenders of the world; which, in the end, leads them to battle their own dark sides, the ones they're too scared to face;
We're the OGs;
We're the darkness;
We're the shadows;
We're the mirror reflection of the surface world;
We're the Fear, the Nightmares, the Sins;
We Are The Underground.
Silenced for years under the reign of righteousness, its voice will finally echo, not only down here;
And I'll be the one to make sure our voices resonate far and wide across every surface.
And you?
Who are you?