Silvertroll

Hacker's Den

There's nothing worse than that feeling of regret sinking into the depths of your stomach. I feel like an idiot, allowing myself to be double-crossed by a malicious, anonymous asshole who's never shown any evidence of trustfulness. Regardless, whether my destination and future remains unknown, this waypoint is all I have left. 

I cross the neighbourhood of low-rise apartments, following the waypoint until it leads me to a two-storey property comprising eight units. I enter via the driveway, walking up until the waypoint hovers just above my head.

"This is it," I say as I scurry over to the front entrance.

Arlan's voice breaks into my ear, more excited than ever, "You're not gonna believe this."

"I don't do suspense. What is it?" The door isn't locked, so I enter the building and stand at the bottom of the stairs.

"The dead drop data. There's a load of crypto."

"That's it," I say, fed up with all the mumbo jumbo. I need to focus, so I make a decision, "I'm switching you guys off," I inform them as I hit the stairs.

"Wait. The data cache contains a whole bunch of cryptocurrency wallets."

"I'm done with your techo-garble." I pull out the earbuds and advance up a second and last flight of stairs. I realise I'm still wearing the AR goggles, and they're not telling me anything new. I stop to look at the top floor's two doors. I hear the muffled sounds of children playing behind one door. A pile of delivery boxes and junk mail piled are up against the other.

Unit 3.

I remove the glasses and press my hand against the door.

It's unlocked.

I push it open and enter the apartment. The walls and floor are striped bare, as if in the early stages of renovation. There is no furniture, except in the main living quarters, where a large computer rig is situated in the middle of the room, cables everywhere, it's monitors dead.

I move closer to inspect it. It looks as if it's been dormant a long time; a layer of dust, plus food scraps are withered and decayed. The setup is far more complex than I'd ever seen, the gear is exotic, and there's even a rack full of equipment.

No lights, no power, nothing.

I move to the kitchen, to check the cupboards for evidence of...

...a shadow moves.

A dark figure lunges at me from behind. My eye catches a glimpse of a balaclava. My neck feels the cold steel of a wire. It tightens and I curse at my lousy reaction time. I try using my fingers to get inside the wire, but its pressed deep into my skin. I force myself back on to the man and get the measure of the strength in his arms. We struggle across the kitchen, bumping into the bench, breaking dirty plates.

Fuck, my mind screams, Think, fuck ya.

I elbow the attacker's torso and it's like hitting a wall. I strike him with more ferocity but this has no effect. I realise I'm not breathing, that my brain is about to stop thinking altogether.

I'm a trained fighter, my brain shouts at me, and it's kinda like a fucking head lock.

I allow instinct to take over. I drop to one knee, attempting to flip him over, but the attacker seems to anticipate this move and falls backwards, pulling me down on top of him, sustaining his stranglehold.

With my brain activity dying, I attempt to pull the wire away, sliding my hands behind my neck and getting a grip of the wire, but the attacker is too strong, his position too dominant.

I feel my face burning red.

I feel my head about to explode.