VR Hack

One

Virtual reality (VR), which can be referred to as immersive multimedia or computer-simulated reality, replicates an environment that simulates a physical presence in places in the real world. (Wikipedia)

"What do you think?"

Gideon turned the tablet around and pushed it toward me. I looked at the code.

"It's simple and elegant." I said. Then I tapped the side of my glass. It was promptly refilled by him.

My response made him happy. "Well you know who wrote it? Flame." He was talking about a hacker urban myth.

"Gideon Flame is a fantasy. He doesn't really exist. If he does exist it's as group of intelligent dysfunctional kids. Who should have their laptops taken away. By the way all hackers by definition have got caught or will get caught. Even when they produce clever elegant code like this." I slammed the glass down. Damn the tequila was good. "Hit me again bro!"

"Well that's his code. The very code that was used to hack NASA."

I laughed: "That's not true! It was proven that a contractor accidentally cut a data cable."

The warmth went from Gideon's face."Harp this is Flame's code. You won't believe what I had to do to get it. And by the way you know that all you read in the press even online is disinformation written and published by a secret organisation whose prime directive is to mislead and deceive to their own evil ends."

I blinked and re scrutinised the code. It was pretty in its simplicity and it did give me that itch to follow it to source.

****

We were in Martha's. It was a twenty four seven cafe, which served only two spirits tequila and vodka. These were on sale after midnight. The shop was situated between two corporate chrome glass towers, which had invaded our neighbourhood. The cafe was composed of warm red brick and had a neon pink sign in the window proclaiming Martha's in joined up script. It also had a sign in marker pen saying: We don't serve no corporate execs. There was also a good smell about the place. You know the type of smell you get in a bakery or patisserie.

I was 17. Gideon was a little older he was turning 18 on Monday. We both had fake IDs. But we knew Martha, who manned the counter, wasn't stupid. She knew we were under age. But she didn't care our money was good and I guess seeing us drunk was better than seeing us beaten black and blue by our father.

****

"Gideon can I have that?"

We were stood outside Martha's. She had kicked us out. It was 4am. He passed me the tablet. I pushed it into my pocket and flicked up my hood. It was cold. Flakes of snow spiralled around my head.

Gideon flicked up his hood too and looked at his watch. "The old man should be gone by now."

I checked mine. "Yeah. His shift starts in twenty so it'll be fine."

"Take care bro." We bumped fists and embraced. Gideon knew I needed time on my own. Quite often I walked the streets of the neighbourhood early. It gave me time to think about my Mom. I never remembered my route. The only route I paid attention to was the route to my Mom's memory. It scared me. I never ever wanted to forget what she looked like. But sometimes I wasn't sure I remembered her right. It was only in the early morning I got it back. Yeah! That's how she looked. Or: That's how she smelled.

****

"Do you want a refill hone?"

I blinked. Where was I? A kindly face looked at me. It was a grandmother's face. Soft with wrinkles; warm. The waitress asked me again. I nodded; sat back. She refilled my cup. I was in a dinner. There were customers. It was daylight. David Bowie's little China girl was playing on the radio.

I looked at my watch it was quarter to nine. There was the smell of fried bacon and waffles. I wasn't hungry. The world outside looked white and cold. There was wheel spinning traffic and New Yorkers in scarves, mufflers and thick boots.  They all sported red noses.

I watched a girl with tightly pulled back black hair and glasses. She parked and lock a moped. Then she slung her rucksack over her shoulder and climbed the steps opposite. She stopped at the top. Kicked snow off her boots and pushed through the door. The sign above said library. I'd seen her before. She was pretty with high cheek bones and a heart shape face. Probably of Russian or Slavic descent. But that hadn't interested me at first. It was what she always carried with her. Under her arm. To anyone over the age of 25 it probably looked like a standard laptop. But it wasn't. I knew from the size, shape and logo design it was the turbo Porsche of its contemporaries.

That itch came back again. Earlier it had been the itch about the code. This time it was an itch about a girl. Even to a nerdy 17 year his raging hormones will always win out over basic geekiness. My hormones marched me over.

****

I sat opposite her at a table with a book in front of me. She was at the information counter. There was something about her which was also nice and unassuming. I guess sweet with a dash of sexy described her to a T. It was hard to focus. My eyes strayed up from the page to her. I pushed the book away and powered up Gideon's tablet and scrolled through the code again. Anything to stop staring at her. It was a simplistic code but what I liked about it was it's crystal clear intelligence. It was like drinking from a tall glass of mineral water that had been gathered from a natural stream in the mountains. Really refreshing and so right.

As the morning  wore on she didn't touch her machine which rested on the desk beside her. I did a few internet searches to trace the IP address of the code. Nothing worked.

At 10:30am her colleague took over and she grabbed her coat from the stand in the corner and made for the door. I followed.

The snow was beginning to melt. She managed to keep upright by clinging onto the stair rail. The steps were transforming from snow to skiddy ice. I made my way like her carefully down. She crossed the road and disappeared along the alley. I decided to dart down the alley parallel. When I got to the end I had a stitch and gulped greedily icy air, which burnt my lungs. I waited and waited for her to appear. Where was she? I ran around the corner and froze.

She was half way down. However, she was pressed against the wall with a switch blade to her throat. The man holding the knife was a vagrant. I can't hear. But it looked like she was trying to reason with him. I didn't decide anything. I just charged.

****
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