Interaction [Dreamnotfound]

11 | Plan

George had absolutely no idea where he was going.

He wasn't running anymore - he had grown too tired for that. Instead, he was walking along the edge of the road, backpack seemingly growing heavier each minute.

His original plan had been to go to the town, and maybe collect supplies, but the second he had reached the outskirts, he had remembered the lockdown. There would be nobody in town, nobody to cover for him, not that they could interact anyways-

It was too dangerous to go to town, way too dangerous, so George had headed away from it instead. He knew there was an airport not too far away, so maybe he could go there...

And do what? Night was rapidly approaching, and he didn't have anywhere to sleep...

Not to mention they would be tracking him from his wristband, and he didn't have a way to remove it - not that he'd want to. That thing was drilled tight into his wrist.

Well, maybe he could steal a glider? They were small, and if he had enough time, he could hack into one, maybe...

But there would certainly be officials there, and the whole town must know the person who made the illegal call was him...

George kept walking. His feet were gradually going numb, and the sun was starting to sink in the sky.

He didn't know why he was still trying. He was outnumbered, easily tracked, and way too slow to make any real progress...

How had they not caught him yet?

George flipped his wristband, taking a look at the time. 7:48 pm. His stomach growled, alerting him to the fact that he hadn't eaten a single proper meal that day. Great.

A small vibration shook the ground beneath him, accompanied by a soft hum. George's stomach flipped and his heart pounded. Without thinking, he sprinted into the bushes next to the road, crouching down to hide himself.

A sleekmobile passed by, headlights flashing.

George couldn't tell if they were after him, but he sure didn't want to find out.

The soft drone faded into the distance, and George shakily stood up, brushing himself off. That was close. Way too close.

A small beep from his backpack just barely made itself heard. Frowning, George slid his pack off of his shoulder and on to the ground. His phone?

He grabbed it out of his bag and stared at the screen, unsure of what he would see.

The message popped up.

We are tracking you. Turn yourself in, Subject 135, and we will not hurt you. Or, you can spend life in prison. It is your choice.

You brought this upon yourself.

George almost laughed aloud at the message. It was so cryptic, and yet so threatening. Gradually, his enthusiastic attitude died down, leaving him glum and slightly frightened.

He already knew turning himself in wasn't an option. He was fully committed to trying to escape.

But how could he, when they were tracking his every move?

George zipped up his backpack, slipping his phone into his pocket, and took a good look at the band on his wrist. It was drilled through the bone in the middle, but maybe he could wrench it out...?

Bracing himself, George grabbed the top of the band and yanked. He winced at the pain shooting through his wrist, but pulled harder.

The band didn't budge.

Exhaling, George dropped his hand in defeat. That band wasn't coming off.

If he had more advanced tools, he could attempt to break it, but out in the middle of nowhere, that wasn't really an option.

That left him with one idea: Maybe he could try and hack into it?

But he would need time for a project like that - it could take days to complete.

Glancing off to the side of the road, George made his decision. He crossed the road and entered the thick forest to the left of it. It would provide shelter, at least for a bit.

Grateful he had kept his computer with him, George grabbed it out of his back, settling the heavy device on his lap. He entered the passcode "password10", accessing his desktop.

Cautiously, George opened "Commander", watching as it requested his login info.

What was that workers name again? Darryl?

Carefully, George typed in "Darryl", and then closed his eyes briefly.

For the password, he typed "Eiron_over10-09end-Darryl-rEach".

The computer rejected his login.

Frowning, George tried again, this time adding "-bot" to the end of the passcode.

He was granted access.

George grinned, momentarily proud of his work. It had taken weeks, but he had finally cracked the code to government login.

He had first started investigating the code many months ago, when one of his co-workers had received a promotion and moved on to more... secretive stuff.

He had wanted to know what it was so badly, and the only option was to guess - or figure out - the passcode. George personally thought he was an excellent coder, but for some reason, he had never moved up in his job, only remaining a standard coder for the government.

First, the passcode started with the previous month, in this case, Eiron. Then, _ and either over or under, depending on the time of day - over for anything after 12 pm in Central District, and under for anything before. After that, the current month number - the last month number. Then, either "end" or "start" for the time of year. Obviously, the participant's name - in this case, Darryl. Finally, the standard "-rEach", something he had seen one of the workers type once when they had been allowed to interact a couple of months ago.

The "-bot" meant the account had been terminated, leaving only bot access to be granted for the next 1 and a half weeks, just in case changes needed to be made to the worker's profile. He wasn't sure why the account had been terminated, though.

It didn't even matter - it was the least of his worries.

George's computer took a moment to load up the program, and then displayed lines of code. There was so much, his computer struggled to hold it up, flashing a few times as the battery rapidly drained.

George skimmed through the code, finding the section he was looking for: The bands. At the top of the page, he wrote a simple line of code, telling it to find Citizen 135's band code. Citizen 135, meaning him.

As expected, his band was under termination, meaning it was being actively tracked. George hesitated, and then skipped down to the line of code that told his band to track where he was. Carefully, he selected that portion...

And removed it all together.

Just like that, his band was no longer being tracked.

George exhaled, shutting his computer and trying to process what he had just done.

They couldn't track him now, but it wouldn't last. They would have the microchip update out soon, and he couldn't just remove part of his brain.

Not to mention, Darryl's account would most likely be completely removed by then, especially since he had just tampered with it.

So George packed up his stuff, slung his bag over his shoulders, and walked out onto the road, stopping for a brief moment to listen for Sleekmobiles.

He didn't hear any, so he started walking.

A plan had formulated in his mind. If he could get to the airport, maybe he could fight someone off, take a Glider, and run.

Rather, fly.

It wasn't the perfect plan, but it was something. Either way, he had to get going.

So George kept walking.