Hack: Part 1
He got in, finally he cracked it. The program loaded and initiated: a square, white room appeared. 5 hosts sat on the floor, each with his own computer. They typed furiously. He appeared behind them, materialized, logged in, but uninvited.
“Oh wow, this is it, I can’t friggin believe it,” he said as he leaned back in his lawn chair, electrodes spilling out of his skull. The child prodigy spent the past 10 of his 20 years searching for this room. Fantasizing about the day when he could log in to it. From that point he may have a chance to discover the other rooms. With this information he could travel anywhere, to the different simulation rooms and leave reality behind. Leave behind the suffering and the dark gray days of real life existence.
The hosts created the most realistic computer simulations. This room is where they worked, this is the master program from which all the other programs are designed and created, launched and experienced for the hosts’ pleasure. They built simulations of themselves, avatars that function within the master program. Any experienced programmer knows that the best way to create software is to integrate them within the computer, form a bond and speak to the computer. Commanding from within is much easier, the hosts mastered this approach.
They conceal their creations well; none of their projects are released to the public. The hosts are legendary in the underground hacker culture. No outsider has ever made it to the room; he is the first, though many have tried. Reaching this point gives him a chance to discover more, he can experience what the hosts take for granted.
He peered around the room.
“If I can only find some clues, maybe a portal to the other rooms, something.” The hosts are ingenious programmers, they covered their tracks well. The room is bright white, recessed lights in the ceiling cast fluorescent light, painting the walls, hosts and computers in plasma. The only movement came from the hosts’ hands and the flickering responses on the monitors. What does he look like in this program? How did it render his unique features?
He held up his hand and studied it. The amount of detail was beyond reality. The tone was flesh and peach, each hair punctured the skin into a cracked pore.
“Friggin unbelievable! Everything is rendered beautifully. They simulated every detail of my hand, even the tracker scar,” he muttered to himself, hacking in from the dark storage closet, brown water dripping from the cracked ceiling. Inside the white room he stood motionless and silent, his lips pursed. He crept to the nearest host, a bald one with lumbering shoulders. The host sat close to the computer, his body concealing the screen.
“I have to see the screen,” he said as he tried to move the host away from the monitor, but the programmer leaned closer in, covering the screen. The host’s fingers moved rapidly, striking unusually shaped keys with strange symbols on them.
“I need to see!” He screamed and raised his fists, striking the host in the head. He recoiled with the blow and turned back to the screen without looking at his attacker. Blood dripped from a small gash in the host’s head and landed on a key. Ruby, shimmering blood settled next to a symbol which resembled a horse shoe. He wildly swung his limbs at the host, blood splattering on the floor and monitor. The host was knocked back a few feet from the computer; he lay on his stomach, face down. The intruder studied the monitor, nothing made sense.
“No!! These characters are in some weird language. What does it mean!? Arghh.” Frustration over came him, he banged his head with clenched fists then covered his face with his hands.
The host got up from the bloody floor, limped to the computer, sat down and resumed his work. Once again he did not acknowledge the violent intruder. The host’s fingers typed faster than before. He turned to the intruder who happened to pull his hands away from his face at the same time. Solid silver eyes regarded the intruder. The host mumbled something and the room faded into darkness.
He once again returned to reality. He looked around the dim closet.
“I don’t know if I can’t do this again,” he slowly whispered. He opened a desk drawer and removed an old revolver. Grasping the gun he raised the barrel to his temple. He began to squeeze the trigger, but stopped short.
"Maybe there's some other way," he exclaimed, the revolver settled back into the drawer, his chapped fingers pushed the drawer into the desk.