Nimble, delicate fingers clicked away on a well-worn keyboard. The faint glow of the
nearby monitors, five total, coated the woman’s hands in soft blue. On the screens a dazzling
display of building schematics, GPS coordinates, employee profiles, and a scrolling list of
addresses popped and moved as she typed.
Freya took deep breaths as her hands worked their magic. In her 22 years on this earth
she had grown to be one of the most notorious and sought-after hackers in all of Omni. Even
though her tiny apartment’s temperature regulator kept the space cool, she found herself breaking
out in a sweat. She didn’t bother wiping the dew from her brow as her eyes remained laserfocused on the tactical events on the monitors.
A cursor on screen followed a path dictated by Freya’s eyes. Where she looked, the
cursor followed. A momentary mental command translated through her ocular implant let the
cursor know to click and open or close various files and images.
“Come on. Where are you?” she grunted, scrolling fast through a list of names. She
paused the scroll on a single name and highlighted it on the screen.
“Well hello, money. Gotcha.”
Freya commanded the cursor to highlight a body of information on the screen, copy it,
and send it to a specific email address. Now I can make rent, she thought.
A bedroom door opened to the living room where Freya sat. A teen girl hobbled her way
out to Freya. The 14-year-old navigated the simple walk carefully, her cybernetic legs didn’t
function as well as they used to. Neither did her left arm, also mainly made of robotics.
Chloe stood before her older sister.
“Who did you get?”
“Hey, what are you doing up? Big day tomorrow,” deflected Freya.
“Usual.”
“Implants not helping?”
“No. Doesn’t matter what we inject into these old parts, it never helps the pain enough.”
“Let’s see what the doctor says tomorrow. Maybe there’s some new grants or funding
from the government available.”
Chloe sighed, already knowing the answer.
Freya picked up on her cynicism and quipped, “Let’s just see. We’ll go and hear them
out. You never know.”
“So who did you get?” she asked, eyeing the monitors.
“No one who didn’t deserve it,” Freya responded as she closed down the screens.
Later, with Chloe back in bed, Freya sat alone in the open window, the air from Omni
soothing her skin. The city at night held magic. Neon lights rose high into the clouds,
illuminating the massive skyscrapers as the traffic and people below generated a buzz of
anticipation and excitement.
Freya loved this city, but she held no illusions about its true self. Beneath the veneer of
civility beat the heart of a savage. Dig deeper under its skin and Omni revealed that things aren’t
so pretty on the inside. And she basked in this grimy warmth. Orphaned at a young age, with her
younger sister to take care of, she had clawed and scratched a living off the underbelly of the
city. She’d had to do things in order to survive. She had no regrets. Hacking had become a way
out of the lowest forms of work, but even this venture held dangers.
Her watch beeped. On the screen it showed a payment made to her account. She smiled.
Maybe we can get you new limbs, after all, she mused.
The noise from the streets below invigorated her. She brushed her hair back behind her
ears to better take it all in. Her ears had enhanced aural implants. They were older models, but
still gave her an edge when dealing with clients and their associates. She could root out bullshit
from whispers in the next room with these babies.
Her watch alerted her to an incoming message. At 3 AM, who would be contacting her?
Her eye implant triggered the watch projector. Moments later a 3D holographic video rose up
from the watch face in stunning video scratchiness.
A bald middle-aged man came into view, a sly grin on his face. Sutter. Freya could trust
him. He was an asshole, but always honest.
“Hey kid,” began Sutter. “Avoid Front Street near Paradise Place. Cops all over it. And
be careful. Rumor is they found another dead hacker. Something different about the buzz I’m
getting’. Come see me tomorrow. We’ll talk.”
The projection ended and vanished.
What the fuck is he talking about?
Chloe’s doctor appointment had gone as expected. Without the money for replacement
parts or upgrades, she would have to continue to make do with the junk she was currently
saddled with. The doctors gave the teen a healthy dose of neuron serum to help the mechanics
stay lubricated and flexible. And they gave this free of charge, taking pity on the broke siblings.
Freya offered up what funds she’d managed to scrape together over the past few months,
but it wasn’t even a tenth of the cost. The doctors simply could not give Chloe the upgrades she
so desperately needed. And the pain was getting to be too much for the teen.
The doctors didn’t want to get their hopes up, but they informed the sisters that they had
applied for a grant on Chloe’s behalf to possibly fund the upgrades. Chloe smiled, but Freya
didn’t dare dream it could happen.
Dropping Chloe off at their apartment, Freya saw her fighting back tears. It broke her
heart and lit a fire in her. She would get the money; one fucking way or another. She needed big
scores. Fast.
Later at Synapse, her favorite bar, Sutter poured her a drink and slid it to her. Synapse
was his. Sutter didn’t get the place through hard work and saving money. He won the bar in bet.
The poker game had run long and gotten out of hand. Sutter’s opponent’s ego had gotten the
better of him and he slapped down the keys to the bar in a bet that did not go his way. When the
loser protested and tried to back out, Sutter made sure the man honored the bet. At least he died
an honest loser.
“It was Pug,” whispered Sutter. “Pug’s dead.”
“You sure?” Holy fucking shit.
“That is now confirmed info.”
“What the fuck happened? Pug is a damn good hacker. Careful as a rabbit in a wolf den.”
“Yeah, no shit. But that’s what’s got the cops edgy. Somebody definitely got to him, but
there was no trace of anyone else there. No evidence of an intruder. No sign of struggle. But his
body… someone fucked him up.”
Her mind raced with possibilities, or was it opportunities?
“Was Pug working on any projects that you know of? Something high profile maybe?”
“No idea. You think maybe a client did this?”
“Or retribution from a victim. Who knows.”
“One thing’s certain: we have to be real goddamn careful now.”
Several drinks later, Freya pondered her next move. Her gut told her Pug was working on
a hack. If she could get her hands on the ticket, she could complete the job and make a big score.
Pug didn’t deal in small time shit. He was strictly big leagues. Corporations. Governments. That
level.
She heard the thugs approaching before they reached her. Freya spun around in her chair
to face two hulking dickheads. If there was a way to make a suit look sloppy, these two mastered
it. She recognized them immediately.
“Barker wants to see you,” said the first henchman.
“Pass.”
“Mr. Barker begs to differ,” said the other ominously.
“Let me guess,” she said as she rose from the barstool. “You’re going to say ‘we can do
this the easy way or the hard way.’ Am I right?”
The thugs look at each other as if she’d read their minds.
“Let me save you the trouble,” she continued. Behind her back she clenched her right fist,
activating an implant that made her flesh glow slightly. “I always choose the hard way.”
With that, the first thug lunged at her and reached for her arm. Freya dodged the grab and
slammed her right fist down on the bastard’s forearm- snapping it instantly and loudly. He
stumbled to the ground crying out. The other thug was quicker and grabbed hold of Freya’s
power arm before she could change momentum. She yanked her arm free easily, and dislocated
the fool’s shoulder. He clenched his teeth and grabbed the dangling appendage.
Freya cocked her arm back, ready for more. The unmistakable sound of a shotgun
clacking stopped all movement. They looked to the source to see Sutter behind the bar pointing
a double-barreled shotgun.
“This isn’t Barker territory. You fuckers have the balls to come into my bar and start shit
with my customers? You two need to get the fuck out before I forget I’m a gentleman…”
The wounded men struggled and stumbled out as quickly as they could.
Sutter finished with, “And tell your boss I said hi.”
He put the shotgun away under the bar and gave Freya a stern look.
“Tell me you don’t owe Barker.”
“I don’t. Really, I don’t.”
“Spill it, Freya. What’s going on?”
“Fine. I did a job for Barker last month. I told him up front there were no guarantees it
would work. I even accepted no money up front as a show of good faith. Sure enough, I couldn’t
pull off what he wanted. But that outcome had been factored into the contract. If I failed, we
were to simply part ways and call it a day.”
“But of course Barker didn’t see it that way,” Sutter interjected, pouring them both a shot.
“He took some financial losses because I couldn’t come through, so he’s saying I owe
him the money from those losses.”
“I should’ve listened to you.”
“No shit. So now what are you gonna do?”
Freya let a sly grin show.
After dark, Freya broke into Pug’s apartment. The place was far nicer than hers, and in a
much nicer neighborhood. She left the lights out since her ocular implant allowed her to see
pretty well in the dark. It wasn’t perfect, but she could navigate a dark apartment easily enough.
She went immediately to his computer and monitor array. Everything was off. Even in
the dark she couldn’t miss the massive blood stain on the expensive carpet. The blood had
congealed to a thick, dark mass. She wondered if anyone was going to show up to clean the
mess.
Freya stepped around the morbid pool and examined the computer. His rig was
impressive, filled with the latest hardware as well as old-school slots for USB and SD cards.
Pug, you really thought of everything. I need to be more like you.
Then she noticed an SD card still in the slot. How could the cops have missed this? She
popped out the card. There was an etching on the surface: K-OS. Chaos? She pondered.
She needed to figure this shit out. Needed a safe place and a wise voice. She knew just
the place and person: Doc Brown.
Doc Brown’s home rested on a cliff overlooking the city. He lived the dream the rest of
Omni’s hacker culture could only imagine. His word was law in the underground, but he knew
the game and mostly stayed out of the lower hackers affairs.
The name had confused Freya for the longest time. Until he’d taken her under his wing
and taught her some of his trade secrets. Acquaintance turned to mentorship, which eventually
became friendship. She’d come to rely on his wisdom, but tried not to pester him too much. He
was officially retired and she felt he deserved the rest. At one point he finally revealed that his
pseudonym was borrowed from a popular film from the previous century. She didn’t get it, but
whatever.
Now she made her way to his door. Something about this SD card and Pug’s death. This
was a fucked up scenario and she had to play it cautious. She rang the bell and waved at the
camera above. No answer.
“Hey, Doc, can we talk for a minute?”
No response. He never left the house. Her red flags fired up.
Slipping around the side of the house, and over the fence, she found herself near the pool.
Doc Brown’s all-glass doors were wide open; he loved the fresh air.
Freya carefully approached the large opening that led to the living room. Lights on, but
no one around. She entered and listened. Silence except for a faint sound of conversation
upstairs. Doc’s home was decorated like a museum- an ode to the 1980’s. Movie posters of films
like “Aliens,” “The Goonies,” “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” “The Empire Strikes Back,” and of
course, “Back to the Future.”
She’d never seen any of these movies, but since they were so much a part of Doc
Brown’s life, she figured one day she’d have a look. Freya put aside her fascination with the past
and moved up the stairs. The sound came from behind closed doors and was definitely from a
TV or monitor. She heard words like “Great Scott!” and “Marty” and knew Doc must be
watching one of his classic movies again.
She smiled and knocked at the door.
“Hey, Doc, it’s Freya. I gotta talk to you. I’m coming in.”
She heard a wheezing grunt in response, under the cacophony of the movie’s sounds. Red
flags. She flung open the door to see the most horrifying display of her life.
Doc Brown, lay struggling and writhing on the floor in front of his monitor array. His
body contorted and twisted in inhuman ways. Many of his bones were broken in order to obey
the wrenching and twisting. Then she saw his face. He was aware. He was fully conscious and in
agony. He wore sweats that were now mostly blood-soaked. His right femur suddenly snapped,
followed by three ribs. He cried out.
Freya rushed to him. The mounted TV on the nearby wall continued playing “Back to the
Future.” The real Doc Brown on screen was shot by terrorists in a mall parking lot.
She kneeled at his side, but didn’t know where to touch him or how to help. She sobbed
in frustration, unable to help her friend. He looked her in the eyes, trying desperately to
communicate something to her, but unable to speak. Suddenly his jaw cracked and dislocated.
His eyes rolled back from the fresh pain.
At last he had a moment of clarity and forced himself to look toward the monitor. Freya
sensed his urgency and followed his gaze. On the monitor was an AI generated art piece. In an
impressionist style, a mutilated human form rotated in 3D. The arms, legs, and torso bent and
folded in grotesque ways. Realization washed over her and she looked back to her friend, seeing
that his disfigurement matched the art on the monitor.
Doc took one final gasp and whimper, then went completely limp, blood leaking from
several tears and punctures. The monitor immediately shut off. She sobbed uncontrollably for
what felt like forever. Doc had shown her kindness in a cruel world. He’d shown her trust in a
deceitful city. And now he was gone. Murdered somehow.
She collected herself. With Doc’s life monitor no longer working, it was only a matter of
time before the authorities arrived to collect the body and turn this place into a crime scene. She
had to act fast. She swept the room for anything that stood out. Her eyes went to the computer.
Doc’s rig was not unlike Pug’s, only far more powerful. Instinctually she reached for the
SD card reader. Sure enough, a card was inserted. Withdrawing it, Freya discovered the same
logo as the other one: K-OS. Fuck.
She fired up the computer, minus the SD card, and it went to security cam footage. She
quickly scanned the past several hours. No one came in or out. Then she checked the past few
days. Still no one. Doc had been alone the whole time. A dark suspicion began to creep into her
mind. She stared down at the two matching SD cards, then put them in her pocket.
She gave one final look at her broken friend and whispered, “Goodbye, Doc. Thanks for
everything.”
Find the brutal conclusion in the pages of the Blood Fiction v2 anthology of challenging fiction:
https://a.co/d/cENY5NR
About the Author
Brian Fitzpatrick is a bestselling author and produced screenwriter.
Imagine being just 7 years old and accidentally watching the horror classic, Night of the Living
Dead. For writer, Brian Fitzpatrick, watching the zombie horror became the catalyst for a life-
altering path forward. Terrified but riveted, he became fascinated with the idea that he could
be so scared yet be perfectly safe. So after a week of nightmare-fueled sleepless nights, mom
suggested he write stories of his own. Fitzpatrick put pen to paper and has been creating tales of wonder and horror ever since.
Fitzpatrick grew up on Spielberg, Carpenter, Lucas, Cronenberg, King, Rice, Koontz, and Barker.
Science fiction and horror are in his DNA.
He is the author of the gritty nanotech science fiction novel trilogy, Mechcraft, as well as the co-screenwriter of the science fiction feature film, The Simian Trials, releasing 2023.
Fitzpatrick also just completed a commission to adapt a bestselling YA fantasy novel into a TV Pilot for an executive producer.
His current project is a commission to write an epic fantasy adventure novel set in the upcoming Dungeons & Dragons massive campaign, The Black Ballad.
Fitzpatrick loves to connect and engage. Follow this link for his socials:
https://linktr.ee/BrianFitzpatrickAuthor
