His blue clock with roman numerals sat on the wall, and on his wrist loosely fastened, lay his leather strapped watch. Both ticked menacingly, both swallowed his precious time, both opposed him. As his fingers moved he recalled how he had found this line of work. A single post on a digital bulletin board that read “Make big money by providing a service!”. The money had drawn his eyes towards it, and he had read the post with great interest. It had contained a link to an underground site that briefly outlined: how it would be done; how employers could be found; and most importantly, the pay. In small black writing at the bottom had been a small reminder of the risks. He hardly even gave it a second glance.
He had found himself the necessary tools and underground sources, and had taught himself slowly how to do it smoothly. He had started off small at first. Three figured fees had slowly become four figured. These in turn became five figured. He thought of what he did and the word used to describe it. Hacking. What a harsh word he thought. People who didn’t understand it thought of it as a bad thing. He thought of it for what it was. An art.
Images, text, password screens all a blur to him, flew across the screen as he typed. It was easy for him. As he watched the blur that was his fingers, he knew he was the best. His mind began to drift away from his task. He began to imagine what all the money could do for him. He pictured it in his hands, the fantastic shade of green penetrating the cracks in between his fingers, the rough smooth texture rubbing against his clean palms and the fresh smell, drifting through his nose, refreshing, nourishing every cell in his body. Maybe even…
An electronic buzz pierced his mind. It was harsh and it felt like shattered glass being pulled through his head. His eyes moved quickly over the bone white letters that had appeared on the screen, not comprehending at first, but realization slowly slipping in. “Incorrect Password” it read. He had slipped up. Stunned, he sat there for a moment. It had caught him off guard. He didn’t know failure. He sat there, motionless, his chest hardly moving, his brain hardly working, his heart hardly beating.
The trace tracker pulled him from his coma its shrill beep drew his eyes. It read 30 seconds. Slowly his mind started to work again. He tried to work out what had gone wrong. Did the ‘2’ go before the ‘s’? Had he missed out the ‘Q’? His fingers hung suspended above the keys, before once more resuming their normal, lightning speed. He tried again. There was a half second pause between entering the password and receiving the response, but to him it seemed more like an hour. Then, once more came the electronic buzz. This time it seemed to hurt him physically. Then he realized it was his unkept nails burrowing into his rough palms and his stained teeth biting into his lower lip, sending bursts of sharp pain through his body.
His mind drifted back in time, to his anonymous informant. He had paid good money for the password, but it had seemed like a worthy sacrifice at the time. Now it did not seem so good, trusting an unknown face represented only by emotionless black text. He should have used his usual sources, who he knew were reliable. He decided to try once more.
His now tired brain told his exhausted fingers to resume their hammering of the keys. Every part of his body, every living cell prayed that it would be successful. He typed the last letter and then his fingers curled into a tight fist. He closed his eyes tightly and clenched his teeth, waiting for the painful buzz that he knew would come.
It did not come. He had focused and he had been rewarded. He was in. He glanced quickly at the tracker, revealing that he only had 20 seconds left. His careless blundering had cost him a whole half minute. A hot rage flowed through his every vein, carrying angry questions. Why did he not concentrate? What lay ahead? Would he have enough time to finish?
Now that he was in it would be easier for him, but it was still unknown territory to him. Bypassing through the password screen had been like passing through the border of a country he had never visited before. Its unfamiliar text was like a never seen before horizon. Its unfamiliar colours were like an undiscovered species of animal. He began to navigate this new land, using his fingers as a means of transport, searching desperately for his prize.
He tried searching the standard areas first. The places that brought him the easiest money. However, he did not find it in his first few tries. He realized this was much larger than what he was used to. Sweat dripped smoothly from his nose as he quickened his pace. He began searching frantically for it. He felt strangely like a powerful predator, searching for its prey. Despite the great pressure on him, he smiled. He enjoyed the feeling.
The trace tracker let off a high pitched caution beep, warning him that he only had 10 seconds remaining. As each of his few final seconds passed, his smooth blue walls seemed to close in on him, like the wooden walls of a coffin encapsulating a dry corpse. The pressure however, instead of slowing him, drove him to work harder and faster than he had ever worked before. By the time the tracker had reached 5 seconds, he had narrowed it down to two possibilities.
Moments from being traced, lightning fast thoughts shot through his mind. 5 seconds was only enough time to check one more place, but two remained. He wasn’t even sure if 5 short seconds was long enough to check one place. He looked at his possibilities. He could stay on and hope by sheer luck that he picked the correct one. That did not seem like a good idea to him. He did not feel as if luck was with him tonight.
He could stay on and try to work faster than he had done in his whole career and attempt to check both. But that left the risk of being traced. If he were caught, he would face a fine, a long prison sentence and a life long ban from the use of computers. This didn’t seem very tempting to him either. The thought of losing the most powerful tool that he knew was devastating, and the thought of prison made him shudder. The excess of people and the lack of electronics made him think of his empty days at school.
His last chance was to disconnect immediately. If he did this, all the passwords that he had entered, all the passwords that he had spent time and money finding would be automatically reset and he would not be able to get back in. In this event he would have to face the wrath of his employers. He knew choosing this path would be the most painful. He had heard the atrocious stories.
He summed up his choices and began to debate quickly and furiously with himself. His eyes shot nervously around the room, too fast for his powerful brain to register. Walls, desk, hands, monitor all a blur. Clenching his fists and biting down on his soft bottom lip with raw fury, knowing that he had made a terrible mistake, and that he had been beaten for it he asked himself one final question. How had the best been taken down by carelessness? He made his decision.
