((NOT, NOT, NOT canon. Totally for fun.))
Vancouver, Canada
0311 15 APR 2011
Darrell “1Nh1b1t1on” Ashbrook needed to get the hell out of the States. After his ex-girlfriend fucked up his hard drive, his BIOS and made his life a living hell for almost half a year, he decided the best thing to do was to run.
He went good, sort of. He worked clandestinely as IT security for a few hospitals, swiping a few credit cards here and there, selling them to people. Selling medical information on celebrities that he could find to different magazines, hacking into pharmacies that he knew his people worked at, so they would skim the overage and he could sell that over the different fake pharmacies all across Canada.
Darrell was really well known along the West Coast. So when he heard from assorted boards that Silver was out and about again, looking for back doors, he knew he grinned broadly at that. She didn’t know his new tags. Sure, he’d help the Hacker Babe as he called her. Two years was a long time in the Virtual World. Grudges lasted a long time.
He wondered if she still physically surfed the net. He easily set up a few bear traps, knowing some were blatantly obvious with signatures of hackers that no longer existed, and others a little more subtle, where she’d have to go a little deeper to hit the trap.
This worked for a couple of days. One of his deeper traps had been sprung, and he was surprised that she wasn’t there. He shrugged, settled himself in for some more data mining.
Just a little after sunset, as he was in the kitchenette of his tiny apartment, he though he heard a loud “thump” in the backyard, as if someone had dropped something big, soft, and heavy. He walked over to the window and saw nothing there, but a couple of the trash barrels were knocked over.
He went back to his kitchenette, and flipped over his grilled cheese. Just beyond the kitchenette was the entrance to his apartment. He smelled something burning, looking down at his grilled cheese. He turned off the stove, and something was still burning. It smelled like wood. He happened to look up, to see his front door encased in flame.
He yelled, and looked around for the landlord-supplied fire extinguisher. His 300 pound bulk didn’t conduct him fast enough around the corner to grab it. He aimed it, but the door had turned to ashes. He stood there, impotently holding the fire extinguisher.
A dark-haired man in a long brown trenchcoat stepped over the threshold. Behind him was another man, broad enough that his shoulders brushed the edges of the doorframe. Following up was another man, all in white, with no eyes, mouth, or face, except for a small black goatee that looked like it was added to keep his face as not so severe.
The man in the trenchcoat cracked his knuckles and focused entirely on Darrell. “So, you’re him.”
Said the broad man, “Looks like a typical geek hacker.” He started walking toward him. “Smells like one too.”
“Who – “ he finally found his voice, and held the fire extinguisher up at the broad man threateningly. “Who are—“
The broad man was in front of him, and then suddenly was behind him. He savagely pulled Darrell’s hand up and squeezed his wrist. Darrell screamed and he dropped the hose. He dropped the canister next, just to be sure.
The man in the trenchcoat motioned to the white man. “Check and see if he has anything interesting.” Then Trench walked over to him. The broad man had one arm across Darrell’s chest, holding him still. Trench looked him over.
“You tried to hurt my fiancé.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, man.”
“Do you remember Silver?”
“That bi—“
Trench punched him. Broad man chuckled from behind him. Trench pulled back his hand, but Darrell could see he was shaking it. Punching a man wasn’t something he normally did.
“What she did to you was too good,” he snarled.
The white man came out of his bedroom, also his working office. “No, nothing of use there.”
Trench focused on Darrell. This meant, he knew this meant, that he was going to die. Just by looking in the man’s eyes, empty of all emotion except fury and hate, he thought he could see flames dancing behind those green eyes. He tried to remember the Lord’s Prayer.
The man grabbed Darrell’s hands and held tight. Darrell smelled burning flesh, then excruciating pain and he started to scream again. He couldn’t help but look down…
Trench’s hands were encased in fire, and his own hands were covered in flame to the wrist. He glanced up at the man’s face, and he was grinning. He didn’t know if it was in happiness or concentration. He really didn’t want to know.
Then Trench turned from him and went to the office. Darrell almost passed out from the pain but the man behind him slapped him to keep him awake. He half-lifted, half-dragged Darrell to watch Trench move.
Trench had a ball of fire in his hand. He tossed it up and down in his hand, and glanced at Darrell. “Hit the alarms.”
White man nodded and stepped outside. Trench threw the ball of fire into his computers, and they caught fire as if they’d been soaked in gasoline. The fire alarm went off, and Broad man let him drop to the floor. Darrell saw his hands – they were blackened skeletal hands.
The last thing he heard before he passed out, was Broad man’s voice, “Next time, let me hit them.”
((The muse is amused.))