The Revelator

by D W Bell

  “Fairly easy and straightforward for this one. We just need him killed, for the client, and all products and records thereof destroyed, for the greater good. In and out through the attic window. I think for the sake of poetry he should die of smoke inhalation, preferably produced by his burning plants. The attic has a sprinkler system so mom’s house won’t burn (she apparently insisted upon it when she felt how hot those grow lights get), but the smoke and water damage should kill off whatever computers and equipment he has up there as well. I’ve already got our tech division working on eradicating any offsite backups and locating any offshoot collaborators that need to be pruned as well.”

  “Anything else I can use to get at him?” John accepted the file folder Boudreaux passed across the desk.

  “Yes, he’s deeply involved in one of those MMO games. Plays a druid or some silly thing. The only time he is connected to the internet is for gaming and porn, and he keeps a completely separate system for his research. The offsite backups are fragmented and encrypted so they really aren’t much use without the main system, but we’re getting rid of them too just in case. So, the best time to hit him will most likely be when he is engrossed and immersed in his fantasy world. Our techs have already hacked his account and taken over the webcam on his gaming computer, and I do not envy them the depraved horrors they have witnessed thus far. Idle hands are the Devil’s playthings as they say.” He chuckled at the thought, “Screenname: Vinestalker.”

  ―

  It had been a pretty fun evening around the Blitzkrieg guild, the ragtag collection of casual players and wannabe l33t to which Vine belonged. Jokes had been told, mood-altering substances had been imbibed, sexuality was questioned and speculated upon, several noobs had fallen for the Alt-F4 gag, unfortunate things had been said about Bells’ mother; just a good, wholesome, old-fashioned night out on the interwebs.

  The lesser members with kids and jobs began to trickle offline about eleven. The wannabes finished up their daily quests and logged off about 1 a.m. This left only the real hardcore assholes, too drunk, pissed, and high to acknowledge the party was over. Their mood wasn’t helped by the fact that they were forced to type out commands and jibes due to the wee-ness of the hour and that one of them had a sleeping wife nearby:

  [Guild][Nanuck]: Fuck you, Vine! You’ve picked up so much lag the past couple days we’ll never make it!

  [Guild][Bellsbane]: /sigh. Wait one, bro. He’s doing that thing where he walks into walls again.

  [Guild][Nanuck]: Shit.

  [Guild][Vinestalker]: Back. Guys I don’t know what the deal is. The game client keeps dumping me. Seems ok now.

  Inside a rusted-out van parked one street over from mom’s house a tech munched on Cheetos and monitored Vine’s computer in real time, “We got what we need already, and the breach is crashing his connection to the server so he can’t play. I’m gonna pull out and just keep the cam feed. That should leave enough bandwidth to keep him on.” A couple click-clacks inside the high-tech interior of the van and it was done.

  “Man, this is a seriously nice, quiet neighborhood. Scanner has been quiet for hours and the only cop in the vicinity is up on the freeway, probably sleeping. Fucking Mayberry.” The other tech chugged the last of his energy drink, crushed the can, and chucked it at his partner, “Whooo!”

  They both laughed, “Stop it, fucker. If this van starts rocking with me kicking your ass it will blow our cover. The operator still in position?”

  Feeling the rush of sugar, caffeine, and chemicals coming on he typed hurriedly and brought up the GPS tracking screen, “Yup, still in the bushes where we left him.”

  “Good. As soon as these noobs start their run give him the go signal.” He shook his head to get alert, stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles in front of him like a pianist preparing to play, and hovered over his keyboard while watching the webcam video to take control should the need arise.

  “Right-o, sir. Tally-ho!” They joked around a lot, but once the knuckles popped and the accent went British they were all deadly business.

  [Guild][Vinestalker]: My lag just went all green here guys, let’s party up and do this!

  [Party][Vinestalker]: Hello.

  [Party][Nanuck]: Helloo.

  [Party][Bellsbane]: Hellooooo!

  “Haha! Three Stooges, fucking idiots. Send it.” He rested his forearms on the ergonomic keyboard to wait.

  Bringing up another screen his partner clicked the button that sent the go-tone to the operator’s earpiece and watched the blip on his GPS for confirmation. “Sent. He’s on the move.”

  “Keep an eye on your screens, but let me show you how awesome this is about to be.” His partner moved close to crouch next to him and view the pirated webcam feed. “See the window directly behind the target? That’s where our man enters. And,” a short flurry of keystrokes, “we have night vision to watch him work.”

  “Holy shit! Make sure we get to keep a copy of that feed. I’m back on the scanners.” He stepped carefully back to his station and they were both back on task. “Too bad we don’t have the drone up, we could watch the approach too…” The tacit excuse to deploy a new toy crackled like static between them as they both recognized the opportunity to geek out.

  “Send it! Boudreaux wants game film on this guy anyway.” The other tech could hardly contain himself, making excited mouth noises as he activated the controls and sent the micro drone quietly whirring into the sky from its perch hidden beneath the old van’s retro skylight. Once it was airborne and cruising to target neither tech could resist humming a few bars from Wagner’s Die Walküre. It had to be done.

  Chapter 12

  John had been hiding amongst the foliage a couple houses down from the target residence. One thing this elderly neighborhood provided to his benefit was great cover and concealment. Almost every front yard on the block boasted at least one old, stately tree spreading its limbs over shadowed spaces. Some of the branches were so heavily entwined with those of neighboring trees that grass barely grew beneath them, making for very quiet stepping. As he broke cover a whining blur buzzed his head causing him to dive back into the bushes before a voice in his earpiece apologized with snickering laughter in the background. Seeing the drone settle to a nearly soundless hover and begin to circle he stood, brushed himself off, and began to move. The drone was in an auto-orbit mode that would continually record him without interfering, as long as the pilot didn’t override the programming.

  It was an easy lope over even terrain between the widely spaced streetlights and he was at the hedge dividing the target house from the neighbors in no time; buzzing watcher following at an optimum angle and altitude for stealth and visuals. He paused there, waiting for the second stage go-tone to sound in his earpiece once the technicians had verified that the target was still at his computer terminal and fully engaged.

  This stage of the mission would be when John would be most exposed. Across the lawn and up the drainpipe in full view of any nosy neighbor, but even the earliest of these old birds wouldn’t be up at this hour, and certainly not staring at the dark house across the street looking for trouble. It was an acceptable risk, but it felt like he had been crouching in those bushes for an eternity. His thighs burned from holding completely still for so long as he saw a shadow move across the attic window and received the signal a few seconds later. At least this way he bypassed the living quarters and the possibility of having to kill the mother if they were unfortunate enough to meet for a late-night snack.

  [Party][Bellsbane]: Yeah, it’s pretty cool. I just macro’d my whole spell rotation to the 6 and 7 keys and now I don’t have to put my drink down, lol.

  [Party][Nanuck]: Why 6 and 7?

  [Party][Bellsbane]: That’s were my fingers hit when I rest on the most comfortable part of the keyboard.

  [Party][Nanuck]: Lazy fuck, lol.

  [Party][Vinestalker]: Back from bio, let’s roll.

  [Party][Bellsbane]: WTF! You fall in? If you’re over the
re spanking it with what’s her name I’m out.

  [Party][Vinestalker]: STFU Bells! We going?

  [Party][Nanuck]: Ah hell, why not.

  [Party][Bellsbane]: Ugh, now I have to move.

  John was low and fast as he crossed the manicured lawn and paused at the landscaped flowerbeds butted up against the house itself. He quickly scanned the street and neighboring homes for any sign of activity. All was clear. His injured chest screamed at him as he leapt up and caught the edge of the roof and painfully hoisted himself up to lay flat across the black shingles; blending while checking if the soft scrape and thud of his ascension had caused alarm.

  He needed a second to catch his breath so he milked the pause for as long as he could, he didn’t want to show the true state of his pain to the eye in the sky. The triple go-tone cut through the haze of agony and he knew he had to move. Thankfully the old round window was just at waist height when standing on the roof, and always cracked open for fresh air in and bong exhaust out.

  [Party][Nanuck]: Ok, we do this my way. Bells you stay at the entrance with Hellfire and whatever else you got that goes boom ready to go.

  [Party][Bellsbane]: Can I thrown down Fluffy?

  [Party][Nanuck]: Sure, that demon has some fire AOE, right?

  [Party][Bellsbane]: Yup, you know you love Fluffy.

  [Party][Nanuck]: Vine, you’re a tree today. Stand at the end of the hallway keep the HOTs up on me while I pull all the guys around the garden. You can throw a big heal to top me off once in a while if you get bored.

  [Party][Vinestalker]: Roger.

  [Party][Nanuck]: When me and Bear make the corner to head back around and pull the other side, you run back to Bells and be ready with a big heal. I’ll be coming in hot, lol.

  [Party][Vinestalker]: Got it.

  [Party][Bellsbane]: Wait one. Bio and refill.

  [Party][Nanuck]: Shiiiit!

  John winced as the window creaked open on weathered hinges. He froze, listening. His earpiece crackled with a voice for the first time since the half-hearted apology for buzzing him with the drone:

 

  John slipped silently through the portal into the pool of inky blackness that smelled of the jungle, moist green and loam. The only light source in the attic was the glow of the screen that enthralled his prey.

  [Party][Bellsbane]: Ok. Got booze. Cooldowns are all up. Fire when ready.

  [Party][Nanuck]: Vine?

  [Party][Vinestalker]: Ready

  [Party][Nanuck]: Ok, I’m pulling.

  ―

  “He’s in. Set the drone to high-altitude recon orbit. Might see something we won’t hear on the scanners.” His hands left their ready position over the keyboard only long enough to pop the top on one of his partner’s energy drinks and guzzle it down. “Ha, ‘Mr. Smith’, where do they get these stupid codenames?” He crushed the tiny can and tossed it over his shoulder, “Fuck, man. Look at this guy move.”

  ―

  With the target in sight John was immune to all pain, the ache in his chest had been banished by sheer willpower until the work was done. He slinked like a black-clad panther through the automatically misted jungle foliage. His body hugged and blended with the plant-covered shelving as he stalked Vinestalker, not just for camouflage, but also to minimize any betraying groans or squeaks his steps may elicit from the aging attic floorboards. Fortuitously, the weight of the loaded shelves had already flexed the slats under them to their noiseless limit.

  ―

  “This is fucking great!” the scanner tech leaned back to watch the other screen over his partner’s shoulder, “We need popcorn. It’s like the best horror movie ever! Look out behind you! Ha ha! Too bad we’re not doing the house, we’d have explosions on the web and drone-cam! We could cut it together and put it to music!”

  “Alright, calm down, spaz.” He raised the screen up on its telescoping arm so his partner could see better. “You can watch if you want, but stay sharp on your scanners. Daddy’s gotta go to work.”

  “Yeah sure, daddy. So you can hack a server connection and take control of a video game, big fucking deal.”

  ―

  John was close, barely three feet away and crouched low, when he retrieved the grenade-like canister from the tactical fanny pack at the small of his back. He clicked what looked like a small CPR rescue breather mask into place and pulled the pin on the device, emitting a soft hiss and roar of gas and heat.

  ―

  “Operator has armed the dose. Taking full control. Stand by for override sequence.” A staccato onslaught of clicks minimized Vine’s webcam feed into the upper corner and filled the rest of the screen with the druid’s-eye-view of the Monastery raid with full control of all game and character functions.

  “No! It’s about to be the best part! Give me a window on the webcam over here.”

  A couple more clicks, “Done.”

  “Sweeeeeet!” He kicked back in his chair a little and swiped a handful of Cheetos to watch the show on his terminal while his partner played the game.

  ―

  For all intents and purposes, it is technically impossible to fatally overdose on the THC contained within naturally grown marijuana. Some research has projected that it would take a dose 40,000 times larger than that which gets one high for the drug itself to be fatal. Despite its relative safety and impending universal legality, or perhaps because of it, too much of a good thing is not enough for some people. Thus came about the newish innovation of dabbing.

  Dabbing is the smoking of marijuana concentrates, some originally meant to be taken in small oral doses, for an extremely intense high in comparison to everyday weed. First-time users often pass out after their first hit, and the THC released by dabbing is so concentrated that the practice has been documented as causing the first known marijuana overdoses, something unthinkable just a few years back, although none directly fatal. The few fatalities recorded usually involve explosions, due to the high heat and volatile substances involved, or psychotic and suicidal episodes caused by the mental side effects of an overdose of THC.

  Dabbing is the current state-of-the-art method for those seeking excessive potency amongst the cannabis connoisseurs, but even with the strongest dabs and the best equipment THC won’t technically kill. The weapons engineers in Boudreaux’s R&D department loved being told something was technically impossible. They proudly maintained they were budgeted for the impossible.

  The canister, with matching mouthpiece and ergonomic grip, was dabbing at a massive scale miniaturized and weaponized. Rather than lug around a bong and a blowtorch in hopes the target will smoke out with you, this little baby has it all in one package. Pulling the pin ignites a small amount of white phosphorus, which superheats the industrial-size dose of concentrated THC causing it to vaporize, and a pull of the trigger disperses the pressurized gas through the nozzle. If the operator maintains a good seal with the breathing mask death is certain, but not instant. The victim will convulse, most likely evacuate fluids and solids from all orifices, and experience horrid hallucinations for the last breathless minute of his or her life. A little dab’ll do ya, as Brylcreem used to say.

  ―

  “What the fuck, man?!” Vine impotently slammed his mouse and keyboard on the desk in anger. His game connection had lagged in such a way that he could still see the battle progressing in the Monastery, but he didn’t have any input or control over his fantasy self. He was even frozen out of chat, but somehow his digital druid was still running with Nanuck and doing its job. It didn’t make sense.

  “Stupid shit!” He ripped the headphones from his head and tossed them into a corner, hearing them break, then leapt to his feet sending his rolling desk chair shooting across the floor behind him. He turned with a quizzical look on his face as he heard the chair thud into something that shouldn’t
have been there. John sprung and bore Vine bodily to the ground, crushing the breath out of him with his weight, and gaining the mount before the erstwhile druid knew what hit him. He applied the mask, muffling the protests of his victim, and pulled the trigger. Gas, gas, gas.

  ―

  [Party][Nanuck]: Ok Vine. I’m making my final circuit and about to hit the corridor, gonna be time for that big heal we talked about.

  [Party][Bellsbane]: LMAO!

  [Party][Nanuck]: Vine?

  [Party][Bellsbane]: He’s lagged. Running in place in front of me. Ur fucked, lol.

  ―

  “Oops, ha ha! Mom’s bandwidth can’t handle the override. I crashed him again.” He tried a few quick commands to reestablish control.

  “S’ok. Druid is hard down. His spirit has been released by the sticky green.” The tech watched the cam feed as John rose from his place atop the convulsing flesh that had been Vinestalker; a little dab’ll do ya indeed. “We should get them to make up a couple of those that only kill you a little; I bet the high is fucking amazeballs.”

  “Yeah sure, I bet they’ll whip those right up for us.” Regaining control of the game client he decided on one last indignity. He cackled maniacally as he typed /afk into the formerly 1337 druid Vinestalker’s command line.

  Vinestalker has gone Away From Keyboard

  [Party][Bellsbane]: Doh! Told ya, lol.

  [Party][Nanuck]: Fuck you, Bells! I’m dragging every one of these fuckers right up your little ass.

  [Party][Bellsbane]: Oh, we still doing that single pull thing? ‘Cause I just stepped out of the instance. Kek, eat a dick.

  ―

  “Ahhh, that was fun. Ok, I’m going to shut down everything but the webcam and start scrubbing the system. You keep an eye on our boy while he mops up.” The tech punched up the virus and sent it into Vine’s hard drive. It would take a little time to run, but this program wiped every scrap of data and then filled the drive back up with meaningless bytes of gibberish and gobbledygook ensuring that none of the guerilla botanist’s research could ever be recovered, even if the drives somehow survived the impending smoke and water damage unscathed.