by Ryan Somma
1.13
The ideonexus portal was completely empty. Gone were the sounds of traffic usually rolling through its virtual hallways. The cacophony of web surfers, chat rooms, search results, and game rooms were all missing. A hollow whistling wind reverberated through the portal’s tunnels, unnerving her even more. Zai felt like the last person on Earth.
She swallowed and toggled her command line switch, wincing at the sound of her own voice, “Search engine, browse category News and Media, subcategory Reuters Current Events. Go. Go.”
The portal’s female voice replied, “Browsing… Headlines for Reuters Current Events… ‘Orange County without water after unexplained plant shutdown…’ ‘Flatline computer virus shuts down all major portals…’ ‘International Aviation Authority cancels flights nation wide after planes crash in Boston, Hong Kong, San Fran—‘”
“Stop,” Zai commanded. “Open ‘Flatline Computer Virus Shuts Down All Major Portals.’ Go. Go.”
“Accessing…” the search engine said, then a male announcer followed. “The Flatline computer virus continued wreaking havoc today as all the world’s major Web portals closed down to prevent further damage from the virus which has caused more than three billion dollars in downtime for the service providers and…”
Okay, Zai thought, If the ideonexus portal is down, why am I walking around in it?
“…The virus, which seemed to strike the entire Internet at once, continues to propagate itself from system to system using a technique unknown to network security personnel, and is considered the most lethal to computer systems since the Legion of Discord’s code worm shut down servers across the world over a decade ago. The International Web Authority stationed in Alexandria, Virginia has been at a loss for answers to defeat this latest threat. Detective Dana Summerall comments:”
A woman’s voice came onto the broadcast, it was curt and authoritative. “Our Computer Scientists are working around the clock to find a solution. It’s just a matter of time until we put down this latest assault on our world’s information systems.”
The announcer questioned her, “Are there any leads on who designed this virus?”
“With the cooperation of private, federal, and international law enforcement agencies, we are following several solid leads. I am optimistic we’ll have the individual or individuals apprehended soon,” the detective replied. “We do know this is the work of a new hacker or organization on the Web, with no connection to groups such as the Legion of Discord or Free Information Network.”
“Who were responsible for similar acts of information terrorism in the past,” the reporter clarified. “This could prove to be the most destructive computer virus in history. Do you think this may mark a new age of advanced computer crime?”
“I can’t comment on that until we know more about this current menace,” Dana Summerall responded. “I can say once we figure this virus out it will be like the others, another nuisance on the list of anti-virus software updates, forgotten by the rest of the world. Anti-virus software has stayed ahead of the game for years now. This virus is simply a novelty item.”
“Thank you,” the reporter said. “The comments of Detective Dana Summerall of the International Web Authority.”
Zai closed the news article, “She hasn’t got a clue.”
Omni’s voice whispered in her ear, “No, she doesn’t.”
She whipped her head in the direction of the voice, “You again. So I take it you engineered this virus?”
“Virus? A virus is merely replicating genetic code. It satisfies the bare minimum requirements for life. This is no virus,” Omni’s voice, but not Omni said almost gleefully, “The human race may never understand the nature of its masters… but enough about the new world. Let’s talk about you. I’m impressed with your ability to see through my disguise. Tell me how you knew I was not Omni.”
“Your voice,” Zai said, maintaining her cool. “It doesn’t sound like Omni.”
“Not so,” he countered. “I’ve matched his tone, his Southeastern Virginia accent, vocal fluctuations, and his grammar perfectly. No computer could distinguish my imitation from the original. What makes you special?”
“Call it woman’s intuition,” Zai tried to sound confident. “You can’t match the mind behind the voice. You may sound like Omni. You can match his vocal whazzits and all that nonsense; but you can’t match the personality behind them. You’re just using Omni’s voice. Like a puppeteer, you sound like you’re talking through a dead person, like you’ve animated a corpse.”
“Maybe I have,” the voice said.
“You’re lying,” Zai shot back instantly, consciously fighting off the cold chill that so abruptly spilled up her back.
“Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m lying,” Omni’s voice took a grave tone.
Zai toggled the command line, “Execute Hard Stare.” She released the toggle, and paused to let her avatar lean in close to the voice. “You’re lying.”
There was a long silence then. Zai imagined their two avatars in some sort of stand off, her punk-rock doll and his whatever. A low growl, as if some fierce animal were standing over her drowned out the wind whistling in the portal. It echoed eerily off the cavernous room’s walls, and she felt as though hot breath should be washing over her face. She did not budge.
“You are not easily intimidated,” the voice was no longer Omni’s now; it was deeper, more sinister, matching the mind’s cruelty.
“Not by punk kids playing games online,” she said.
“You should know I am not merely some ‘punk kid’ playing games, Zai,” the voice warned, drawing closer to her. His avatar was larger than bandwidth regulations allowed, she sensed something monstrous stood over her. Its breath rasped, phlegmatic.
She would not back down, “You aren’t playing games? Stalking me online? Trying to intimidate me with your silly-looking avatar? What can you do? What can you really do? I want to know. So far all I’ve seen are cheap tricks.”
“What would you like to see?” the voice was quivering with rage now. “Whom should I harm to impress you? Perhaps I should kill your brother? How do you like the prospect of being all alone in the world Zai?”
“Don’t you even think about it,” Zai’s teeth clenched involuntarily.
“Are you certain?” he mocked her, “You might find it quite liberating without any social attachments distracting you. I could take care of that one. You haven’t spoken or exchanged e-mails in four months. Would it be so bad to delete him from your life?’
“You’re interested in me,” Zai said, “What do you want from me?”
“Don’t change the subject Zai,” he warned, “We were discussing your brother and the games I like to play. You don’t sound so sure of yourself now do you? You put up a strong front, but you have your human flaws just like everyone else. It’s simply a matter of discovering each mind’s weak spot.”
“You know what would really impress me?” Zai said then. “Bring Omni online, and let me talk to him.”
“That would prove nothing,” he dismissed the suggestion, “He’s no concern of anyone’s. I put him away until I further need his body.”
Zai was thankful they were no longer discussing her brother, but feeling sick at this reference to Omni’s “body,” “What does that mean?”
“Omni has his place in my plans,” he replied, “When I need him, I will bring him back into them. What about you? How do you fit into my plans?”
“I’m guessing I give you some kind of childish entertainment, yes?” Zai prompted, “You play this little game, try and scare me, manipulate me. I guess it’s supposed to make you feel powerful?”
“Does a lab rat make the scientist feel powerful?” his growl was inhuman. “You are one experiment. I let you online so I may throw stimulus at you and trigger your instincts. I have found one weakness; your love for your brother, but love is a weakness I have found in many experiments. I want to know the unique quality o
f your mind that makes you immune to my deception, but you are uncooperative. You are an enigma, which makes you dangerous. I must know why before I delete you.”
“You intend to wipe out my avatar?” she asked.
“I intend to wipe out your mind,” his tone was filled with smugness.
“Bull.”
“Now you will see,” he snarled.
A low humming was building in Zai’s helmet; something was happening in the virtual world. Something she could not interpret auditorially. She toggled her command line and asked for a status.
“Status undefined,” it replied.
She was located nowhere, no avatar the system could recognize. The humming grew and she sensed a soft whispering reaching from beneath the noise, as if someone were sneaking subliminal messages to her.
She listened to its soft, seductive coaxing for a few moments before cutting in, “What exactly are you trying to do?”
The noise stopped and there was only silence for some time. Finally the wind returned to the room and he spoke, “You are immune to that as well,” he observed.
Zai did not speak; she had no idea what was going on. If this hacker could play with her Avatar so easily, she did not want to know what he was attempting to do with her mind.
“Perhaps this then,” the voice said and her ears were assaulted by a fantastic shockwave of sound. Like a hundred pieces of chalk screeching across a blackboard, it cut right into her brain almost causing her to lose consciousness. She shrieked at these knives in her head.
“With the right audio pitch,” he stated, “I could shatter your skull.”
Another shockwave and Zai jerked back against her chair. Her head felt as if it were going to implode any moment. She tore the helmet off and threw it at the floor, cursing. She jumped out of the leather chair to pace the room, pressing her knuckles into her temples to relieve the sudden migraine and grinding her teeth in frustration. Her right foot lashed out at where she heard the helmet hit the floor, but it met only air and she almost fell. Catching herself, Zai took a deep breath and held it for a ten count, then released it in a slow hiss, pushing her palms out from her chest, symbolically forcing away her frustrations.
Picking up the phone, she speed-dialed the police, a man’s voice answered, “Toronto Police Service.”
Zai’s fingertips dug into her palm reflexively, “Nice try jerkface. Disguise your voice any way you want, I can still tell it’s you.”
The voice darkened, “I can’t wait to properly dissect your mind’s components.”
“Pervert,” Zai spat.
As she dropped the phone into its cradle she could hear him yelling, enraged, “You listen to me Zai Reinhold! You listen to me! You listen to me only--!” Click.
Zai ground her teeth for a minute, contemplating her next move. Obviously the megalomaniac wasn’t going to let her contact the authorities. Without phone or Internet service, her home base was completely incapacitated. This left her with only two options, starvation or going outside.
Maybe I can ride this out, she thought. After all, she had food, water, enough supplies to last her another month. She didn’t have to go out just yet. She could put it off until there was no other choice. This computer geek would tire of tormenting her eventually.
Then she smelled the ozone, the distinct odor of electrical components working too hard for their own good. It was seeping into the air from the corner of the room, where her computer was located. She crouched beside the system, hearing the crackle and pop of melting plastic. The box was cooking inside. The acrid burning plastic stench seared her nostrils and burned her eyes, causing them to tear. Zai averted her head to take a clean breath before confronting the CPU again. Reaching behind the box, she began pulling cords out. She wiggled or unscrewed all the peripherals from their sockets.
She grabbed the CPU to lift it and yanked her hand back with a string of explicatives when her fingers sank into the melting plastic. Squeezing the hand, she tried to focus past her screaming nerves. She flung the sheets off her cot and over the burning electronics, dragged the smoldering mess into the bathroom, and swung it into the porcelain bathtub. There she turned the shower knobs on full blast, and sighed with the satisfying sizzle of water reacting with the burning materials.
She felt her scalded fingers tenderly. They were throbbing now, but she could tell the burn wasn’t too bad. The skin would blister, but nothing more. She sprayed the hand with antiseptic and wrapped it in gauze stored under the sink ages ago. Only then did she sit down on the toilet seat beside the sink and try to calm down.
The phone rang.
She jumped at the sound. It rang again, rattling her nerves. Should she answer the phone and let the little punk gloat? It rang a third time. She stood up, turned off the shower, and walked to the living room, where she grabbed her purse and walking stick from the stand by the door. They were fuzzy with dust and she shivered uncomfortably at the sensation. The phone rang a fourth time and her answering machine clicked on.
“This is Zai. I’m checking the caller ID right now and I’m thinking I really don’t feel like talking to you—” she heard the recording say as she slammed the door to her apartment shut.
Thirty-two steps down the hall she could still smell the burnt plastic. At sixty-four steps her walking stick hit the door at the end of the corridor. She pushed it open and descended four flights of stairs to the building’s ground level. She came against the exit door to her apartment complex.
On the other side of it she was assaulted with the sounds of traffic, cold sweeping winds, and the smell of fresh air. She hesitated by the door, holding it open, not wanting to wade into this mess that was ordinary life for so many people.
She remembered the last time she had ventured into it, for a doctor’s appointment. It took her the entire day to navigate the bus routes to find the office. When she missed one of her transfers on the journey back, she ended up on a wrong bus. It was late at night when she finally made it back to the safety of her apartment.
That was eight months ago.
It was because she never bothered to learn how to navigate their world. Her reality was on the Web, a world many saw as strictly imaginary. Now one of her imaginary friends was somewhere out in the real world, and in danger. She had to find Omni. Then she would thoroughly chew him out for being so stupid.
She had learned one thing from her previous experiences here. Stepping up to the curb’s edge, she held up her bandaged hand, and yelled, “Taxi!”
