Adapt

by Edward Freeland

  The watcher glanced at the number of views his site attracts. It’s not only me here with you, slave. Thousands watch you, criticise you, judge you, laugh at you. Many despise you. They are not used to seeing someone all day and night. They have never witnessed someone breaking down. It’s ugly, they think you’re ugly. I’ve seen it before with other slaves but never one that brings my website so much traffic, so many views. More and more and you have no idea. I don’t hate you, slave. You bring me traffic, views, friends, comments. Nothing in it for you but there is for me. They love the way I edit your videos, they think you are a joke. Now I edit them in new ways. The watcher laughed to himself. He gulped back his beer. Wiping beer away from his chin, stubble scratching at the back of his hand he thought of how clever he was. Remembering an article in which he read that people who use Remote Administration Tools were not real hackers. Rubbish. I’ve infected many computers with this software unbeknown to the slave. Dating sites are the best way. Full of desperate, naïve, hopeful, trusting people. Easily fooled by a pretty picture. I use the same software used to spy on a spy: Blackshades. The Syrian regime used the same tool on an informant. The spy’s phone was infected and he had no idea.

  The Watcher opened up another window to see his slave’s text messages. The tool enabled him to use the smart phone camera, both front and back. The Watcher could view the mobile screen, one camera on his slave’s shoes, and the other on his slave’s face. All of it uploaded for everyone to see. Audio at the click of a button. Tracking via the satellite navigation. Daniel hadn’t been alone for months. People watch you just to hate you. Some say they are going to kill you since I have been creating my best work.

  I watch you lying down, pleasuring yourself, whilst you watch a woman lying down, pleasuring herself. Your voyeurism is our voyeurism. I now use a double window. One of you getting off, the other I impose rape footage. People that come onto my site think you look at rape. It makes them angry. It creates the reaction I thought it would. So long as no one you know informs you I can keep doing this to you. I know you’re getting paranoid. I turned the light on to your webcam intentionally to see your reaction. You were still too stupid to realise I’m there all the time. You deserve all you get, slave. Every stupid thing you say on a whim. You forget it but it’s not forgotten by others. Solidified in stone where people can replay it, edit it and despise you for it.

  The Watcher clicked back onto the Life’s Journal page. Site not available. What? He couldn’t access the account. He made copies every other day so he would suffer no data loses. If they are tracing the IP address I’m fucked.

  “Oh fuck,” he said aloud while shutting down the computer. “What can I do? Shit. They have shut me down.” He paced the room. I know, I take a chance and send it to one of Robert McLeod’s journalists. That might take the focus off of me. I will send them the software, they can hack him. They hack everyone. I will send them copies of the edited footage then ditch this computer. It’s finally over, slave.

  Divide and Conquer

  The lack of sleep was affecting Daniel’s ability to function. For years he had relaxed himself through training. He would often run along country lanes to clear his mind. Breathing in the fresh air, admiring the landscape surrounding, and only the determination to move forward. He understood it to be primal, a necessity of our ancestors, like hunting. It was basic, a human instinct. The more he ran the more therapeutic each step became. Music was the perfect encouragement, once the body felt tired and fatigued, music would help him overcome the barrier.

  Today’s run, three days since quitting his job, was hard. The pleasure was no more, the peacefulness disturbed, his mind not on form. The situation at work was still unresolved, it was no longer isolated to work but spreading, like a weed that can’t be pulled out. They must be passing it around the town, he thought as he arrived at the front door. He didn’t get far before returning home. He didn’t follow his usual routine of having a shower the second he came in the door. Instead he sat in the kitchen looking out into the garden thinking of nothing. The fog showed no sign of dissipation. Not a ray of sunlight would slice into the haze. I’m going to do some weight training, I need to do something to divert my mind.

  Having warmed up with a short run he aimed straight for the weight bench in the garage. A few stretches would help against injury, given the temperature. Hood up and fingerless gripped gloves pulled over his hands. He lay on the bench looking at the ceiling. The weight on the bar a quarter less than his usual lift. A good starting point before adding five kilograms at a time. Breath left his mouth akin to smoke it was so cold. Gripping the bar, his fingerless gloves couldn’t protect the tips of his fingers that were responding to the icy steel. Each digit turning white before he began to grip. He lifted the bar off its place of rest. This feels heavier than it should. Fighting gravity all the way down to his chest he eased the bar lower. The bar now resting across his pectoral muscle, his arms cared not to push the bar back up. His arms were as strong as ever, it was his mind that didn’t care to push the bar back up. His brain engaged with other matters. He tried to push. It feels like the weight of an empire crushing my chest. Driving through his legs to his feet that were pressed to the floor he searched for an extra source of energy. He found enough to place the bar back into its holders.

  I can’t train at the moment, there’s no point if I’m not enjoying it. It had always been a mental haven, but the way people were responding to him was haunting his thoughts. Sitting on the weights bench he glanced at the clock. Midday. Maybe I should go and see Susana. Her soft touch will make this go away. I could be there in two and a half hours. He rang Susana. Her voice relaxed him immediately.

  “Hello,” he said as she answered.

  “I know that voice. How are you, honey?”

  “It’s Daniel.”

  “I knew it was you. Are you okay?”

  “I would love to see you today,” he said.

  “That’s fine, I have been looking forward to seeing you again. You left in a hurry last time.”

  “I know, sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said “I had a good time. I’ve been thinking about you. That makes you a dangerous client.” Daniel knew she was acting, fulfilling the role he wanted of her. She knew how to play the game but it played with his emotions.

  “The feeling is mutual,” he said. “Is four o’clock okay with you?”

  “An early one. I’m going to the gym at two but I should be back in time. I had better not wear myself out at the gym, then. See you at four, honey.”

  “See you then. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Daniel washed and dressed in a hurry. He left the house in jeans, white t-shirt and a wool lined brown leather jacket. His silver Astra would get him to the station in fifteen minutes, followed by a two hour train journey taking him into the city. He had clarity, for the first time that week. He looked at no one on the way, his eyes closed whilst on the train thinking of one woman. He rehearsed in his mind how the appointment may go. The fog around the fields of his home lifted long before he arrived in the city. It was overcast but vision was clear. He arrived at King’s Cross, walking with purpose toward the tube. Once on the tube platform a man and woman walked past him. The man pointed at Daniel, nudged the woman on the arm and the pair looked at him for a moment. She nodded and then they shared a giggle. Daniel felt sick. This can’t happen in London. A moment the pair will never think of again, for Daniel it had far more importance. Maybe they followed me. They may live near me.

  Daniel became dizzy, looking around at everyone on the platform, trying to remember the faces, making sure he recognised none of them. He heard the train and looked down the tunnel. Standing two feet away from the platform edge he could see the light coming toward him. His vision blurred as the train approached, his body swaying. The wind swept around his face as the front of the train passed him. It slowed to a stop. He walked on and slouched in the seat. A man stood opposite by the d
oors. The man was looking around the carriage. His head turned back and he looked at Daniel. Daniel looked up, the man with cropped blonde hair looked away and began to laugh to himself. Daniel rubbed his face. He could feel the fog return. The confusion, embarrassment and lack of understanding made it hard to ask any stranger. I should confront him. He looked at a woman that sat opposite. She had dark hair to her shoulders and wore a suit. She looked at him and smirked. He could see that she tried to restrain her lips but it broke through. The paper she read she lifted in front of her face to hide her amusement.

  This is in London as well. If I ask her I will look crazy, asking random strangers about this and I worked with someone who could clear this up. Daniel got off at the next stop so he could get some air. He couldn’t see Susana with a cloud of confusion hanging over him. I can’t go like this, I feel sick.

  Daniel rang Susana to cancel, although she wasn’t answering. She must still be in the gym, I will leave a message.

  “Hi Susana. I can’t make it today, something has come up. I’m sorry to cancel at such short notice. Hope to see you soon. Take care. Bye.”

  On leaving the message Daniel decided to go to Dominique’s house. I need to tell her to keep an eye out. This is more widespread than I first thought. Why the mixed reactions? Some laugh at me, some seem to hate me. Daniel rang the bell of the East London home; the front painted cream, like most down the road. His sister answered the door.

  “Hi, Daniel.” She invited him in and he sat on the brown leather sofa. “Do you want a tea or a coffee?”

  “Coffee, please,” he replied. He sat awaiting his drink, looking around at the family photos that decorated the sand colour walls. He was not sure whether he should say anything or not. A soap opera was distracting his thinking so he reached for the remote to turn the noise off. Dominique passed him the cup, steam rising, transporting with it a strong aroma. She sat beside him.

  “Are you okay? You look worried,” she asked.

  “I don’t know to be honest with you. I’m kind of confused,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know what’s going on. I’m getting reactions from people I have never met. Some look at me like they despise me,” said Daniel.

  “Where have you been experiencing this?” asked Dominique.

  “Around home, at work, even in London,” he said. “Today on the bloody underground.”

  “Why?”

  “I think I’ve been hacked. I know I was hacked. At first I wasn’t sure, I thought it was work, a joke that another driver was playing with me.”

  “Why work?” she asked.

  “That’s where it started. They were the first to say anything. They knew where I go on my days off. Things I’ve said at home they would repeat,” he said. “Look. I don’t know if it was them. Something was going on at work in November, December, then I started to get reactions in public so I don’t really know.”

  “It’s probably nothing,” she said.

  “It’s real, and I need to find out.”

  “I will see what I can find,” she said, reaching for her laptop.

  “First work, then local, now the tube. I need to know.”

  “What do you think it is?” she asked.

  “I know a few things from what I have picked up.”

  “Have you typed in your name?”

  “Done that,” he said.

  “There’s nothing that I can find. I wouldn’t worry about it,” she said.

  “I haven’t slept for days,” he said, “it’s driving me mad.”

  “There’s nothing there now,” she assured him. “If you were getting hacked, it’s not still happening, at least.”

  “It might still be happening, I won’t know until I get the police involved,” he said. Daniel stared at his sister; he could see her eyes watering. “If you know something you have to tell me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “It might still be happening,” he said. “I need to know.” Daniel put his jacket on and went to the front door. “I’m going.”

  “Don’t go,” she said. “Stay here for a few days, let things return to normal.”

  “Things aren’t normal here. I need to do something. If you don’t know anything then I may as well go and ask someone else.”

  “I can see you’re anxious,” she said. “I told the kids you were coming before they went to bed. Stay until tomorrow.”

  “I’m going, okay? Bye.” Daniel walked out. “I will find out from work, then tell you more.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said.

  Daniel left to catch the last train. A man stared at him while at the station. “What are you looking at?” Daniel asked. The man was of similar height and build. He wore a suit and had thinning hair, details that Daniel didn’t notice; all he saw was eyes taunting him. “Why are you looking at me?” Daniel wanted an answer. The man backed off. “Why?” he asked a third time. The man was fearfully edging backwards. I’m scaring him. All I want is for you to tell me why.

  Daniel had another sleepless night. He couldn’t relax. The following morning Daniel texted Dominique to apologise.

  ‘Sorry for everything. In a strange place at the moment. Sorry.’

  She replied within a few minutes.

  ‘Try to get some sleep. Things will work out. We are worried for you.’

  Daniel sat on his bed that morning, watching TV. He didn’t feel in the least tired and didn’t pay attention to the morning news. When did this start? I know the webcam came on that one occasion. Maybe it happened more often. The mimed mouth movements must be when I was looking in the mirror. The tongue poking out, I get that, but what about the rest? The breakfast news was on. The man was a short tubby fellow. The woman a young journalist. The short presenter looked at the screen. “You say sorry with a text,” said the presenter. He was staring into the camera. Daniel could feel their eyes burning through the TV. “You say sorry with a text,” repeated the female presenter. “How can you say sorry with a text?” said the tubby fellow. “You should get some sleep.” Daniel looked at his phone, the message he had sent not twenty minutes ago. He looked at his sister’s reply. That’s weird. He turned the TV off immediately. That was strange, so out of the blue, the way they looked at the screen. It didn’t relate to anything on the news programme. His heart began to race, blurred vision returned. That didn’t just happen. No way. They must be hacking me. The media is hacking me.

  Daniel ran out of the room. He entered the kitchen, where his mother and brother were. Matt was cooking himself breakfast.

  “I’ve been hacked,” shouted Daniel.

  “Most people have,” said Matt.

  “This isn’t a joke. I think I’m still being hacked.”

  “Slow down,” said Clarissa. “What do you mean?”

  “Something has been going on. I thought it was work then I thought it was local,” he said. “It’s more than that. I think the media are hacking me.”

  “No one is hacking you. Least of all the media,” said Matt.

  “They are, and have been for a while.”

  Clarissa was shocked by his reaction. “Your bank details have been hacked or your share dealing account or something else?”

  “Neither,” he said. “Maybe both. My webcam and phone. God knows what else.” Clarissa and Matt both looked confused. “I was paranoid about it, but put it down to that. Paranoia.”

  “That’s probably what it is. The media haven’t hacked you. I’m sure of that. Don’t worry,” said Matt.

  “Of course I’m bloody worried. They are still hacking me.”

  “Have you looked?” asked Matt.

  “Yes, I’ve looked but can’t find anything,” said Daniel “Can you have another look on Life’s Journal. A bloke from work said it was there.”

  Matt pulled out his phone. “I will type your name in to see what comes up. Did he say what it was called or if it was your name?”

  “I did but he won’t help,” sai
d Daniel as he walked across the kitchen. Standing in front of the cooker he felt his arm warm. The ring on the electric cooker glowing red. Matt had left it on. Daniel held his hand over the ring, radiating his palm until it turned red. He turned off the cooker.

  “I can’t find anything,” said Matt as he put his phone on the work surface and began to eat his breakfast. Whilst dipping toast into a soft egg Matt questioned the reliability of where Daniel got his information. “Are you sure it’s not a wind up? A joke at work?”

  “It’s not a joke,” said Daniel. “At first that’s all I thought it could be, but believe me it’s no joke. I’ve had too many strange reactions.”

  “Has anyone told you anything?” asked his mother. “What type of strange reactions?”

  “No. Some are negative reactions. Actually I would class it all as negative but some are worse than others. No one has given clear details.”

  “If you can try to relax, we will see how things pan out,” she said.

  “Okay,” he said. He could see the concern his mother had for him.

  “It’s understandable that you’re anxious but you can’t do anything at the moment,” she said. “Stop using your computer for now.”

  “I have. I’m never using it again,” he replied.

  Matt walked to the kitchen door. “Try not to worry,” he called back.

  “I’ll try,” said Daniel.

  Daniel did try to forget about it. He went for a run, refuelled with a salmon salad ready for a resistance training session. Following the exercise he set up a canvas. He had produced a few pieces of art a number of years ago, and he remembered how relaxing it was. The calmness of gliding a brush across the sheet leaving behind an exuberant mix of colour. Creating a landscape, exaggerating the red sky of a sunset or a moody cloud formation. Art in which he could transcend into the detail of the world he was creating. He painted a purple sky with a low morning sun, bright and yellow in the centre of the canvas. A pink hue surrounding was where he finished. He left it incomplete and decided to finish the art another day. The picture was left wanting, needing, much the same as his mind.