Life: A Life Trilogy

by Travis Knoll

  March 8, 2035

  San Francisco, CA

  TaxMan's -- Underground

  19:29

  Somewhere in the world, someone was lying on their metaphorical deathbed, as they had just gotten the news that they had cancer. This same person decided to emphatically create a bucket list and truly live the rest of their life. If this person found that their family was trapped inside a burning building, they would do whatever it took to save them, and in doing so sacrificed their own life in the process. This was the edge, and the question should be how did we stay here, or why did we wait till death was imminent to find the edge? Our food tasted better, thoughts were laser-focused, and we had joy. At the same time, why did we wait till everything could be taken away to come to the edge... Come to the edge, I say...

  Life has a reprehensibly different flavor when you lose something or someone. Some of us lose our cell phone and we're transformed into anxiety-ridden maniacs, treating it as an actual human being. It makes us as humans long for something more, or to ask the big questions in life.

  I thought as I stared at the picture of my girlfriend on my desk. I shook my head, almost in tears of the horrible things that they could be doing to her at his very moment. This perhaps was what he wanted, as she had taken over my thoughts, and I wasn't thinking rationally.

  Cowboy took off his cowboy hat, wiped his brow, and grabbed us both a cold buddy. I got a text message that had another security code and website information. The message ordered me to go to the provided secure website for more information on my project.

  I spun in the chair at my desk and typed in the code as Cowboy had beads of sweat coming off his forehead, soaking the stained band on his cowboy hat.

  "I think it's time to get a new hat, bro, or maybe a bit more exercise," I said.

  "Nonsense, mang. I just broke this one in," Cowboy said, adjusting his hat.

  The information for the project came up on the computer screen to reveal more information of the proposed hack. I peered closer at the information, which read, in summation, that it was a massive tax hack that was supposed to peel off a percentage of every taxable purchase in the world, in order to give it back to every type of Life. It detailed that I was supposed to create an application that was secure and packaged in a set of files to be delivered and implemented at a later to-be-determined time.

  The job stated that I would have two days to complete the app, or of course my girlfriend would be killed. He'd be watching. The information read that she would be fine as long as I completed the project and it worked, as per their specifications. Furthermore, they would hold on to her until the end as collateral to ensure success.

  --The computer turned off.--

  I moved in my chair and glared at Cowboy; both of us were pale. We had never completed something of this magnitude.

  "Mang, you need to call Black, and find out more information on what exactly is going on. I mean, why are they holding her hostage if this is to help the Lifes?"

  "I think it's to give back to the people, or for him? I'm not sure what to believe anymore."

  "It's like my pa used to say, darn it. If it smells like shit and looks like shit, you sure as shit better not taste that shit..."

  Cowboy adjusted his hat that accumulated more sweat then I could bear; it had completely stained the outside of the tan hat. I think it even brought some unwanted flies to my BART abode.

  "You're just frustrated cause of that darn girl. I knew she was no good for ya. You can't have a fake ID and be with a dang Lifer," Cowboy said.

  "Now's not the time. I need to figure out who's running this operation," I said, but still the thought of what Cowboy said rang true in the back of my mind.

  "I'ma need to get some more buddies for dis one..."

  March 8, 2035

  San Francisco, CA

  TaxMan's -- Underground

  21:33

  Cowboy flipped on the softer green light that illuminated a greenish hue as he cracked another buddy. The green light was good for our minds’ eyes, allowing us to stay awake longer. We also used UV glasses to stimulate our senses and keep the bad light from our computer that could destroy our minds’ mitochondria, and thus rendering us a walking dead Unlife. Bad light turned Unlifes into the walking dead. It was simple things like this, if you stared at the UV rays on your computer for hours you were literally frying your brain and depleting its power. When I switched it to a green phosphorescent bulb it was a drastic pick-me-up, and I could work at the computer much longer.

  "This is the last job, and you know I can't guarantee anything out of it for you, but you know I need you," I said.

  "Mang, ya know I'm all in, baby!" Cowboy said emphatically.

  "I appreciate that, you've been like family to me, man," I muttered, trying to control my emotions.

  "Don't ya get all soft on me now," Cowboy said. We both turned away from each other, covering the tears that accumulated in our eyes.

  "You’re an idiot.." I stated.

  "I hate you..." Cowboy said.

  "OK, now let’s get to work," I said as we both wiped our faces.

  We agreed to create the application and planned to place it in a secure Tor browser to be concealed and tested. It was going to act as a worm and an application embedded inside an application to peel off data to be placed elsewhere. After the application was complete, I would relinquish it to them, and whoever they were could do what they needed with it.

  I drew out on paper the workflow as I continued to glance at the picture of Stephanie and the painting that she did for me.

  "We have to stay here till this is finished. I believe that we can have it finished before curfew alarm."

  "Fair enough, mang. I think I got me enough buddies to get me through the night."

  22:30

  I pulled out my archaic-looking laptop from underneath my desk; it had a terminator sticker on the top and bore the same name. I placed it next to my R2D2 clock and high-end computer on the desk. The older-model laptop was good to keep around, as third parties couldn't hack into the older-model computers if they weren't up to date. We had everything in place and knew what to do, as whoever he was, he was right—we were the best.

  Cowboy pulled out his computer and adjusted the screen as we decided to route everything to the static IP using the Terminator in order to create a test server.

  22:50

  I relentlessly coded in C++ to have the back-end algorithmically designed, and worked out the problem on the state-of-the-art computer, occasionally looking at the picture of Stephanie on the desk, which would make me work even harder.

  Cowboy walked back and forth, and gathered data blocks of code that were meant as shortcuts to further the process along. He also started parts of the front-end of the application. He left the room occasionally to get another buddy, cracked it, and got me an energy drink.

  00:34

  The energy drinks and buddies had piled up around the both of us in the closed BART subway car, echoing the sound of aluminum hitting each other together, but we never wavered in our focus as we continued to work on the project.

  01:49

  I placed the back-end of the application on the older-model Terminator computer to test it with a live server. I knew if someone wanted to break in to our application, they couldn't do it while I was using the Terminator because of the older-model technology.

  02:19

  Cowboy rigorously coded the front-end, going back and forth giving me more information to be moved forward with. He would take a sip of his buddy with a burp in between exchanges. Cowboy dosed in and out of consciousness as he continued to work.

  02:49

  I finished the back-end of the application with an embedded algorithm. I was ready to test the back-end and looked over at Cowboy. He was slowly fading, continually closing and opening his eyes. I bumped him to wake him up.

  "It's time to test the back-end, bro," I said.

&n
bsp; "I love a good back-end," Cowboy said as he rubbed his eyes and sat up. He was always able to make me smile for some reason.

  03:33

  The product packaged and ready for implementation...

  "Are you putting your secret sauce on it?" Cowboy asked.

  "Yeah, always, man," I said.

  "Nice, mang, you'll be the only one that can do anything with it then. Are we embedding it into the IRS main database?"

  "No, they just want the application. They'll have a guy on the inside to open the door for them, but the secret sauce will let us back in. If we need to get back in."

  "You mean you back in..."

  "Just in case, I'm placing an ID tracking stamp to collect the information of who is using the application. I also made a backup algorithm that can manipulate the code here," I said, and showed Cowboy a flash drive that the algorithm was copied to.

  04:15

  "I'm going to text Black. Let him know that we're testing the application, and that we're almost done with everything," I said. I texted Black and almost instantly received a text message back that stated great, and to let us know when complete. -- Us, I thought...

  04:48

  Cowboy lay in a sea of buddy cans and energy drinks strewn around him. I woke up the true-to-life Cowboy. He rolled over in the fetal position and the cans fell to the ground.

  "Get some rest, bud. I'm going to grab some vapor," I said. Cowboy waved at me nonchalantly.

  I grabbed a clean warm hoodie and watched as Cowboy rolled again to lay on his back. He put his cowboy hat over his head and instantly fell asleep. He truly was a cowboy and a dear friend, I thought. He belted out an exuberant snore, and I grabbed the e-cig for some vapor.

  March 8, 2035

  San Francisco, CA

  Columbus Ave, -- Behind the City Light Bookstore

  05:33

  I liked taking a stroll before curfew was up. The whole world seemed to be mine, and I could do whatever it was that I wanted in it. I watched as the morning sunlight translucently dispersed its rays throughout the morning San Francisco fog east of the city, and onto the city streets, like a car’s headlights parting their way through a snow storm. The fog dissipated as the temperature slowly rose, and I took a puff of my e-cig, pulling with it some vaporized fog. The tip of the e-cig illuminated my face and the graffiti that was bludgeoned rather artistically behind me on the walls like a vignette.

  I glanced at the picture of my girlfriend on my cell phone and walked through the back alley of the quiet city streets as I continued to consume vapor. I took a long, exasperated puff and with it inhaled the fresh foggy air moving through the city streets. I heard a soft beep from what sounded like a radio transmission, and immediately turned to look at what was going on around me.

  Two 9mm Glock 19 handguns belonging to Detective Slate and his partner, Detective Hall, were pointed just inches from my face. I exhaled the vapor rapidly in a sense of surprise, and dropped the e-cig from my mouth to the ground.

  "Relax, gentlemen. I'm only out for a walk," I said as I raised my hands in the air.

  "Where's your ID? You should know there are strict curfew enforcements that prohibit people out before six," Detective Slate said, while both of the detectives continued to point their guns just feet from my face.

  I handed them my Jake Norris ID and Detective Hall scanned the QR code that rang up that I already had two strikes in the system, and stated that the third was a mandatory ninety days in jail. This was contrived to try and digitize people and make more money off them by placing them in the prison system to work on the streets, or e-commerce manufacturing jobs as slave labor for large corporations.

  "We know who you are, punk," Detective Slate said. He held up a wanted picture of me with a hood that was similar to what I had on, with the name TaxMan below the photo.

  I gasped and peered around for a way out. Down the alley in the back street of Columbus Ave was a dead end blocked off by a fence. My heart pounded rapidly. I was trapped.

  "You have nowhere to run this time, boss," Detective Slate said.

  I hesitantly backed up against the wall that was the bridge from the beatniks to the area of China Town.

  "I'm pretty sure that you nice gentlemen have the wrong guy. I'm a tax payer," I said, shaking my head in disbelief. Detective Slate pushed the photo of what looked like me in my face, while he pointed his gun at the picture.

  "You're the damn hacker that broke into the California tax bag system, taking from honest working tax-class people. Come with us, you have nowhere to go now, ya tool bag," Detective Slate stated. He handed his handcuffs to Detective Hall to detain me. I turned, saddened, putting my head down, ashamed, as I couldn't stop thinking about my girl, but if I ran they'd shoot. This was foretold by both detectives itching the trigger on their 9mms, like Wyatt Earp at the O.K. Corral.

  "Just as I suspected, he doesn't even have a mark," Detective Hall said as he tightened the cuffs behind my back, peering at the location where my mark should be.

  The detectives merely smirked at me like they caught a big fish.

  "You're going to rot in prison, scumbag. You people make me sick."

  March 8, 2035

  San Francisco, CA

  Columbus Ave, -- Behind the City Light Bookstore

  05:43

  Instantly out of nowhere the morning sun was partially blocked by a ravenous German Shepherd Dog that bit the detectives’ arms, making their guns fall to the street away from them. The canine stood over them with his teeth snarling at their every move. His drool and teeth were exposed, and he barked if they moved to try and reach their weapons.

  I leaned with my back on the wall, petrified, staring at the ravenous dog lunging at the detectives in a sporadic manner. A mysterious man dressed in a completely concealed dark attire and drab hooded sweatshirt grabbed me from the side, and we ran down the blocked-off alleyway.

  "Who the hell are you? What's going on?!" I asked.

  The mysterious man was quiet. He pulled me further down the alleyway, navigating me with my hands firmly cuffed behind my back. The man stopped and looked at me in the face. He pointed at the canine that monitored the detectives and then motioned to give me a hush signal, putting his index finger over his lips. I knew I had no other options.

  We got to the end of the blocked-off alleyway and the mysterious silent man pulled a trash can from the bottom of the left corner of the alley fence. A lock was unlocked from the other side, and the fence was lifted up to reveal an opening. The silent man pointed for me to enter the opening, and I crawled through on all fours.

  The mysterious man pulled out a dog whistle that hung on a necklace with his military dog tags; as he blew it, the canine turned, raced down the alley, and underneath the fence, followed by the quiet mysterious man. They quickly locked the gate in multiple places behind them and ran away through the alley and were concealed by the dense morning fog.

  The detectives gave chase, but were blocked off by the locked fenced area and razor wire strung along the top of the fence. They moved the trash cans and attempted to jump, but were met with the fence being locked in multiple locations and out of reach. Detective Slate pushed on the gate, but nothing. "Shit!"

  "Let's go around, come on, hurry," Detective Slate said as they ran back down the alley.

  March 8, 2035

  San Francisco, CA

  Signs and Talks -- Cavern

  05:58

  The graffiti adorning the walls of the building flashed by as we raced down the alleyway. I continued to look over my shoulder for someone that I felt was following me, and then continued to follow the two men with a German Shepherd by their side that I knew nothing about. The silent mysterious man turned and gave me earplugs and pointed to the air. We all quickly nested them in our ears.

  A loud curfew siren was heard radiating throughout the city, followed by an intercom of a man’s singing voice that stated "It's morning, morning ti
me." He finished by saying “keep your eyes on the prize, Lifers,” and that was then followed by a female’s operatic voice, singing, "You're a slave for me." Through back alleyways the Lifers’ doors opened to the streets to conduct their business for the day. The curfew alarm had hypnotized everyone like a morning rooster and the Lifers were under the spell.

  I continued to ask what was going on and who they were, but was only met with silence...

  They snaked me through another back alley in the seedy underbelly of San Francisco's Unlife dwelling. In this part of town there was a class structure that was created within the framework of the Unlifes that were blanketing the area. The homeless Unlife population that was pushed under the rug and doing drugs was at the bottom of the rung, and they were rampant in this area. The middle and upper Unlifes either used to be a part of the Uprising and had to go underground in hiding, or they were Half-Lifes, wavering between the Lifer and Unlife world, but not all had marks and couldn't afford the taxes to work, so they fell back in the Unlife realm. A lot were unemployed or underemployed for that matter, and they tried to educate each other to better one other’s lives.

  They had set up manmade street housing with cardboard boxes and trash that they'd collected around the area, and constructed their boxes to emulate housing on a smaller scale. These middle and upper-class Unlifes, which were deemed homeless, were dressed nicely, but had no other choice but to be here. The city that they loved had banned them from mixing in with the Lifers; marked or not, the tax system dictated who they could hang out with.