Version Zero

by David Yoon

  I wish it had been me who got to rescue you, he thought.

  Max thought a few sentences, but did not dare say them. They all sounded wrong anyway, absurd lead-ins like Remember when we first met? or How long have we been friends now? Max set these aside.

  “You’re saying the system can’t change,” said Max. “So what if, for our next hack, we make things really personal?”

  “I thought Trollout was pretty personal,” said Akiko mournfully.

  “I’m not talking about hacking users,” said Max. “I’m talking about the gatekeepers. I say we hit the CEOs.”

  “Max,” said Akiko.

  “And we hit Cal Peers first.”

  1.27

  HOST: So you think they don’t have any idea who Version Zero is-slash-are.

  GUEST 1: I think he might suspect someone, but he’ll never be able to prove anything.

  HOST: Cal Peers.

  GUEST 1: Cal Peers.

  HOST: Think he could win a case against these Version Zero guys in court?

  GUEST 1: Maybe for stolen documents, if he can even find a single fingerprint.

  HOST: Had to be an inside job. That narrows the field.

  GUEST 2: I’ve said it before—not only is ISIS homegrown, they’ve also gone white collar, and this proves it.

  HOST: ISIS hasn’t claimed responsibility.

  GUEST 2: Then the Russians!

  HOST: The Russians use Wren for psyops, not to stir up ideas about an internet revolution.

  GUEST 1: Whoever Version Zero is, what matters is Wren is starting to lose some credibility in the court of public opinion after years of questionable business practices.

  GUEST 2: You’re on their side.

  GUEST 1: I’m not on anyone’s side. I’m just saying what’s happening.

  GUEST 2: One confirmed Trollgate suicide, plus two more suspected and currently under investigation, and you’re saying everything’s okay.

  GUEST 1: I’m saying as of this morning, something like eighty thousand people have deleted Wren, and Knowned is losing users as well—that’s awareness, for good or bad.

  HOST: Cal Peers issued a sort of apology.

  GUEST 1: Sort of is right.

  GUEST 2: There is absolutely no proof that the Big Fix documents were real, and there’s absolutely no proof that this Trollout thing has any credibility whatsoever in its, its, automated, algorithmized witch-hunt accusations.

  HOST: I think the point is—

  GUEST 2: Whatever you think might be true—

  GUEST 1: What is your point?

  HOST: Listen: We use these black boxes. Our phones. We don’t know how they work the way they do. Or why they work the way they do. My point is, if we did know how the sausage was made, maybe we’d think twice about signing up for the next big app or whatever. And maybe that’s a good thing.

  GUEST 2: But in terms of the value of intellectual property—

  HOST: Thank you, boys and girls. You know I love the applause, but we’ve got guests at the table.

  GUEST 2: In definitive legal terms—

  GUEST 1: I think the Version Zero activists—

  GUEST 2: Bullies.

  GUEST 1: I think the Version Zero group is the inevitable reaction you get when you spy on a bunch of people in the dark for a bunch of years and then lie about it. I don’t think Version Zero’s even close to being done yet, not with more and more people paying attention, and especially not with us sitting here on TV talking about it.

  GUEST 2: So, more suicides.

  GUEST 1: More truth. Don’t put words in my mouth. More truth.

  GUEST 2: There is no proof—oh, go ahead, clap for the terrorists, yay, terrorists.

  HOST: And we’re not close to being done yet, either, because coming up next after the break we have viewer live comments, so don’t go anywhere.

  1.28

  No way,” said Akiko. “Cal Peers is untouchable.”

  “Listen—I mean we just fuck with his shit a little,” said Max. “Enough to let him know he’s touchable, using the same systems he designed.”

  “How?”

  “We do another document leak like we did with the Soul Project, but this time we take it up a level. We get Cal Peers’s personal emails. Text messages. Really raw, incriminating stuff. Let Wren users know exactly what he thinks of them. Like, you’ve been watching us, but now we’re watching you, too. Then we move on to Linda Belinda at Knowned, and so on.”

  “Max, how?”

  “Let Pilot figure that part out,” cried Max with glee. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a badass concept,” said Akiko. “Tough to pull off, unless.”

  Akiko touched her lips and became lost in thought, transfixed by this challenge. Max watched her think and think. It was a spectacular sight.

  Behind the poncho were the click and thud of steel pétanque balls striking the earth. Max could hear Brayden’s and Shane’s voices struggling against the strengthening evening breeze.

  “How about best eleven out of nineteen?” said a triumphant Brayden.

  “Fuck you, bro,” cried Shane. “Let’s go again.”

  “Looks like Shane’s getting his ass kicked,” said Max finally.

  Akiko turned to Max suddenly, as if he had sneezed. She gave him a hard look.

  “I really love talking with you, Maxie,” she said.

  “I love it, too,” said Max.

  “I never get to talk about this stuff. Just, like, try to make sense of shit.”

  “Well, you’re good at it.”

  “You’re good at it, too.”

  “Mutual admiration society,” said Max.

  “I mean, I love talking to Shane, too,” said Akiko, like a question.

  “Shane’s the man, what can you say.”

  “But, like, you and me, we’ve been friends for how long now?”

  “Like, almost thirteen years.”

  “Dang, duncie.”

  “And you’ve been with Shane for, like, ten of those.”

  “Yep, yepyepyep. Ten. Years. Basically married.”

  “I—”

  “I—”

  “You go,” said Max.

  “No, you go.”

  “I forgot what I was going to say, rahhh,” said Max, and Akiko rolled her eyes.

  Behind them, Max could hear that the pétanque game had stopped; beer bottles snickthed open, which meant everyone was now gathered at the far picnic table.

  “Remember there was this pool party?” said Akiko.

  Max smiled into his knees.

  “We were sitting with our legs in the water,” she said.

  “Shane threw you in.”

  “He’s such a dumbass,” said Akiko. “I lost an earring in that pool. I’m stuck with this one stupid earring in my dresser that I can never wear. But I keep it.”

  She laughed just once. Max noticed she had a dry spot on her upper lip.

  “I think Shane wants to get married for real pretty soon,” said Akiko.

  “Oh, word?” said Max. He tried a happy grimace.

  “I just think about how young you and I were back then, and how we didn’t know anything, like we didn’t know shit,” said Akiko. “And now we’re here, and look at us, we’re all trying to change the world, really because of you, Max, and—I don’t know—but I just really admire that so, so much, and it makes me so proud to be your, your, very best friend in the whole world.”

  Max kissed her.

  Max saw her bed and the pillowcase lying there.

  Max’s left ear fell deaf for a moment. Then sound came ringing back into it.

  “Maxie,” said Akiko.

  He touched her cheek, her ear, the scar above her left eye.

>   And now she was kissing him while the tall grass around them hissed once and long. He felt her fingers clasp around his, like some kind of miracle. They stayed like this and Max felt his entire chest thud with a vast low bass tone as the tip of her tongue melted into his mouth.

  “Hey, dummies,” called Shane, cresting the ridge now.

  They sprang apart. Max released Akiko’s hand—too fast, too fast—and scrambled to turn on the tablet. The poncho collapsed. Its warmth evaporated.

  There Shane stood in a gap in the tall grass, not ten paces away. He held a chrome metal ball.

  Say something, Max.

  “You have to read the rest of this,” said Akiko. Her face betrayed nothing. “It’s heartbreaking.”

  She held up the glowing tablet: See? And Max felt his blood slow and stop as Akiko reflexively lied to Shane. He could feel her fear, strong as his own.

  After this, no more.

  But the kiss had happened. It had to mean something. It was a comet streaking across the sky that they and only they alone had seen.

  In Max’s mind, he rose from the pool that night long ago and led Akiko away before Shane could throw her into the glowing water. He took her to his house, gave her refuge from her family. He finally learned the story behind her scar.

  And together they grew old and worked at a sunlit factory making artisanal coil springs.

  Stupider and stupider, by the second.

  “Tell me all about it later,” said Shane. “Come play a round with us before it gets dark, honey bear.”

  Through the gap in the grass, Max could see Brayden and Pilot, waiting to play.

  “Coming,” said Akiko. She stood. She asked herself a question, then took out something from her pocket to glance at it: the magic eight ball key chain. She read its result.

  What did it say?

  She ambled away, with hips stiff from having sat too long, to where Shane stood waiting.

  She gave Max a single glorious look back over her shoulder. Hair whipping in the wind.

  Shane noticed that. He took her hand. He spoke to her while looking at Max.

  “You’re on my team,” he said.

  1.29

  The campfire danced before them, creating underlit shadows that twitched upon their faces. Do not stare at her, thought Max. Only glance at her if and when she speaks.

  For now, Max had to be satisfied with staring at her shoe. She wore them laceless. Easier to slip off when going indoors.

  Easier to slip off.

  “Mister Max?” said Pilot.

  “Hey,” said Max.

  “You look like you’re deep in thought,” said Pilot.

  Max waggled an empty beer bottle. “Mister Brayden, can you hook us up?”

  “Sure, absolutely,” said Brayden. He sprang to his feet and dealt out fresh icy bottles. “You got it.”

  “Thank you, Mister Brayden,” said Max. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas for our next hack, do you?”

  Brayden took a quick swig. “Actually, I’ve been thinking. What if we hacked in and made everyone’s selfie camera public? Like, you can watch anyone anywhere now, and everyone freaks the fuck out and turns off their phones, like, Aaaaa, and the internet legit becomes a ghost town. Wren stock would tank.”

  Shane lit up a joint. “That’s not bad.” He handed it to Brayden, who took a hit.

  Pilot thought. “It is doable.”

  “I feel like people would hate us for that, though,” said Akiko. “Version Zero has fans, but we’re also on some pretty serious shit lists.”

  Max studied her laceless shoes.

  “Okay, so,” said Shane. “We’re trying to make people see how fucked up the internet is, right?”

  “Mhm,” said Max.

  “What if we built our own social network?” said Shane. “We promise no ads, a privacy guarantee, and trolls get shot on sight. Boom, done.”

  “Oh, baby,” said Akiko. “That’s a great idea, but it’s so, so involved.”

  “Didn’t Axial already try something similar?” said Max.

  “Axial, and Boony, and Heynow, Trendship, ViReal, EarthTwo,” said Brayden.

  “Ah fuck,” said Shane. He spat a sparkling stream of beer into the hissing fire.

  “It really was a good idea, though, baby,” said Akiko, giggling.

  “Thank you, baby,” said Shane.

  Akiko stroked Shane’s arm with the back of a finger, and Max looked back to her shoes. Better yet, his own shoes. Just to be extra safe.

  Akiko spoke into the flames. “What about what you were saying?”

  “Who?” said Shane.

  “She means me,” said Max.

  Pilot leaned forward. “Do you have an idea?”

  Max looked up and saw everyone waiting for him. Shane fanned Akiko’s hair out and eyed him through a gap in the long strands.

  “I guess I must have missed out on something,” said Shane.

  “It’s just a thought, not even an idea,” said Max, trying out a laugh. “I just think our hacks aren’t moving the needle enough. We have to think bigger. Go beyond the technology.”

  “But the internet is technology,” said Shane. “I mean, a technology. Technological.”

  “The problems of the internet aren’t really technology based, though,” said Max. “They’re people based. We were on the right track with Trollout, but a dude died. That’s not what we want, right?”

  Max glanced around. Everyone waited.

  “Plus, it wasn’t our A-bomb. All it took was for Cal Peers to say Oops sorry and for users to think Trolls suck, but they’re not my problem, and now account deletions are already slowing down. I mean, Wren made no changes in the end. Now everyone’s wondering, Who is Version Zero?, which is not the point. The point is to keep the attention on the bad guys.”

  “Which bad guys?” said Pilot with a knowing smile.

  “The CEOs themselves,” said Max. “We live in the world they built. What if everyone knew what they really thought of their users?”

  Max leaned forward to explain.

  “What if we made their personal emails public? No amount of CEO face time would fix the damage to their public image. I know Wren had some doozies. It would be like that whole AE Motors scandal.”

  This made Shane sit up. He once worshipped cars made by Abschalteinrichtung—AE for short—until the company was caught systematically fudging emissions data in every onboard computer. “Those fucking emails, man,” said Shane, flashing disgust. “Their CEO literally said, The EPA can go fuck itself. Fuck those guys.”

  “See?” said Max, pointing. “That’s the reaction I want.”

  AE’s sales tanked after the scandal. Their reputation went from mainstream-iconic to niche-boutique. They missed the electric car wave. They would likely miss the self-driving car wave, too. They were done. The rest of the automotive industry smugly rode their high horses like tin saints, but whatever: what mattered was that everyone had to walk the walk from that point on.

  “The AE Motors scandal was uncovered by an environmental activist collective,” said Max. “I want Version Zero to be exactly like that—activist, exposing evil, bringing assholes down using their own words.”

  “I dig that,” said Shane, leaning back again.

  Me and Shane are gonna be all right, thought Max. Because after this, no more.

  No more pining.

  Shane rifled a beer at Max and Max caught it, and Shane gave him a chin nod. It was a good sign. Max nodded back. He would not go after Akiko. He would not cause disaster. He would not break their bond.

  Although, Max realized he could if he really wanted to.

  Her hand gripping his. Her melting tongue. Her easy lie.

  Sometimes you have to break a thing in order to fix it.

  Max blinked
back into now.

  “Okay, so,” said Akiko. “I’m thinking we could start with five or six targeted phishes at C- and E-level Wren execs spaced out over the next few weeks.”

  “No need,” said Pilot.

  “What?” said Akiko.

  “There’s no need,” said Pilot, and all eyes turned to him.

  And Pilot smiled that weird, knowing smile.

  “Mister Max,” he said. “You wanted the Big Five, yes?”

  “Uh,” said Max.

  “Cal Peers, CEO of the social network Wren, 3 billion users.

  “River Askew, CEO of the taxi and lodging service Airlift, 250 million users.

  “Linda Belinda, CEO of the discussion forum Knowned, 300 million users.

  “Jonas Friend, CEO of the computer giant Quartz, 600 million users.

  “Hunter Mole, CEO of the retailer A2Z,” said Pilot, “400 million users.

  “Five people with data on almost half the world’s population.”

  The campfire flames, if you closed your eyes, sounded like water.

  The fire seemed to tilt.

  Not just the fire, but the whole island.

  The sticky note. The hit list.

  “You read my phone again,” said Max.

  Pilot shrugged: Guilty as charged.

  “It was just that one time,” said Pilot. “I swear I have not looked around your phone since.”

  “You fucker,” said Max, but oddly only half angry.

  “It is an ambitious list,” said Pilot. He tented his fingertips. “But not impossible.”

  1.30

  Say we somehow get to each CEO,” said Max. “Like Shane did with Cherry Lacroix?”

  “Cherry Lacroix was a worker bee,” said Akiko. “A million times easier to get to than a CEO.”

  “We just have to find each CEO’s weakness and exploit it,” said Max.

  “A psychological backdoor,” said Pilot.

  “Right,” said Max. He sat and thought. Nothing came to mind. He kept talking anyway, to keep momentum. “So. We somehow get to each CEO.”

  “I know River Askew hits the clubs,” said Brayden.