Witch of the Web

Chapter 4

Felicia

Shortly after Meeting Vik

I’m not sure what I had expected from Viktor Shadewind. It hadn’t been that though. The man had called himself small and scrawny, but that had been the biggest understatement I’d ever heard. He was small, yes, but emancipated was a better term. I see more than my fair share of starving folks in my line of work, but he looked like one missed meal from death. I’d been overwhelmed with pity.

And then there was the way he looked at me like I was some monster come to life. I didn’t join LOG to be well liked, and especially not by the likes of him, but he had so much hate in his voice. I couldn’t help but wonder why he felt like that. 

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. It doesn’t matter. He’s far enough down the LOG’s priority list that they won’t think to check him for the drive but still skilled enough to actually break it open. My only hope is that he doesn’t get too curious about what’s inside. 

I make my way over to a personal safehouse I set up years ago. I may have always been a loyal servant of LOG, but I’ve never been stupid. Having somewhere I can hide even from my fellows had seemed prudent, if likely unnecessary at the time. I’m glad I had the foresight though.

The exterior looks like an abandoned Burger Tavern, but it’s so much more inside. Behind the counter, where the kitchen would’ve been, is a hideout that’d make even the most jaded agent swoon. It’s only my third time here, though. The first being when I set it up and the second was last night after I went AWOL.

Goddamn, this whole situation is a shit show. I got tasked with retrieving stolen tech. It should’ve been a simple job. My superiors had even told me as much. But I guess they hadn’t counted on there being any surviving documentation of my target left.

The DCS-1 is something that shouldn’t exist. It breaks pretty much every international law plus the Digital Sapien Act, and at least five peace treaties. I can’t believe we’d make something like it. It’s why I ran instead of reporting back. It’s why I turned to an underground webweaver instead of a more reputable contact. I couldn’t let anyone find out about it before I could extract it and delete it. 

With a final heavy sigh I collapse onto my bed in the back of the former restaurant. I find myself wondering if I’m making the right decision again. No. I can’t let myself doubt my resolve. Not now when I’m in so deep. 

I climb back out of bed long enough to take off my clothing and switch into some sleepwear, then I grab a frozen meal and pop it into the microwave. I’ve always found microwaves amusing. Strictly speaking they haven’t even used any sort of radiation in years, even if they once did. I don’t understand the science behind them, but I don’t really need to so long as I can work it. 

After a few minutes, I pull the slightly too hot box of chicken alfredo out and set it on a table to cool off. I figure I can spend my time productively by doing some additional research on Viktor. I’d managed to do a bit, given that most if not all of his name is likely fake, but that had stemmed from what we knew of his activities. 

He’d once broken into a secure data fortress and had been spotted. But after that nobody had seen him in Lanadel. He still made enough of a name for himself by performing similar services to what I enlisted him in, but with no more big heists to his name he’d fallen off LOG’s radar, so to speak. 

He hadn’t really had many run-ins with LOG agents either, which made it strange that he held so much hatred for us. I figure there’s more to it and decide to dig a little deeper. Cross referencing the name Viktor with news reports, I get a number of hits, but only one stands out as possibly relevant. One Viktor Shadewind (so it’s not a fake name), son of two digital terrorists, had escaped custody after his - 

Oh God.

An agent had killed his parents and shot him in the spine. He was presumed dead, but it seems he just laid low long enough to be forgotten and took up webweaving. No wonder he’s in that wheelchair. But why wouldn’t he just get a replacement spine? 

I find myself diving down a rabbit hole of research into the cost of such a procedure which doesn’t seem too exorbitant, but then I stumble across a paper on the cost of living in the slums as well as the average income. It’s no wonder he turned to crime. I can’t even begin to imagine having so little. 

This only leads me to start looking into accounts of prison life and I’m frankly appalled. I barely noticed my dinner while I dig deeper and deeper into the injustices of the city. I want to blame anyone but myself for my ignorance but in hindsight it’s clear that I was more than happy to ignore poverty and just assume it was the result of a failure of the individual and not a crippling sickness with the system as a whole. 

A system I’m a part of.

I close out my research and collapse once more into my bed. I feel like the monster Viktor made me out to be. I swear I’m going to do better. I’m going to stop being a part of this system of oppression. It’s with a sense of hope that I drift off to sleep.

****

Searing, blinding pain coursing through my skull is what wakes me up. Fortunately, my built in antivirus suite kicks in and isolates the malware and disables it quickly. What the fuck was that? I run a diagnostic and as I’m waiting for it to complete, I notice my funds have increased by fifty thousand creds. 

I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him. The moment I met Viktor I had my doubts, but I’d been blinded by the pity and uneasiness he caused in me. He must’ve spiked the transfer to buy himself time to escape. 

Still, it’d be embarrassing to just assume he left his workshop without checking, so I get dressed and hurry back to his admittedly well hidden hideout. It doesn’t take me long to reach it and I manage to find my way back through the labyrinth of shipping containers.

Once back in his lab, I confirm the datadrive is still present. Destroyed, but still there. His whole system has been fried as well. It’s not uncommon for webweavers to set their systems to crash if they don’t provide a code or some sort of input regularly. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a trail go cold because of it. The only other immediately notable thing is that his wheelchair is still here. Maybe he was kidnapped? Did they send another agent? But why smash the drive?

Wait. 

No. 

He released DCS-1. 

With a new urgency I decide to do a little more snooping, and soon find that this isn’t just his workshop, but also his living quarters. A small ratty bed is on the floor with a delving cord connected to his system lying by the pillow. Does he sleep in Lanadel? Doesn’t he know how dangerous that is? 

Aside from the bed, the only other thing that marks this as a living quarters is a chemical toilet. He doesn’t even have any cooking appliances, just a barely touched box of nutrient bars. Only one word echoes in my mind. Why? Why does he live like this? It’s a stupid question, given my research last night. He lacks enough money to do otherwise. But still, why starve himself when he clearly has something to eat?

I find nothing else of note. If he has any other contacts, he hasn’t left any record of them, nor do the files on him list any known associates. Maybe if I go back further? From before he was a webweaver? I head back to my safehouse, I’m going to need some of my equipment there for what I have in mind. 

It takes me a few minutes to set up my delve, during which I debate the morality of what I’m planning to do. Strictly speaking, LOG agents don’t possess the legal authority to request records that aren’t available to the public. However, if I ask nicely, most systems will provide it without much hassle. I’ve always thought that the people I interacted with just respected our work enough to cooperate, but lately I’ve been wondering if it’s less respect, and more fear that encourages their assistance. I hate the idea of using that perceived threat that seems to come inherent with my office, but not enough to let a webweaver get away with an insanely powerful AI system. 

Once set up, I delve into Lanadel. Using a bypass, I arrive outside of the LOG headquarters in Lanadey City’s digital counterpart using a masking subroutine to prevent my superiors from noticing I’ve logged in as well, or they might send a squad to detain me. Even with these precautions I will have to work quickly to track down the information I need.

The digital Lanadey is considered to be the capital city of Lanadel as a whole. So many businesses and public services have established the webworld representation of their servers here. I use a transposition code to transport me directly to the primary district school board building. Like most buildings in both the digital and meatspace versions of Lanadey, it’s structured like an imposing castle with a splash of modern flair. But where in here it’s pristine and built from bright white stones, the real world equivalent is tarnished with graffiti and unwashed grime. 

I spare a quick glance at my surroundings to ensure nobody has taken any undue notice of me, then head into the structure. The inside is just as beautiful as the outside, with ornate banisters and tapestries that move like a vid screen. I take a deep breath to focus myself. Now is not the time to get distracted by architecture. I’ve admittedly always had a fondness for it, and on several occasions it’s nearly caused me to lose a perp. 

At the end of the long entry hall is a desk with what appears to be a four armed woman with moth-like features. I double check their data tag and confirm their pronouns as she/her and that she’s an AI. I’ve always found it unfortunate that we can’t access tags in meatspace; these little snippets of information that are accessible for all sapient life in the digital space are incredibly useful and would make it so much easier to be respectful of others’ identities. 

I stride up to the desk and clear my throat to announce my presence. I’m wearing my official LOG agent garb in an effort to smooth along the process, even if it leaves me feeling uneasy. 

The moth woman looks up, her big bright eyes blink a few times before she stands up suddenly, causing her chair to topple over. Her fluffy wings shiver slightly, causing a thin layer of dust to drift off of them and fade away before touching any surface. 

“A - ah! Hello Ms LOG. I mean Ms LOG Agent. Ma’am. Hi. Um, how can I help you?” she stammers. I can’t believe I used to think that this clearly fearful response was from nerves due to admiration. 

“Please relax,” I say, trying to calm her. “I won’t be here long. I just need access to the student records. It’s a matter of grave urgency.” I really hope she doesn’t try to resist. I really don’t want to have to be pushy anymore.

“I - I’m afraid I can’t grant access to those records without a court order,” she explains, her voice tight and small. “I - I could lose my job.” I bite back the conditioned response to press the matter and opt for a more straightforward approach that would at least grant her some leeway. 

“Very well,” I state, eliciting some genuine surprise from her. I use the moment to run a temporary shutdown routine, forcing her to essentially fall asleep. She’ll be fine, but now I need to hurry. 

I make my way into the back end of the building, using a handy little bit of tech that locates and directs me to where I want to go. It’s like a video game’s quest marker. Soon enough I find myself in the server interface room. 

It doesn’t take me long to find records of Viktor’s enrollment from before he went underground. I begin cross referencing reports with his name with any name that appears more than once. The most common name that comes up is someone named Daryl Lightwood. They were apparently friends once. 

I search for whatever records I can find on Daryl, and find an oddity. A few years prior, all records of Daryl disappeared. I double check my results, and easily find the reason. Daryl changed their name to Summer. And there’s records of numerous modifications, and ah. She’s trans. She owns a restaurant in a nice part of town and - Bingo! An apartment address.

Unfortunately, it seems my presence in Lanadel has not gone unnoticed and I can feel a trace being run on my location. I quickly snip it before running out of the building, to find multiple LOG agents waiting for me. There’s even two Knights, which is not ideal. One of the knights holds up a megaphone. It’s such an anachronistic device in the mostly fantasy world of Lanadel. 

“Halt! Surrender knave or face my wrath!” he yells, his voice amplified. Ugh. It’s ‘Lancelot’. His actual name is Lance, but once he became a knight he became enamored in old Arthurian folklore and demanded to be called Lancelot by everyone. You’d think his dedication to acting like an old fashioned knight in shining armor would make him less of a prick, but it only amplifies it, much like his stupid megaphone. 

“Not happening, Lancelot,” I respond, putting a mocking lilt on his name. “I’ve got people to see, problems to solve, and not nearly enough time. So you’ll have to excuse me,” I state as I activate my transposition code. Nothing happens. 

Damn.

Lance’s dumb face is revealed as he lifts his face guard. He sports a mocking look as he begins to gloat about how there’s no escape and I should give up. I tune him out as I consider what to actually do. I could just log out, my safehouse security would prevent them from blocking that. But then they could just barricade the location of my proxy body and wait for me to return.

Double Damn.

I have no choice. I hit the log out button and am immediately pulled out of the webworld. I take a quick picture of the baffled look on Lance’s face as I fade away. Even if I get caught after this, it’ll be worth it just for that.

I shutdown my system immediately before they can trace my logout trajectory and gather my things and get dressed. I glance at my bedside table and frown. I almost decide to leave my gun behind before grabbing it and strapping it on. I don’t want to have to use it, but if Viktor has really released DCS-1 I might have to kill him to prevent him from wreaking havoc. 

Using a dummy account, I purchase a maglev ticket to a station near where Summer lives. Given that she’s my only possible lead, I’m hoping that he’s at least contacted her at some point.

The residential block is nice, and the crenulations are a wonderful touch. I need to focus. I approach the lift and am about to buzz Summer when I notice that her listing has been set to ‘do not disturb’. 

On one hand, I could wait until she’s accepting visitors, but if she’s harboring Viktor, I might not get the chance before he’s gone. On the other hand, I could override the lift, but that’d require me to use my official LOG tools and would absolutely draw my fellow agents to my location. 

There’s no good option, and not nearly enough time. I have to do it. I pull out a small handheld device from my belt and place it on the lift interface. Within a few seconds, the lift opens up and I step inside. It’s a short ride to the right floor and I approach the apartment door. In for a penny I guess. I use the same device from the lift to open the door. 

I draw my gun and step into the rather nice apartment. The smell of cookies fills the air and makes my mouth water involuntarily. I love chocolate chip cookies, so it takes me a moment to take in the whole room. There’s Summer by the kitchen. She’s wearing an apron with a picture of a lipstick mark and the text, Kiss the Chef. She’s even more gorgeous than her ID pictures made her out to be. 

Damn.

No time to be gay, though, as I hear a scream from another room. Could that be Viktor? What’s happening to him? Is DCS-1 doing something to him? Did he act willingly? It’s suddenly no longer clear what the situation is at all. 

Before I can really consider what to do next, Summer turns back into the kitchen and returns with a tray of steaming, fresh cookies. 

“Would you like some? They’re homemade,” she asks just as a panicked figure enters the room. Ah. There’s Viktor. I think?

End Chapter 4