Page 2 of Deep Fake

I watched my back now. Easier when inside.

“It’s fine. Probably just someone playing pranks or trying to get a rise out of you. It’s bullshit.”

Except a stirring inside me told me it wasn’t so innocent. I ignored it.

Kind of.

At the market, I felt someone watching me. The hairs on the back of my neck raised. Goose bumps covered my skin.

Whatever was happening, I decided not to give them the satisfaction of seeing my fear. I went through the list, purchased what I needed, and left. Slowly, scanning right and left but finding no sign of anyone tracking me.

Even though I’d just picked up groceries, I stopped at my favorite burger shop and got the special double cheeseburger, Cajun fries, and a coffee milkshake. I snickered, as I took the first sip of it. Yeah, my nerves really needed more coffee.

I’d made it back to the apartment, proud of my small accomplishment. Taking a walk and getting decent food. Maybe things would get better.

I should’ve known better.

As soon as the front door shut behind me and I’d secured all the locks, a text came through. I’d blocked the numbers from before, but this was a new one.

Safer to stay inside, omega.

It broke all my resolve and what little calm I’d retained. This was getting to be too much.

I blocked the number and tossed the phone into the bottom drawer, the one with my pots and pans, and kicked the damned thing closed.

This wasn’t funny. Never had been.

I tossed the milkshake into the trash. My stomach churned, and I had a night of work ahead of me.

Sure, I could take the night off and stew in my fear, but I refused to let these people or person derail my work and life any more than they had.

In that vein, I eyed the walking pad I’d bought and never took it out of the box. It was leaned against the wall, sad and forgotten.

Whoever was texting and emailing and sending those messages, well, they could kiss my ass and leave me alone.

Chapter Two

Riglan

Before I had this room, I was sharing an apartment with three other hackers, none of whom had social skills. The bathroom was filthy, with towels and discarded clothes all over the floor, soap scum on the tile, and so much hair in the drain, I could have made a wig.

Not that I’m a fanatically clean person or a germophobe, but our kitchen could have been a laboratory for the study of food-borne illness. I tried to keep things if not sanitary at least not disgusting, but after six months, I paid my portion of the remaining year’s lease and looked for a home.

My plan had been to live there for the full year, and I got a deal on a place I found met my needs and more. From the outside, it appeared just like every other home in the gated community, offering no sign of what lay beneath.

A professor from the local university who recently retired had been holding out for just the right buyer for his home before moving to Arizona. He was a self-taught “computer guy.” The type everyone sought out for tech support way back in the day when not many people knew a thing about the subject. He’d switched over from the math department to teach what he really loved.

And he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.

He’d taken an unfinished basement and turned it into a perfect nest for a hacker like me. Soundproof, with various security features that helped keep me safe from those who might want to return the favor. I’d read recently that hackers didn’t use basement lairs, that it was just an urban legend. But, those others didn’t have the opportunity to work in a lair like mine. The lighting and dark, padded walls created an atmosphere uniquely suited for concentration.

I did a variety of jobs, most of which were legal or close to it, but that didn’t bother me all that much. If I could flex my skills and achieve my client’s goals, I was happy and well paid.

And, of course, in another way meeting the stereotype, I worked primarily at night. Not so much because of the jobs themselves, but because I was a true night owl. My brain was at its finest when the rest of the world slept. Somehow, when all my neighbors’ lights were out, their TVs no longer glowing through windows, and a certain quiet permeated the neighborhood, it felt like the perfect time to descend into my space and get online.

On this particular night, I was working on one of my personal pet projects. The ones that definitely crossed the legal lines as well as international ones. I had a passion for tracking down evilness where it grew, AKA governments planning harm to their own people. Or ours. Finding the incriminating data and seeing that it was mysteriously revealed to those who could use it best. Not as a hero or anything, certainly because I never let anyone know I was behind it. My pleasure came from outthinking those who felt they were smarter than the people they were supposed to serve. Or using them.

But I couldn’t deny that seeing the resulting news stories was entertaining. When they came out at all, because they often were dealt with and left buried deep. Most governments did not want their citizens to know their own peccadillos, much less dangerous plots against them. It just didn’t look good.