Fate was lost. The rhythm of code, the pacifying splay of green characters coursing through his implants while he sought to shore up a security hole and data sponge for a little non-profit somewhere in the upper sphere of Osiris, had sucked him under for an unknown period of time. It could have been nearly a day for all he was aware of his surroundings.
In cyberspace the only thing that mattered was the job, but he was still--mostly--flesh and blood. He knew his limits. Fate had sensors set for reminding him to eat. They were discrete to prevent distraction during more difficult jobs, so if he missed those checkpoints then he had more dire emergency measures. In case he got pulled in too deep and became temporarily unable to take care of that pesky eating and drinking thing. Thus far it hadn't come to that. He was still mobile, still lived outside his tech.
It was getting harder, given that the majority of his contact with the living came through the machines.
Easier than another hacker would've had it though, since Fate had only gotten the implants and ports he needed, rather than becoming so much more machine in the name of efficiency.
Efficiency was only as fast as the machines could process, after all. Sometimes even enhanced human speed was too fast.
Like now.
The clog of detritus in this particular non-profit's system told him they'd never, ever had a checkup, not even a basic spam filter. Everything that uploaded freely, junk tagged in the background on emails or message programs or comm calls or just general tech network hookups...it slowed his progress down and made running through acres of code less tranquil than tedious. He triple-checked each string of data for what should and shouldn't be there, cleaned it with care, and set it to rights within their stores.
Finally satisfied, he tucked in the final strand and sent through pay coords when suddenly a hideous spout of code gushed through his own systems. It clogged his sensors on one side and followed through on the surface of his connection, stabbing his ears with one of the most slanderous sounds he'd ever laid ears on.
"Drekked-up batch of slop!" he yelped, along with a few more unintelligible phrases as he surfaced from the job in a sputter. Fate yanked his headset off and pumped the emergency disengage on the cable that disappeared into his neck port.
Which helped only marginally, as the cable slithered to the floor, the music stopped coursing directly into his cortex. Instead, it pounded into the open air of his workspace. Into his bones, vibrating his fingers as he typed.
Who--?
It really shouldn't have been a question. There'd only ever been one creature who'd dared--repeatedly--to wreak havoc on his systems, and his picture, his sign, the calling card of a trickster was plastered wall to wall on his monitors. Nor did Fate now need to ask why. This particular menace simply...menaced.
"Is it possible to playfully menace? I'm pretty damn sure Badfellow's playfully menacing..."
Fate whipped through the security functions on his white grid and chased the code. If he didn't cut off the ear-bleeding sounds...he cursed. The thumping beat had caused his left eye to twitch, which his implant had read as a command, subsequently opening a new subroutine.
"Son of a spaceworm!"
Two more, definitive taps, and the code dumped, the music stopped, and his ears rang with the sudden stark silence. Fate swiped heavy strands of burnt orange behind his ears. After a long breath, he gathered them together with a handy cable tie.
"I know you didn't just taunt me."
Hazel eyes, one glinting with distant tech, squinted at the message that used every monitor on his display as it scrolled across. He growled softly.
"I KNOW YOU DIDN'T JUST TAUNT ME."
Jolts of irritation and remembered games with this particular fiend shot through his veins and a smile curved his lips. Carefully, he followed the trail Robin had left. Watched as the man's physical presence was shielded even as the location was clear. Tapped onto his data line...and set up a return volley of his own. "If it's a fortune you want..."
Blinking, he called up a list of previous clients--ones who weren't prone to killing...it wouldn't do to have such a lovely opponent lost for good--found one with a healthy account, and funneled.
Funds flooded down Robin's line, using his signature image to tag it. The missing creds would point to a very specific thief.
Unable to play this particular hand without a guilty conscience, Fate padded the trap so if Robin decided to take it as an offering rather than a ploy accessing the funds would immediately transfer them home--and start alarms screaming in the immediate vicinity.
Possibly also alerting the heat.
And giving him time to beat his nemesis to the cameras for once.
Maybe.
>>A fortune?
>>You'll have a drink on me.
>>Also:
>>Next time try jazz.
>>You owe me new ears.
In cyberspace the only thing that mattered was the job, but he was still--mostly--flesh and blood. He knew his limits. Fate had sensors set for reminding him to eat. They were discrete to prevent distraction during more difficult jobs, so if he missed those checkpoints then he had more dire emergency measures. In case he got pulled in too deep and became temporarily unable to take care of that pesky eating and drinking thing. Thus far it hadn't come to that. He was still mobile, still lived outside his tech.
It was getting harder, given that the majority of his contact with the living came through the machines.
Easier than another hacker would've had it though, since Fate had only gotten the implants and ports he needed, rather than becoming so much more machine in the name of efficiency.
Efficiency was only as fast as the machines could process, after all. Sometimes even enhanced human speed was too fast.
Like now.
The clog of detritus in this particular non-profit's system told him they'd never, ever had a checkup, not even a basic spam filter. Everything that uploaded freely, junk tagged in the background on emails or message programs or comm calls or just general tech network hookups...it slowed his progress down and made running through acres of code less tranquil than tedious. He triple-checked each string of data for what should and shouldn't be there, cleaned it with care, and set it to rights within their stores.
Finally satisfied, he tucked in the final strand and sent through pay coords when suddenly a hideous spout of code gushed through his own systems. It clogged his sensors on one side and followed through on the surface of his connection, stabbing his ears with one of the most slanderous sounds he'd ever laid ears on.
"Drekked-up batch of slop!" he yelped, along with a few more unintelligible phrases as he surfaced from the job in a sputter. Fate yanked his headset off and pumped the emergency disengage on the cable that disappeared into his neck port.
Which helped only marginally, as the cable slithered to the floor, the music stopped coursing directly into his cortex. Instead, it pounded into the open air of his workspace. Into his bones, vibrating his fingers as he typed.
Who--?
It really shouldn't have been a question. There'd only ever been one creature who'd dared--repeatedly--to wreak havoc on his systems, and his picture, his sign, the calling card of a trickster was plastered wall to wall on his monitors. Nor did Fate now need to ask why. This particular menace simply...menaced.
"Is it possible to playfully menace? I'm pretty damn sure Badfellow's playfully menacing..."
Fate whipped through the security functions on his white grid and chased the code. If he didn't cut off the ear-bleeding sounds...he cursed. The thumping beat had caused his left eye to twitch, which his implant had read as a command, subsequently opening a new subroutine.
"Son of a spaceworm!"
Two more, definitive taps, and the code dumped, the music stopped, and his ears rang with the sudden stark silence. Fate swiped heavy strands of burnt orange behind his ears. After a long breath, he gathered them together with a handy cable tie.
Miss me, Fate? Tell me my fortune?
"I know you didn't just taunt me."
Hazel eyes, one glinting with distant tech, squinted at the message that used every monitor on his display as it scrolled across. He growled softly.
"I KNOW YOU DIDN'T JUST TAUNT ME."
Jolts of irritation and remembered games with this particular fiend shot through his veins and a smile curved his lips. Carefully, he followed the trail Robin had left. Watched as the man's physical presence was shielded even as the location was clear. Tapped onto his data line...and set up a return volley of his own. "If it's a fortune you want..."
Blinking, he called up a list of previous clients--ones who weren't prone to killing...it wouldn't do to have such a lovely opponent lost for good--found one with a healthy account, and funneled.
Funds flooded down Robin's line, using his signature image to tag it. The missing creds would point to a very specific thief.
Unable to play this particular hand without a guilty conscience, Fate padded the trap so if Robin decided to take it as an offering rather than a ploy accessing the funds would immediately transfer them home--and start alarms screaming in the immediate vicinity.
Possibly also alerting the heat.
And giving him time to beat his nemesis to the cameras for once.
Maybe.
>>A fortune?
>>You'll have a drink on me.
>>Also:
>>Next time try jazz.
>>You owe me new ears.
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
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