Chapter Text
<< 6.0.0 >>
According to Nudle Maps, the address Lenni had given Marcus was near Ocean Beach. He and Wrench set off right away, while Sitara and Josh stayed behind to see what they could dig up about Giles Richmond.
“Richmond doesn’t keep his !Nvite account very private.” Josh couldn’t quite mask his mounting excitement, but everyone had the same feeling. The puzzle was almost complete - all they had to do was make the pieces fit.
“He’s enrolled at SFU, plays table tennis…” Sitara read over his shoulder.
“Tonight he’s at some kind of anniversary party on his dad’s yacht.”
“I hate him already,” Wrench said over the VoIP channel. Sitara made a noise of agreement.
“He has easily over a thousand people on his friends list. What are the chances Karl Tuttle is one of them?”
“He is,” Josh said, scrolling through the man’s profile. “That’s our link to Henry Tuttle.”
That only left one job - to prove it.
The apartment was in a two-storey, terracotta-coloured building shadowed by the bigger apartments around it. There were no lights on upstairs, and no one nearby to stop Marcus and Wrench from slipping down the side of the building and using a trash can to hoist themselves up onto the balcony.
The balcony door was protected with a metal gate and a keypad. Wrench stepped forward, produced a miniature tool roll from his back pocket and selected a small screwdriver with a practiced air. Whistling softly while he worked, he deftly popped the faceplate off the keypad and stuck a smaller screwdriver into the little hole he’d revealed.
“These things always have a reset button, if you know where to look,” he explained, with all the serenity of a Zen master. As he tackled the lock on the inner door, Marcus peered through the darkened window into the living area. From what he could see, Giles Richmond was a typical student - a laundry basket sat on the couch, and there were empty takeout containers sitting on the coffee table.
A light blinked in the gloom, then another, and another. Marcus’ heart skipped a beat - there was something moving.
“He has a HAUM robot,” he hissed, ducking out of sight.
“Can you deal with it? I’m kind of busy here.” Wrench was still jiggling away at the lock. Marcus grabbed his phone and waited for the robot’s wireless connection to register on it. As soon as it appeared he retrieved its serial number, using the exploit Josh had discovered back when they were ‘building’ Wrench Jr. With the serial number, it was a simple task to get into the robot’s remote control settings - hardly anyone bothered changing the password from the default - and shut it down.
A few moments later Wrench made a satisfied noise, and let the door swing open.
They left the lights off as they crept into the apartment. The doorway opened out into the open-plan space Marcus had seen through the window. The robot stood in the middle of the kitchenette, a silent sentinel of plastic and chrome.
A laptop sat on a desk in one corner of the living room - an overpriced gaming model that Marcus wouldn’t be caught dead using. He took a seat at the desk and booted it up while Wrench explored the rest of the house. Giles had set a password on his user account, but that hardly mattered - all Marcus needed was his usual kit - he plugged it into the closest USB port and connected his laptop.
He’d half expected to find a hidden partition that he would have to copy and take back to Josh to decrypt, but given Richmond’s lackadaisical approach to the privacy settings on his !Nvite account, Marcus had to admit his faith was a little misplaced. He definitely hadn’t expected to find the raw video files sitting in a folder on the man’s desktop, but there they were - meticulously labelled and dated, to boot.
“This guy’s a moron ,” he said disbelievingly.
“Almost doesn’t seem fair, does it?” said Wrench, when Marcus called him over to confirm what he was seeing.
“You feel bad for the guy?” Wrench snorted.
“Nah, fuck him, and fuck his friends, too. Once we match the guys in the videos to their !Nvite profiles...” he trailed off, rapping his knuckles suggestively against the desk top.
Marcus transferred the files onto his laptop and unplugged his kit. He and Wrench were halfway out the door when Wrench stopped in his tracks, turning back towards the robot standing motionless in the kitchen.
“Wait,” he said, slowly. “I have an idea. If we jailbreak the robot, we can access the security cam feature remotely and use it to get a confession out of Richmond.”
“Dude, what? That’s going to take hours!” said Marcus, shaking his head.
“No it won’t!” Wrench shot back, a touch defensively. “Josh and I have been working on an improved version of my homebrew HAUM firmware.” Marcus suddenly realised what he was saying.
“You’re rebuilding Wrench Jr?”
“There can only be one Wrench Jr,” said Wrench firmly. “Anyway, my point is we have a robot sitting right here that we can use! We can reprogram him, M!” he insisted, when Marcus hesitated. “We have the technology!”
“Okay,” said Marcus eventually, giving in. Wrench gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder and ducked back inside, making a beeline for the robot. Within a few minutes he had requisitioned Marcus’ laptop to transfer his ‘special’ firmware over, and littered the floor with his tools as he worked on removing the robot’s protective plating.
With Marcus’ help, Wrench bypassed the robot’s boot sequence, and what followed was a long, nervous wait as the custom firmware installed. Neither of them needed to point out that, if the installation failed, they could end up leaving Giles with a very expensive, very conspicuous brick. After what seemed like hours, the robot gave a series of harsh beeps and unceremoniously rebooted itself. This took a nail-bitingly long time; Wrench was just reaching for the power button when the robot’s interface lit up.
“He fuckin’ liiiives!” he announced, throwing his arms in the air. He and Marcus sat back to admire their work for a moment before starting the arduous task of putting the robot back together.
“Someone just posted on Giles’ !Nvite page,” Josh said urgently over the VoIP channel. “I’m pretty sure he’s on his way back home.”
“We’re just leaving,” Marcus assured him, motioning for Wrench to hurry it up. “Dude,” he hissed, “we need to get out of here!”
“Just… a few… more… minutes…” Wrench was fumbling with the robot’s outer plating as he screwed it into place. “Wait, is that an extra screw?”
“ Wrench!”
“Okay, okay, I’ve got it! I just need to set up the remote access-”
“Can we do that elsewhere? Maybe not in the middle of the guy’s kitchen?”
Wrench reluctantly rolled up his tools and shoved them back in his pocket. Marcus bundled him out of the back door, and they hastily climbed down from the balcony. When they reached the street, Wrench grabbed Marcus’ laptop once more and ducked inside a bus shelter to finish setting up the camera feed, so that it would stream to them directly.
Marcus had just stuffed his laptop back in its bag when a car pulled up outside the apartment. Wrench froze, watching through the glass as the car door opened, and a young, well-dressed man climbed out. Marcus put a warning hand on his shoulder as the man climbed the steps and let himself in. Wrench hadn’t realised he was clenching his fists, but later, when he and Marcus returned to the hackerspace in tense silence, he noticed a set of crescent-shaped welts on his palms, where his nails had dug into his skin.
<< 6.1.0 >>
They didn’t have to wait long for Richmond’s confession. While Marcus and Wrench had been careful not to leave any clue they’d been in the man’s apartment, Lenni and her crew had apparently been rather busy in the meantime.
“Guys?” Josh’s voice floated over to the others. He’d kept up his vigil over the feed from Richmond’s apartment ever since Marcus and Wrench arrived back. Everyone dropped what they were doing and crammed themselves around the laptop.
“I’m telling you, the account’s gone!” Giles Richmond paced up and down his apartment, his phone pressed to his ear. As his Wrench-ified HAUM robot trundled past, his unseen watchers got a good passing glimpse of him. His face was tight with stress. “Yes, gone ! All the videos, everything.” There was a long pause.
“You’re recording this, right?” Marcus whispered, and Josh nodded, not taking his eyes off the screen.
“Yeah, I still have the raw files, but what if they managed to hack my computer?” Giles’ voice rose in pitch.
“Too late, asshole,” muttered Wrench.
“Maybe I should just delete everything. No, fuck you, Karl! The videos were your idea in the first place!” There was a collective intake of breath - no one wanted to miss what came next. “Oh, you think your dad gives a shit what happens to me? He might have made all your problems go away, but if my name ends up tied to any of this, I’m fucked!” Whatever Tuttle’s reply had been, it didn’t do any good, because Giles let out a drawn-out, animal growl of frustration and threw his phone across the room, sinking down onto his couch with his head in his hands.
“We got him,” Sitara whispered, hardly daring to say the words out loud. A laugh bubbled its way out of her throat, and soon everyone was laughing and elatedly clapping each other on the back. Wrench leaned over and snaked his arms around Josh’s shoulders from behind, resting his chin on his head.
“This doesn’t feel real,” Josh said, still staring at the feed, even though Giles’ robot had rolled away into another room, leaving the man to his misery.
“Oh, it’s real,” Wrench told him, giving his shoulders a squeeze. “And now we’re gonna find Tuttle and make him pay for what he did to you.” The others’ laugher faded somewhat. As they exchanged glances, Wrench thought he saw something like guilt flicker over Sitara’s face. “What?” he said, straightening up and looking at each of them in turn. No one answered.
“What?” he demanded.
<< 6.1.1 >>
“WHY THE HELL NOT?” Wrench’s tools rattled violently as his fist slammed into the bench top. His knuckles were bleeding again - they’d taken a lot of abuse over the last few days, and it showed. “Why can’t we just firebomb the guy’s car and be done with it?”
“ Because , Wrench, our best chance of getting any justice at all is to make all the evidence public,” Sitara explained, for perhaps the fifth time. The argument had escalated into an all-out war, and her patience was worn down to a paper-thin veneer. The others could see her composure starting to crack, but Wrench either hadn’t noticed, or didn’t care.
“Why the fuck can’t we do both?”
“What, post the video and then burn his house down? We need people on our side. We need to make them care about all the shit Tuttle and Oakes and the others have been doing.”
“All this time I thought we were going to give them what they deserved! And you -” Wrench spun round and jabbed a finger at Marcus, “-you let me think that! I’d have kicked down Richmond’s door if you hadn’t dragged me away!”
“Hey, I was looking out for you, man,” Marcus said, holding his hands up in a calming gesture. Wrench turned away furiously.
“Sitara’s right.” Josh had been watching the row unfold, his hands clenched into fists to stop them from shaking. “This is bigger than me. Getting revenge isn’t going to stop guys like Tuttle and Oakes from abusing the system.” His heart was hammering against his ribs. Wrench was silent for a long moment, until all at once his anger seemed to dissipate, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion. He came over and took Josh’s hands in his.
“You never wanted revenge,” he said quietly. “Did you?”
“I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.” Wrench’s shoulders slumped as he nodded slowly, finally understanding.
“I fuckin’ love you,” he said, his voice trembling. He sank into Josh’s arms and buried his face in his shoulder. “You’ve been so brave, and-” he trailed off. Josh felt a twinge of panic. This was all wrong - he was the one who freaked out, who cracked under pressure, who got beaten up in parking lots. Wrench was the one who picked him up, who never stopped going as long as there was someone or something to fight.
Except now the fight had gone out of him. He was running on empty, just like the rest of them.
“I love you too.” Josh wrapped his arms around Wrench’s shaking shoulders. “It’s okay,” he added, in a whisper. “It’s over.” Wrench’s mask dug uncomfortably into his shoulder, and he was squeezing Josh tight - too tight - but Josh held on anyway, until Wrench finally took a shuddering breath and let him go.
“Okay.” He turned to Sitara, his mask blank, unreadable. “Do what you gotta do.”
<< 6.2.0 >>
“Citizens of the digital age, welcome.
The S.F.P.D is meant to protect you, but instead that protection is reserved only for the rich and well-connected, while the most vulnerable members of our society are left to fend for themselves.
The Chief of Police, David Oakes, has been taking bribes in exchange for sweeping the crimes of a certain few under the rug.
Henry Tuttle has abused his position and used his support for the militarization of our police force to protect his son, Karl Tuttle, and his friends from facing justice for their crimes.
Even as the weight of the law is being used to oppress homeless people and asylum seekers, and make examples out of anyone who doesn’t accept the invasiveness of CToS, where is it when those same people need protection from real criminals?
Your taxes support this system, but the system doesn’t support you.
DedSec has given you the truth.
Do what you will.”
The video was a work of art, like all Sitara’s creations. She’d taken the video of Josh’s attack and juxtaposed it with archival footage of police beating protestors as pixelated money rained across the screen. She added some spectacularly unflattering photos of David Oakes, Henry Tuttle and, of course, Karl, Giles and the others.
At first the video rippled out through DedSec’s usual channels, gradually picking up momentum as the full story spread. It travelled faster than she could keep track of it, fuelled by outrage and curiosity alike.
When the first copyright strike hit, Sitara knew she’d succeeded. Even as she watched, the video was being re-uploaded faster than it could be removed, as hundreds, no, thousands of people shared, downloaded and posted it again. It was like a hydra - cut off one head, and seven more appeared in its place. The same went for Marcus’ data dump - once the press got their hands on it, there would be no burying it.
She had no way of knowing what the next few days would bring - resignations from both Oakley and Tuttle, at the very least. Maybe even formal charges for the boys in the videos. It was all up to the good people of San Francisco and whether they cared enough. At the very least, the streets would be just a little safer for those who needed it the most.
A little after midnight, Sitara dragged herself away from her laptop and joined the others. They were lounging in front of the wall-o’-screens, watching a bad action movie. As she settled, she stole a glance at Josh. Wrench had draped his legs over his lap, which he was tolerating - for now, at least. His bruises were starting to turn a sickly green, giving him a distinctly unhealthy look, but he hadn’t complained about the pain, not since that first, frightening night.
She was about to turn away, when Josh looked up and caught her eye, and smiled.
<< 6.2.1 >>
Lenni huffed impatiently as raindrops spattered all around her, the clouds that had been threatening rain all day finally deciding they’d had enough. She leaned against the wall of the building and pulled out her vape pen - if she was going to freeze her ass off out here in some disgusting alley in the middle of Oakland, she might as well try to enjoy herself. It was late, and the alley was dark, but the stream of vapour caught the faint light from the street as she exhaled it into the damp air.
A few minutes later she heard a faint noise from behind her. As she turned, a lanky shape separated itself from the shadows and loped towards her.
“Cut the crap,” she said, “I know it’s you.” Wrench’s mask flickered on, two ghostly Xs floating in the dark. “You’re late.”
“My bad.” Wrench didn’t sound sorry at all.
“So, your little friends pussied out?” Lenni always knew which buttons to press - it was a talent, and she was damned if she wasn’t going to use it every chance she got. Wrench stiffened, right on cue. It was quite precious, really.
“They don’t know I’m doing this.”
“Mhm.” Lenni’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Which means you’re sneaking around behind their backs.”
"I made a promise to someone.”
“Oh, spare me.” Lenni flapped her hand dismissively. “I was just making an observation. I didn’t ask for your life story.” She pocketed her vape pen and smacked her lips. “So, are we going to do this thing or what?”
“You know what to do?” he asked, and Lenni rolled her eyes and rapped the CToS box mounted on the wall with her knuckles.
“Yeah, yeah. This ain’t my first rodeo.” Wrench nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets and set off down the alley, towards the building’s entrance.
"This doesn't make us friends, okay?” Lenni called after him, her voice brimming with scorn. “After tonight, I'm going right back to shitting on you. Maybe I'll hack your stupid forum, huh? Or kidnap Marcus and put him in my sex dungeon." Wrench paused and looked at her over his shoulder.
"You actually have a sex dungeon?"
"If you don't watch yourself, you'll find out." She chuckled darkly to herself as Wrench turned the corner and vanished from sight.
<< 6.2.2 >>
Karl Tuttle sat in the corner of the dingy bar with his back to the wall, keeping his head down. He had to fight the urge to glance up every time the door opened. He nursed his beer - was it his fourth or fifth? - and studiously ignored the few other patrons. The bar girl’s gaze had held his for just a little longer than necessary. Any other night he’d have assumed she was flirting, but paranoia sat in his gut, cold and heavy. Had she recognised him?
All he had to do was keep a low profile, his dad had said. Stay within sight of the CToS cameras, avoid trouble. Don’t get pulled into any confrontations.
That was easy for him to say. Henry Tuttle carried the extra weight of respectability around, wrapping himself in it like a suit of armour. What did Karl have? A bunch of useless assholes who dropped him like a live grenade the moment the videos came out. Karl snorted bitterly and downed the rest of his beer.
He was about to call for another when a lanky guy in a mask swept into the bar, the door slamming shut behind him, and made a beeline for Karl’s table. In one smooth motion he pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Hi, Karl.” The guy’s voice was distorted, but friendly. Cordial, even. But the knuckles on his right hand were bruised, scabbed. Those were knuckles to be wary of. “You know who I am?” Karl looked him up and down, pausing when he saw the logo on the guy’s t-shirt. DedSec. Shit. Cold dread ran its icy fingers down his spine.
“You’re crazy if you think you can try anything,” Karl stammered, his eyes involuntarily swivelling to the camera mounted over the bar. The masked man followed his gaze, before turning back to him, the lights on his mask dancing with amusement.
“That’s not gonna help you,” he said.
“This place is full of witnesses.”
“ Relax , man!” The guy held up his tattooed hands in a gesture of peace. “I came to deliver a message.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
“Gram Gram sends her love,” he said. Then, calmly, he leaned over the table and punched Karl in the face.