1 Death is a Bad Bitch (part 1)

Walking the streets of Salvador was not a bad thing. At least it wasn't if you were in a crowded place during the day, that's it. Overnight, the world changes considerably. The night was like a big bitch that exists only to bring you nightmares and pain. It was during the night that I received the news of the death of my parents, murdered for being too meddlesome in the affairs of influential and corrupt people. They were investigative journalists and were behind the entire operation to dismantle a corrupt gang, only to be betrayed by one of the federal police investigators and, as a result, were killed to keep quiet. I was seven years old and preparing to go to high school.

It was during the night that I found out that my twin sister had been raped by one of her classmates who was the son of well-known politicians who had hushed up the affair. It didn't help that she got pregnant and died in childbirth. Interestingly both the father and my sister were 14 years old. She was the only person I had since my parents had died and now I had no one else. I can't say we were close because, you know, she was a sister and everyone knows how insufferable sisters can be, but it was still my blood. My family. Who would have guessed that even underage teenagers could be sex offenders? Not me.

I blame MTV.

It was a joke, okay?

It was also during the night that I caught my girlfriend riding my childhood best friend's cock as she screamed her name. The feeling of being betrayed wasn't nearly as shocking as the realization that I didn't care for her enough to hate, but the betrayal of the guy I thought was my brother in everything but blood was truly unsettling. Not that her betrayal didn't affect me and make me consider becoming a passionate assassin, but life was full of these things and I was already kind of used to getting hit by bad things so it wasn't to my advantage to add a prison to my record. Although I wonder to this day who seduced whom, it wasn't really relevant to this story here.

It was during the night that I was kidnapped by ordinary 18 year old thugs who thought I was a rich kid who would give them some money through ransom. Unfortunately, my unpaid debt made me one of the rare human beings with a negative account balance. If my grandparents weren't alive, I might not even have enough to eat on a daily basis and these idiots thought I would be able to pay for my life. They took me, made me call my grandparents, waited for the money and got nothing. Interestingly enough, I wasn't worth enough for the old folks to go into for me.

Ridiculous.

I mean, money was one of my biggest concerns since my parents died. If I had the money, I would have made the life of the child rapist's family a litigious hell full of accusations and lawsuits. If I had money, I would never have considered prostituting my little virgin body after losing my girlfriend. Oh, now that I think about it, maybe I wouldn't be betrayed if I gave this vile woman my cock once in a while. Maybe all she wanted was a piece of phallic meat and I stupidly never realized that and lost the girl. Anyway, I was in a bad situation at the time. Being kidnapped and in danger of my life... I was already fed up with life, actually, but I was also scared to death so I didn't quite know what to do in this situation.

That's also why I had to work for them. It wasn't difficult to be taken seriously. All it took was a laptop and 3 minutes to hack the bad guy's account and I was in. And no, I didn't have a choice. It was either that or becoming the little bitch of addicts who bought drugs with them, so zero chance of escape. Between being a prostitute like Bruna Surfistinha who charged 2 reais a cum, I preferred to hack into police servers and accounts of political enemies of my criminal group. I valued my anal virginity too much to accept anything other than joining organized crime, thank you! Of course there were caveats. I could accept being fingered by a girl during intercourse if I prepared myself psychologically for it, but this information is unnecessary.

Now I really regretted not having lost my virginity when I had the chance. My girlfriend didn't seem like the type to say no to the fact that she had slept with someone less aesthetically pleasing than me. Yes, without being narcissistic, I was a fine piece of a man in life, a 7/10 at its most careless state and an 8/10 if neat. My traitor friend was a 5/10 maximum. Not that beauty meant anything, but I'd pissed beside the bastard before and could tell I was better represented than him in terms of cock volume as well.This and my virginity guaranteed a hygiene he didn't have.

Anyway, I became a hacker. A digital terrorist. A bandit. Choose what you want. I do not care. But I was good at what I did. It wasn't at the level of hacking into NASA's server, but it was almost like that. Unfortunately for me, almost that footprint wasn't important, but whatever. Thanks to this I became famous in the black circles of our society.

Ghost was my code name.

It came and went like a ghost whose existence could not be proven or disputed. If not for my superiors being stupid and bragging about my existence I would never get caught. I mean, it wasn't stupid to go around spreading personal information about an employee of as high a level as mine. I was an important member of the group, as there were no possible replacements, but that didn't stop my little shitty boss from giving my name and address in one of his drunken conversations.

What kind of crook doesn't understand the concept of secrecy? Is he going to go around spreading the word that he would rob a bank? Or rather, would he spread it around that he robbed a bank? That was a recipe for disaster, gentlemen. Anyone who watched Sense8 knows very well that if it wasn't for Wolfgang's retarded friend talking loudly about the theft of diamonds in a bloody nightclub all the mess of chase with the mafia wouldn't happen.

Hell, art imitates life, never said that? Even if it was a false example, it was still solid contextual proof of why you shouldn't expose your letters to people unrelated and trustworthy enough. But what could I do? I was a prisoner of the situation, like Nami, who was being forced by Arlong to draw maps in exchange for the lives of the people in her home village. Not that I was here to help others as I was too selfish for that and just wanted to protect my own infamous life instead and care about other people's lives.

And that was how, for one night, in an isolated shed on the docks in Salvador, I died.