Chapter Five

By now, Jacob had read the email (which had NOT been addressed to him, only Adam, how rude) several times, which wasn't saying much, as the entirety of the email was a screenshot from some sort of software that tracked who logged in to read what.

He made a mental note to one, clear his history, and two, to change his username. To something that wasn't his real name. It's embarrassing.

Some person, or maybe an AI, had accessed the database from 1:00 to 2:30, UK time.

The username, usually the real name of the person who accessed the archives, was instead displayed as 'Encrypted User', which implied that whoever had access to this info was someone shady enough to know how to scramble their ID, and also someone who was in the UK. Obviously.

Jacob knew practically nothing about the international branch in the UK, but he did know that they had their own archives, so there was really no reason to be logging in to the one in America, right? Unless it was to cross-reference something, but wouldn't someone get the heads-up about that?

He had shared his suspicions with Adam, but he had quickly pointed out a wall in their investigation. If their ID was encrypted, he said, how would we figure out who they were?

Jacob did in fact know a person here who could undo the scrambling, but there were no guarantee, and if this certain person couldn't do it, then they really had backed themselves into a wall.

Adam, as of now, was off helping some person with an experiment, which involved something dangerous, maybe, but Adam would be fine and there was absolutely no reason to worry at all, because as far as he knew, it was impossible for Adam to die, therefore, it was logically impossible for him to not come back in one piece.

Jacob paced, as he so often did, because pacing helps him think, and thinking was good. Thinking formed ideas, and ideas became reality, so whenever he was in doubt, he would think. A lot. Periodic moments of silence punctuated with long strings of sentences were his specialty.

So he thought while he was waiting for his very good friend to come so he could share the name of this particular man who had a penchant for such things.

The figure trembled, in anticipation for their sentence.

It was a lush forest, almost too lush to be real, and every color of plant dotted the landscape. Birds can be heard singing their chirpy tune.

It was a paradise. A place where one could stay for eternity.

Yet, it wasn't real, and they knew that. It was all taking place in their mind, in a special place of their mind, called the SubConscious, a place where existence is viewed at its simplest level, where desires and imagination lay dormant.

They had learned that anyone could access it. It just took deep concentration and effort.

Here, in this land of need and want, the figure was being surrounded by a vast land of anything and everything, and yet, the most pressing matter in their mind was the cat.

A regal lion paced in an agitated state. It lacked a mane, and yet it look like it commanded respect all the same.

"...all your years of training, kitten, down the drain. You have trained your entire life for this moment, and yet you get distracted by a noise alone? Not an attacker, but a mere background noise is enough to derail you? Pathetic."

The figure said nothing. Their bow and arrow, once held with dignity and professionalism, now lay on the dirt ground, as though it were but another stone or sprout. They turned away from it, as though it had caused them great harm.

The lioness roars in anger. It echoes through the forest, sending flocks of birds flying.

The figure flinches, but they regain composure a few moments later.

The lion turn to them, snarling.

"You are to track that boy, and when the time shows itself, kill him. There must not be an heir to the throne. I shall forgive your incompetence this one time. If you are to fail again, I will erase your miserable existence from this plane."

The figure, understanding what must be done, stands up, picking up their bow and arrows.

That turn to the lioness.

"It shall be done."

In the UK, another finds their path...

Alex, who was generally a friendly and easy to understand person, was absolutely dumbfounded that someone would try to kill him.

He had done nothing wrong to anybody he knew, but he was starting to question himself. Had he really messed up so badly with someone that they would try to kill him? He knew that some people would just dislike him no matter what, but to kill someone?

It all seemed a bit extreme. Luckily for him, about twenty minutes later, a man in a patchy brown suit and graying hair walked up to him.

"Oi! Are you Alex?", he said heartily.

He was a jolly sort of man, Alex guessed. He wouldn't do him any harm, so he told him the truth.

"Yes, that's me. Is someone looking for me?"

The man turned around to apparently make sure that his old car was still there.

"Well, yes. Somebody told me to fetch you here and take you to them. Mind taking a ride in my cab?"

Alex glanced curiously around the man to take a look at his car. It was old, but in the way that implied that somebody drove it around until it looked that way. It looked worn, but not because of neglect.

Alex nodded politely. It was ride to turn down a ride.

The man climbed into the driver's side, and Alex, not wanting to be the sort of person who rode in front with a stranger, sat in the back.

The seats were also worn, but he barely noticed. He was busy looking out at the changing scenery.

Across the ocean...

"You definitely know a person who can figure out who this is? And it's legal?"

Adam, being ever so slightly late, was speaking to Jacob, who, if I may be correct, was reading a copy of Ready Player One. Great book, by the way.

He was paying attention to the conversation, which was going exactly how he planned it in his mind. He was also paying attention to the plight of book-protagonist Wade. Interesting book.

"Yes, Adam. I do know a guy who can do that," he said in a bored voice, deliberately ignoring the last question.

Adam, expecting this to happen immediately followed up with a new question. "The who is he, then?"

Jacob finically looked up from his book. "You know uh, Dennis? The guy who practically lives in the third-floor broom closet? Yeah, that's our guy."

"You mean the broom closet that you taped a picture of 'Hacker Man' to?"

Jacob nodded. "Yeah."

So the pair went down to the third floor. It was only one floor down, but the stairs were roped off because somebody had 'accidentally' made another stair fire. Very normal day, isn't it?

They had made it to the closet, when a piece of paper taped to the door stopped them. It read:

"Hacker Guy Dennis is currently not here. Please refer to:

Saul G. (Hacker guy assistant)"

Having read over it, Jacob swore. "Well, shit. Guy's not here. I wonder if his assistant can help."

He then knocked on the door, to Adam's general surprise. Jacob was capable of knocking before entering a door? Interesting.

The door opened slightly, and then all the way. Inside was a kid, maybe fourteen years old, typing away on a computer. He paid little attention to either of them, until he spoke.

"What do you people want?"

He had said that a little rudely, but Jacob, jumping in on the fact that the assistant was a kid said, "Wait. You're Dennis' assistant? Aren't you twelve?"

The kid, Saul, abruptly stopped doing what he was doing and looked up in disgust.

"I am fourteen, thank you very much. Aren't you the one asking for help? That was rather rude if you," he said stiffly.

Adam spoke before Jacob had. He looked like he was ready to strangle that kid. "Right, yes, well, we need help un-encrypting this user ID." He showed him the screen shot, and the kid, not sure if he should offer his services, looked back down at his computer, typing away.

Minutes later, he showed them the real user ID.

Adam, impressed with Saul, gave him and approving nod. "This is excellent, thank you."

He wrote it down, and turned to his friend, who was still glaring at Saul. The kid glared back.

Moments later...

"That fucking kid! The nerve!"

Adam, now thoroughly annoyed with his friend's behavior, just completely ignored him.

He stared at the name, trying to memorize it.

"Do you know anyone named Alex who happens to live in the UK?", he said, directing it at Jacob.

He stopped ranting for a moment to think.

"No," he said finally. "I suspect we'll have to go there ourselves."