MF1.0 - 11 - The Last Morning

The Solstice were as subtle as a sledge hammer. Stef increased the bass on her headphones a little more to block out the noise. Fifteen of them had come, very impressive considering that there had only been ten hackers at any one time.

They had brought their own equipment, and set up on the main tables, ousting the original team to the spare tables. They wore arrogant expressions, and only spoke among themselves whilst they set up.

A handful of hours later, things had finally gone quiet again. There was only the sounds of an occasional whisper, cry of frustration, and the tapping of keys.

She felt a presence behind her, and she instinctively alt-tabbed. ‘I once killed a man with a keyboard,’ she said as she stared at the reflection of the Solstice cultist – an older man with greying hair and a serious expression. ‘And a screwdriver,’ she added after a moment.

‘How’s it going?’

She’d found the cipher. She’d found the permutation to use. The data was cycling. By the end of the night, she’d have the answer. She’d rather cut her tongue out than tell him that.

‘It’s not,’ she replied. ‘No one is having any luck with this.’ She spun on her chair. ‘The data is a pile of crap. I’m looking for the hidden cameras.’

The man smiled – his mouth wide, but his eyes mirthless. ‘If it’s so useless, than why are you here?’

She stared coldly at him. ‘Money’s money, right? Not gonna say no to a cool million.’

He stared at her for a moment longer than comfortable, then nodded. ‘As you wish.’ She turned back to her screen, surreptitiously watching him circle the room. He reminded her of a shark, a patient predator waiting for a chance to strike. Dorian’s red-headed shag-buddy had no problem striking up a conversation with him, and she hated her for it. It was like no one could detect his the high levels of creepiness he was radiating. Her Spyder-sense came in handy sometimes – as they said, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.

The Solstice were constantly looking around, she could see it out from the corner of her eyes, along with Tara, they’d pulled in a couple of the other hackers. What had started out as a group of people with the same goal was now feeling like the clique and the outsiders.

She transferred her data to a flash drive, pocketed it and made an idle comment about going to sleep before exiting the room. The professor walked past her in the hall, carrying a small bag. ‘Too crowded,’ he said without removing his pipe, ‘beach is nice this time of year.’

‘Er, have a good time,’ she said as he walked out the front door. The same chauffer that had brought her to the mansion bowed to her, then closed the door.

Dorian was gone. The professor was going. A bunch of creeps had staged a hostile takeover. She was out of cookies.

The day was not going to end well. There was no way this day could end well.

The sound of the first bullet, scarcely nine hours later, confirmed this hypothesis.