Password: /can this fucking screen blink louder
✔ DNAkey enabled
Pixel sank into her terminal. It was no use. The spit interface could detect identifying variations in everything from saliva to sweat and other bodily fluids. But not today. This was the last corner of the world to end.
It had been a week. There were still flyers on the street announcing the new freedom. With blackouts and banks closed, the system that had hovered over everyone from the park to the shower, was disabled, possibly finally gone. Dirt covered emojis for every profession and every creed announced the new day. Pages in every language said everyone could call in human and quit, raid the stores while showing each other where to find shoes and purses, make love to thin air in the street, squat in empty penthouses.
It took four hours for most of the social outcasts to realize what had happened. Young and old ran from roof to roof. The hope and excitement of the first two days was like Burning Man, without the traveling Jeff Bezos impersonators in Elvis Presley outfits. It took four days for them to accept the utter failure of it all. No cops, no banks, no taco stands, no orgies in the park. That was three days ago and Pixel was ready to welcome a new breed of overlords.
The streets howled with an emptiness Pixel was ready to trade for just one last credit withdrawal. Lou Purdee owed her and hadn’t paid up her dancing for weeks. Not everyone wanted to admit the collapse even happened. Her landlord exercised his pressure knowing he had the upper hand. This absurd situation cascaded from one necessity to another, leaving her at the mercy of a bastard who owed her. Now he owned her by the virtue of every other choke point and the money didn’t even exist. Pixel was delirious and could barely stay awake having had less than nothing to eat. Was she tired? Or sick?
So much for the revolution. Don’t get your rally preparations from a pamphlet. Naturally, though she heard gun shots, she didn’t even blink. The only thing that came to mind was a gore posting board that constantly featured doctored copies of obscure horror flicks and the owner regularly scammed every one of his disturbed customers. Could she? She’d be their hero for a night. They wouldn’t even care about money they couldn’t access anyway.
Reload damn you
Holy shit. It connected. Reload, reload, reload. Yes! Woah, somebody was logged in. Pin number. Shit. Reload and pause. Pin number, but no blocker pop up. View source. Save. Either he’s an idiot or doesn’t really give a fuck. Comment out pin number screen. Load saved file. No way, I’m in. Shit. Nothing in this guy’s account. Wait, it’s not a guy’s account. Her account belongs to one of his gore faking crew. I can trade with some of the assholes for at least a sandwich. Luckily these jerks deal in some local digital streetcoin.
Yeah, dude. I’ll send you the goods.
Fuck he wants photos. Let’s see. Found ’em. Sorry, hon. I’m you now. I need the credits. Fucking bullshit. Fake credit counterkey. Shit.
Wait, oh honey. You’re one of his crew. How far up the ladder, are you, you shady bitch?
No fucking way. You’re a fucking admin.
Pixel kisses the monitor.
No way, this is the bastard’s whole stash. I’ll be able to leave this shithole within a week. Select, send damn you. Yes!