• All it was supposed to be…
    was just a game.
    But when did it become…
    So much more?





















    Log 0



    What was this place? One minute, everything was a garbled mess of zeros and
    ones, the next she had found herself sprawled onto blue and white cobblestones. On her
    backside no less and in a scandalous light pink skirt that should have been illegal! What
    where the programmers thinking?? Something in two different shades of pink slid off her
    head. With one gloved hand, she pushed the offending object, an oversized mecha-style
    witch’s hat, out of her face.

    Next question-why had she ever agreed to this? She hated the people who dragged
    her into this coded world of numbers. She hated this game, hated the real reason why she
    was forced into a highly inappropriate fantasy getup and most of all-

    “Brilliant of you to land like that in the middle of town. Can’t get any more
    disturbing than that.”

    If she hadn’t known that the teenaged male leaning on his oversized sword was
    the main reason she was here, maybe she wouldn’t have felt as violated as she did now.

    “Kean!!”

    On the first login to X09 Santum’s server for Celana Mono was to get into the
    most embarrassing virtual brawl ever to occur. So much for cooperating and teaming up.
















    Log 1: The Gossip Game


    Two weeks before…



    The worst thing that could possibly be introduced to humanity was the spoken word. And
    for one girl in particular, it seemed to be the one thing that just came to rear its ugly head
    and bite her in the proverbial behind. Whoever said that living in a well-established
    circle of people was off their rocker or just a social butterfly. It was in such a circle that
    that girl in question was reminded of the horrors of words, and in particular gossip.

    “For the last time!” Her slightly scratched voice floated over the clattering din of
    the lunch table. “I am sick and tired of hearing all this X09 gossip! Can’t any of you talk
    about something else, for the love of sanity and whatever you hold sacred??”

    But the instant the words flew out was the moment of realization. Eyes riveted to
    her and a stuffy silence fell, as if the girl had just sprouted another head that spoke in
    vulgar tones. This wasn’t and hadn’t been the first time that Celana Mono had fallen prey
    to such treatment. Celana sighed, tugging on auburn hair that today was pulled back into
    a ponytail. She had definitely recalled making such social blunders before. And what was
    the reason she even hung out at the particular table? It had long since fled her.

    “Stop talking about it??”

    “Are you on something girl?”

    “You’re supposed to be the whole geek-tech-obsessed over her…”

    Ouch. That stung. The idiots were always ready to take a brutal shot at another
    target-especially her. Celana sat back down, her ears smarting slightly.

    “And? Your point being?”

    “Don’t you cram your head into those CPU’s and circuitry day in and day out?” a
    sneering voice from a vague place broke out. “Surprising that you didn’t crawl out of that
    haven of wiring to actually keep up this time...”

    Celana Mono rolled her eyes and poked moodily at her food. And it was such the
    day to pick the Lunch Surprise- which the surprise being that you did not somehow
    miraculously keel over and die within the first hour of consumption. The prospect of
    having local obituaries read “Death from Lunch Surprise” was much
    more appealing than daily burn-by-popularity. Perhaps taking one bite would ease
    her misery…

    “It’s not that…” She grumbled fruitlessly, tucking waving bangs that treaded
    into her face behind her ear. “It’s…I’m busy okay? What, am I supposed to be prosecuted
    now by the popularity police because I’m somehow falling behind?”

    That Lunch Surprise still looked appetizing and disturbingly so…

    “Well, you should!” There again with the snobby voice. Oh, now she remembered
    who the voice belonged to. Alice Fables. She was someone well disliked, infamous in
    that notoriously negative way. Clichés were a killer-and this girl fit every one. Blond
    bouncy hair, brilliantly synthetic-tinted blue eyes (eye contacts?), manicured
    fingernails, brand name clothing and that hideously rank scent of cheap perfumes that
    could make a dog pass out.

    It was a bad day for her if she was to believe that the own rancid odor of Lunch
    Surprise was preferred. Sighing inwardly this time-not for manner’s sake- she pushed up
    the bridge of thick-rimmed glasses over her nose while Alice rambled on.

    “I really don’t think you understand the importance of the whole X09 game, do
    you? Or why it’s so groundbreaking, hmm?” Celana was beginning to regret sitting here
    every day for the past year of her semi-miserable high school career. “It’s not just any
    regular RPG out there and I’ll show you directly from the words of its developers what’s
    so monumental!”

    A whiplash of colored, glossy paper and the resulting float of perfume landed
    under Celana’s nose. She squinted half slanted eyes down at the paper and read the
    running white-print lines…

    Her eyes snagged on a particular line and she force herself to lips in quietly as if
    not believing it. Wait, was that right…?

    No…but that was ridiculous. The table had descended into an unnatural silence as
    she quickly read on…

    With a triumphant, lording smirk, Alice snatched it back and plopped down in her
    seat. Social life is such an interesting oddity, Celana mused.

    “Well, so as you can see…” She paused for extra dramatic effect. All around,
    heads bobbled in agreement. “Hon, you are somewhat woefully behind. Cruel, but that’s
    just how life goes.”

    If this was life maybe it was time to join the mindless ranks you hold so dear-not,
    The thought had popped into Celana’s conscious without remorse. Had it always been
    like this…?

    “A virtual reality RPG in Japan? The rumors have always flown-”

    But it was a lost cause. Alice would not be disproved from her moment of glory which were few in number.

    “Rumors have just turned into reality. Or rather virtual reality.” There was a collective chuckling at this, as if it was the most brilliant jibe next to late night shows that jabbed political figures and celebrities. Just about as shallow in content too.

    And it was right then and there that Celana Mono decided that enough was enough.

    She never said so much as a goodbye or a parting shot that could have disabled Alice’s ego. It was merely the simple acting of departing the table without a word that said it all. It would be a waste of precious air to speak so why even bother?

    **


    “Argh!” was soon followed by a colorful flow of curses as Celana Mono nursed a
    smarting forefinger. Probing around machinery had its downsides-and she was merely
    experiencing the routine kind. Electrical jolts from silicon wiring that delivered bundles
    of pent up energy into sensitive skin was not an experience anyone would cherish. But it
    was the natural hazard of the girl’s particular choice of hobby.

    Another charged zap made her growl out a sizeable threat that was not to be taken
    lightly-at least not by one who had some shred of brain activity left. Celana bent
    forward even more as she wrested with the thought of ripping said offending unit/project
    in half.

    It had only been a week ago that everything was running exactly as planned-she
    was scribbling down page after page of sketches while bobbing her head to heavy metal
    and dance music. Her latest divulging in electronics had yielded the potential to increase
    the memory the unit could hold and she had just been graced with the good luck of
    receiving the latest render of Photoshop. What more could she have asked for? Well,
    perhaps…

    There could have been much more she could ask for. But she knew with wearied
    brow wrinkling, that it really wouldn’t have been possible. Contact with a father who had
    up and left in a matter of seconds was simply out of the question. Even her bereaved
    mother didn’t disclose the reason why. Perhaps she herself didn’t know…?

    The thoughts lead her into a sour state of mind and finally tossing her screwdriver
    across the room, she flopped backwards, leaning her head against the frame of her bed. It
    made no sense, the whole unit had been disconnected from its power source and it was
    elementary to ground oneself before even daring to mess with the interior…

    Wrinkling her nose and shooting the disassembled laptop with another glare, she
    cast a look around her room. Anime pictures littered the walls, pinned up with metal
    tacks from schools she had flitted though throughout the years. At her feet lay one of the
    many computers she owned-her prized work was sitting comfortably on the one desk that took up the room.

    Something jabbed the lower part of her spine as she leaned further back against
    the bed’s edge. Curiosity spiked, she felt around and pulled out the offending object. A
    dim smile lit up her features.

    Dog-ear and well thumbed, her latest sketch lay in her open hands. Funny, but for
    her, her other true obsessions were currently shoved under her bed, since she could no
    longer keep the paper bound treasures in the more logical places. Shelves and drawer
    space had been shoved to maximum capacity with sketches and now bed space was a last
    resort.

    This particular one had been the very one she was sketching in a week ago and
    meditating on what things could have been-no, what they had been. Her life, as she had
    distinguished into two eras, was the life before her father’s disappearance and that
    afterwards. There had been a definitive decline since he had left…

    “Celana! Dinner!”

    The teen tossed the sketch book as if it had just burned her, scrambled off the
    floor and burst out of her bedroom. It had never done her good to think about her father
    who was the only reason she stayed home and why she wanted to so desperately escape
    it.. If the habit caught her there would always be unshed tears that glistened long after the
    lights went out.

    **


    Ten houses down and away, Arron Bolvynsky was absorbed into the hottest
    discussion ever to hit the virtual community. It was well past ten o’clock in LA but the
    boy was on a mission. Thin fingers tapped against the desktop in sheer annoyance. As the
    IM conversation advanced, it was all the mouse-brown haired, grey eyed boy could do
    not to fall off his chair.

    ‘Really now…?’

    ‘I don’t believe it!’

    ‘How do you know it’s even true? Gossip’s a real bitter…’

    “But not when it’s coming from the news networks themselves…” Arron muttered the words into the headset. He was careful to keep his tone neutral. If anyone had listened to him even an hour before, they would have thought him slightly crazed. The usual head wagging and feet shuffling from parental units had never wounded Arron’s pride. It was merely their loss not to own the most revolutionary piece of equipment ever to come out on the market.

    ‘From which ones?’ It was a bit rough, but Arron could recognize the voice of his friend Kris anywhere. ‘I dunno if I trust the source-never know if it’s all a hoax…’

    ‘The media’s been all over this over here.’ Someone else pointed out. A girl this time. ‘Trust me, it’s been a hayday ever since the news broke. Three deaths related to X09 could potentially ruin the entire game as we know it.’ Arron checked the screen for the user’s location. Japan. Kris would be hard pressed not to listen now.

    ‘But still…’ Hearing this, Arron huffed into the headset. Kris was being uncompromising. ‘How do the officials know it’s really related to the game? Seems like somebody’s out to destroy a perfectly fine game out of sheer jealousy. Lousy job they’re making of it, though. If it ever comes out in the States, you can bet I’ll be the fist to get it. And as a side note, how do I know you’re actually in Japan?’ So Kris had checked location as well. Arron frowned at the computer. Owlish glasses faintly reflecting the blaze of the screen he retorted-

    “That’s enough. Location’s not the point-’

    ‘Anyone can lie about location. And there is a point.’ At this there was a noise at the other end of the world that sounded rather offended. It was becoming a waste of time and user hours, and Arron had a sneaking suspicion that it was payback for something he didn’t agree with Kris a week ago. Predictable.

    “You forget, this program can’t be lied to, smart one.” Arron grounded into the mic.

    ‘He has a point there…’ another user who had a slightly thick, British accent commented. ‘I mean, heavens, I tried it myself and you can bloody well be guaranteed that whoever designed the program weren’t ones who wanted to be duped.’ A pause. ‘No program, however, can be guaranteed full-proof…I’m sure if someone were to devote time to it, they could really knock a good one into the mainframe…’

    Arron had been completely happy with British User until that last part.

    “Maybe, but you’d have to have not only an incredible amount of time on your hands but be brilliant at it. The Connections program everyone in this IMRoom is using was developed by Realytiks.” His right hand was on the mouse. “You’d think
    they obviously have better things to do than spreading rumors that will drive people in frenzied rages if they weren’t true. Well, hate to break up the party but I’ve got school
    tomorrow and-”

    Suddenly, the screen flashed accompanied by the blip that signaled the entrance of a new user to the channel.

    ‘We do have better things to do but winding the consumers up is, unfortunately, a rather twisted game some people at the company love to play…’

    Arron blinked. He could hear though the connection that he wasn’t the only one who was a bit stunned by the sudden intrusion-a small murmur sprang up from the silence. Frowning again, he hovered his mouse over the user name/location- and gasped.

    **


    Maybe I shouldn’t have blown that entire table off…

    Celana Mono dragged her sleep deprived body into her first period classroom. It would be a crime to say she got enough sleep every night but Celana had a true excuse this time…

    “Father where did you go…?”

    Silence. The darkness never answered her back.

    Nightmares.

    Her existence was not rooted in school. Subjected to the constant upheaval and moving killed any chances of that. Nor did it lie in the home. Once it had done so-but now the memory was so distant, she couldn’t say for certain if it had ever been . No, her true bane lay in two deals-a black feather pendant she kept close to her heart and the black winged guardian that hovered between the fiction of dreams and the reality of pencil and paper.

    “Father, see? Do you like these sketches…? He’s pretty huh?”

    “Yes, very pretty…”

    “I wish he were real….I get so lonely sometimes…”

    Celana sank her head into the fold of her arms. Sitting in hard-backed chairs right in front of a row of ten new enemies wasn’t the equation for success. And speaking of equations…

    “Class, today we’re going to take a pop quiz on the new material we covered in chapter five concerning binomials and trinomials. I hope you all studied last night unless, of course, you believe in failing my class in a heart beat…”

    Celana forced herself to sit up as the test flumped in front of her. Her brain cells clicked in recognition-which wasn’t to say they did so with any particular enjoyment.

    Friday.

    She had lost track of time-Fridays were always test days in her Algebra 2/Trig class. Every single night before that dreaded day, the average student was beaten over the head with math problems up to their eyeballs in the sad hope that it would be ingrained in memory for that week’s test. A fact that sadly never worked out, even for the self-proclaimed genius.

    Joy.

    Behind her, she heard the snickers of a blond named Alice Fables and decided that if she were to fail, she had better do it with more style than her. After all, who else could fail math as gracefully as she could?

    Touching the feather pendant under her shirt sardonically for luck, she began scratching away…

    **


    Where was her mind today?

    Not only had she flew through the test by a memory jumbled from stress and
    nightmares, she had arrived to her art class barely realizing that her black winged
    guardian had made his appearance on the back of her test paper. How she had managed
    yet another portrait of the enigma was beyond her. No, what mattered was the cherished class of the day.

    Art.

    The area of study-abstract works of art. Each student had been building their respective portfolios with their original pieces and the class was just wading though their second project.

    Alice Fables and her closer circle of five had made it the start of a tradition to do anything to ruin Celana’s newest work. Just happening to spill acrylics on her pants or have it flying though the air to splatter her canvas would hardly be suspect under a teacher’s gaze. After all, accidents could happen.

    Celana wished there was some sort of guarantee against harassment of creative expression.

    “I get so lonely sometimes…”

    Biting her soft lower lip, sapphire orbs assessed the damage. Nothing a little white paint could cover…

    The key to abstract art was no secret. There was no formula to follow, no
    standards but one’s own creative inspiration. At any given time, the painting could spring
    up from one emotion, one thought or a chain linked accumulation of many. Abstract
    could explain a passing fancy, troubled dreams or deep rooted emotions that anyone
    could relate to. To pin down exactly what made abstract so effective would be asking a
    blind person to explain the visible spectrum of color. The truth of it all is that a person
    will experience what true abstract art is through the motions of actually creating it. Even
    harsher is the reality that not everyone will understand it or come into full appreciation
    the first time around. These points, however, didn’t apply to Celana Mono. So many
    ideas pulsed in her being that jotting them down in pictures and words were the smallest
    justice she could give them.

    So as she quietly brushed over the crimson splattered area of her canvas she let
    her mind relax and wander. The clatter and din of the art room began to diminish. She
    detested the throbbing shade that was being covered up with a passion. What else could it
    evoke in the casual looker but death, greed, blood, destruction? Alice knew with perfect
    certainty that the color unsettled her psyche and Celana half wished she didn’t. Canvas
    back to its blank expectant white, Celana pursed her lips, eyes half closed.

    Shadows crawled into her conscious vision and rather than batting them away, she
    took it all in as part of what was expected, what her talent and her creative muses had
    plotted all along…

    “He’s pretty, huh?”

    Midnight black hair.

    Jet black wings.

    Amethyst eyes…

    “I wish he were real…”

    And the teenage artist began to paint.

    **

    You could say that in the very barest sense of the term, Celana and Alice had been
    “friends”. They weren’t the next best friend paring anyone would root for, but it was not
    one that anyone would openly protest either. In some way, everyone had had some run-in
    with Celana’s special brand of genius. Weather it was by way of art commissions,
    stunning writing prose in poetry or the dire fix-my-comp-up customer, Celana Mono had
    something of a reputation that could have rivaled Alice’s own infamous status.

    So it would be a simple no-brainer to the school’s population that rivalry with a
    top-ranked girl as insecure as Alice was would equal a rift between the two girls. Not that
    Celana wasn’t expecting it. Unlike Alice, she was content with being where she was, who
    she was, how she appeared to others…

    Right?

    Or had that become an elaborate deception upon herself?

    She could only hate what might have been the cause of her father’s fleeting departure. Maybe if she knew, then life would straighten itself out. Being in the same room let alone the same house with her mother and the memories of him haunting the picture frames…

    Sapphire eyes flickered down to the black feathers drenched in amethyst blood
    littering a starless expanse. In the center, a vague, lean yet decisive form cast in inky
    shadows dominated the otherwise derelict void. The depth was strangely pleasing to the
    eye, not in any way heavy or oppressive. It was a different mode of existence, one that
    escaped reality…

    She decided to name her latest piece Abyssal Plane.

    **


    “…this is somehow supposed to be dangerous material? Laughable.” There was a
    dubious snort. “I’d be spending my time more productively by monitoring the rate of
    exchange between teddy bears and rubber ducks from the U.S. to China and back!”

    A feminine hand rested on the shoulder of the speaker and squeezed him gently. The room was coal black, flooring grid metal. A sterile, sanitary air circulated throughout.

    “I know this is almost degrading for your skills but-“

    “But what? Are they now take my age into account? I’ve accomplished more for
    this damn branch of the CIA than half of these buffoons combined!” Cold silver eyes
    assessed the informational output from the top ten sites on his watch list with dull
    interest. The Los Angeles sector of the CIA had been mostly an underground power for
    quit some time-and many were intent on keeping it that way.” Just because I’m still at the
    high school age does not mean I have to suddenly be pulled off to do newbie work!!”

    “Brother!” The hand tightened painfully as the older woman hissed in his ear. It wasn’t well known, or was supposed to be, that anyone was related to anyone at work. “Our superior knows what he’s doing and if he has a hunch we just have to trust him-”

    “I hardly see the man and everyone is supposed to bow down to all his mighty
    credentials and expertise? Credentials of which I have yet to see and expertise I have yet
    to see used effectively? I don’t think so.” The speaker brushed long jet black strands
    out of his eyes as he readjusted his Connections headset.

    Even he, who had practically all the latest unorthodox listening devices at hand, still liked to keep up with the latest legal technology. And besides, when he wasn’t working, he rather enjoyed his escapades into the IMRooms. But sadly, he realized time and time again that he was so far removed from the world he had never really known in the first place he was almost inert.

    The latest conversation he was ordered to track was from yesterday and from the looks of it, it
    seemed normal enough. Well, except for the sudden intrusion into the channel by a user
    who claimed to be working at the very company Realytiks. “He might have never been
    wrong on hunches before, but every one he’s sent me off on nearly got me killed. Rather
    creative ways people come up with these days to slaughter other people, I’ll tell you-”

    “Look at the screen, Kean. The system’s picked up an odd noise during the course
    of the conversation replay.” The woman quickly interrupted. And sure enough it had.
    Despite the jumbled scattered mass of open windows, the one that the woman indicated
    was flashing a blinding red.

    “That’s odd…” Frowning, the male scooted his chair forward, taping on the
    oversized keys customary to the larger CPU’s of the intelligence agency. “It wasn’t
    picked up before in the first few run-throughs…” The thought barely occurred to him,
    but Keanson Lester really needed to remind his older sister not to use his name too often,
    even in a room as secure as this one was. “Computer, replay alerted section of the sound
    byte. Stand by until further commands.”

    ‘Wait…’ that was Arron Bolvynsky as the CIA profiling system identified.

    ‘Who are you? This channel isn’t open to just anybody…’

    ‘You don’t need to really know who I am so much as where I work.’ The slick,
    roguish baritone echoed through the room. At this, the system piped up, “Unidentified.
    Distorter usage probability-80%”

    Kean swore under his breath which earned a disapproving clucking from his
    sister. His top priority was not a few curse words flying out of his mouth but the
    begrudging realization that their superior might have been right after all. Playing dirty
    now aren’t we? There’s no need to fool little kids like that-unless you’ve got some
    ulterior motives worth investigating.

    There was no need for anyone, even from a high profiled company like Realytiks,
    to use a distorter over the Connections program. Distorters of this caliber that was able
    to confuse even the CIA’s computers were used only when the person didn’t want to be
    traced.

    ‘You work…for Realytiks?’ It was not Arron but Kris Heindleson, a friend of his,
    that spoke in spluttered tones.

    ‘Yes, I do. And our servers happened to pick up on this particular little hotspot of
    discussion in regards to X09 Sanctum and the rumors gravitating around a string of three
    murders that’s supposedly connected to the game. Believe what you wish but…’ A sudden
    ripple in sound Kean hadn’t heard before shot though the speakers. The frown deepened.

    “Computer! Repeat sequence.”

    The unidentified sound played back to puzzled ears. Even his older sister, who
    had now bent forward to try and distinguish the sound, was stumped.

    “Wow…I’ve certainly never heard that before and, if I were to judge anything by
    the expression on your face, you haven’t either…”

    “Great…just great…” Kean rubbed his temples. “It’s probably an influx in the
    distorter but if we can somehow take it out of the sequence and analyze it…Computer!”

    He threaded lean fingers together and regarded the screen in front of him with a critical
    air. Not enough priority made, and the whole discovery would blow up in his face by an
    unforgiving superior. Too much priority, and said man would be equally irritated for the
    waste of time. “Isolate the material and set it aside. Mark the folder as yellow flag status
    and send it off to our Tech Analysis and Support sector ASAP. Though I could very well
    do it on my own…” A pained smirk fixed itself on his features. “I think I’m about to get
    the nasty end of a headache…”

    As the computer thanked him for his prompt orders in its mechanical voice and
    shut down, the younger Lester rested back as comfortably as he could in the chair. As if
    he could even be comfortable in these circumstances.

    “Okay, so he might, and I repeat, might be right.” Kean muttered. His sister said
    nothing. The boy folded his arms across his chest, the beginnings of a headache
    swamping him. “No matter. This whole business is just so elementary-at least now I
    understand how everyone I’ve outranked feels being assigned all the mediocre jobs.”
    With that he rose from the chair suddenly, making his sister yelp slightly as one of
    the swivel chair’s wheels ran over her toe.

    “Gaaa! Couldn’t you be more careful?” She whined, following her younger
    sibling out the sliding doors. “For a kid you can be really cruel sometimes.” She bit her
    lip then suddenly smiled brightly. “Hey, want to go out and get some ice cream? My
    treat. You know you want too…”

    Kean raised an eyebrow incredulously at her instant shift from irked to bright and
    peppy. It wasn’t new, but he still found himself hating the sudden change in disposition.
    With his own life at a constant influx, change had become commonplace, but that didn’t make it any more enjoyable for him.

    “For a twenty-year old, you have some pretty severe mood swings.” But ultimately he resigned as she dragged him out into the bustling sunshine of LA’s most busiest sector. After all, who knew better about a quick cure for headaches then the only person who really knew who he was on the inside?

    **


    “So easy to manipulate kids these days…”

    A man in his early thirties sat in the perpetual dark of his modernized study, the
    flicker of the computer screen washing over his face. He removed the Realytiks headset
    and set it down on his work desk. All in a day’s work of yet spiking another round of
    debate in another online community around X09. At this rate, the sales of the product
    would go though the roof both in Japan and even when it was actually released in the
    U.S.
    However, it wasn’t his only objective. Truth be told, he was bored. Regulating
    more than two thirds of the company Realytiks was no longer his goal. To even talk
    about anything relating to X09 was illegal to those who were perfecting the American
    translation of the storyline, events and world-connecting capabilities that would allow
    players from all nationalities to be able to speak to each other despite obvious language
    barriers. Not that it obviously mattered to him, since it was already completed and well
    on its way to being shipped off to the United States. Absentmindedly, he picked lint from
    his black business suit.

    It wasn’t his fault that the Kiosa family-a family he belonged to-was one of the
    most powerful and influential in Japan. But so much power had its limitations. With a
    mind such as his, it was suicidal to keep stagnant. He needed a more dangerous game to
    play…

    So why not start one which, ultimately, solved the humiliation festering for a
    decade? A threat to a fourteen year old boy over a Distorter would be suspect but who
    would see it as the beginning of the annihilation of a family? Three relatives had already
    fallen prey in the two months X09 had been out and he was already well on the path to
    the three he wanted most out of the picture. It had been a small mistake to target the
    relatives-apparently the authorities had gotten a bit too keen for his liking. No matter. It
    was merely a test run for one key employee to X09 that had deserted without a word.

    You’ve been keeping me on the brink of silent death for the past ten years and the
    strain almost destroyed the project you got paid so highly for. I could have lost
    everything when you pulled that deviant trick in the programming. No one can figure out
    what you did, much less how to undo it and now it will be unleashed in a country that
    you’ve made as a last refuge. Well, all I can hope for now is that in the end, it destroys
    you and the family you’ve forced into this mess.

    As the screen flickered off and the room was soaked in darkness, what
    perpetuated his thoughts was the one code that could never be unwritten even by the most
    intelligent programmers.