"I'm in! I'M IN! Suck it, losers, the weekly bonus is mine!"
Barry's enthusiasm was only shared by a few people in the data center. Mostly, people who knew they had no hopes of getting this week's bonus, but had great hopes for helping Barry spend his at the local bars and strip clubs he frequented on the days he had money to spend. For the people working in the ga-Gas Acquisition Team, life was a series of boom-and-bust cycles depending on who grabbed the weekly bonuses. On paper, they were a group of ga designers working on next-generation console gas. In actuality, they were two dozen semi-competent hackers who tried to steal gas, marketing information, and anything they could from the competition.
Barry's boast was t by the usual banter from his colleagues.
"In where, Barry? Your ex-girlfriend's phone doesn't count. We've already seen the good pictures she posts on her Only4U site."
"Did you get into Baskin-Robbins finally? I want to know about the secret thirty-second flavor?"
"No, no, guys. Barry hit the big ti. He managed to find the MySpace Archives."
Barry spun his chair around quickly, flipped off the room with both hands, and returned to typing. "I found a way into Claw Master, idiots."
The room went silent. Several people slowly went back to their work, glancing at Barry, while others clustered behind him.
"HOW!? Tell us."
Barry grinned as he slowly worked his way through another layer of security. "Figure it out yourself. You have to be good to run with the big dawgs. And patient. I've been shadowing other hackers for months, watching them bounce off the first shell. If they get past it, I follow them in and watch. They always get caught, and the system always changes. I drafted through three layers today and found an open route that soone left open. Sloppy of them. I should be to sothing good in about seven seconds."
Seconds ticked by, and then Barry had a window showing the screen of another computer. "JACKPOT! Oh my, soone is working on too many things at once at their terminal. Let's see what we have. So many open files. People should know better than to open internet connections and keep them open for longer than a minute. I'll be giving them a lesson on that today."
"Download those open files first, Barry, before you muck with sothing else."
"Don't tell how to do my job, Chet. Hmm, useless, just lists of coffee vendors and an order for a hundred pounds of flash-frozen beans, but leaving this open did let get in. Soone has a serious liking for coffee. Expensive stuff too. Here's their gymn schedule, eting schedule...whoever this is, they have etings with both Samantha Duran and Milo Babbage, should be so gold in here sowhere.
Oh, and what's this? Payday, gentlen, payday! I've got a file detailing Claw Master's next video ga buyout, plans for upgrades, projected earnings, all of it. And best of all? They haven't made the acquisition yet. I have all of their research. Oh, and this is hilarious. This person has a worse caffeine addiction than even so of you jerks. They have an encrypted link to their local vendor, but they have an open order for a triple espresso, dark mocha with genuine cream, and adow honey from an organic farm in Oregon. Only thirty-two bucks plus forty-two dollars in barrista fees, twenty in tips, sixteen for delivery, and another twenty in tips for the delivery drone. Maybe checking their bank account before ordering?"
Several people looked over at the ancient Mr. Coffee in the corner, made of yellowed plastic and held together with duct tape. The cheap coffee they used was even worse, but it kept them awake over long shifts. The idea of spending that much money on a cup of coffee stunned many of them. "Holy shit! Over a hundred dollars for a cup of coffee! Where the hell are they ordering from?"
Barry grinned wolfishly, "Good point. I should copy the link and start shopping there. This is going to be a substantial payday for ." He clicked the link, and the screen filled with an overhead shot of whipped cream spinning on a large mug of dark-brewed coffee. Several seconds went by, and then a screen appeared. It was an image of an empty coffee shop, mugs overturned on tables, lights dim, and cobwebs in the ceiling. Warm light spilled from the back door that was open a crack, and the sound of conversation hinted at a secret eting place.
You are accessing a place of hidden secrets of the Ancient Barrista, rare beans, and age-old roasting techniques. You aren't a regular, so we have to be careful. Before we go any further, please enter your eleven-digit access code, so we can take your order. Delivery will be within two minutes to your location.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _- _ _ _ _
Hurry it up, we know you need a hot cup of Joe. You have 10 seconds.
"Shit, an access code with only 10 seconds? Guess I'm not getting my cup of coffee from this place today. I'll break its security later, now that I have the link."
From across the room, Alfie stood up, alard. "Barry, does it show an abandoned coffee shop? If so, log out and put up your best firewall. Then shut off your machine and unplug it. And if any of you assholes are hooked to Barry's rig, do the sa." Alfie often had advice for the younger people in the room, on life as well as how to break through corporate security. He was rarely listened to, but he was a patient man and didn't let it bother him. He also made three tis as much money as the next highest earner in the room, sothing he kept quiet about. Bragging ant your machine got hacked by your peers, a common occurrence. Aflie wore rumpled white collared shirts and bargain basent sneakers, at least to work. His optotrist would be surprised to find that he wore thick glasses at work, since he had 20/20 vision.
"Screw you, Alfie, I'm not logging out and losing my access to Claw Master. Who knows what else I can find in here?"
Oh, you want our Molten Dark Roast Special? That's a Bold Move! Coming right up! And we see you have friends? How about so for them as well? It's on the house. Doubtful you'll thank us, but we're professionals and used to upset custors.
Barry's computer began to make odd sounds as the cooling system shut down, and everything else sped up. A small wisp of smoke ca out of the back. The fans went from high to silent. He cursed as the plastic casing on top blackened and lted. "HOLY SHIT, MY RIG."
Alfie shook his head and sighed. "Yep, thought so. You went soplace where no one goes uninvited and walks back out."
Several other people began screaming loudly, and one person was spraying down his computer with a fire extinguisher. Alfie pocketed a small storage drive, unplugged his computer, and started walking to the door. "Let guess, the seven of you hacked Barry. Oh, and look!. Nine more people are linked to the guys who hacked Barry." As smoke filled the room from seventeen overheated computers, Alfie pulled the fire alarm and left. In the lobby, he made an appointnt with Vice President Smithers and made an order on his phone. While waiting, a sleek, black courier drone entered the lobby, unerringly flew to him, and extended a cup of coffee in a handmade pottery mug. Alfie took a sip, nodded his head, and said, "I am satisfied with my care." The drone beeped happily and flew back to wherever delivery drones live. He took his ti enjoying his two-hundred-dollar beverage and admired the glazing on the mug. It would go well in his living room collection.
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An hour later, Vice President Smithers was looking harried as usual. The last three quarters had not been good for ga-Gas. The resurgence of VR Gaming in Genesis had hurt their sales hard. Their Ubergear line of accessories was down 70% after independent testing showed that not only were the Claw Master gloves better, they could be worn for long sessions without overheating. Claw Master was also hitting them hard with their new line of refurbished retro gas. The new company had its finger on the pulse of the market and kept finding the old gems and upgrading them to better versions.
ga Gas was attempting to do the sa thing with their older gas, so far with minimal success. None of them had paid back the costs of the design teams, advertising, and paying the reviewers. Copying Claw Master's thods wasn't possible. They were releasing new versions of the older gas at a manic pace, selling them cheaply, and barely advertising. They sent hundreds of free copies to the older people in the retro community, and word spread like a forest fire. They needed to turn things around fast, and he'd offered bonuses to their 'Acquisition Team' for any information on Claw Master.
Today had been stressful. First, a shareholder's eting where the Chairman had thrown him to the wolves, then a later afternoon disaster. After dealing with the fiasco of a burning computer lab, he'd been ready to head ho for the weekend, but saw the request by Alfie Delgado for a eting. Alfie wouldn't try to break protocol and co to him directly without a good reason. Especially not on a Friday afternoon. "What do you have for today, Alfie?"
"Sothing I salvaged from the disaster downstairs, sir. I've warned the guys repeatedly about trying to install eavesdropping programs on their teammates' rigs. It compromises security and negates the safety features for everyone. Everyone was so busy trying to steal from each other that they passed around a virus Barry picked up. I managed to save my data just in ti and disconnected from our system. I've checked this drive for any problems, but it might be best to view it on my laptop, just in case."
Smithers gingerly took a look at the data, as if the machine might burst into flas in front of him. "This is interesting. Very interesting. Claw Master is in discussion with Weebleworks to buy their gas. I barely rember the na. Or their gas. Weren't they mostly educational garbage? Such a damned misnor. Gas need to be fun. Make them teach sothing, and it's not a ga anymore."
"I had to look them up, sir. They made Learning Leapards, Reading Roadrunner, Math Beavers, My Little Spaceship, and Sneaky Snake. The only one that stood out is Sneaky Snake, because of the Tom T. Hall soundtrack. I loved it as a kid."
"I do rember that one. It was a catchy little ga. But these are mostly crap. Why would Claw Master be offering them eighty million dollars?"
"Page 82, sir."
"Hmm, 'and the full rights in perpetuity to the undistributed gas referred to as U1, U2, and U3. What are they?"
"Well, there was always a rumor that George Weeble didn't like violent gas and wouldn't create them. I guess he didn't like money. But his grandson, George Weeble III, ran their design departnt and bragged he'd created new gas using the old characters. The upgraded characters were all anthropomorphic versions, dressed sharply with vicious attitudes and dubious morals. Similar to GTA 15. I think those three titles have to be Sneaky Snake hits Vegas, Leisure Suit Leopards, and Roady Runner Rocks Hard. Before he could set up a buyer and distribution, George the Third got into a high-speed chase with the Las Vegas police while high on cocaine and didn't survive running off an overpass. Old Man Weeble shut things down after the funeral, and all the unfinished gas never saw the light of day. He passed away a few years ago, and his daughters own the rights to it all."
Smither's nodded, rembering the sordid story. "And now Claw Master is after them. But according to this internal mo, their lawyer is demanding one hundred million, and both sides are waiting for the other to cave in. Damn, that would be a coup, wouldn't it? Stealing those titles from under Claw Master's nose? Thank you, Alfie. I'll be taking a look at this. You earned the 100k bonus for this week. Enjoy your weekend. No one else has been able to get inside Claw Master, much less gain this type of information."
"Thank you, sir. And, pardon , but I assu that the secondary bonus rules apply to this? I believe it's a 1% finders fee based on the value of the deal."
Smithers looked up from the computer, rembering that clause in the Acquisition Team's contracts. They got paid barely enough money to live on and worked 80 to 120 hours a week. But when they produced information that resulted in business deals, their paychecks reflected it. "Ah, that would be quite a bonus, wouldn't it. I'm not sure, though, if that clause applies here."
"Really? I would hope it would, sir. Especially in light of the fact that most of the team is going to be asking for new hacking rigs and ti off to recover from smoke inhalation. I, on the other hand, will be devoting all my ti to this new project."
Smithers sighed. They'd both known the outco, but his training had pushed him to try. "Fine, fine. I'll sign off on it, but you're going to be damned busy making sure the deal goes through. Get down to legal and get a contract by the end of the day, I'll wrangle accounting and the board. I want to show up with the hundred million that the Weebles want and grab that catalog of gas before Claw Master wises up or the Weebles wobble."
Alfie was certainly motivated, and by the end of the day, he was in the office of Finley J. Barnhart, attorney at law, with a check for one hundred million dollars and a contract. Lawyer Barnhart was in a good mood and happy to seal the deal, his fees coming to twenty million dollars. He had the check in the bank and the money secured within minutes, and then had the happy job of calling his goddaughters, Beatrice and Patsy, and informing them they were now financially secure to the tune of forty million dollars each.
Not bad for a few hours of work. He didn't even mind not knowing what the hell had happened. Alfie was also doing so banking. Transferring his 1.1 million dollars in bonuses out of the account that ga-Gas sent his paychecks to, and putting the money sowhere safe. Just in case. ga-Gas was sliding downhill, and no corporations cared about their people over profits.
In the offices of Claw Master, Brad and Butch had their feet on their desks and were tossing paper airplanes at each other when their computers began playing 'We are the Champions' by Queen. An ancient song that was found and adopted by every generation.
Butch grinned. "I think I'm the winner this week. Soone took the bait, hook, line, and sinker. Fake Desktop for the win. Soone just bought the Weeble company for one hundred million. I love that we can think of dirty tricks for Bork to program. He's brilliant, but he plays defense, not offense."
Brad saluted him. "That's aweso. Bea and Patsy are nice old gals. It was too bad that their gas were totally trash."
"Yes, but we've proven that one man's trash is another treasure. And that win ans I'm ahead this week, and you are paying for this week's taco order."
"You would think that, if you didn't know my Coffee trap had scored a total of seventeen kills. There's nothing like the taste of free burritos."
"My scam was a hundred million!"
"It still only counts as one. There are precedents that back up."
"Shit. Ok, tacos on then. Can't argue with that."
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