《MAL-WAR》


 THE CAFE

    In retrospect, committing felonies against the national government in a public cafe was not my brightest move.


    To everyone else, I was just another high school student writing for an assignment. One glance at my screen, however, might have revealed that I was looking through file systems in the terminal. A trained eye would instantly realize that the file system was owned by the CIA. And the 50% of the population that are not bumbling idiots would realize that I was a criminal.


    But the chances were pretty low¡ªconsidering that the person would need to be nosy, quick to scan things, and not an idiot¡ªI thought I was fine.


    Of course, an ego check would''ve been good at the moment. I believed myself untouchable. Not that I wasn''t unarmed. I had a small handgun in one pocket and an emergency microchip in the other. I tried to never shoot people with the gun. It was for emergencies only.


    Of course, things do happen.


    I try not to think about those times.


    Thankfully, I was good at staying low. I had evaded the government for two years at my house and four years on the run. It couldn''t be today that they finally apprehended me.


    It wasn''t that I was doing anything with malicious intentions, either. A client wanted these files, and I don''t care what clients do with the shit I give them. It''s not my fault nor my responsibility. I worked for money and money only. Everyone needs a way to support themselves.


    And not that it was necessarily easy. I had to move constantly and use fake identities everywhere.


    It doesn''t help being a notorious criminal at sixteen either. It''s hard to use public transportation or just walk about in general.


    I eventually reached the file directory I needed. I quickly printed out the information and copy-pasted it onto a PDF. I then backed out of the directories and made sure that no one could figure out I was there.


    A flash of a person out of the corner of my eye directed my attention. They wore baggy, plain clothes. There were noticeably plenty of weapons and devices concealed by their clothing. But there was another problem.


    They were staring at me.


    As soon as I glanced up, they suddenly returned to their coffee, seeming so interested in the polished wood in front of them. All those signs could only mean one thing, and if that was true...


    Shit.


    The man pressed on some bit of metal in his ear and started whispering.I need to get out of here, I thought. I slammed my computer shut and stood up, disconnecting the USB drive storing all my information. The man looked up at me. His eyes narrowed visibly. He knew that I knew who he was, and he was no longer taking any chances.


    I slipped my computer into my backpack and quickly made my way toward the door before he could do anything else. From behind me, I heard him stand, the scraping sound of his stool against the wood filling the cafe, and everything seemed to go silent. I hurried my pace, almost toward the door, when I heard a clicking sound behind me.


    "Don''t move." The man hisses. I''m sure some sort of large gun was pointed at my neck for a point-blank shot, due to the stunned silence of everyone around me. I try to calm myself. This isn''t the end of my escape. This was only the beginning.


    "Turn around. Slowly." He growls. I oblige, my eyes slowly taking in the full scope of my adversary.


    He had a worn, chiseled face. His beard consisted of small, scratchy hairs. His face was steely. This was a man that would not budge easily.


    ''''Heyyyyy...'''' I said awkwardly. "I''d rather you not stick weapons at my chest." The gun was small, similar to mine. It was a little longer¡ªbut a model I could not identify.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    He smirked slightly, moving it upward to my neck. "This better?"


    "Plenty." I gulped. At least he had what could be somewhat called a sense of humor. Humor leads to being less realistic. Less realistic means less in the moment. And less in the moment means escape.


    "So you''re Cade. The famous hacker."


    "So you''re ''officer''. The famous asshole."


    "DON''T TALK SMART TO ME!" He yelled, jabbing me with the gun.


    He paused for a moment before regaining himself. "Alright. You are going to comply with my every command, or you''ll soon be screaming on the floor, begging for death."


    "Oh, so you do mean business..." I say, trying to stall.Just. Move. The. GUN.


    "No shit." The guy growled. "You are going to come with me. Quietly."


    I realized that I was running out of time. I had one last option. But if it didn''t work...


    It has to work. I wasn''t ready to face the consequences of it failing. "Fine." I said. His eyebrows raised in suspicion. I could hear the unspoken question: He isn''t fighting me?


    "But... you should have this." I reached down, causing him to shove the gun directly against my throat.


    "Don''t try me." He snarled.


    "Jesus Christ, I was trying to cooperate!" I said, trying to sound exasperated.


    "Really?" He asked and reached down into my pocket. I leaned slightly to the left, moving the gun farther away from me and allowing him to look. It slipped away a little more as he pulled out the microchip.


    A slight movement turned the barrel just far away enough.


    In an instant I pulled out my own pistol, pointing it at his ribs and pulling the trigger. There was a loud BANG, and red blood spurted out.


    "FUCK!" He yelled, on the ground in an instant. He flailed, dropping the microchip but keeping the gun. He reached to cover the gaping hole that was pouring out blood. Everyone around me screamed, starting to run.


    His life was fading. He muttered something that I could not understand.


    BANG!


    Burning pain shot through my leg. Blood was pouring out from me. "You... son of a bitch." I muttered before falling to my knees beside him. My leg felt like it was ripped apart, like someone was drilling holes in it over and over again.


    This is not the end.


    I gritted my teeth and ripped off a piece of my shirt. With the other hand, I reached into the mess of flesh and blood. I grasped the bullet and pulled.


    Another burst of pain hit me. I bit down upon my tongue, repressing the scream building inside me. An iron taste filled my mouth, and I spat out the blood. I cast the bullet aside and wrapped the fabric across the wound.


    The white of my t-shirt bandage reddened. Police would be on the way soon. I reached for my gun and microchip once more, pocketing both. The realization dawned upon me that I could no longer be seen: between my widely reported face, ripped t-shirt, and bloody clothing, I would easily be caught in a public crowd.


    I swallowed and slowly stood, putting weight on my uninjured leg. Everyone in the cafe had since fled, and I could hear the sirens wailing in the distance, getting louder and louder.


    It was time to go.


    I limped my way to the cafe counter, going towards the back. Furniture was overturned; belongings forgotten. Meals were spilled out across the floor, tables, and countertops. The emptiness made everything eerie. I eventually came to and opened the door residing just behind the counter, entering a staff room.


    The employees-only area was empty except for a fridge and some sparse furniture. The carpet was blue and moldy. Everything was coated in a layer of dust. One door went into a bathroom, the other led to an alleyway.


    I crept out into the alleys. I knew I couldn''t be seen anywhere near the scene of the crime. I sighed and began to walk toward an opening. If I could get myself lost in these back alleys, there would be little chance of being found.


    But would I be able to escape?


    I paused. "Fuck it," I muttered and kept walking. Every step hurt a little, a reminder of my predicament.


    After only a few minutes of wandering, it felt like I had entered another world. The alleys were shadowed, each one dank, smelling of dirt and piss. Heaps of garbage, boxes, and sleeping humans were common.


    I slowly wandered through the darkness, viewing the amount of people decreasing slowly. My travels eventually wandered into solitude, with not a single human in sight.


    After almost an hour, I collapsed onto a heap of old, dirty fabrics, and unconsciousness took me into its welcoming arms.

 THE ALLEYS

    I tried to sit up, pain flaring all over me. My muscles ached, and it felt like someone was sitting at my feet and jabbing a knife into my upper thigh. I swallowed, everything coming back together. Yesterday replayed through my mind.


    And then... today. I looked down at my temporary bandage. It was orange now¡ªthe blood having been fully set into the fabric. I winced and reached to untie the makeshift bandage. The bits of fabric at the end pulled loose, and I began to fully peel off the bits of T-shirt.


    I wince as the bloody mess that is my wound is unveiled. Bits of scabs come off, causing little pinpricks of pain. The smell of flesh hit my nostrils, filling my lungs. I gagged.


    There was a mess of red blood and muscle torn up. It was obvious where the bullet had been lodged. Thankfully, no damage seemed to have been done to the bone. But there was something more concerning.


    A faint smell of rot was drifting from the bullet hole. If that meant what I thought it meant...


    I swallowed. I couldn''t go into any hospital without money or a parent, and my face would be quickly reported. It looked like I would have to stay back here for a while.


    I opened my backpack. My laptop, a couple of quick snacks, a water bottle, my wallet, and a notebook equipped with a pen were all of its contents. I gulped. This amount could only last half a day at most. Meaning eventually I would have to go out. In the side pocket I found my case of bullets¡ªnine left. Nine shots to spare.


    It pained me to rip off another piece of my T-shirt and expose myself, so I decided on getting another spare bandage from my pant leg. I went back into my backpack and found the hidden pocket containing my switchblade.


    I pulled it out and reached out to roll down my pant leg with my other hand. I began carefully, trying to cause minimal rubbing against the wound. Three times it stung, causing me to pause for a second before continuing. In the end, I drew the knife to remove about two inches at the bottom of the fabric.


    I sawed through easily, removing my new bandage. In a minute, I had reapplied the bandage, and I looked semi-normal. Zipping up my hoodie hid my cut-up t-shirt, and cutting the other pant leg to match the other just made me look impoverished.


    If I put my hood down, no one could recognize me. I could act like a bored teenager, forced to buy groceries for his family. That would work. I loaded my gun and put an additional bullet in my pocket before shoving my wallet and gun in there too.


    I put the rest of the bullets and my microchip in the secret pocket before hungrily devouring some crackers and meat.


    This helped my hunger, but not enough, so I slung my backpack over my shoulder and stood. I began my journey back out of this twisted labyrinth.


    After only ten minutes of journeying, I encountered another person. A lady who looked shriveled and ancient, but could only be in her twenties, met my eyes.


    "Stop!" She screeched. I jumped. Her voice was shriveled, her face dirty, her blonde hair in strands. The way she smelled... she could have never taken a shower in her life. The worn pink shirt and jeans seemed like they had almost never been removed from her skin. Her clothes were stained by God knows what... and I don''t particularly want to find out.


    I gulped. "What do you want?"


    She gasped. "Are you... a child?"


    "No, ma''am." I said, trying to deepen my voice.


    "Don''t lie..." she hissed. But her face broke into what I can only hope was happiness. "I know you can''t be a day over seventeen."


    She made some sort of growling, purring noise. I turned to walk, but she lunged. In an instant, I was on the ground. My wound flared with pain. I failed as she tried to pin me down. "Get- the fuck - off of me!" I screamed.


    "It''s been a while since I''ve had a young plaything..." she murmured. She grabbed at my clothing. NO! I screamed mentally. My foot drove itself into her gut. She made a choking, rasping sound. "Oh... shit," she managed.


    With my now free hand, I pulled out the pistol and pointed it at her neck.


    "DON''T. FUCKING. MOVE." I commanded.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    She looked at the gun and only smiled... licking her lips.


    As if ignoring the danger, she lunged forward... her hand reaching into my crotch area.


    BANG!


    She flew backward, blood spilling from the gunshot wound. She choked on the ground, turning pale. Bile spilled from her lips as she twitched. She rasped things that were strange and impossible to understand before becoming silent.


    I backed away, standing up cautiously.


    "Crazy bitch." I muttered.


    I backed up, loading my gun. Trying to forget what just happened, I turned and walked away.


    It was almost twenty minutes before I saw another human again. This time I approached carefully, keeping my hand in my back pocket, clasped around the gun just in case. This woman only looked up, waving a can labeled spare change. Her cheeks were hollowed, her brown hair thin. "Please?" She muttered. "Spare change for one in need?"


    I swallowed. I cautiously pulled out a fifty and stuck it into the bin. Her face broke out into a grin. "Oh... Oh my goodness!" She stared down at the money, then back at me. "T-Thank you so much, kind g-gentleman!"


    I smiled, relieved to have rekindled hope for humanity. "Any time."


    I continued walking. I saw a few more along the road, still asleep¡ªor dead. I didn''t know. Eventually, I made my way out into the light.


    It was blinding at first, seeing real sunlight again. The ultraviolet rays sliced across my corneas. "Damn, that''s bright." I muttered.


    I stepped out. People strolled down the streets. Couples chattered, children ran, and people swiped repeatedly on their phones.


    It''s like my incident never happened.


    I turned down, trying to stay as non-suspicious as possible. My hood covered my face, my hands were in my pocket, and I strolled down the lane. Nobody so much as batted an eye. Sure, my clothing is slightly tattered. But, for all they know, it could be a new fad that all the teens are going with. Nobody gives two shits about another passing phase!


    I made my way to the grocery store before stepping in. The sights hit me. Food, water, everything one could need in one place. It had only been a week since I had bought supplies¡ªonly a day since I was sipping coffee in the cafe, but it felt like years.


    I swallowed and began to shop.


    Due to this recent incident, I thought I would have to lay low for about two weeks. I could start by spending a few more times in the alleys before law enforcement gave up searching, then run for it. I could catch a train and head out into a more remote area.


    Then I could forget this whole shitshow happened.


    I grabbed meat, bread, and cheese to make simple sandwiches. I allowed myself a single bag of M&M''s. I grabbed about six bottles of water and twelve granola bars. Last, I grabbed some fresh blueberries.


    Satisfied with the turnout, I went up to the cashier to check out.


    She was an overly nice teen and couldn''t be older than me. "Hello!" She chirped. "How''s your day going?"


    I put on a bored expression, even though she couldn''t see my face. "It''s fine." I drawled. "Except for having to run all these errands."


    "Ah." She said, uninterested. She finished scanning all my items. "That''ll be $75.99. Have a nice day!" I paid, leaving me with about $100 left in my wallet. I grabbed the groceries and started walking.


    As soon as I was outside, I sat on a bench and stuffed all of the items into the bag but the bottled water, to avoid damage to my computer. The water was put in an additional back pouch. I quickly threw away the bags and went on my way.


    I had made it within sight of the alley entrance when I saw them: two women and a man, dressed in suits with sunglasses and small guns. The weapons may be small, but their labeling of ''CIA'' told a different story.


    "Fuck." I whispered. Those small guns could hold any number from ten to fifty shots. And there was one reason they were here.


    ME.


    I started to pick up my pace, but even that alerted them.


    "YOU! STOP!" One of them yelled.


    Goddammit, they saw me.


    I ran.


    POP! POP!


    Their guns went off. I ignored them. My feet slammed against the pavement, each impact sending a shiver of pain through my leg.


    I reached the alleyway and took off running.


    POP!


    "Don''t shoot him, you idiotic prick!" I heard from behind me.


    I gulped. They wanted me alive, and it could be for no good reason. I continued running, with no intention of stopping. I turned one way, then the next. But the footsteps continued to follow me.


    No gunshots occurred now, and all I heard was the sound of my pounding, hard, and panicked breathing. My lungs began to burn. My muscles ached from the strain.


    "He can''t run forever!" One shouted.


    They were right.


    I couldn''t.


    And I wouldn''t.


    If I was going to be captured, they wouldn''t take me alive. I gulped; I knew what I had to do. I was not going to let myself be captured, tortured, imprisoned, and forced to give up my secrets.


    I stopped, pulled out my gun, pointed it to my throat, and turned.


    I was going to kill myself.


    In front of the fucking CIA.

 THE CIA

    "WAIT!" One of the operatives screamed.


    Their guns were out. Somewhat of a useless attempt considering that their only way of punishing me for pulling the trigger would be by shooting me themselves. And in that scenario, that would be useless. I had the upper hand. That is, if the power to choose when I die could be considered an advantage.


    For now, all I could do is try to get as much information as possible.


    "What do you want from me?" I asked, attempting to keep a tremor out of my voice.


    The operatives looked at each other. This was the first time I got a good look at them without having to run for my life. One man had pale skin, the other dark. They had blonde and black hair, respectively. The first had brown eyes, the second blue. The woman, seemingly in command of them all, had white hair and gray eyes. Never before had I seen such features.


    "We want your help," the woman finally said.


    My help? MY HELP? What could anyone want with a dirty hacker like me? "Bullshit," I called back. "You know you can''t get anything out of someone like me."


    The operatives looked confused. "I thought you said he was smart," the black-haired one said.


    Even I was confused now. "Um... first of all¡ªfuck you. Secondly, I am just a hacker. I have no experience fighting or researching or... whatever you want. The U.S. has no use for me. If I pulled the trigger right now, nobody would care."


    The woman spoke again: "If you pulled that trigger, the U.S. would be blown to pieces by Russia."


    That registered in my mind. How could the world be so peaceful if such a thing was happening? Surely, with the threat of a bombing hung over us, everyone would be panicking. But no, business had gone on as usual. So much so that I had no clue that it was occurring. I slowly pulled the gun away from my neck, pointing it toward the ground. I breathed and awkwardly began. "Yeah... so, um, nobody told me about this sort of massive looming threat."


    The operatives seemed to consider that. "I suppose if you had been living on the run, news like that wouldn''t have reached you." The blonde male said.


    I blinked. "No shit. But anyway, what would you want with someone like me?"


    "Well..." The woman paused. "You could hack Russia."


    Hack Russia?


    "What? Russia? Huh?" I stuttered, at a loss for words. "Wait, wait, wait. Go back. Why are we hacking Russia?"


    The woman seemed to consider that. "Well, unfortunately, we believe that we are dealing with a third World War."


    My jaw dropped. "And Russia started it?"


    "Well, yes. Vilimar Undrith, a tactical genius, had apparently paid for a series of strategic murders that left the Russian presidential position up for grabs. After taking the leadership of the country, he launched the biggest cyber attack ever recorded, shutting down billions of computers."


    "And you think I could combat a powerful bastard like that?"


    "We think you''re one of the only people good enough¡ªand stubborn enough¡ªto try."


    I paused before a question floated immediately to my mind. "How much will you pay me?"


    "A pardon, and if you continue hacking for us, enough money to keep you here for life."


    An image floated into my mind: me working for the government, coming home to a luxurious hotel, seeing my family. My kids, my hus-


    No. I could not hope for love, nor dream for it. This world is not gracious enough to give me someone that I could trust, that I could care for. But still: no more life on the run. It would be amazing. No more living day-to-day, worrying about getting captured and killed. I could just work for money, and that would be it. I would be normal, as far as an ex-criminal hacker could be.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Then, I spoke the word that would change my life forever:


    "Fine."


    *


    As we walked out of the alley, I could not help but feel like I was being babysat. The operatives formed a triangle around me, and they had immediately seized my gun and backpack. Thankfully, I still had my wallet. Even these paranoid freaks couldn''t find anything wrong with that. But my precious microchips and computer? Gone in a flash.


    We walked out into the street, and I was no longer wearing my hood. People gasped. Whispers flew around.


    "Is that Cade?"


    "I think it is..."


    "He''s been caught!"


    "Are we safe now?"


    I was debating whether to flash a certain finger at the crowd when we reached the car that the officers had pulled up in. It had a crisp demeanor, with sharp edges and black-shaded windows. Pretty badass, I thought to myself. But then again, that''s the CIA for you.


    We walked across the busy road, not bothered by all the cars that had stopped to watch the scene. The woman sat in the passenger''s side, the man with dark skin at the wheel, and the blonde-haired man sat in the first row of captain''s seats. That left me with one captain''s seat or the entirety of the back. I swallowed and chose the latter. I needed to remind myself that no matter what, I was not like these people. Not rich enough. Not privileged enough.


    The man hit the gas, and the car hit the road.


    It started with awkward silence. All my belongings were in the trunk, and I couldn''t bring myself to mention the hotel where the rest of my sparse collection of objects were. Or my car.


    Fuck my car, I''m in with the goddamn CIA!


    The thought still was a little strange to me. Cade, a small nerd turned tech genius turned hacker, is working for the government. Fighting for the government. At that thought, a mental picture surfaced. Me in a uniform and mask, with a large gun¡ªnot a dinky pistol¡ªa real gun. And I was fighting, shooting, killing. It was brutal, but exciting. Is that the right word? Could I be excited about war?


    No, no, it must be something else.


    My thoughts were cut into by the female operative. "So, I don''t think we''ve been properly introduced. I am the Chief Operations Officer, Officer Whiteford. These are officers Sanchez and Torres." She gestured to the man in the middle of the car and the man driving, respectively.


    "Hey... I guess." I said.


    "Nice to meet you." Torres grunted. Sanchez was silent.


    Bits of panic set in, mixed with relaxation. I was in a vehicle, speeding off to who the fuck knows where, and, to top it off, I was with people who had hunted me down for years. Now, I just hop into a car with them and treat everything they say like gospel. A voice in my head reprimanded me for the panic: What else would you do?


    Continue what I always do, I countered.


    What do you always do? Live a life on the lam, always running. You can''t even stay out in public for a few hours before getting shot?


    It pays the bills.


    So does this.


    "Shut up!" It was too late when I realized that I had spoken the words aloud. Everyone looked at me as if I was insane. Which I very well might be, that same bitchy voice in my head responded. I swallowed, wishing that the car''s padded seats would just dissolve and dump me out into the road. It would be better than being in this car.


    My voice was small when I finally spoke. "Sorry."


    Officer Whiteford whispered into Sanchez''s ear. It was difficult to hear, but I did catch the words ''mentally stable.''


    Damn, they do think I''m insane.


    Not that it really mattered. If they weren''t spitting bullshit into my face, then I can assume I''m just here for my skills. A not-so-sane person can still develop cyber weapons to cause mass destruction, right? Again, a voice in my head reprimanded me, "No." You are an idiot.


    Thanks, voice. Really helping.


    Anytime.


    Was that... sarcasm? Can self-doubt thoughts be sarcastic? By now, anything was possible. I zoned out and was asleep before I knew it.


    *


    My eyes fluttered open. I shook my head, before realizing where I was. The car bounced up and down along the dirt roads. ...Wait, dirt? The last time I had checked, the roads had been paved. I looked out the window. "The hell?" I whispered upon the sight in front of me.


    A sprawling campus stretched out to my right. Barbed fences and huge black buildings filled my view. Everywhere there were soldiers drilling, cadets training, and people in suits conferring. I heard loudspeakers going off faintly in the distance. This place was... legit? I suppose that''s a word. So it is over the top, but I''m not going to be ungrateful.


    Officer Whiteford looked back, grinning slightly.


    "Welcome to Xarnon."