ã€ŠCHRONOSPACE DREAMSCAPE!ã€‹ THE INTERNET IS THE FUTURE Saturday, October 30th, 1999. 9:43 PM. ... ...... Tha-clunk! Whirrrr... Niiiiiin... Brrrrmbrrrmbr-brmbrm! Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick.... MRRRRR! beep! The faint sounds of an old personal computer starting up fill an otherwise empty and noiseless void. On the screen, various commands related to hardware are run as a Packard Bell logo appears in the top left. ¡°America grew up listening to us. It still does.¡± After a rather long wait, the computer finally boots to an extremely familiar sight: CS-DOS 9.20. C:\> It¡¯s waiting for a command to be input. With the rather rough clicks of an ancient keyboard, C:\>cd WINDOWSILL C:\WINDOWSILL> C:\WINDOWSILL>WINDOWSILL.COM The screen goes black as the computer begins loading a legally questionable fork of Microsoft Windows 98, Chronospace Windowsill ¡®99. The screen lights up with a splash screen. The Chronospace logo engulfs it. The splash text reads: ¡°Starting Chronospace Windowsill ¡®99... Please wait... We mean that, by the way! Wait!¡± The screen momentarily goes black with no more than a command prompt in the top left reading: ¡°Starting Windowsill ¡®99...¡± before going back to the colorful splash screen. After what feels like an eternity, the computer boots to a log-on screen, with a risque picture of a posing rabbit woman as the wallpaper. ¡°Please input your Chronospace Windowsill username and password.¡± User Name: Wade Harris Password: ************ Enter. A rather cheerful tune plays as an extremely unkempt desktop loads up. There¡¯s a mouse cursor in the center of the screen. The cursor moves over to a folder on the desktop labeled ¡°Dreamscape!¡± and, with two quick clicks, it opens to reveal a list of files related to some sort of Internet access suite. Slowly scrolling down the list, the cursor lands on a file: ¡°Dreamscape.exe¡±. Double click. What appears to be a mix between a Web browser, an instant messenger app, an electronic mail client and a phone dialer all simultaneously appear on the screen. In the bottom right corner, what looks like a heart monitor isn¡¯t looking too happy... It¡¯s red, and flatlined. According to the .txt file that hasn¡¯t been opened in months, this means the client is disconnected. A pop-up appears on the screen. It¡¯s a log-in prompt for a dial-up network connection. E-Mail: [email protected] Password: ********************* Phone number: 1+(484)-820-1337 Access type: Modem Service: Dreamscape! * Do you want to save these details so that sign-on is quicker next time? Sign-on! Click. Rrrrrrrr- Beep, boop, beep, beep, bop, boop, bop, bip, bip, beep. Riiiiiiiiinngg...... Riiiiiiiiinngg...... The rather shrill sound of this computer''s internal modem dialing out to Chronospace echoes through the dark void, piercing the ears of anything in a 500 mile radius. After a while of back and forths between an Internet service provider and this computer, the modem finally shuts up as the heart monitor in the bottom right turns green and starts pulsing up and down. [SIGN ON REQUEST ACKNOWLEDGED FOR: [email protected]] [PLEASE WAIT] [CONNECTION STARTED] A Web portal with an abundance of hyperlinks and uppercase text appears on the screen. The main page shows an abundance of hyperlinks to various websites. Doodaloo! The instant messenger client chimes. One friend is on-line. It¡¯s your friend Wallace, better known as [email protected]. You click on his name to start a chat. A one-on-one chat-room opens up. Wade Harris ([email protected]) has joined the chat. Wallace Clark ([email protected]) has been added to the chat. wallpaste: yo wadebraid: Hey man wadebraid: I think you need to get a computer man wallpaste: fuck off wadebraid: You know i¡¯m right lol wallpaste: no ure not wadebraid: I think i am bro Doodaloo! Another friend is on-line. It¡¯s your other friend, Betty, better known as [email protected]. wallpaste: uh oh wadebraid: Sht up Betty Kristoff ([email protected]) has joined the chat. bettyboop: hey wadebraid: Yo bettyboop: what¡¯s going on? wallpaste: nothin bettyboop: still haven¡¯t got a pc yet, wallace? wallpaste: those goddamned idiots won¡¯t pay me more than like 7 bucks an hour man wadebraid: Maybe if you didn¡¯t go home early to whack off you wouldnt be fucking broke lol wallpaste: like you dont do the fucking exact same wadebraid: what bettyboop: guys, did you hear the news? wallpaste: what that wade is a fuckface? Yea i heard it LOL wadebraid: Get serious, wallace, we all know you sold your body out to those gang boys outside that 7/11 bettyboop: he did WHAT? wallpaste: wade you weren¡¯t supposed to tel anyoney ou FUCKER wallpaste: tell* anyone* you* wadebraid: Bet you wish you had a computer, huh wallpaste: fuck yourself bettyboop: chronospace has openings for the tech position! Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. wadebraid: Say what? I thought they had robots or something in tht shit bettyboop: they must hve run out or something lol bettyboop: anyways, i was thinking maybe we could sign up? wallpaste: us? Why lol wadebraid: Nah she kinda has a point...we already break into their shit enough,this¡¯ll give us a chance to get in and stay in legally bettyboop: exactly! wallpaste: maybe we¡¯ll get access to this ¡°wi-fi¡± thing theyre testing wadebraid: maybe...betty, what¡¯s the url again? bettyboop: it''s here (https://vinnyflowers.neocities.org/apply) wadebraid: thx Wallace Clark ([email protected]) has left the chat ¡°[CONNECTION TERMINATED; CLIENT HUNG UP]¡± wadebraid: LOL i think u crashed his box bettyboop: lmao wadebraid: Betty...? bettyboop: what? wadebraid: They have our names on this website bettyboop: HUH? wadebraid: they blocked my IP too bettyboop: weird, i can see the apply button wadebraid: Don¡¯t clear ur cache, click it, those old clients don¡¯t refresh their cache properly when clicking through a site bettyboop: ok, hold on Wallace Clark ([email protected]) has joined the chat. wallpaste: im back wadebraid: wallace, they¡¯ve got our shit on their website wallpaste: that doesnt surprise me, we totally wrecked their shit last time wadebraid: Haha yea true bettyboop: GUYS I GOT IN wadebraid: Told you wallpaste: told her what wadebraid: You so stupid wallpaste: no bettyboop: i registered apparently, they¡¯re gonna contact me soon wadebraid: And then send the Feds to your house bettyboop: very funny, wade Wallace Clark ([email protected]) has left the chat. ¡°[CONNECTION TERMINATED; CLIENT HUNG UP]¡± bettyboop: oop wadebraid: Shitty ass webtv moment wadebraid: anyways, i think i¡¯ll go see about getting into that tech system they got bettyboop: alright then, i¡¯ll see you around Betty Kristoff ([email protected]) has left the chat. ¡°[DISCONNECT FROM CHAT; USER LEFT]¡± You click the ¡°Leave chat¡± button. [DISCONNECT FROM CHAT; USER LEFT] The chatroom window closes. You click various links in the main window, looking for something interesting. Maybe the forums are good today? You click on a link labeled ¡°Dreamscape! TalkCity¡±. A list of chatrooms drops down. You click the top one, labeled ¡°General¡±. ... The chatroom window opens. [email protected] has joined. wadebraid: List There are 5 other people in this chatroom right now: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected] (marked as away) littledog: So basically yeah, they left this BIG ASS link that leads straight into Testdrive on their portfolio lmao skcro: no wonder chrono keeps getting breached lol skcro: they should literally just hire me to do their website for them lmao littledog: true that bluuudroks25669: hi wadebraid :3 wadebraid: Yo nolannips: Hey there skcro: hi littledog: hey wadebraid: I see you¡¯re discussing the TestDrive breach littledog: yea that shit was crazy lol wadebraid: You won¡¯t believe me but i helped do it littledog: Man get out lol wadebraid: Nah i¡¯m serious lol ... wadebraid: I dug into the source, found this loophole that allows me to circle into the admin log-on screen, which let me open the editing panel. wadebraid: In the root directory, there was a series of links, one of which being to an unlocked TestDrive page, so i hid it on the page right on the hyphen in the second line on the third row of their portfolio skcro: aint no way lmao littledog: god damn man lol littledog: so you¡¯re wade? wadebraid: Yea bluuudroks25669: Harris wade??? wadebraid: yea that¡¯s me bluuudroks25669: noooo way what you did with that tech site was insane :3 wadebraid: So i¡¯ve heard jarhead: asbestos wadebraid: What bluuudroks25669: What? littledog: what skcro: wha nolannips: huh skcro: OH FUCK GUYS wadebraid: ? skcro: A TECH PERSON JUST SIGNED ONTO TALKCITY ?? bluuudroks25669: woaaaa nolannips: man FUCK that i can¡¯t get banned again or i¡¯m perma banned littledog: what? nolannips: IM OUT OF HERE FUCK THIS ... [email protected] has left the chat. ¡°[DISCONNECT FROM CHAT; USER LEFT]¡± littledog: bro is overreacting lmao skcro: maybe i am A distinct cheerful chime plays as a distressing message is printed to the chat window. Wackadoo! Raelyn Miller ([email protected]) has joined! littledog: OH FUCK skcro: OH NO cinnapoodle: What??? littledog: WADE GTFO You reach for the phone cord at the rear end of your PC. cinnapoodle: Oh... Hello, Wade. skcro: i have NOTHING to do with this You sit up straight in your chair and shove your face back up to the monitor. wadebraid: Hello cinnapoodle: I sure do wonder what you¡¯re doing here... With ALL of these other known Dreamscape! Hackers. wadebraid: We¡¯re discussing the weather outside, fed cinnapoodle: Listen, Wade... I don¡¯t want to fight. And I don¡¯t want you to get banned either. wadebraid: Then why do you hunt me down? cinnapoodle: Because you¡¯re too... predictable. wadebraid: Huh cinnapoodle: I¡¯m a technology specialist, Wade. I can see where you are on the Internet, and where you intend to go from where you are. You¡¯re a hacker, Wade. cinnapoodle: I know exactly when you¡¯re going straight for a service URL, and I know exactly when you¡¯re going to exploit the source code. You don¡¯t hide your tracks at all. Even the smallest cursor hover over a service URL leaves a track. I would know... I¡¯ve been in your seat before, Wade. wadebraid: Have you now? cinnapoodle: Yes. Why do you think I work for Chronospace? Because I broke into their main system. Got past their shit when they were still dumb in ¡®94. wadebraid: That was you??? cinnapoodle: Yep. And they, and me, have been making right sure... that nobody else is. You have been disconnec9852jfsfdl2347&!- Your speakers rather violently pop. Your monitor goes pitch black as your computer¡¯s modem emits a busy tone, before cutting to dial tone. [CONNECTION TERMINATED; ADMINISTRATOR TERMINATED CALL] The computer cuts back to the desktop. The Dreamscape! folder is still open. Determined to get back at them, you double-click the executable again. A pop-up appears on the screen. It¡¯s a log-in prompt for a dial-up network connection. E-Mail: [email protected] Password: ********************* Phone number: 1+(484)-820-1337 Access type: Modem Service: Dreamscape! * Do you want to save these details so that sign-on is quicker next time? Sign-on! Click. Rrrrrrrr- Beep, boop, beep, beep, bop, boop, bop, bip, bip, beep. ... Riiiiiiiiinngg...... Riiiiiiiiinngg...... The rather shrill sound of this computer''s internal modem dialing out to Chronospace echoes through the dark void once more, still piercing the ears of anything in a 500 mile radius. After a while of back and forthing, your computer loads up a warning page. [BANNED FOR TWENTY FOUR HOURS] [DATE: Saturday, October 30th, 1999] [TIME: 10:22 PM] [MODERATOR MESSAGE: This Dreamscape! account was used to facilitate discussion about breaching internal Chronospace services. The associated users this account spoke with have been reasonably moderated as well. Enjoy your time in purgatory, Wade! <3] Your monitor cuts to black once more. [CONNECTION TERMINATED; NO ACCESS] EXPLORER.EXE IS NOT RESPONDING Sunday, October 31st, 1999. 7:14 PM. Halloween night. All of the normal people are skipping about, on a collision course with type 2 diabetes, the perfect time to go on-line. ... ...... ......... Knock, knock, knock! Your hand smashes against a hardwood door. step... step... step... step... step... step. The door opens. Who is it? A stranger. ???: Oh, hey guys! You: Hey. ???: Trick or treat! You: Shut up, man. ???: I take it this is about the whole being banned thing? You: Well... We¡¯re not here to discuss the ¡®80s, so yeah, I¡¯d say it is. ???: Well, come on in! The stranger parts to the side as you and ¡°a colleague¡± walk into their house. Nothing wrong can happen by going into a stranger¡¯s home. As you, ¡°a colleague¡± and the stranger walk through the house, various old looking pieces of furniture and trinkets dot the walls and halls, and every room bears an uncanny resemblance to homes of the 1950¡¯s. Various faint murmurs can be heard from other strangers inhabiting the house. But you don¡¯t care about that. You don¡¯t like small talk. You like long talk. Because you¡¯re long. And you¡¯re proud of that. After a bit of incessant walking, you come face to face with a stairset, very obviously leading to the second floor. Your days with Encarta have not failed you yet, thankfully. ???: After me, gents! The stranger takes the perilous climb up the rather long stairset, leaving you and a colleague to stand at the bottom. What¡¯s ¡°a colleague¡± doing? Trying their hardest to focus on something else. In all of the 18 years, 221 months, 961 weeks, and 6,732 days you have existed on this Earth, you have never seen anyone struggle so hard to not focus on the rear end of a woman going up the stairs as hard as ¡°a colleague¡±. You should do something. WHACK!!! You hit ¡°a colleague¡± in the back of the hand with your fist. ???: OW!!! What the hell, man?! You: ¡®Thought you could use the focus! ???: Man, shut up! You would¡¯ve done it too. You: Shut your stupid ass up and get up there! ¡°A colleague¡± shakes his head and begins walking up the stairs, rubbing the back of his head. You step one foot onto the stairset, and begin climbing it. Unlike ¡°a colleague¡±, you don¡¯t focus on the rear end of people going up stairs, especially not another man¡¯s. Finally reaching the top, the stranger has been waiting for you and ¡°a colleague¡± for a few moments now. ???: Come. ???: Jesus, Betty, how far up is your room? You: You¡¯ll live, now get your dumbass on. ???: He¡¯s right. You, ¡°a colleague¡± and the stranger walk down the Americana-fueled hallway before stopping in front of a door that is certainly not Americana-fueled. It has modern bands on it. And Weezer. A shit-ton of Weezer. There¡¯s a sign on it. It reads: ¡°Betty¡¯s Domain! TAYLOR STAY OUT!!! Mom and dad, knock first, thanks.¡± The stranger opens the door to reveal an extremely geeky looking room. Rock band posters, boxed figurines and various cassette tapes of science fiction shows and movies dot the room. Betty: Welcome to my domain! Wallace: Damn! It¡¯s like a guy¡¯s paradise in here! Betty: Hey now! Girls can like sci-fi too. You: She¡¯s right, you know. Anyways, let¡¯s pretend for a moment we don¡¯t care about all of that, even though we really do, like come on! Look at it! We came here to get back at those tech morons. Betty: Figures. Wallace: Wait, that¡¯s why we¡¯re here? Why didn¡¯t you just come to my place? You: Because you live in the past, dummy. Ain¡¯t no ¡°getting back at¡± happening on a shitty WebTV box, genius. Wallace: Give it a rest already, Wade! Betty: You¡¯re really not gonna get a computer, are you? Wallace: If my folks would give me money, I would! You: Whatever, man. Let¡¯s get on-line already! Betty: Right! She leads the two of you over to a behemoth of a computer rig. Three monitors, a full sound system, a custom Model M, an IntelliEye mouse, and even a high-tuned office chair. Woah. Damn! CTRL+C You: CTRL+V You: Damn! Wallace.exe has stopped working. A problem has caused the program to stop working correctly. Please close the program. ¡ú Close the program Betty: Pretty sweet, right? You: Sweet is an understatement! This is incredible! How could you even afford all of this?! Betty: Christmas comes and goes, you know. You: We should get on-line before we die of a geek attack. Wallace: Yeah, man! We gotta show those techies that we mean business! He punches his palm. Betty: Let¡¯s get you boys seated. step. step. step. step. KSSSSSSSH! She opens her closet and drags two office chairs out of it. They make barely any noise against the slick hardwood floor. KSSSSSSSH! She closes her closet. Betty: Heads up! She kicks the chairs towards you and Wallace. Wait... Wait...... Wait......... CATCH! You catch the chair with your hands. Wallace emits a rather girly scream. THUD!!! Chair used Body Smash! It¡¯s super effective! Wallace fainted!... But not really. Wallace climbs to his feet hastily and puts his hands on the chair, acting as if he caught it. Betty walks over and sits down in her chair. Glisten~! You and Wallace lock eyes, competitively. FACE OFF!!! Wade used Sweet Ass Spin! You spin the chair around roughly and sit in it mid-spin, stopping yourself slowly, ending face to face with the rig. Wallace used Critical Spin! Wallace spins the chair around roughly, but as he tries to sit in it... WHACK!!! One of the arms hits him directly in the stomach. As he falls forward... SMASH!!! ...he smashes his face into the violently spinning chair¡¯s back, causing him to fall back and... CRASH!!! ...land head first into a trash can full of soda cans and bottles. COMBO!!! X3! K.O!!! Wade wins! Wallace: Ow... You: That¡¯s what happens when you¡¯re a poser! Betty: Oh, Wallace... You¡¯re cleaning that up. Wallace: Yeah... I know. He proceeds to not clean it up, and instead sits in his chair normally. The three of you, rather awkwardly, all shove your faces right up to the monitor. Unfortunately, there¡¯s not much to be gained from... looking at a blank monitor screen. Well, there are your reflections! How do they look? ... Not good. You wouldn¡¯t look out of place in a horror game. Or Janet Street-Porter¡¯s works. That fits you better. Janet Street-Porter¡¯s works. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. To the left, a ¡°man¡± with short, frizzy brown hair wearing a spiked choker around his neck. He has a disoriented and unamused face, with a black left eye and bruising from his recent tumble, along with faint mutton chops. Disgusting. In the center, a woman with luxurious shoulder length blonde hair wearing a hippie headband and a pair of rather oversized glasses, with a mischievous looking face. She has a band-aid on her left cheek. Wonder why? To the right, it¡¯s you! A man with long, curly brown hair wearing a pair of thin framed glasses that actually fit his eyes, and a brown flat cap. You have a tired looking face, with no facial hair, save for a faint mustache. Your jaw is crooked. Damn. Click! Whirrrr..... Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick.... mrrrp! .... Bip! The pleasing sounds of a rather silent computer starting up fill an otherwise noiseless room. Various commands and hardware checks and tests appear across the screen, as a Packard Bell logo appears in the top left. She¡¯s a woman of culture. ¡°America grew up listening to us. It still does.¡± After a surprisingly short wait, the computer boots straight to the splash screen of Chronospace Windowsill ¡®99, and rather quickly loads the log-on screen, with a bitcrushed .jpg of the cover to Weezer¡¯s Blue Album as the wallpaper. ¡°Please input your Chronospace Windowsill username and password.¡± User Name: Betty Password: ***************** Enter. A rather cheerful tune plays as a rather well-kept desktop loads. There¡¯s a mouse cursor in the center. Betty: You¡¯re up, Wade. She rolls back from the desk, waiting for you to take her spot. You roll your chair to the side, taking the helm, as she takes your spot. You shove your faces back into the monitor. The cursor moves over to a folder labeled ¡°Dreamscape!¡±. Double click. The folder hastily opens, and equally hastily reveals the files inside. The cursor hovers over ¡°Dreamscape.exe¡± and double clicks. What appears to be a mix between a Web browser, an instant messenger app, an electronic mail client and a phone dialer all simultaneously appear on the screen. A pop-up appears on the screen. It¡¯s a log-in prompt for a dial-up network connection. E-Mail: [email protected] Password: *********** Phone number: (484)-820-1337 Access type: Modem Service: Dreamscape! * Do you want to save these details so that sign-on is quicker next time? Sign-on! Click! ... ...... Rrrrrrrr- Beep, boop, beep, beep, bop, boop, bop, bip, bip, beep. ... Riiiiiiiiinngg...... Riiiiiiiiinngg...... Riiiiiiiiinngg...... Riiiiiiiiinngg...... Riiiiiiiiinngg...... Beeeeep! Beeeep! Beeeep! Beeeep! Betty: Ugh... Excuse me, guys. She gets up out of her seat and stomps to her door, opening it, before screaming down the hall: Betty: TAYLOR!!! GET OFF THE DAMN PHONE!!! ... You and Wallace look at each other in concern, before looking back at her. click! She shuts the door. Betty: Try it now. You shove your face back into the monitor. Click! ... ...... Rrrrrrrr- Beep, boop, beep, beep, bop, boop, bop, bip, bip, beep. ... Riiiiiiiiinngg...... Riiiiiiiiinngg...... Dingdingdingbwooooobwaaaaaa... NOOOOOONEEEEEEEEEEEEEBWAAAAAAAKSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHBWBWBWBWOOOOOUUUUMMMKSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHH!!! The shrill sound of dial-up never goes away. [SIGN ON REQUEST ACKNOWLEDGED FOR: [email protected]] [PLEASE WAIT] [CONNECTION STARTED] A Web portal with an abundance of hyperlinks and uppercase text appears on the screen. The main page shows an abundance of hyperlinks to various websites. The cursor hovers over a link labeled ¡°Dreamscape! User Pages¡± Betty: These techies like to put their websites in mundane categories. Try looking far back in the kids¡¯ zone. Wallace: Why would a techie put their crap in the kids place where... you know, kids can see it? You: Considering you put your site in the kids zone for a brief period, it¡¯s not that weird. Wallace: It was a dare!!! Click. A list of categories for user websites prints onto the screen. The available options are: General Adults Only 18+ TeenTalk KidKorner Search by name, keyword or theme The cursor hovers over KidKorner and double clicks. A list of user websites created on Dreamscape! slowly print onto the screen. The cursor grabs the scroll bar, and slides to the bottom of the page. A number list from 1 to 19, and a typical Chronospace property notice habits at the bottom of the page. The cursor hovers over Page 19, and clicks. A whopping number of TWO pages print onto the screen. Kassie''s Place by [email protected] (https://vinnyflowers.neocities.org/kassies-place.html) jimmys home by [email protected] (https://vinnyflowers.neocities.org/jimmys-home.html) You: I don¡¯t think either of these are run by a techie... Wallace: Hey, you never know! Betty: He¡¯s right, Wall. A techie always has a bit more than... that, on their page, even if they¡¯re hiding from the public. You: I don¡¯t know about you guys, but I am not scrolling through all of these pages and clicking on every single page to find one techie. Betty: Which techie are you even looking for? You: Her screen-name is cinnapoodle. Betty: Oh, Rae... I know where she¡¯s hiding. You: You do? Wallace: She¡¯s a she? Betty: I do. What¡¯s better is, she¡¯s in the General tab! In plain sight! You: Is that good or bad? Betty: For her, bad. For us, good! This is the URL. (https://vinnyflowers.neocities.org/cinnapoodle) I¡¯ve gone to it before, all I had to do was spoof my IP with that of a leaked Chronospace employee¡¯s. You: Kickass. ... ...... ......... Betty: What the fuck? You: Betty, you said you went there! What happened? Betty: They must have found out that the IP got leaked... Wallace: But how did they know it was you, Wade? You: I dunno, but however the hell they¡¯re tracking me... You look out the window to see a silhouette staring you down, with a glowing red eye. It¡¯s creeping me out. Wallace: We should probably get off-line before they get you too, Betty. Betty: Yeeeaaahh, sorry Wade, but I don¡¯t want to risk my account getting the boot. You: No trouble. If they¡¯re banning anyone, it¡¯ll probably be me. You click the X in the top right of the window. A confirmation dialogue appears. ¡°Are you sure you want to sign off of Chronospace? ¡ú Yes ¡ú No ¡ú Maybe so?¡± You click Yes. The window closes as the modem speaker restarts briefly, emitting dial tone, before shutting off. The cursor hovers over the Go! button in the taskbar, and clicks it. The Go! menu, which totally isn¡¯t a copy of the Windows Start menu, prints onto the screen. The cursor hovers over ¡°Shut Down or Sign Off¡± and clicks it. A pop-up appears. ¡°What do you want to do? There¡¯s a dropdown. Clicking it, the options are: Sign out of Windowsill Shut down your computer Restart your computer Restart your computer in Chronospace Disk Operating System¡± The cursor clicks ¡°Shut down your computer¡±, and then clicks ¡°Confirm¡±. The desktop fades away as the splash screen reappears briefly, before cutting to black, and an ominous message. It is now safe to turn off your computer. Click. The monitor turns completely black, with only your reflections on it. ITS NOT SAFE TO TURN OFF YOUR COMPUTER Monday, November 1st, 1999. 6:21 AM. Silence. Beautiful silence. Everyone else on the block is asleep, but you¡¯re just getting into your habitat. Click! Whirrrr..... Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick.... MRRRRR! beep! Whatever silence there was sure is gone now. The less than faint sounds of an old personal computer starting up engulf an otherwise dark room, faintly echoing off of the floor and walls. On the screen, various commands related to hardware are run as a Packard Bell logo appears in the top left. ¡°America grew up listening to us. It still does.¡± After a wait time that classifies as a CIA torture method, the computer boots to an all-too familiar sight: CS-DOS 9.20. C:\> It¡¯s waiting patiently for a command. With the rough clicks of an even rougher Model M keyboard, the command prompt is commanded, promptly. C:\>cd WINDOWSILL C:\WINDOWSILL> C:\WINDOWSILL>WINDOWSILL.COM Enter. The screen goes black as the computer begins loading a legally questionable fork of Microsoft Windows 98, Chronospace Windowsill ¡®99. The screen lights up with a splash screen. The Chronospace logo engulfs it. The splash text reads: ¡°Starting Chronospace Windowsill ¡®99... Please wait... We mean that, by the way! Wait!¡± The screen momentarily goes black with no more than a command prompt in the top left reading: ¡°Starting Windowsill ¡®99...¡± before going back to the colorful splash screen. After what feels like an eternity, the computer boots to a log-on screen, with a risque picture of a posing rabbit woman as the wallpaper. ¡°Please input your Chronospace Windowsill username and password.¡± User Name: Wade Harris Password: ************ Enter. A rather cheerful tune plays as an extremely unkempt desktop loads up. There¡¯s a mouse cursor in the center of the screen. The cursor hovers around the desktop, rubbing against the corners of the screen, almost as if the person controlling it was bored. Wait. You are. The cursor hovers over a shortcut labeled ¡°Dreamscape! E-Mail¡± and double clicks it. An electronic mail client opens. Nothing¡¯s happening. Maybe if you weren¡¯t so impatient about your slow computer, it would do something. A dialing window appears. ¡°Dialing 1+(484)-820-1337...¡± Rrrrrrrr- Beep, boop, beep, beep, bop, boop, bop, bip, bip, beep. Riiiiiiiiinngg...... Riiiiiiiiinngg...... Dingdingdingbwooooobwaaaaaa... NOOOOOONEEEEEEEEEEEEEBWAAAAAAAKSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHBWBWBWBWOOOOOUUUUMMMKSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHH!!! That¡¯s still the worst sound you have ever heard in your life. After a few moments, the dialing window closes as a list of your inbound e-mail messages prints onto the screen. Your latest is, unsurprisingly, from Wallace. It¡¯s addressed to both you and Betty, and the subject is: ¡°this is bullshit¡± Click. An e-mail message loads. ¡°Subject: this is bullshit From: [email protected] To: [email protected], [email protected] Sent from: WebTV Classic (Philips Magnavox MAT960A103) Imma be real with you both, i am starting to genuinely save up for a computer i¡¯m tired of THIS shit happenin man Anyways If you two have any money you can spare that would be greatly appreciato thanks cya P.S: stop bullying me ¡®Live long and prosper.¡¯ - Star Trek: The Motion Picture (the best film evar made!)¡± There¡¯s an image attached. Click. ... It was downloaded, rather quickly. It¡¯s amusing, to you at least. If your WebTV reciever is no longer calling from 412-673-XXXX, choose ''Moved'' to check for local numbers. Explain Same Place Moved However, that¡¯s his problem, not yours. The cursor hovers over the ¡°Reply¡± button, and clicks it. A reply box opens. ¡°Subject: Re: this is bullshit To: [email protected], [email protected] From: [email protected] Sent from: A personal computer running Chronospace Windowsill ¡®99 Fuck off lmao. Get your own money. We already made the mistake of giving you money, and you went and bought that dumbass thing where you get called a cocksucker in 7 different ways and get harassed with those damn commands that turn your shit off. Remember when your box called 911? Not making that mistake again¡± Send. ... It sent. However, he¡¯s not going to respond to it because he¡¯s asleep. You have better things to do, anyways. Like breaking into Chronospace! Nobody¡¯s awake at this hour, so it¡¯s the perfect time to at least try. The cursor clicks the X in the top right, hovers over to a folder labeled ¡°Dreamscape!¡± and double clicks it. The folder opens to reveal files related to this abhorrent Internet suite. The cursor hovers over ¡°Dreamscape.exe¡± and double clicks it. A mix between a Web browser, an instant messenger app, an electronic mail client and a phone dialer all simultaneously appear on the screen. Since you already dialed into Dreamscape! to check your e-mail, you don¡¯t need to do it again. A Web portal with an abundance of hyperlinks and uppercase text appears on the screen. The main page shows an abundance of hyperlinks to various websites. The cursor clicks on a link labeled ¡°Dreamscape! TalkCity¡±. A list of chatrooms drops down. You click the top one, labeled ¡°General¡±. The chatroom window opens. [email protected] has joined. wadebraid: List There are 8 other people in this chatroom right now: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected] You just strolled right into the lion¡¯s den. sudokoko: for the last time, i don¡¯t know how they got in, so i can¡¯t tell you nolanr: Well then you should get to figuring that out <3 sudokoko: it¡¯s not that easy, though, one of them busted our tracking system, and unless we were to somehow get them to tell us how, we¡¯re fighting a war we¡¯re losing cinnapoodle: Well, I think we can ask one of them right now! Hello, Wade! This was the worst idea you could¡¯ve made, and you confidently made it. Good luck! patrickhobbs: WELL, IF IT ISN¡¯T BOY BLUNDER, LEADER OF THE BAND OF ¡®TARDS! WHAT BRINGS YOU HERE? wadebraid: A sleepless night chandlerj: why would you come here when we¡¯re actively chasing you lmao nolanr: You made yourself obvious owo wadebraid: Well, i have a real habit of barging in Your screen shakes violently. cinnapoodle: Yeah, WE KNOW! You¡¯re pretty notorious, sir. thephreakingsky: Yeah, we all know about you, Wade amye: and we know you broke the tracking shit wadebraid: I¡¯m flattered you think that, but that wasnt me sadly sudokoko: i find that HARD to believe thephreakingsky: No, he¡¯s right Koko, the guy who did it didn¡¯t leave tracks like Wade does wadebraid: Thanks for the compliment cinnapoodle: Shut up. If it wasn¡¯t him, who could it have been? There¡¯s no other hackers as... can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this, as ambitious as Wade is. gazingatthemoon: There is one. sudokoko: who? gazingatthemoon: It¡¯s someone that Mr. Brave over here knows. A Betty Kristoff, screenname bettyboop. cinnapoodle: Oh, her... I know all about her. thephreakingsky: How are you sure it¡¯s her, other hackers might hide their tracks gazingatthemoon: I¡¯ve seen many hackers in my time here. None of them have masked their footsteps like she does. nolanr: What about their other friend? gazingatthemoon: Wallace Clark? LMAO, that stupid son of a bitch ain¡¯t got shit to even hack with! Wade and Betty run around with their custom computers, yeah, we know you two modified your computers, which is illegal by the way, Wallace on the other hand rolls with one of those dilapidated WebTV boxes. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. thephreakingsky: Plus? gazingatthemoon: No. cinnapoodle: I almost feel bad for him, but then I realize he¡¯s a fuck. wadebraid: Are you idiots done bashing my friend for me or are you gonna let me go cinnapoodle: Let you go? Absolutely NOT! As a matter of fact, you¡¯re going to help us. wadebraid: Hold the phone, I did not sign up for this patrickhobbs: TOUGH SHIT, ROOKIE! YOU¡¯RE GONNA GET US INTO YOUR LITTLE GIRLFRIEND¡¯S HEAD, ONE WAY OR ANOTHER! wadebraid: And if i don¡¯t? Beep! Beep! Beep! Bebebebeep! Bebebebeep! You pull your face out of the monitor to find a red laser pointing at your keyboard. Turning your head to the right, a silhouetted figure with one red eye stares you down. Wait... There¡¯s two. No, three! There¡¯s four... FIVE?! FUCKING SIX?!!!? S E V E- Oh, wait, no... There¡¯s just six. FUCKING SIX?!!? You shove your face back into the monitor. patrickhobbs: THAT¡¯S WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF YOU DON¡¯T, CURLY HAIR! What? [email protected] has left the chat. ¡°[DISCONNECT FROM CHAT; USER LEFT]¡± wadebraid: Wait, how did you know that i looked out my window gazingatthemoon: We see all, Wade. You, your pity friends, all of the kids on your block, everyone. We are Chronospace. We are everything. We are everyone. We are everywhere. We are every entity you comprehend in a day. Chronospace is upon us. The window begins to garble and glitch, with all text except for the chat text becoming incomprehensible. patrickhobbs: CHRONOSPACE IS UPON US. sudokoko: Chronospace is upon us. amye: chronospace is upon us chandlerj: Chronospace is upon us! gazingatthemoon: Dasvidaniya, puppet! When we need you... we¡¯ll find you. [email protected] has left the chat. ¡°[DISCONNECT FROM CHAT; USER LEFT]¡± wadebraid: but i¡¯m right here gazingatthemoon: Not on-line, Wade. Not on-line. You have been disconnected from TalkCity. [DISCONNECT FROM CHAT; REMOVED BY ADMINISTRATOR] That could have gone way better. You pull your face out of the monitor to look out your window again. The figures are gone, but your window is open. You get out of your chair and walk over to your window. A barely illuminated yard lies outside it. Nothing to be gained by taking in the sights of something you see every day, so you close the window and lock it. You turn around and walk back over to your desk, and sit back down, shoving your face back into the monitor. Ding ding! You have a new e-mail message. You click the e-mail window in the taskbar. It maximizes to the display. You have an e-mail from thephreakingsky. The subject reads: ¡°URGENT: READ NOW!!!¡± What a hypocrite. You click the e-mail in skepticism, but become rather surprised by the contents. ¡°Subject: URGENT: READ NOW!!! From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Sent from: Apple Macintosh Color Classic II (Performa 275) Wade, listen up. I know you don¡¯t have a good relationship (like, at all) with me or any of the other ¡°techies¡±, but I need you to turn your ears to me just this once. Chronospace is a brainwash op. Most of the people working there aren¡¯t themselves. They¡¯re confused, impure souls wearing the skin of someone who can¡¯t fight for themself. And they¡¯re just forced to be heinous, even if the person was a sweetheart before. Whatever you do, DO NOT LISTEN TO ANYTHING GAZINGATTHEMOON TELLS YOU TO DO! She¡¯s trying to turn you into one of them... a mindnumbed husk of who you used to be, to be used as a vessel for utter chaos. They do it to regular people too... most computer owners aren¡¯t themselves anymore. Wade, you have to listen to me. Me and a small group of tech supporters are the only ¡°pure¡± ones left who actually stuck around. We¡¯ve been blending into their mayhem, forcing ourselves to commit online atrocities just to satiate the horrid needs of Patrick and Kate. You were fighting for a free Internet on your own with your friends... but now, you¡¯re not on your own. Wade. You need to help us. You need to help us take back the Internet from these monsters. You need to help us return the digital world back to solace, and free these poor brainwashed souls. I don¡¯t care how you do it, but you need to shut Chronospace down. Be it rallying a community to hit them head on, sneak in the way you usually do or some other unknown way, regardless of how you do it, regardless of how volatile or lethal you are, you have to kill it. Kill Chronospace. This might sound cheesy, but the Internet quite literally depends on you, Wade. You¡¯re the light at the end of the tunnel for most of us, don¡¯t let yourself extinguish. Before you do anything though, you¡¯ll want to arm yourself in the real world, because the moment you fuck with anything internal on a broad scale, they¡¯re gonna send their Dreamscrapers after you. Better safe than sorry, right? Wade... Don¡¯t see this as just a joke, please. I have effectively given up my life just to send this e-mail to you. They know where I am, and they don¡¯t want to chat. But I¡¯m not scared. I knew this day would come. Print this out, Wade. Before it¡¯s too late. You¡¯ll be contacted by any surviving tech supporters in the coming days with more vital information to help you reclaim the Internet. You and your friends carry the torch now. Light these fuckers up. For the Internet. For everyone. Goodbye, Wade. End communication. - Barbara ¡°thephreakingsky¡± Kornell¡± You stare at your monitor in disbelief for a few moments, before quickly clicking the ¡°Print¡± button at the top. Your printer starts... well, printing the e-mail to various sheets of paper, using an inbuilt laser to suture the pages together. Pulling the abnormally long sheet of paper out of your printer, you hold it against the wall with one hand, and tack it down with push-pins. Knock! Knock! Knock! ... Someone¡¯s at the front door. Given what you just read, that¡¯s either a good thing or a really bad thing. Grabbing a golf club, 9 iron to be exact, you raise it like a baseball bat and slowly open your door. A dark hallway greets you. No way, man! Facing a possible intruder has your name all over it, but the dark? Hell no! You walk back into your room, and over to your desk. Rummaging through it, you pull out a flashlight. You walk back over to your door, and aim the flashlight down the hall. Click! The light turns on. You step out into the hallway, and walk towards your front door. ... ...... ......... Face to face with your front door, whoever lies on the other side can only be friend or foe, and you have a big feeling they¡¯re a foe. With an inhale, you unlock your front door, and open it. Who¡¯s there? A stranger, obviously. It¡¯s a short-standing lady with short curly brown hair, and scenecore clothes on. You: Can I... help you? ???: *You¡¯re* Wade Harris? You: Yeah, that¡¯s me. You grip the club harder. ???: Can I come in? It¡¯s urgent. You make yourself bigger to prevent any unwanted entry into your house. You: You¡¯re not taking a single step in my house until you tell me who you are, lady. She drops her shoulders and sighs. cinnapoodle: I¡¯m Cinnapoodle, that ¡°bitch techie¡± you keep running into. This concerns what happened to thephreakingsky... God rest her soul. You: How about... no? We can have a conversation right where we stand. cinnapoodle: Stubborn even in the real world, I see. You: Sure am. cinnapoodle: Well, if you insist, we can talk out here. She sits down on the porch. Any chance you had of defending yourself is gone, because you just closed the door behind you and sat down with her. You: So... is there a reason you came to my house instead of... I don¡¯t know, e-mailing me? cinnapoodle: Because I actually want to live, Wade. The only reason they got her was because she e-mailed you. They can¡¯t track me if I don¡¯t use Dreamscape! to talk to you. You: Right... cinnapoodle: Listen... They¡¯re probably going to come after you, y¡¯know? You: Why? Don¡¯t they have better things to do? cinnapoodle: Yeah, and those better things are kidnapping you, Wade. Barbara is dead, and you¡¯re next probably, because you¡¯re who she spoke to last. However... they can¡¯t get you if you don¡¯t exist. You: But I do exist...? cinnapoodle: Not if you disguise yourself. See, Dreamscape! doesn¡¯t consider a new user on the same computer, number or IP to be the same person until up to 30 minutes after the user was made... So if you just keep making new users... they can¡¯t get you. Not only that, but the server wasn¡¯t set-up to properly accommodate new users on the same system or setup, so the more you do it... the deeper in you can go. You: So you¡¯re saying... cinnapoodle: ...that if you account hop, you can get as far into Chronospace as you want within that time-frame. You: Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d be taking advice like this from you, considering you like to jack up my shit. cinnapoodle: And I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d be giving advice like this to you, considering you like to jack up my shit. You: Fair point. She stands up. cinnapoodle: You should sleep, Wade. You¡¯ve got a lot to do if you¡¯re gonna bust in. You: Wait, wait, wait... How the hell am I gonna make more than one account every 30 minutes? There¡¯s a 5 minute cooldown. cinnapoodle: Unless... you macro. She presents a soldering iron out of her bag. You: I like the way you think. cinnapoodle: Are your folks home? You look at her with an unamused look. You: What? cinnapoodle: I don¡¯t mean like that, stupid. I¡¯m not driving 7 miles in the other direction just to sleep at home and then drive 7 miles back this direction just to help you. You: *sigh* No, they¡¯re not. You open your front door and walk in. ... Walking through your house, your unlikely companion dives onto your living room couch, throwing her bag onto the floor. You: Isn¡¯t that uncomfortable? cinnapoodle: No way, man! I sleep on the floor some nights! You say nothing, and walk down the hallway to your room. Stepping in, you forgot to sign off of Dreamscape! before you left, so your phone bill is gonna be through the roof. Damn. You close your door, place your 9 iron back in the corner, toss your flashlight on your bed, and sit down at your desk. Shoving your face back into the monitor, you click the Go! button on the taskbar, as the Go! menu prints onto the screen. The cursor hovers over ¡°Shut Down or Sign Off¡± and clicks it. A pop-up appears. ¡°What do you want to do?¡± There¡¯s a dropdown. Clicking it, the options are: ¡°Sign out of Windowsill Shut down your computer Restart your computer Restart your computer in Chronospace Disk Operating System¡± The cursor clicks ¡°Shut down your computer¡±, and then clicks ¡°Confirm¡±. The desktop fades away as the splash screen reappears briefly, before cutting to black, and an ominous message. It is now safe to turn off your computer. Click.