Ryan Batty
ELP
Mrs. Peden
6 April 2011
	Soft moonlight filtered through the blinds of my third story apartment bedroom window as I tried to take a sip out of one of the seven empty cans of Jolt sitting to the left of the computer llmonitor. “Dammit.” I uttered under my breath. I really needed to bring more to these late night coding sessions.
Of course, the parental units were asleep down the hall, wordlessly imagining experiences and fantasies that flitted across the edges of their subconscious. Meanwhile, I was bringing my fantasies and dreams to life. For the past week and a half, my schedule was the same. Wake up at six, attend the pitiful thing that constitutes as a school, and return home at three. After that it was a laughable matter of finishing any homework, and then after dinner my real day began.
You see, unlike most children I never went out and played with “the neighbor kids” or got involved in softball (not that I wasn’t interested, there just never was anything nearby). So instead I delved into the Blue Nowhere, or for the non-enlightened, the Net. Most people only see the internet as a tool; something to kill a few hours while they waited to meet up with their friends for drinks. I instead saw it for what it was: a vast land full of mystery, knowledge, and wonder. Between the numerous message boards, IRC (Internet Relay Chat, the forefather to modern instant messaging), and email, my entire childhood was spent learning about the wondrous thing called a computer before me. I learned how to control it, and tell it what to do. The best thing about the whole experience was, it listened. Of course, when there was a mistake, that was my fault, but that was another one of the many alluring facets of the PC. But, I digress. This story isn’t about how I grew to love the computer, or how I learned to do things like code. It is instead about my meeting with Fl0, and how my life changed forever.
As I waited for Mona (like a car, I named my PC) to slowly come to life, I made a tense trip down the small hall into the kitchen. Thankfully, my parents never knew of these late-night design sessions, but it made getting things like caffeine a real chore if I forgot to grab it before lights-out. The flicker of the fish tank in the living room gave the entire area an eerie glow, creating an all-seeing eye as I crept across the carpet, opened the fridge, and grabbed the object of my desire. I soon made it back to my room, shut the door behind me, and sat down before Mona, whose blinking login screen was like a familiar greeting from a friend. Soon I was logged in, and was booting up IRCKY.
IRCKY was a little pet project of mine that had reached fruition towards the end of last year. It was of course an IRC messaging client, but with a few special tools that I had added in myself. IRCKY allowed me to have conversations with whoever I wished, while retaining total anonymity; it created small thumbnails of links to web pages, and saved all chat logs into an encrypted section of my hard drive. Tonight though, I didn’t need any of those extra tools. All I was looking for was some advice from a chat room I visited on my recent project. At that time, I was working on something called BeeSting.
BeeSting was this wonderful little app that when placed on a flash drive and stuck into anything with a USB port, would instantly bypass any security, load custom programs, and basically create a familiar home on an otherwise foreign machine. The coolest bit though was the immense amount of privacy it allowed the user. On removal of the flash drive, it would wipe any traces on the host system. As well as that, all actions were executed as a SYSTEM account, and overall made me as visible as a ghost. It was to be my gateway to maintaining productivity while out and about, without working my way around nuances in others’ systems.
Tonight, I was working on one of the privacy features when I hit a snag. Something in the code was creating a very strange error I had never seen before. Thus, I was on IRCKY, looking for someone to help. I was soon on #D4RKZ0NE, my favorite chat room, and strangely enough there was only one person on, Fl0. What was even weirder was not only was he the only one, but he was a complete stranger. I had never seen him on #D4RKZ0NE before. As I contemplated how to begin conversation, he solved the problem. With a simple, “Hello Michael” instead of, “Hello Cr4sh” I knew this was no ordinary user. He somehow got past IRCKY’s defenses and found out my real name! BeeSting would have to wait another night. I fired up a private chat.
<Cr4sh> Who are you?
<Fl0> Simply a business man Michael. Are you interested?
<Cr4sh> In what?
<Fl0> I hear your working on something that could prove beneficial. It’s called BeeSting if im not mistaken.
I was stunned. The name of BeeSting as well as its use was private knowledge. Somehow this “Fl0” knew way more than he should. I decided to pretend not to know what he meant.
	<Cr4sh> Never heard of it. I guess you have the wrong guy.
	<Fl0> You live in New York. You’re dark-haired, with green eyes. 120lbs. 5’6”. Single.
	<Fl0> Need I go on?
Well. Damn.
<Cr4sh> I dunno how you know about BeeSting, but you have no reason to want it. It’s just a simple little project I’m working on, nothing more than a way to check the Boards at school.
<Fl0>That’s what you think, Michael. What if I told you that, while it was simple now, your base code could be changed into AI?
AI? At that point, I decided Fl0 was insane. AI, or artificial intelligence, was decades away. The concept of a thinking machine was at best, fantasy, if not downright preposterous.
	<Cr4sh> Your absolutely nuts.
	<Fl0> No Michael, I simply know something you don’t.
	<Cr4sh> And what’s that?
	<Fl0> Meet me at Old Joes at midnight tomorrow night and I’ll show you.
	*Fl0 has disconnected!*
My mind was swimming with questions. Who is Fl0? What does he, or she, want? AI isn’t possible, is it? The questions just went on and on, with absolutely no answer in sight. Unfortunately, the answers to these questions wouldn’t arrive anytime soon. Working on BeeSting tonight was out of the question. All that could be done was sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
	The next day went by like a blur. I hardly registered what was going on in class, and had to ask the few friends I had for the assignments. The only thing on my mind was Fl0. I had decided to meet him. Growing up in New York I was raised on the notion of self-defense, so I wasn’t worried about being harmed. I also had not done anything illegal, except maybe download a few thousand songs off the web, but any teenager with a computer is just as guilty. No, I was only concerned with whatever it is he had to tell me.
	I soon exited the school building, hopped on my bike, and made it to Old Joes in about fifteen minutes. Old Joes was an old staple in my neighborhood. Just about every kid knew about it, and the horror stories that were involved. In reality, it was just an old, run-down bar that the owner had repossessed years ago. I stood in front of it, observing the grime and dirt that encrusted the creases where the windows met their frames, and listened to the creak of the sign overhead. I was waiting for…well, I don’t quite know what I was waiting for. For that matter, I don’t even know if Fl0 is a man. A slight edge of panic began to set in as I contemplated where this could lead. I steeled my courage though, and attempted to look aloof leaning against the side of the dingy bar on a deserted street.
	Sure enough, within five minutes I saw a scrawny, hunched-over homeless man come hobbling down the street. As he passed, his stench filled the air, as did his muttered command. “Follow me Michael” he said in a wheezy voice. With all the attitude of any New Yorker worth his mettle, I followed. He led me through turn after turn, and alley after alley. Without realizing it, I soon became lost. There would be absolutely no chance in finding my way back without him. I should have known something like this would have happened. Soon enough though, we stopped in another non-descript alley, filled with various pieces of garbage, a large dumpster, and mice. Fl0 kneeled down next to the dumpster, and after pressing a piece of brick next to it, a small keypad took the brick’s place. He then inputted a small series of numbers, the brick slid back into place, and a small crawlspace appeared in the side of the dumpster. Wordlessly, he motioned for me to follow as he crawled in, and disappeared from sight.
	Of course, the first thing that entered my head was, “James Bond.” I mean, who else other than a spy has a secret hideout like this? Feeling increasingly nervous, I followed Fl0 in, my face illuminated by the dull glow of red bulbs attached to the chamber. Thankfully, we didn’t have to crawl for long before we emerged into a spacious room. Every wall was covered in various monitors, and the floor had many pc towers littered across it. There was a small kitchen, a bedroom, and a sparse living room. I was in heaven. Fl0 had shown me an enthusiast’s haven. Every keyboard beckoned me to it. Every screen had the potential of showing me hidden secrets.
	Out of the corner of my eye though, I spotted Fl0. He was standing next to a small closet, hanging up what at first I had assumed were his clothes. Instead, it was an elaborate disguise. Fl0 meant business. His gait was no longer irregular, and his voice came across loud and clear as he said, “Over here Michael.” I followed obediently, the ability to speak lost for a moment. “What do you think?” He asked. I simply responded, “I’m stunned, but what exactly is it you want from me?”
“You know exactly what I want.”
“BeeSting?”
“Precisely.”
“There is no way that BeeSting will lead to AI though!”
“But there is. Follow me.”
	I followed him. He led me to a door I had previously not noticed. It was large and quite obviously heavy. He once again keyed in a code into an adjacent keypad, and the door slid to the side. Within the room there was a single pedestal.