The key didn’t fit.
It took a little longer than expected to break into Qwerty ’s hidden laboratory/home. The pathways programmed specifically for Blue weren’t in operation. Blue tried not to give them credit for this, too.
He exited the tunnel into the RV and relaxed a little, for the first time in 24 hours. He flicked on a few monitors, checked the neighbourhood and then logged into his mail. No account. He tried to SSH into his server. Doesn’t exist. He tried his bank accounts, his various payment accounts and online shops. They’d erased everything.
He went to the news sites. No mention of last night. That’s to be expected.
Nowhere, nothing existed of him. He was Captain John Doe. Mr.Nobody. He had been flung into a world a ritual majick and assassinations and multi-dimensions and he had been granted his own superpower to defend against these horrifying odds. He was a nobody. Literally, nobody knew he existed. He walked outside this world of systems of ritual majick and prophecy, of predictions and mind games and control.
He switched on Qwerty ’s defence runes and inserted Bonsanto’s disk.
So what have you got for me?
Blue didn’t need Qwerty ’s algorithmic powers to decipher some of the files now that Qwerty had decrypted them. The files were organised by and for a relatively normal person like himself, he reckoned.
The files showed where and when to invest. It predicted events and strategies. The files seem to span hundreds of years both backwards and forwards. According to these files, this organisation had been in existence for three to four thousand years, and part of a conglomerate that may have lasted even longer.
How many of these corporations are competing like this? And they’ve been in existence since the Babylonians?
With these files he could amass a fortune, stealing a bit here, moving a bit there. Investing as they instructed. It was a different they or maybe there was a whole lot of them. Amassing a fortune would be easy, but it would take time. He would need to build up several personas, bank accounts, passports. It would take time. Meanwhile he would need to eat.
“And it’s not just PRISM, Tempora. Tempora is a XKeyscore, Bullrun... MUSCULAR they call it LOVEINT. Or tracking the online sexual activity of people they termed radicalizers in order to discredit them. Look here this is "Black Pearl", … using a program called "Turbine." Revelations included information about "QUANTUMHAND,..."codenamed MonsterMind.
Who watches the watchers? Captain Nobody. I can show any of these anything I want them to see ,and hide anything I don’t.
Blue formulates ‘The Plan’.
He did not exist in this universe. He has no past.
He has access to a set of files called ‘The System’ that predict and calculate events across a huge timeline called the Game. Blue exists outside the system.
The Game players include numerous secret societies, governments and multinational corporations. With tiny alterations to events he should be able to:
a) screw up the predicted events for the enemy.
b) use these predictions the same way Bonsanto and others use them.
c) Staying under the radar until he is powerful enough to take the enemy head on will take years, with ultra careful precise manoeuvres to remain Captain Nobody.
He rents flats, apartments and warehouses in Dublin city, Pyramid City 6 in the centre of Ireland and across the Irish Sea in Pyramid City 7 in Coventry or New London. A few years later he rents a series of buildings in Amsterdam and Pyramid City 8 in Paris.
So ‘The Plan’ is to beat ‘The System’ and win ‘The Game’
Power was good. Qwerty had the place rigged to get power and bandwidth syphoned off numerous services load balanced across numerous switches. There was plenty of tinned food, but the variety was low. Out of curiosity, he opened the RV door. Under normal circumstances it would have lead to the glorious outdoors, but instead, it was buried under several metres of electronic and motor parts lot of which came crashing in when he opened the door, without so much as a dent towards the promised view. Blue looked at the rubble and at Qwerty ’s electronic laboratory.
Four hours later, Blue had repaired 5 toasters, a sandwich maker and a mobile phone. He brought these to the local charity shop for which he received cash.
If he was going to be around here, he’s gonna be seen. He gets a part time job working in the scrap yard, breaking stuff, sometimes going on runs with Qwerty ’s old man. He begins stocktaking, expanding the Space available to him in the hidden RV, but also separating the electronics stuff he can repair and resell. Over the weeks he studies, adapts and improves on Qwerty ’s security and surveillance measures within the half underground complex. He increases the perimeter so that nobody can get within 60 metres of his HQ, yet it remains completely hidden. He buys two chickens and builds a small garden. From the perimeter he cannot hear them. He buys a rooster.
Blue’s still getting used to the secret sounds of the walls and the floors, and to the shadows of the curtains and the wardrobe. There is a lot of energy in this little hideaway.
He wakes up about midday, the sun is streaming through a hole in the curtains sending a beam of light across the room. It doesn't shine into his face or anything, but the dust swimming in the air is lit up along the ray’s path. He imagines all that shit being drawn into his lungs. I'm going to take up jogging soon. I've got to get my life in order. It will motivate me to get up in the mornings.
After a joint, he makes a cup of coffee. He pours a little hot water into each of the empty milk cartons and pours the milky water into his large French mug, which doubles as a bowl the odd time he buys corn flakes.
As he starts to wake, he wanders around the room picking up bits of paper or putting books back onto the shelves. Clothes are put into a black bag and hidden under the dinner table. All surface area is wiped with an old T-shirt.
Cleaning can be daunting but if everything has a place then by walking round putting things back, the room takes shape. He sweeps the floor, leaving all the dirt into a corner and picks up what can easily be picked up. The dishes are washed. They are left on the drainer undried.
He has to wash and dry a tea towel next.
1:00 pm
An hour later the place is tidy, the bed is made. A clean Bum.
5:00 pm
The clothes are half dry. So they are put out on the washing line. The radiators would be turned on at six, that would finish off the drying.
He decided to buy some bread. On the way back, he found a wooden palette use by forklifts to carry their loads. He dragged it into the back garden.
6:00 pm
The clothes were put on the radiator. Coffee and a toasted egg sandwich. Then more toast to get rid of the munchies. Once the tea-towels were half dry, he dried the dishes.
He sits in the armchair looking out the window, alone. At a world waiting for him to enter. So life is starting afresh. Again. Again he is his own. Ready to make new friends, ready to try a new plan. To become more disciplined again. To try and make something of life.
The neon light flashes red and blue. The orange street lights leave a weak glum reflection in the puddles on the ground. The endless drops of condensation that gather on the cavern roof way above. Black and orange water hits the roof and dribbles down the sewers or up people’s socks.
On his day off he gets out of bed, round half twelve. The cat throws him a disgusting glance for waking her and then nods off to sleep again. The room is a mess. It's a mess every morning. They never clean up after them. He checks out the rolling board, filtering through to find the small blims of hashish left in ash and tobacco and ripped up Marley papers. He has plenty of grass, is never without it, but why waste it. Plus if he uses all the blims he is less tempted to put too much in.
He chopped up some of the plastic containers into small daggers and neatly placed them all in a wooden box on one side of the fireplace. On the other side a bale of briquettes were stacked like a pyramid. The fire was cleaned out and filled with any rubbish that would burn, cartons, bottles, paper and boxes. It could now be lit within a couple of seconds, but not now. It will add to the ambience tonight.
Technically, lighting fires was illegal due to the strain it put on the air filtration system. But who was gonna notice one lousy fire. He had built a makeshift system for the fumes to escape using pipes from one of the construction tunnels and it all fit snugly into a corner. He rolled another joint.
7:00 pm He took a cold shower, without any products. Dried and dressed. He shaved using the head of a razor only. He had one of those handles that weren't disposable but he bought the wrong heads. The shop wouldn't change them.
This is fucking terrible.
For dry damaged hair, for beautiful, healthy looking hair, with a dry weave top sheet, with a five year guarantee or your money back, And now the number one song which everybody loves from the our picklist, paid for by you groovy poppickers. For all your household, healthcare, romantic needs. For him for her, All the plastic a body could need.
A year.
Nobody.
A year in a single room. His whole world revolved around four walls.
His life before that didn't count.
The pawn shop man offers a deal. Have a look over at the broken shit. If you can fix it I’ll cut you 20% of the profit. He travels throughout the city finding repair shops, pawn shops and fences to buy, sell and repair electronic stuff.
Pope is a lowly captain for the local mob in Dublin City.
Now he was surrounded by burger bars and 24 hour music shows and the web and the porn shops. Where everyone needed a repairman. And this was going to be the new Blue. With the money he saved from his frugal existence he bought the latest in micro-diagnostics. Small pen-like devices with laser optics and nano memory. Hi definition optic implants negating the need to wear glasses and with screen resolution second only virtual immersion.
Today is a positive day. There is money in the jar, yesterday was payday. Each payday , he goes straight to the market to buy plenty of food, only then does he buy his help, but not this week.
He needed all the money he could muster. There should be enough food to last until next pay day. He has built up a small larder of tinned foods and protein mixes,and plenty of herbs to flavour the gunk. theoretically he could avoid buying anything for about two weeks, but his coffee would have to be black and there would be no bread with the dinner.
3:00 pm
He washes his clothes and tea towels in the sink (The up tempo music helped to keep him motivated. If the music was played loud enough he could sing along but it would have to be pretty loud, otherwise he would be too conscious of his own monotone voice. Then they were hung under the shower to rinse and drip.
SEXNET blips intermittently on the computer.
The cat slinks up beside the window ledge and rubs her face against Blue. Not tonight Slapper. She raises her tail. Fuck Off Slapper I'm desperate and you're not fucking helping. expecting it to come up and knock on the door.
Bing Bong.
Hi I'm life. Can I come in. I'd like to talk to you before we start. Okay. Please sit down, no need to curtsy. Yes, a coffee would be fine. Three sugars. Yes Sweet coffee for sweet life. I haven't seen you since....em since before your tenth incarnation. You were progressing so well. It seems you got stuck. And now you are going through an incarnation within an incarnation. My my things are not good. I was talking with Destiny and he is not pleased. I think it’s time you got a move on.
Fuck this. No coffee. Time to go to the city again.
Caffeine.