The most common jobs I usually take are hacking corporate sites, infiltration of social media accounts, breaking into cell phones to permanently delete shit, money laundering, and financial absorption. I’ve even been hired by the random spoiled rich kids to change their grades before mommy and daddy find out they’re tanking their Ivy League education.
But my highest requested jobs are those of the ‘personal attack’nature. Most of the time, that includes financial sabotage, legal issues, and public defamation. They’re also my highest-paying gigs. They aren’t my favorite. I don’t generally relish the idea of destroying someone, especially a stranger, for unknown reasons, but the gain is usually too much to pass up.
Thirty minutes later, Lawrence Jacobs, a 23-year-old frat boy from Jacksonville, Florida who's been living off of his late grandmother’s funds and pissing away his education, is effectivelyruined.
He’s on his way to being homeless, broke, carless, and friendless. Not to mention, I swapped out his Ritalin prescription for estrogen, so that’ll be fun.
Grinning from ear to ear, I push up from my desk, deciding I’ve earned a little mini vacation. By that, I mean a shit, shower, and shave. Maybe a steak. Stepping toward the door, my eyes catch on my reflection in the tempered glass. I grimace.
My short black hair is slightly grown out and disgustingly greasy. Beneath my glasses, the dark circles under my eyes stand out starkly against my paler-than-usual white skin. My eyes rake down my body as I slide my phone into the pocket of my grimy jeans. My white t-shirt has a few stains down the front of it. The material is hanging loosely and stretched out everywhere except the sleeves, which still cling tightly across the large swell of my tattooed biceps.
Usually, I keep my tattoos and piercings hidden. I made sure every single one of them is in a place easily concealed with my clothing. My body is etched with so much ink, sometimes I forget which tattoo is which. They all blend together seamlessly, hiding scars, both physical and mental. Some are better than others, depending on their location. I was young when I first started getting them, using the process as a way to simplyfeelsomething…anything. Now, it’s just become a habit.
They line my thighs, front and back, up to my hips and ass. My torso, chest, and back are fully covered, barely leaving an inch of blank space. My biceps are the newest additions, but they end just above my elbows. As much as I’d love to add to my collar and neck, I can’t risk it. I’ve created an outward appearance that’s meant to blend in. No distinguishing features. Nothing crazy or eye-catching that could easily be recalled. In my line of work, which often goes beyond digital hacking, I have to becomeno one.Nothing but a shadow. A silent fixture on the wall. Someone who can become anyone and then fade back into nothingness.
But when I’m alone, in my office and on my own property—I can be myself.
Still, a no one,the annoying and ever-present voice in my head supplies, making my gut clench. Growling, I shake off the annoyance and reach for the door handle, ready to breathe in fresh air for the first time in days. I’m just about to step out when the request alert goes off once more.
“God fucking dammit,” I bark, shaking my head. My body twitches toward the sound as if it already knows what I’ll do before my brain can catch up. Indecision wars within me. I should walk away. Should do exactly what I said I’d do and fuck off, get some fresh air, but—
Exhaling heavily, I turn back around and make my way to my computer. The three screens are all blank and on rest mode, but unfortunately, my notifications are on. I open my website and pull up the email app. Nothing comes through on my main account or my instant chat. Both are used by smaller paying clients, or those who found me through a simple search on the dark web. Clicking over to my alternate site, the one reserved for high-profile clients and costly requests, I find the new message.
My ass drops back onto my chair, knowing there’s no way I’ll be leaving now. I skim through the short message, my eyes narrowing as I take in the vague information.
Attn: Immediate request.
I need this woman defamed and no longer able to work within the state of Colorado. In fact, I’d prefer she be disbarred completely. Remove her notoriety and reputation by any means necessary. I will pay triple your fees.
Re: Rayvn Porter
That’s it. The entire message. One name, a few context clues, and a request for absolute destruction. My heart rate picks up in my chest at the mention of my fees. They’re already high as it is. I have the ability to charge whatever the hell I want, being the best at what I do, but triple?Shit.
I don’tneedthe money, but—
My eyes flick over to the photo sitting on my desk. The only personal touch in my entire office. The only person who means a single fucking thing to me.For her,I can take on another job, ruin another life. For her, I’d do it. For her, I’d do anything because I owe her everything.
It’s not enough,the voice whispers again.Will it ever be?
I stare at the photo for countless minutes. For some reason, I feel like the woman staring back at me is questioning me and my career choice. Something similar to disappointment washes over me. It’s brief. There and gone in an instant, so quick that I’m unsure if it’s real or if I’ve just imagined it.
What would she think about all this? Would she be angry with me for trading my soul and my conscience for money? Would she hate what I do? Or, would she be proud of how far I’ve come? I get lost in an endless loop of questions and self-deprecation, for a ridiculous amount of time. Time that I don’t have.
Another ping finally pulls me from my thoughts, though it’s more of a struggle to face reality than usual. My eyes find the chat box, and everything comes back like a sucker punch to the gut. I’d been so lost in the void that the memories of her always inspires, that I’d completely forgotten about the new job.
The user sent another email. This time, only containing two words. Two words phrased as a question.
Anonymous: You in?
But when a message like this comes from someone with the type of money this person is referencing, I’d be a fool to believe it’s anything other than a demand. There is no choice. There is no question as to whether or not I’ll take the job. There are no morals too high or souls too pure.
What’s one more life in the grand scheme of things when you’ve already ruined so many? What’s one more shadow in my chest where my soul used to exist, when it’s been gone for so long already?
Nothing. It’s nothing.
With that thought in mind, I reply.
Killerclown666: Send half the payment upfront. You’ll know when it’s done.