Another short piece for your enjoyment and critiscism thereof.
Denial
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I am an artiste, predator, hunter, womaniser and brain cracker par
excellence. Oh I admit that I am hardly the best cracker in the world. A
chance encounter with an eight year old who swam the net instinctually
certainly taught me that particular lesson. But still, I am good. Like
most crackers I have my kink. An obsession, a compulsion, an interest, a
focus for the efforts that drive us, make us what we are. Mine is women.
Sweet capricious woman. As a cracker my main line of work often entails
grand theft data, which brings in a hefty income. Initially a large
pro****tion of that income went on a body. As a child and young adult I
neglected my physical frame to become a cracker but, as is often the case
nowadays, cash solves everything. Two weeks of intensive microsurgery with
designer cybernetics and roach programs turned me into an adonis. But
that
doesn't count for much on it's own. Simple cosmetic surgery is relatively
cheap. My designerware simply ensured that it was less likely to be seen
through. Cheaper options leave tell tale hints that what is apparently a
perfect specimen was once a fat lazy bastard. In the top tiers of the
social strata the majority can afford such things. One Adonis in a crowd
of
them (Is adoni the plural? It would certainly suit it,) doesn't make much
of a stir. But it starts me off on the right foot, eye candy goes a long
way in the initial stages of lust. The real womanisers, the ones who go
by
natural talent and charm certainly have their methods. Me? A sturdy set
of
behavioural modifiers installed into my neural interface helped
considerably. The embedded skill chips on social dynamism, topical
conversations and poetry helped as well. Being honest, I hate poetry,
intensely, can't stand it. But a choice few lines here and there have
helped in the past, especially when I pass it off as my own. Then there's
the cracking. There are various types of crackers, people with their own
specialties. I crack brains. Well specifically I manipulate the
perceptions and memories of people through their neural interfaces. The
theory isn't that hard, a neural interface is hardwired into just about
every sense, centre and function of the brain. It is used to autonomously
control machines, inherently interface with computers, control bodily
functions and simulate virtual environments. Thats near complete control
of
a persons perceptions. It's a little hard to convince the brain that your
stimuli are the ones it should be taking note of. But getting your
malware
through the firewalls and anti software is the hardest part. That's my
speciality, as is constructing the malware to do it. Sitting up from the
daze of my thoughts, I once again concerned myself with my actual
activities. My present location was an upscale coffee house located
within
the financial district during lunch hour. Hundreds of female execs,
secreteries and PA's wondering around buying lunch and relaxing. My
hunting
grounds. But who to choose when there was so much choice. I admit I'm
impulsive when I choose my prey. Sometimes power lures me, the top execs
with their finely crafted security systems and controlling mannerisms
attract me. To topple them from their ivory towers is an exquisite
delight.
Others times it's the lower execs, living life in the fast lane enjoying
their youth and money whilst they can. Certainly makes for an enjoyable
evening especially when they get kinky. The secretaries are similar,
bouncy, fun loving but simpler and in some ways more powerful. Now PA's
are
superb, to run another persons life is the ultimate control and to control
them is a delicacy. And lo and behold, sitting not three tables away a
fancy drew my attention. A sweet twenty something, climbing the cor****ate
ladder. Not a top tier exec for certain, but a PA for a cor****ate
executive. The face of such an angel was truly divine, round full scarlet
lips, a smooth pale complexion and golden eyes framed by midnight black
hair
kept straight with an electrostatic weave. It rolled over her perfect
skin
like a wave, ****mmering and shaking itself remaining absolutely perfect.
She wore a tight cor****ate, office dress that scrolled the logo of her
firm
across her well developed breasts. Scoring points with the company by
showing brand name devotion and advertisement PR (what admirer of the
female
form could not remember the company name after a chance encounter with
that
rack?). She was a beauty produced by her full devotion to fa****on,
cosmetics
and ***ual splendor. My mental pace slowed as I unfurled the complex
computer procedure that was to be my court****p. My search algorithms
located her name, biographical and contact details within two point four
seconds. A quick, barely traceable, ping found her interface received
mail.
With the right vetting an email would slip through the security net and
download straight into her memory modules. A severely tem****ary proxy
address sends it along with one of the more sophisticated viral bombs I
had
to hand. But first I need to know the make of her neural interface.
Luckily her surgery is on the company file and a password I picked up
through some spyware allows me to access the confidential files. With the
make, model and firmware version it's a matter of moments to improvise my
email and code it to open in the background of her task management system.
The executable would start the flood her body with the necessary
endorphins
and biochemicals that stimulated ***ual arousal, lust and love. It's
never
harmful to have all three in attendance. At the same time a little script
I
cooked up should home her senses on my presence. Easy enough with visual
recognition software being the way it is. The script would lodge itself
in
her short term memory in moments, then she would catch my eye, find me
stunningly handsome and move over to meet me. She wouldn't know whether
it
was love or lust and wouldn't care. Sure enough I saw my stealthy work
having an effect. The crossing of her legs, the slight twist of her head,
a
flush in the cheeks. A couple of seconds passed and she met my eyes. A
good stare at this juncture in the process helps enormously, it puts them
off kilter. If I was lucky the inane horoscopes she reads have mentioned
something in my favour. An easy task to ****ft my eyes, sip coffee and
appear nonchalant. Sure enough, she stands and begins to move over before
standing before me. "Is this seat taken?" she asks confidently. I nod and
she settles into it, leaning slightly forward to talk to me. "You have
the
most wonderful eyes," she breathes seductively. "Tell me," she whispers,
"does your software highlight that characteristic when it byp***** my
antiviral agents and run a background image recognition engine?." I must
have looked terribly startled because with stunning quickness she had
grabbed my arm and stared hard into my eyes. Her eyes were beautiful, a
pupil of deepest back, emerald irises and, I swear, flecks of sparkling
gold
winking in the purest white. After gaining some composure I said
hesitantly,
"I didn't know cops were so beautiful under their helmets." She smiled
slightly, so exquisite, like the dawning of a sun on a wintry morn, amber
red contrasting with brilliant white, my hypothalamus almost forgot to
breathe. "Your lucky I'm off duty, otherwise I would have to arrest you
for
brain hacking." She said this so sultry the words failed to sink in
immediately so stunned by the beauty of her voice which surely put the
sirens to shame. "I'm sorry," I replied hesitantly, "you're not arresting
me?" She rubbed my arm which in turn quickened my heart before answering,
"Of course not silly," she giggled, "Us predators have to stick together.
You may not have noticed but there is a background executable
cross-referencing your poetic skill chip with my image recognition
engine."
"So what do we now that we've infected each other?"
"Lets just see," and her hand slipped down to my crotch, "Where the
software
takes us."
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