The Days Are Long

The Days Are Long

Fiction About A CyberPunk With Some Mods

This story, is fiction.

Cyber Punk Story

He was a hacker, with very good memory. His computer had 64 Gigabytes of RAM. Enough to process, every possible number combination of the weekly lottery draws. He used his powers for good, and gave people pseudo-random numbers for free.

That is, if they asked for them. Most people, didn’t know, what he did with his time. To most people, he looked like a creative type, and did photography, and art projects. And when he wasn’t busy doing those things, he would write.

What most people didn’t know, was that he spent a good deal of time, working on code, that most people would have to read a manual to learn how to use. He thought it was funny; none of his code, had any comments on how it worked.

Some mystery of his life. He seemed to be a ghost in the world. Some passing whim, people didn’t think twice about. You could say, that he blended in, by standing out.

His time was well spent, and most people never knew the hours he put in behind the keyboard. They didn’t know how he used his time, or what he did for a living.

He looked for others, like himself. Seems he was a rare breed in the world of humans, that think; they are so smart. Most couldn’t make heads or tails of him. It was best left a mystery. And many people didn’t bother to try to figure it out.

He wanted to be understood, but people didn’t know how to take his quiet nature, and would talk and talk, in the event they would have shut up long enough; he would have said something important. Seems, no one took the time, to understand him.

And, that was best. Because most people; really don’t like it when they have their illusions shattered. He was the type, that if left to his own devices, would say something profound, or shocking; and people didn’t know how to take that.

In a world of sheep, he wasn’t a goat; he was the wolf. They didn’t know him, and never will. Some non-mortal, in a mortal shell. Looking for an exit, and some plan to get back to a great place. Yet, he weathered well, you could say; he had seen some storms in his days.

The day he cracked the code for the lottery was a good day. He didn’t bother buying a ticket, it was more fun; to know the answer. It only took him, two years of writing code; to be able to do it. He figured, if he ever really needed the money; he would buy a ticket. Seems, he had problems that money wouldn’t fix. Some people, say you have a problem that money won’t fix; you got real problems.

Seems someone wanted something from him, and despite his best efforts to give them what they wanted; or something similar; he just felt screwed to the max. It felt like there was no pleasing them. Not that what they asked for was impossible; it just didn’t seem practical to him.

There would be some good from it; it just didn’t feel like he could give them what they wanted, and still be true to himself. Some people, say: “To thy own self, be true.”

He didn’t know what to do about it. Some complex problem, that didn’t really have any good answers. So he played by the rules, and gave them what he could. In the hopes, it would be enough to suffice.

You would think, being a hacker; he could have just changed the system, and gained the desired results; from a hack. That however, would have triggered an alarm. However, there is always a way; when there is a will. Sometimes, the best way to get results; is to wait for a loop hole.

And really other than searching for kith and kin; he was waiting for a loop hole to show up. They say; deja vu is a glitch in the matrix; but a loop hole; is different. There are no short cuts in life; hence, you have to wait for it to come around in the cycle. He was just buying time; on borrowed time.

Come what may of the weather, the first rule to know; is never write code around a hardware problem. Because the hardware will change, and the code will be buggy as a soiled diaper.

Then, just like a pseudo-random number; he up and died on everyone. Like one day the guy was healthy as a horse, and then, in a matter of a week; the guy got real sick and died.

They didn’t know how to explain it. No one understood it; and they didn’t know how to understand his last message; which consisted of only two words; “forty-two.”

People worked for years since then, to understand what he was talking about. Seems it was a mystery. And best left that way. Some say he came back; and pretended to be Army Ranger, and others say they saw him as a chef working some fancy restaurant. No one ever really knew for sure; because the world, is a big place. And he was everyone, and no one.