Private :\SlaveNet.xpi

[Hacks]

Refugee Sector
Nar Shaddaa

There was never peace in Hacks' apartment. The walls were paper thin and she swore the neighbour above walked around his room with bricks for shoes. She could hear couples screaming, children crying, dogs barking. Sentient detritus lived here. Her music thumped to drown out their noises, only to hear someone slam their fists on her door, shouting at her to turn it down. She never listened.

When she arrived two weeks earlier her room was barebones, she had no bed so opted to sleep on the floor. A miserably cold night that left her shivering until the early hours of the morning. It was only thanks to a recent blackjack win that she was able to afford a bed, new computer and datapad. She still didn't own a couch, instead sitting up in her bed late into the night as she worked on her programming.
Her datapad began to buzz.

C1PH3R: Hacks, how's the job coming along?

Hacks: Not bad. I'm using the foundations of Jens CryptNet, the old code the Red Ravens used. Darkwire ran a skeleton version for their own network back in the day.

C1PH3R: Is it wise using old code?

Hacks: Eh, CryptNet has been surprisingly reliable over the decades. Seems most law enforcement have done sweet F-all to counter it. I'll be piggybacking the CryptNets use of redirecting traffic through HoloNet satellites. False addresses will bounce with the open net signals, it'll blur the lines for anyone trying to monitor the flow. All the pigs will see is ordinary traffic, there won't be identifying marks of the SlaveNets use. It means the transmissions won't be instant, it'll rely on waiting for the nearest grid signal to bounce to stowaway with it.

C1PH3R: Slow, but safe. There's a story about a turtle in there I'm sure.

Hacks: Trying to crack jokes Cipher? that's rare for you.

C1PH3R: What can I say? I'm in a good mood. Alright, I'm logging off for the night. I'll catch up with you tomorrow. See-ya Hacks.

:\ [Call.End]

 

[Hacks]

A vast ocean of data washed over Hacks. She was wired directly into her computer, her cranial implants serving as the link between mind and machine. It was within this realm of pure code that she would formulate the Digital Fortress that would safeguard SlaveNet, encrypting messages of its anonymous users. Protecting the identities of the galaxies most foulest scumbags.

There was a line she had crossed, hell, she had sprinted past it. Serving the Hutts to design their own netbrowser and marketplace, selling life for credits. A doubt gnawed at her soul, what little of it was left behind all the wires inside of her. If she didn't take this job then someone else would, she may as well take the creds for herself. Yet, one day, this would catch up to her, and she knew when that day came she would regret ever doing this.

She pushed that anxiety deep down, hiding it from her minds view as she executed her Cerberus program into the Digital Fortress. A titanic three-headed hellhound burst to pixelated life. The program began to seek out intruders, its virtual representation stooping their three heads low to an infinitely expanding digital landscape, sniffing out intruding programs, rogue AIs and nosy slicers.

SlaveNet would be encased in quantum encryptions, digits shifting values to increase protection, deathly cold pyrowalls that scrutinized traffic with an iron fist and the last line of defence, Cerberus. In the rare chance a slicer decoded their way through the encryptions, fought through the pyrowalls, then Cerberus would fry them before they had a chance to regret what they had just done. Somewhere out there, someone would find that slicer collapsed in their chair with smoke rising from their slumped head. Cerberus' Hellfire.

 

[Hacks]

Days and nights washed away with the rain on the window. It was quiet in her apartment this early, the shouting matches of couples had surrendered to exhaustion, the kids had cried themselves to sleep and the dogs heard no sound to bark back too. The tapping of her keyboard was the only comfort tonight.

She was re-writing the entire script for the SlaveNet, turning it from a slow but discreet browser into its own anonymous net. The Hutt Council would have to pay for the micro-satellites but she had no doubt they would do it for what she was going to give them. An online Invisible Market for digital cowboys.

Complex streams of code descended down her screen, the inner matrixes of her SlaveNet. Hacks was developing a program for her net she was calling the Data-Visual Interface. The Data-Visual Interface was a program users could run to jack into the net, their brains existing within the virtual. The issue would often be that the data users would see would be mostly unintelligible and nauseating to navigate.

The Interface translated the streams of code into more tangible and identifiable objects. Pathways to forums and marketplaces within the Slavenet, or roads to other nodes, personal computers and datapads connecting to the Net. Malware programs would no longer be an obscure and vague line of code, it would be virtually represented as danger.

Users utilizing the Data-Virtual Interface could then interact physically with the Net, their movements and actions translated to commands and code. Users would be in a comatose like state, unaware of the world outside as their brain connects to the Net, relying on cybernetic implants. Nanothreads directly from the brain to interface plugs at the nape of the neck or temple.

Hacks continued to type, countless days and nights would continue to pass. Stimulants and spice keeping her awake beyond her natural means. The computer screens burned into her retinas. Fingers ached from the long hours and days of constant flow. The SlaveNet would be her Magnum Opus, and perhaps her greatest shame.

 

[Hacks]

[ Count Zero Theme ]​

Count Zero thrummed with life. The latest synthwave and breakbeat pulsed from ceiling tall speakers, bodies glistened with sweat moved with the sounds in a spice-induced haze. Hacks reclined in a seat in the far back of the club, cigarette limp between her lips. She looked to Cypher who was sketching with pencil and paper. Something about the scratching graphite soothed him.

Cypher was a friend she was regularly meeting up with for friends, or spending late night calls discussing their work. He was one of her only true friends, having met him shortly after arriving on Nar Shaddaa. He was a hopeful light in her life of grief and addiction. His cybernetic eyes shone a bright red that cast a hellish glow over the table as he wrote.

Hacks looked down at the code he was scribbling down, teeth grinding as she thought. She puckered her lips and took a long deep drag from her cigarette, plucked it from her lips and blew out the smoke slowly. "It won't work," she said, plastic eyes scanning the sheet. She poked an index finger at a line halfway down the sheet, "Once this code gets injected into the users end," she shifted her finger to another line, "While you've got this running, it's going to destabilize user-end packets and very slowly corrupt their system files. They'll think it's a simple mushi until its too late."

Normally it was her goal to corrupt systems and make hostile digital takeovers, but she was building a darknet for the underworld. She didn't want her own net sending faulty code out. The SlaveNet had to be reliable, trustworthy and most importantly anonymous to succeed. Cypher relented with a whine of disappointment, hand ran over his face as he set himself to start over. He scrunched up the paper and forced it into his pocket.

Hacks was relying on his help to encrypt user information, but her mind had slowly started to drift to the slicer she met. Johnny Diamonds. She wondered if she could trust him enough to bring him on board. She banished her thoughts and returned her mind to her bottle and cigarette, eyes glued to the dance floor, entranced by the rhythm of the bodies and droids that moved to the beat.

 

[Hacks]

Hacks swayed with the sudden movements of the train as it wound its way through the Refugee Sector at lightning speed. Her eyes turned towards the carriage door as a group of brutish men and women entered. They wore police uniforms in the likeness of those who once served when Nar Shaddaa was still until Silver control. The red-glowing eyed Cypher leaned over to Hacks and offered a silent nod in the direction of the group. The question did not need to be asked aloud.

"Ex-Badges who didn't give up the fight," Hacks explained, "When the Hutts took back control, most of the cops moved offworld or went back to blue collaer work. These dweebs decided otherwise. They kept their guns and uniforms, and with nowhere to detain people they just opt for street executions. No better than the gangs on the lowest levels, except the gangs down there know they're bad people, these guys are delusional holier-than-thou assholes who think putting a bullet in an addicts head somehow solved the problem."

Although she spoke and her attention seemed to be on Cypher and the badges, it was far from the truth. Behind the veil of her glasses she frantically wrote code as her mind joined in unison with her slicing deck through her Aj^6 implant. With nothing but thought vast wells of data poured out in front of her eyes, code bursting to life. SlaveNet was nearing its final stages of development, soon it would only need the satellites. Something she still needed to talk to the Hutt Council about.

As the badges made their way towards the two slicers it became increasingly clear Cypher was getting nervous. They both had rap sheets, Hacks far more extensive than the usual gutter trash. Her plastic eyes scanned the carriage, then the Badges. Probing code manipulated by her mind sought out the Badges tech. She uploaded her Termite program, devouring files and system operations within seconds. The Badges would have no way to check Hacks or Cyphers identity now.

"Lets go," Hacks whispered once more, eyes now turned to the upcoming platform as the train came to a grinding halt. The doors chirped then whooshed open, the two slicers quickly stood up, hands in pockets, heads kept low as they exited out onto the rain-drenched platform. The doors closing behind them and as the train began to leave, Hacks watched the Badges yelling profanities at their failing tech. "Nice work," Cypher said as they both walked towards the stairs out of the Refugee Sector station.