Home > King of Code(4)

King of Code(4)
Author: C.D. Reiss








Ex Black Hat hacker Beezleboy creates

the unhackable system. Until it’s hacked.



That time you bragged about the

unhackable system and someone…



Oracle Inc. may delay system

upgrades in the face of QI4 breach.



Beezleboy got pwnd. Always a

fucking pussy. #QI4choked



Finally. Someone he couldn’t screw

by snapping his bitch fingers.

#tool #douche # QI4choked



* * *




He’s the fucking King. What did he

make you choke on?



Did someone just climb the

Everest of exploits?




Careful – your douche is showing.

# QI4choked




Temporary setback. Your most useful skill is

tweeting with your legs in the air.

#QI4rulz #stackslut




That, my friend, is the taste of crow.



Rumored QI4 hack may be part of a

bigger stunt. Don’t write off beezleboy363636

& Alpha Wolf yet.




080 114 111 110 032 104 097 115

032 114 117 105 110 101 100 032

121 111 117 013 010




Not impressed by ASCII. Pron is nectar. You

can’t even get a job that doesn’t require

kneepads #QI4rulz



Anybody seen beezleboy363636?

Tor’s quiet. His account’s dead. Is he

hanging from his belt in the closet?






This is how a guy ends up in a windowless room full of computers, wearing nothing but his jockeys. He kicks everyone out. He locks the doors. He looks for code fingerprinting. He spends a long time—the lighting change he programmed tells him it’s just about twenty-eight hours—finding nothing. He takes a shower to clear his head. In the middle of it, with soap in his hair, he realizes he could check the core dump for clear text. Rinsing his hair doesn’t even occur, and drying off will take too long, so he puts his underwear on while he’s walking back to the cage. It sticks to him like a wet T-shirt sticks to tits. He sits down and searches everything.

There isn’t much to see until there’s a squeak of the door opening behind him, and he spins his chair to see who it is.


* * *


“How did you end up…?” Deeprak held out his hands, incredulous over how I looked.

The full-speed-ahead train of my thoughts runs through how I ended up in a windowless room full of shattered computers, sitting in front of my laptop, wearing nothing but my jockeys.

“Your dick hard?” I spun back to my screen.

“Yeah. I’m going to fuck you in the ass if you don’t let everyone back in here.”

“No one’s getting in until we know who did this, or they’re going to do it again.”

“What the fuck, Taylor?” He pushed a smashed computer with his toe.

I’d trashed four in a deliberate, organized way and couldn’t find a chip out of place. Then I lost my shit and smashed monitors against whatever edge I could find. Then I found it. A dongled chip with a quarter inch antenna right in the board.

“The poison pill was in the monitors. Five of them.” I pushed the one nearest my foot toward him. A 27-inch screen with a lightning fast GPU. We didn’t have the facilities to make our own monitors, so we bought them like normal people.

Deeprak saw it right away and picked up the green board. “Motherfucker.”

“Said that right.”

“What was it talking to?”

“It had to be transmitted to something coming in and out of the cage. I found a power strip in reception with a receiver in it. Another fucking mail order. Never again.”

Deeprak spread the monitor guts on the table next to me and examined them closely. “We’re a young office. We had to buy shit to set up. We had to buy a coffeemaker too. We can’t open up everything and check for receivers.”

“We do now.”

“Did they come from the same place? The monitors and the power strip?”

“No. It’s a fucking mess. I can’t make a connection. Monitors through TechWorld. The power strip was Amazon. The coffee maker was some artisanal company in Seattle.”

“You checked the coffee maker?” He stood up from his inspection of the monitor.

“It was clean. Look at this. I’m in the poison pill now.” I pointed at a little chip in the GPU I’d hooked up to my laptop, then at the screen.


“The complete Sherlock Holmes.”


“Really. He’s fucking taunting me with it.”

Deeprak looked over my shoulder. My hacker had pasted the entire library of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in the comments, and I had to go through every word.

“Have you considered it could be one of our guys?”


That was out of the question. I paid them well and treated them like princes. They each had a stake in making this work, and they each cared about what we were doing. Whatever it was—worm, virus, hack from God—it had locked me out. I could see the size of the box my life was in, but I couldn’t open it. I hadn’t connected offsite backups because we were off the grid.

It wasn’t anyone on the team. I trusted them, and not a line of code got pushed to the source without me looking at it.

It was me. I’d been complacent. I’d let all their work get destroyed. I’d failed them. They relied on me to lead them, and I’d let them down.

“You all right?” Deeprak asked.

Fuck it. Guilt was taking up time and energy. I was running low on both.

By accident, I laid too much weight on the page down key and forwarded to the middle of a completely different section. I was about to go back when I saw slashes. I hadn’t seen slashes anywhere else, then I noticed the digit at the beginning.

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