N00bs

By Julian Grant

Gamers Isla and Ger are thrown into a worldwide conspiracy in 2058 as they battle the mysterious cyber-hacktivist, Jericho. Bound by circumstance and hunted by the police, they uncover a dark conspiracy set up by Isla's own father, an officer in the interplanetary military complex, as he attempts to steal human consciousness and control the worldwide robot workforce. Now, they must learn about the all-powerful Hieronymus machines that are responsible for the human bio-thefts as they join forces with their arch-enemy, Jericho, in attempting to bring down the shadowy Axiomm Corporation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julian Grant
• Release date: Mar 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005733353

Julian Grant

Julian Grant is a filmmaker, educator, and author of strange short stories plus full-length novels/ non-fiction texts and comics. A tenured Associate Professor at Columbia College Chicago, his work has been published by Avalon Literary Review, Crepe & Penn, Clever Magazine, Peeking Cat Literary Journal, Danse Macabre, Fiction on the Web, CafeLit, Horla, Bond Street Review, and Free Bundle.

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N00BS

Julian Grant

N00BS - Copyright © 2021 by Julian Grant

This book is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictionally and are not to be constructed as real.  Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. 

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For information contact :

Julian Grant www.juliangrant.com

First Edition

Copyright © 2021 Julian Grant

All rights reserved.

To Julie

for 8,000,000 + 1 Reasons

1

Ger dug deep, mashing the battered mini keyboard. He’d never faced an online opponent like GNGR346 and whoever it was, was incredible.

Pushing back his long sweaty hair, he fast-typed a blistering number of surefire moves designed to vault his character onscreen with relentless precision. Outside of the traditional WSAD commands that drove him forward, he had coded his Avatar with all of his powerful finishing moves, driving the onscreen Viking with what he thought was savage unbeatable fury. Eat that!

And yet, GNGR346 was kicking his ass avoiding every power strike and doubling down with a flurry of attacks that he hadn’t even seen before. WTF?

Ger grunted in genuine frustration as he continued the furious assault on the online BERSERKER game determined to not fall to his unknown assailant. How is this happening? It had started easily enough with him logging in after his 'bot chaperone had checked his most recent school uploads. The condition of his staying with this foster group was that they would check his online school homework and he would agree not to go to the dark web hangouts that had gotten him arrested in the first place. All he had been trying to do was pay for his Mom’s meds - but the courts didn’t see it that way and the next thing he knew, Mom was in Rehab and he was shipped off to the foster group, whose impossibly slow computer he had overclocked to get him in the game, was severly harshing his action. BERSERKER lacked the pure adrenaline thrill of his previous illegal data skirmishes and the online hacking rush - especially in the strictly off-limits dark web arena - but the game did have some attractions. He’d leveled up fast, and as long as he stayed within the legal limits of the web, did his online homework and kept to the imposed ninety-minutes time allowed on the group computer - nobody seemed to have any problem with him online.

Of course, he could have easily disabled the key tracker the 'bots had installed on the computer and fed it a ton of random websites had we wanted to go back to the dark side, but he was determined to do his time quickly here and pass it playing mindless Bronze Age MMORPG’s until Mom was clean and he was free to rejoin her. Play the game, loot the rewards.

‘Who are you?!’ Ger screamed at the computer as he cratered out again.

Onscreen, he was down to his last life and GNGR346 barely had any damage.

He breathed in slowly, falling into the zone that he knew served him best when he got frustrated. As a forever-skinny kid, he’d learned early to control his anger or get his butt handed to him. Like now. Did you really just do that?!

Ger’s Level 15 Viking Warrior (which he affectionally dubbed KILLDZR) fell to the minx-like moves of GNGR346’s Fairy Elf. The lithe seven foot magickal Avatar neatly and effectively severed the head of his trusted game figure and all Ger could do was watch helplessly as GNGR346 won the round and leveled up over him as KILLDZR bled out of his newly-severed neck. I hate you.

He glared at the game leaderboard seeing his onscreen name - DD4EVR - drop down one slot. He’d owned that board within a week of signing into the game and now he was number two.

‘WHO ARE YOU!?’

Ger stomped away from the overheated computer and stared out into the alley below through the battered plastic wall pane - the only window in the cramped space. Of course, it’s raining. It’s always raining.

Here in MegaCity One, the streets continued to pile up with more and more Outlanders looking for a place to stay. And there’s always more people outside.

Below him in the acid-rain soaked road, huddled people tried to sleep in the wet alley. They were just smeared shadows to him through the dirty plexiglas but he could still see several smaller ones that had to be kids — teenagers like himself. That could be me out there. He was lucky that he had a place here - even if it was court appointed - as many were still reeling from the collapse of the off-planet ecosystem and had no hope but to return home to Earth. Already Megacity One was hopelessly overcrowded and outside of the retrofitted closet/ computer room, the foster home was a cramped warren of beds, troubled kids and robots. This was the only place he had any privacy at all - even if it had once been for storage.

He glanced at the large neon timer set over the battered door.

He still had five minutes left before his time was up.

Enough time to go back in and challenge GNGR346 to a rematch and get his place back at the top of the game board.

His in-game message system sounded as Ger turned back to the computer.

Flopping into the well-worn chair, a flashing neon message reminder alerted him that he had a direct message. He clicked on the icon and was stunned to see a DM from GNGR346.

Intrigued, he clicked on the icon and read the message that flashed on the screen

Ger shook his head - It’s probably gonna be an ad for some kind of game booster they’re selling - as he wrote back,

He waited for GNGR346 to respond figuring that the promotion would come on now to have him join a Clan or get some high-priced Mod that would better autocomplete his moves.

A skull smiley-face emoji taunted him as he stared at the response. Flipping him the bird.

A N00b?

Ger fingers flashed in response as he wrote back.

He hated Trolls with a passion and GNGR346 was clearly dissing him. I’ll show you who’s a N00b! Dropping cover for a moment, he typed in the terminal computer code for a dark web cluster bomb that would infect his tormenter’s system and flood their home screen with advertisements for sex sites, home shopping portals and other assorted web trash. Enough, Troll.

A flash of bright, brilliant light overwhelmed him as both his monitor and system shut down with an audible bang. The stink of burning circuits filled the room. Ger staggered back from the now-smoking computer as the timer in the room started to ring. ‘Time. Time. Time,’ chanted the countdown clock as Ger sighed in frustration. His shoulders slumped in resignation as he glared at the now-broken computer terminal. I am so toast.

Onscreen, the neon green taunt was burned into the old-fashioned monitor.

Isla sat back laughing at how DD4EVR had tried to infect her system with a classic old-school cluster bomb. How lame was this guy anyway? An e-bomb? What are we, twelve?

Onscreen, her avatar, BRITSHINSTR, bowed in salute as she signed off the BERSERKER game. Content in her victory, Isla sighed in satisfaction as she sat back and watched her leaderboard position flash one last time in her browser before the game shut down. Her parents would not be happy to see that she was playing online and she made sure that her log-on deets were clearly hidden behind a shell she had devised on makeup tips and cool new hairstyles. She knew her father would never look there anyway during his weekly remote sweep of her computer’s operating system — but Mom might. He’d been off-world for so long she barely remembered what he looked like in person.

She stared at the portrait of her family that hung over her immaculately made bed. She prided herself in keeping her room organized and she knew she should feel lucky where she was in the current world — but it was hard. And boring. So boring. Surrounded in soft earth tones with a large picture window that looked out on their manicured garden, Isla blanched at how perfect this room was and how empty it felt. There’s nothing here for me. I don’t belong in this world.

She stood, stretching her long, lean body trying to work out the kinks in her back. Definitely took too long taking down the N00b. She had to admit she had been kinda impressed a little with DD4EVR initial gameplay. He fought well at first and had some game, for sure - but his auto-programming keys were so easy to beat once she ran her own AI enhancement. It took her only seconds to run an analysis mirror and then reverse-engineer his tactics with her own advanced fighting style. She knew he’d be back after her after she trashed him so she’d sent an auto-destruct code at him she’d learned from her mystery crush Jericho. Didn’t expect that one, did you? She couldn’t resist getting that one last dig in.

She hated guys like DD4EVR. Great name, though. Gotta be a Ramones fan.

Isla smiled in secret knowledge that she had gamed her competitor fair and square and gave thanks to the computer science and programming classes she had excelled in. The only downside to this awesome talent was that all her scores were all tracked which meant she had been earmarked for a successful career in her father’s sector that she had no intention of EVER taking. As an Astral Engineer, he was off-world so much, too much for someone like Isla who valued her connection with the Earth - but he was able to provide a great life for her mother and herself - even if the women had been fighting nonstop since she turned seventeen. And isn’t that what it’s all about?

Isla stared at the old family picture - Mom, Dad, Sasha and herself - all in a trip to the woods when they had still been there. I look so little. I miss her so much.

In the picture, Isla’s fiery red hair stood out in stark contrast to her mother’s and Sasha’s own pale blond features. It was from her father that she inherited the titian locks that she had hated forever. Now, she knew that there was no amount of hair dye that was going to change the fact that she was a ginger through and through. Might as well embrace it. Go Red!

‘Isla, come down for dinner, honey. The computer’s made Italian tonight. ‘

From downstairs, Marta called up and she made her way to her walk-in closet knowing that her current outfit of Doc Martens, skinny jeans and her coveted vintage Ramones T-shirt were not suitable for her tightly wound Mother. She’d learned to pick her battles with her and dressing for dinner was just one of the smaller skirmishes she was willing to grudgingly concede.

The closet was full of well-tailored dresses that she had inherited from Sasha and even though they were long out of fashion, they still flowed nicely when she reluctantly shrugged one on. She missed her sister who had been one of the first casualties who’d followed their father into planetary service and was one of the original homesteaders that were sent to cultivate the Mars colony. When Outpost XVII fell, they waited months to find out that she was one of the first to pass. They’d had a makeshift funeral for her here on Earth - but even that her Father had been unable to attend due to his ever-demanding work responsibilities. No body. No Dad. No life.

Isla sighed and pulled off her clothes and slid into one of the silk sheathes that only now started to hang properly.

In the last few months, she had noticed how her body was changing and that subtle curves and mods caused her to be more than self-conscious when wearing a dress. She preferred her street level outfit that lay discarded on the floor that allowed her to move anonymously through the city’s internet clubs and online portals. She valued her privacy and constructed an elaborate online persona that guarded who she really was - as she ever-slouched in her favorite dark hoodie and sunglasses to shield her figure and face. She’d recently added a reflective camera-blocking scarf for the CCTV units and didn’t carry a comm-link when she didn’t have to. Isla went into stealth mode as a default that seemed encoded into her DNA.

That’s how she found Jericho. As if he had been waiting for her all along.

‘Isla, it’s getting cold. Are you coming? Or do I have to come up’

Her mother had little patience when it came to dinner insisting that they try to uplink with Dad each night and have a dinner as a family. They hadn’t been a family for real since Sasha’s death as they each retreated into their own safe spaces. Dad had lost himself in his work, Isla in becoming a secret computer and cybernetics hacktavist and her Mother in the ever-increasing daily videocasts of the newly rich and famous. They were never able to get Dad online and so dinner usually devolved into a silent wake of a meal in their large vaulted space. Same crap, different day.

‘I’m coming, Mom. I’m just getting changed’.

Isla took a last look at herself in the full-length mirror that showed her all she needed to know. I look like a girly girl. This sucks. I hate fashion.

She was dwarfed in the large room that had everything one would hope for their beautiful teenage daughter and yet - she felt nothing. She had only found happiness in the world of the cyber-activist Jericho and his attempts to illustrate the hypocrisy that controlled MegaCity One. I am so not like my Mother. If they only knew what I know. Or did. They’d lose it. For sure. Yet Jericho had ghosted her recently. No response. No way to contact him. Everything was on his terms. Typical.

‘Isla!’ Are you coming down? I’m not calling you again!’

‘Here, I come,’ Isla called as she swiped a brush quickly through her tangled hair and stomped off downstairs to the dining room for the ‘tasty’ robot-cooked dinner. She hated Italian food — There was always meat — and was already imagining going back online after dinner again and beating on DD4EVR again. Maybe that would make me feel better? Couldn’t hurt. What else am I going to do?

2

Dinner time was always the worst as everyone would pile into the overheated dining hall and battle for eating space. It was the only hot meal of the day that the foster kids had together since breakfast was pretty much a grab-and-go with their lunch being provided by the school. It was here, every night, that Ger had to stake out his turf and defend it from the mob. Being NPC Ger was the goal as he grinded his way through the lukewarm meal, keeping his head down and basically making it to the end of the dinner level staying as GTG as possible. I’m a non-playing character. Don’t bother engaging. I’m not here for long.

‘Bots travelled from kid to kid dropping food trays that were all the same.

Generic drink, fake meat, plastic fish or soy chicken plus a combo-vegetable soup came packaged in plain white boxes along with a container of mystery milk substitute. Most of the other foster kids complained about the food’s quality but Ger always packed it away glad that he didn’t have to cook it himself — or steal it. Back when he was living with Mom, they’d gotten by on mostly street food and the stuff she would ‘rescue’ from work. She had a full time gig at the Peoples Automat servicing the government building and whatever they didn’t eat during the course of their day, ended up on their table. When she got sick, they stopped eating - and when the money ran out, Ger started stealing online. Then Mom got sick. Super sick.

Ger fumed.

He’d gotten maintenance work at the home because the only computer got fried by him. It wan’t even my fault. How did GNGR346 do that? She’d ducked the cluster and ghost-nuked me over the web. How was that even possible?

‘Hey, Scrub. Nice going’

Ger stared up into the flushed face of Tyrone — at two hundred and forty pounds, he outweighed Ger by a good hundred pounds and he leaned over him clearly pissed about something. Or someone.

Like Ger.

Ger played it off as everyone knew Tyrone could snap and pound them into paste for any reason. He was that kind of foster kid. He’d been there forever and nobody was coming back to pick him up.

Leaning back in his scuffed plastic chair, Ger tried smiling at the angry bully.

‘Hey, Tyrone. What’s happening, my foster brother?

Tyrone smacked Ger in the back of the head.

The rest of the room, up until now concentrating on their meal, all sneak-peeked the looming battle. Better him than them.

‘Don’t brother me, camper. You fragged our only ‘puter. How’m I supposed to get my look on now?’ panted Tyrone.

Ger shuddered at the thought of Tyrone locked in the small room for ninety minutes trolling adult sites and chatrooms. He made a mental note to thoroughly wipe everything down once he got his privileges back.

Ger tried to blow if off in a breezy I-got-you-covered way leaning in to Tyrone and motioning him closer. Tyrone stank like baby powder and hard luck up close as Ger tried not to breathe the sticky man-boy funk the talcum had failed to cover.

‘I got some top-end hacks of some dark-web nasties I can hook you up with. Tripe A. Triple X. I got master-codes and everything. You can max out on DLC.’

BAM! Tyrone smacked Ger with his plasi-tray breaking it over him spilling the grey food and drink everywhere.

The rest of the kids in the room exploded as the house 'bots moved in to keep the peace.

‘FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!’

, admonished the guardian 'bot who rolled towards the boys.

Ger stole a glance at the advancing machine knowing full well that more demerits added to his current downgrade would result in privileges lost and even more work around the home. Burning out the computer and now fighting with Tyrone meant that he might find himself in the lowest part of the building in the area reserved for violent wards of the state - if he was caught. He’s heard horror stories about what went on there and had no intention of spending the night in The Box.

Ger’s plan was simple. Plead his case to the supervisor 'bot and have them play back the CCTV video from the room. They were always recorded. Everyone would see that Tyrone started the fight and that Ger was innocent.

‘You fragged the drive and lost all my favorite stuff,’ menaced Tyrone who tried to grab Ger. ‘Now, I gotta go find it all again… and I don’t know where I got most of it!’

Tyrone neatly ducked the lumbering menace and leapt up — directly in the path of the approaching guardian. Just stay outta his way. No PvP contact.

, blared the speaker on the robot’s chest panel.

Even in this moment of ‘fight or flight’, Ger couldn’t help but laugh at the rolling metal guardian. Shaped like a refrigerator on wheels, the industrial caretaker units had previously served time on assembly lines for auto-cars and cruisers. Their long spindly arms and glowing central eye had been the target of countless tags and graffiti markers over the years and this unit was no exception. A large cartoon pair of lips had been slashed beneath the eye port and kittykat ears and whiskers had been drawn on in thick black lines. It looked like a metal clown cat trying to act tough.

Ger snorted at the retro-fitted guardian. It looked funny.

‘Whatchu laughin’ at, GERO-main? You trashed the system and now none of us gotta ‘puter to use. You don’t care what happens to our stuff!’

The dinner room erupted in approval.

Ger had stopped everyone’s online time and Tyrone was a hero for once instead of the bully everyone hated.

Tyrone tried to grab Ger by his wet shirt as he slipped through his fat fingers.

Vaulting up onto the wobbly plastic table, Ger leapt over the kittycat clown 'bot and skidded to a stop on a neighboring table.

‘GERO-MAIN! GERO-MAIN!’

The room exploded in online flame taunting as Ger looked frantically for an exit.

He stared down at an angry loot shooter he knew who’d been flipped by the dark web cops like him and was waiting time to get out and get back to it.

TANYA-OMG glared up at Ger in sneering distaste as her carefully painted eyes shot daggers at the desperate Ger.

‘Tanya, little help?’

Folding her arms across her chest, she pursed her black lips in obvious distaste.

‘Get outta here, you filthy casual,’ Tanya spat.

Ger felt the burn all the way down to his now-soaking feet as he moved on quickly.

All around him the room was flooded in laughing or angry kids who all hated Ger for frying their sole computer.

Tyrone thundered after him as more robot caregivers descended upon the dinner hall.

‘You fight like a dairy farmer,’ screamed Tyrone as he attempted to catch Ger leaping from table to table.

Ger looked frantically around the room from his elevated position. Think, Ger. Max out on game cred here and pretend it’s a level. How would you beat this?

He assessed the room and the odds were not in his favor.

Three guardians, a room full of laughing kids that hated his guts and one pissed-off Tyrone made for a total free for all where everything was up for grabs.

He dug deep into his RTS playbook and decided that forward motion was the only option.

He leapt into the air over Tyrone and deaked around kittykat computer as he strafed his way towards the dining hall exit.

Around him, the other kids burst into applause who recognized a hot run when they saw it. Ger was living the dream and going full berserker on the room. I am Kill-Dozer. Witness me!Ger slipped across a nearby table avoiding guardian 'bot No. 2 who tried to snatch the errant teen with its plier-like hands only to smash directly into the third metal supervisor landing in a heap on the floor as cartons of milk and plasti-trays flew through the air hitting him on the dirty linoleum floor.

Looking up at the advancing robots, Ger had no option but to give up.

The last thing he heard was Tanya calling out from across the room the ultimate gamer burn.

‘You’re such a Rust Lord.’

Oh, do sit up straight, dear. You are ruining the line of that dress.

Isla tried not to show her obvious distaste at her mother’s attempt to ‘culture her’. Who cares if I sit up straight — or use the right fork — or even use cutlery. Who cares? Really? #Not_Me.

Isla smiled sweetly at her mother making a half-hearted effort pulling her napkin into her lap for full effect.

Marta smiled at her daughter as she waved absently to the 'bot to now begin serving dinner.

The dining room was, as always, immaculate with a fresh pressed tablecloth, sparkling silverware and cotton placemats marking their two separate spots on the long table. The 'bot rolled in with two steaming plates of soy pasta and real meat as Isla nodded to the mechanical servant in thanks. She appreciated being served - even if it was by a machine and knew that the gesture would be lost on her mother as she flicked through the comm-link attempting to set up the call with her husband.

‘I have a good feeling about tonight,’ Marta noted as the ping of an interstellar connection being made sounded through the speakers.

Isla waited in anticipation. Would this call actually go through?

Ignoring her meal, she stared without hope at the large screen that dominated the room. Like most in their exclusive neighborhood, they benefited from the company-provided tech devices. Everything in their home was the property of the sprawling Axxiom megacorp with updates provided every year in keeping with their station. As Alpha Primes, they benefited from the enhanced executive luxury package including the satellite