chapter 5

((Another one by the ex-cowriter. Trigger warning for suicidal ideation.))

ONE YEAR AGO

“It was a mistake, Eddie.”

This couldn’t be happening. Tegan loved him yesterday. What had changed? What had he done?

“How do you know?” Eddie quivered down the phone. “It’s only been three days.”

“Call it a gut feeling.”

She hadn’t had that feeling yesterday. Unless she was lying? Could she lie? Was she lying now? Was this all an elaborate prank?

“I’m sorry, Eddie. I know I’ve let you down.”

“No, no, that’s my line.”

“I’m sick of lines. I’m sick of acting.”

So it was real, it was happening, but it couldn’t be, Tegan loved acting, acting was her life, it was going to be their life, she’d be in blockbusters and he’d be big in blockchain and they’d be happy and he’d do whatever she needed—

“I know. I should’ve told you sooner.”

“You weren’t obligated, but I’d like to have known—”

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy it, I love it. But it ain’t happening.”

“But it has to, you’re brilliant—”

“In your eyes. And your eyes… they’re too big, I think.”

“What do you—”

“Nothing.”

That second syllable shook him like a sniper’s bullet. It hit him, shot through him, and erupted out the other side as quickly as it came. Eddie slumped to his bedroom floor. Finally he’d found his future, and it’d left him so swiftly. All in three days.

It couldn’t be happening.

“What did I do?” Eddie sobbed. “Was I too depressing?”

“It’s not your fault Eddie,” came the reply, so compassionate, so tender, so cruelly calm.

“But I know I’ve taken you for granted, used you as a crutch—”

“And I don’t mind, I encourage it, even. But I was dumb to ever think I needed this. Call it hormonal.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Eddie, please don’t make a big deal out of this. We’re still friends. We’ll just pretend it never happened.”

“But what was the problem?”

“There wasn’t a problem, okay? It’s just… we’re different people. You need something I could never give to you. And don’t ask me what it is. You already know.”

Eddie didn’t know what something was. But he wasn’t going to ask.

***

TODAY

The speed of Eddie’s sensuous self-destruction was its most torturous aspect. How many more fatcats did he have to fleece? How many more millions would he have to steal? How long until Bombshell finally took notice? He only hoped she wouldn’t realize he was donating all his proceeds to charitable causes – erasing Blackwater’s medical debt, funding homeless shelters, that sort of thing. He didn’t want to be seen as a Robin Hood, he wanted to be hated, despised – most of all by her. For her, he’d play the insufferable egotist, the self-serving sociopath, and for his only-half-feigned corruption she would destroy him. She would demolish his knees with the fat she’d force onto him, have him collapse under the blubbery burden she’d so gleefully toss upon him. He’d be left prostrate atop a pillowy belly, billowing out more and more until its immensity swallowed him, but that wouldn’t stop Bombshell; she’d have seen too much of him to restrain herself. She’d continue inflating him, continuing crushing his corrupted soul until his heart turned limp, and he would lapse into incomparable ecstasy as he closed his eyes…

And that was the clock. Time to go home.

Eddie hardly paid attention at work anymore. Money, though he lacked it, wasn’t something he especially needed, and he didn’t enjoy the company Cybersecurity Inc. provided either. Sure, there were a few friendly faces – Oriana in pentesting sprung to mind – but Eddie didn’t really know any of them, which was how he liked it; it was obvious none of them ever needed him. He would nod when given assignments, or mumble a quick “hi” when bumping into a colleague at the water cooler, but on the whole Eddie was quite content keeping as quiet as he could in his cubicle, cramped in the corner of the office basement. Software development was no longer a means to any end, only an obstacle, something he needed to periodically remind himself to work on in between designing gadgets, planning heists and fantasizing of forced-fattening. It didn’t even matter how many times he’d been passed over for promotion any more; with his priorities elsewhere, Eddie appreciated his only tasks being ones his obsessively-sculpted intellect could handle in minutes. He supposed he could thank his mother for that much at least.

Sighing, Eddie rose to his feet and zipped up his bomber jacket. Grimacing, he trudged up the stairs past the lockers he’d never had any keys to and towards the back doors…

“Eddie Salvidar?”

Eddie jerked around with a start, and saw a tall, lanky man in a musty grey hoodie. His face felt charming in a juvenile sense, his smile awkward yet electric, but his messy brown mullet and backwards-Knicks cap suggested those youthful looks hadn’t gifted him any awareness of 21st Century fashion. Not that he seemed to have any interest in fashion, considering his slippers and mismatched socks; Eddie would’ve suspected him homeless had he not exuded such intoxicating cockiness. This was not a man who couldn’t afford to dress himself, this was a man who took pride in refusing to.

“Who’s asking?” Eddie asked the man.

“I am,” he replied, flatly. “I think you meant to ask, who are you?”

“The question was rhetorical.”

“People only use rhetoric to sound smarter than they are, so I don’t bother with it.”

“Because you don’t need to sound smart?”

“Because I know I shouldn’t need to. I’m Leo Caprisky.”

“THE Leo Caprisky?”

“CEO of Mybrid, in the flesh!”

Leo Caprisky, who went from college dropout to billionaire within three years. Leo Caprisky, who wrote all the software for Mybrid from scratch in less a month, whilst balancing seminars and term papers. Leo Caprisky, sole creator and owner of the world’s largest social network.

“Woah, okay…” Eddie was stunned. “What do you want from me?”

“Something to occupy my mind.”

“I don’t see what I could possibly offer you.”

“Potential.”

“Is this a hackathon invitation?”

Caprisky laughed, a weird, alien snort that felt endearing in its awkwardness.

“An invitation, yes,” he said. “I want you Eddie. I want you in our family.”

“Wow, okay. I’m flattered Mr—”

“Call me Leo.”

“But I don’t see why—”

“You were accepted into MENSA at five. You represented the US in the Mathematics Olympiad when you were twelve. You got 1600 in your SATs. And now you’ve built a super-suit out of scrap-metal.

“Wait, you know I’m—?"

“You covered your tracks well, but there’s only so much cybersecurity a developer salary will get you.” He placed a soft, slender hand on Eddie’s shoulder; it was cold and smelt of fizzy candy. “Don’t worry,” he said warmly, “your secret’s safe. Because I respect you. Humans, they’re just animals, farm animals, following predictable patterns of behavior in accordance with ideologies and technologies they’ve never taken time to understand. But not you, you think outside the box; you’re a revolutionary, and that makes you… that makes you a farmer. Like me. So join me. Join the Mybrid family.”

“And what do I get from you?”

“5 million a month.”

“Woah.” ‘Woah’ didn’t really cover it, but it was the only word Eddie’s addled brain could think of. Five million dollars. Five million dollars! For all the contests and developmental programs he’d been entered into, for all the passports to success he’d supposedly won, he’d never stepped within a mile of that kind of money. Five million dollars! Every month! Even after the initial shock had worn off, the only words Eddie could stutter in response were…

“Woah, you’re serious?

“Sure I am,” Leo shrugged, “5 million plus benefits—”

“Benefits being…” There had to be a catch.

“We trick out your tech for you, we cover your tracks for you, we’ll get whatever you want.”

“I don’t know if you can get me everything…”

“So it’s politics is it? I never had much time for party bureaucracy myself, but what you’re doing, giving all that money away? That I can get behind. One man, alone, not just destroying the system but reshaping, reengineering it, an inspiration to so many… You say you want a revolution? Hans, booby, I can get you one!”

“It’s more than that.”

“It always is, true altruism’s a myth. So what do you want?”

“It’s a girl.”

“It always is,” Leo shrugged, “fifty percent of homicides in the US are motivated by love. Am I callous, or is that romantic?”

“I’d call it desperately tragic.”

“And I’d say you’re simply using a long-winded synonym you’ve no need for. I built my first video game at three, trust me, I know this stuff. Love, lust, it’s all the same when you look at the data; all the same patterns of behavior, all easily algorithmized. You know we own Pornexus?”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“It doesn’t surprise me.”

“What can I say,” Leo smirked, “I’m only human. Mybrid only started because – well, I was being stupid. But I am stupid, when I’m not smart. What I’m getting at is, regardless of what’s been said, Mybrid is human, Eddie. We’re just people. But we’re changing things and people don’t always like that.”

Eddie knew that fact all too well.

***

Another big decision, another mealtime meeting for the Bowery Boys, as Marion had insisted on dubbing them.

The three of them always met over a meal to discuss the Big Tech project, be it designing gadgets or planning heists. The meal was never very good, but Marion felt the need to point out every time how inevitably it was, to which Mickey would laughingly remind her that she had yet to put her money where her mouth was. The joke was, Eddie later discovered, that the couple's kitchen wasn't especially wheelchair accessible, so until they could afford a new one (which would be a while considering their joint refusal to take stolen money), the gang would be making do with Mickey's lesser imitations of Marion's supposedly legendary recipes. Tonight, it was ravioli that Mickey had ill-advisedly made from scratch: the pasta was rather too dry, and the filling too bland, but it was better than beef stew again at least.

“So?” asked Mickey, repeatedly stabbing through undercooked dough. “Are you gonna say yes?”

“Well, gosh,” interrupted Marion, sarcastically, “let me think, it's 5 million dollars a month, you think it's a good idea?”

“I just think it's wise to beware of geeks bearing gifts—"

“I'm a geek!”

“She has a point,” Eddie added, twirling his fork through the sludgy bolognaise. “You and Marion showed me so much generosity.”

“But we aren’t billionaires,” said Mickey, “why would he care?”

“You came onboard for the politics.”

“And your winning personality!” Marion added.

“But mostly the politics,” Eddie continued. “Hell, you guys helped shape them!” Eliminating Blackwater’s medical debt had been Marion’s idea originally, after all, and silly, sheltered Eddie would never have known the extent of the city’s drug problem had Mickey not let him know and suggested some charities to him. “What’s to say Leo doesn’t too? He sure seemed like it.”

“Maybe he is,” said Mickey, “it wouldn’t surprise me, but that doesn’t stop him being a hypocrite. Regardless of intent, the dude robbed the world of its privacy.”

“You don't seriously believe that shit, do you?” Marion lowered her fork.

“I know it, you can read the whole story on their website. It's weaved within the terms and conditions but you don't notice because you can't be assed to read it, you just click and BAM! Human CentiPad.”

“Sure, but you can’t hate the player, just the game.”

“And you seriously stand by that?”

“For five million a month I will!”

“But think about what we represent,” said Eddie, sternly. “If we just went for the money, what would that make us?”

“Rich.” With a snarl, Marion wheeled her way out of the living room.

Mickey sighed.

“I'm sorry she's so—”

“Don't worry,” said Eddie, “I'm used to it by now.”

There was a pause.

“So are you gonna go for it?”

“I don't know... He seems like a nice guy. Really nice, really passionate about the politics of what we're doing.”

“But why?”

“Ain't that the million dollar question. I know the guy's resume, but he's always been about sticking it to the man, hasn't he? The Web was rebellious once.”

“Until he came along.”

“Maybe he's just single-minded. Wants rebellion his way. And I don't see a problem with that."

“Farm animals, Eddie.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Look dude, I'm not gonna stop you, whatever you choose.”

***

It’d been a boring board meeting at Milken Brothers. Despite the recent midnight robbery, profits were rising, as ever; markets were being deregulated, as ever. At this point, even the company’s largest shareholders were a little tired of its upward trajectory.

Then Big Tech returned.

Crashing through a window with his jetpack, the thief of the future slammed onto the table with smart leather shoes and smugly smudged dirt into the pristine surface. From his jacket pocket, he drew a weapon of some sort, shaped like a long and slender spearhead, with a narrow blue shaft in its middle. With a swift, flamboyant gesture, he raised the weapon to the ceiling and pulled its trigger. In an instant,the shaft flashed, and a bright blue beam tore through several floors and into the smoky skies.

If the board members panicked when Big Tech entered the room, they were petrified now. Their dry cleaners would be dealing with some nasty stains tomorrow. Clearly they were too terrified to speak, clearly they were waiting in dread for the thief’s first words…

And yet, Big Tech said nothing.

It was a while before any of the fear-stricken financiers had the courage to speak for themselves.

“You want our wallets? I can give you mine, we all can, right guys?”

After some careful conferral, the members off the board all removed their wallets and slid them across the table to the sophisticated supervillain. Eagerly, desperately, they looked to see what their cyclopic assailant would do.

He merely nodded.

“Please, you can have my watch, you can have all our watches, it’s no trouble!”

The other board members mumbled in agreement, and slid their watches across the table to Big Tech.

Big Tech merely nodded.

“Here,” one man piped up, “I’ve got 6 pounds of cocaine in this briefcase, I don’t need it, my wife wants me to quit!”

Big Tech remained silent. The air itself seemed to dampen with the board members’ sweat.

“Look, I’m tired,” Eddie finally announced. “Which one of you is Max Milken?”

There was an awed murmur.

“I am,” came a trembling reply.

“Max,” Eddie begun, “Leo Caprisky says ‘Get bent’.”

And with that, the thief of the future flew free from the building, leaving behind a room of traumatized bankers, a stunned silence and…

A pile of watches and wallets.

The entire board burst out laughing.

"Well," offered one.

"That was something," replied another.

"I can't believe he'd do all this,” exclaimed the esteemed Max Milken, “just because we pulled out of investing in his start-up!”

The board laughed again, louder this time. Well, all but a lowly assistant.

"Sir-”

Max ignored him.

"Sure,” he continued, “maybe we were stupid not to grab a piece of Mybrid when we had the chance, but at least we weren’t stupid enough to leave behind the money at a robbery!”

"But sir-”

"Lord Almighty, Stuart, what is wrong with you?”

Stuart shuffled, awkwardly.

"It's what's wrong with our records, sir."

"What?”

"Well, he must've uploaded some sort of virus over our wi-fi…”

"Stuart, what the fuck is wrong with our records?

"They're gone, sir. All incoming debt's been wiped."

And so the silence resumed.

***

“Muwahahaha!”
There was nobody around to hear Eddie’s evil laugh as he rocketed through the air, but the moment felt good regardless. Little had those fatcats suspected that while he stood speechless on that table he’d been uploading a virus of the penetration test department's design into their servers via his helmet interface. His colleagues at his depressing day job had built the code to demonstrate precisely these vulnerabilities to big businesses, but they'd never stopped to consider the possibility of internal theft. Now, he was using his employers' product to destroy the same interests he was contracted to protect.

Meanwhile, should Mr. Milken ever have the courage to tell of his embarrassing ordeal, Mybrid could simply deny all involvement. Sure, insulting him on Leo’s behalf had been petty, but considering all the entrepreneur was doing for Eddie, it was the least he could do. Besides, it wasn’t as if the banker didn’t deserve it: it was impossible to estimate how many millions a bank as large as Milken Brothers had in their debt. In his own way, Eddie supposed, Leo really was tearing down the system; more than that, he was teaching it, teaching it the error of having ever underestimated him – rubbing its nose in its own proverbial shit. As to whether it would learn from his lessons - well, Eddie doubted it could ever learn any more, but what mattered was that he and Leo had tried.

Suddenly, a notification appeared on Eddie’s helmet interface; he was receiving a call. Voice chat; one of so many things he’d never have been able to implement into his suit without Mybrid’s help.

“Eddie!” Leo’s voice sounded giddy with excitement.

“The mission was a success,” Eddie reported in reply, “there’s no knowing how people we’ve just rescued from poverty.”

“That’s fantastic!” Leo cried. “But tell me about Milken. Did he scream?”

“He certainly squirmed. Seemed too afraid to make any noise.”

“Ha! That’s Max; too tentative, too cowardly. No right to have any part in running the world.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“We’re doing good work here, Eddie. These old-money assholes have got it coming, and they’re too blind to see it. And speaking of seeing,” Leo coughed, “make sure you watch Fredo Flores tomorrow.”

“Um…” Trashy daytime TV wasn’t really in Eddie’s wheelhouse; he much preferred space operas to those of the soap variety. He had no interest in a newscaster who insisted on milking controversial topics for woke points.

“Because I pulled a few strings,” Leo continued, “and Bombshell’s gonna be there. I’ll make sure Fredo asks her about you.”

“A-a-about me?”

“Big Tech’s big news now. She’ll start chasing you soon enough. And your new suit will be ready for her by the time she does.”

Ah. The new suit. Not something Eddie had ever asked for, but something Leo insisted on providing. All Eddie knew about it was that it’d keep the blue-and-white color scheme, which Big Tech conveniently shared with Mybrid, and that it’d be much more heavily armored than he current costume, Leo having completely misunderstood the nature of Eddie’s interest in Bombshell.

“I don’t know what this woman did to you,” Leo continued, “but once we’re done running data there’s no way she’ll be able to do it again. You’ll be equipped to counter any move she’s ever used. I’ll leave the rest to you.”

Eddie still wasn’t very keen on the idea of wearing a weapon; regardless of the ethics of it all, it just didn’t sound as hot as a tuxedo to burst out of, if he’d even be able to burst out of it at all. But then again, he supposed, if he really was capable of shattering solid steel with sheer squishiness, if Bombshell really was capable of blowing him up with that much blubber, then in the moment he’d feel so much fatter, so much sexier. Of course, that was all hypothetical, and in any case the climax wasn’t Eddie’s biggest priority; what mattered to him most was getting to it. All of this, all these heists, all these contracts with technocrats, it was all in the aim of achieving that glorious goal. To realize that the time had come, to be able brace himself for the barrage of blubber, to know that in mere moments he would be marmalised by his massiveness, destroyed by his own doughiness…

The calm before the corpulence. Then, the rapturous wobbliness. Then, the after.

The after was irrelevant.