Moonlyte - part 1

Author's Note: I realize this is short -- it's not the whole thing, just a piece. A very small "chapter" if you will. But it's time for me to take a break and get back to work on Dungeons and Dickgirls, so I decided to post this piece since I hit a little scene milestone with it. I might continue in this fashion, actually -- doing a very small scene in between other projects, hopefully doing 4-5 of them in total and making some decent progress. Tell me what you think, everyone! Note that it is a rough draft though and may go through some edits later on.

P.S. BA NA NA NA, DEY SAY IS MY BIRTHDAY

Woke up today at 26 years old immediately feeling like this.

[story]

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‭It’s been years since I had an actual sleep cycle. I fall into bed when I’m too tired to move my mouse. I wake up when sleeping becomes boring, the restlessness of my mind catching up with my body’s state of rejuvenation.

Today, it’s still dark when I open my eyes. There’s no crimson readout of a digital alarm clock to tell me how long I’ve slept. I don’t need one. Instead the harsh, strident blue glow of my computer monitor streams throughout the room, casting long, blocky shadows across my room with its unceasing digital glare. Just the darkness and that single source of light, drawing my attention up and towards it. My head hurts.

I sit up slowly, stretching my neck forward and then to either side, a strange popping sensation creaking throughout my muscles. My bedsheet slips down from my shoulders and I finally swivel to the side of my bed, standing up and shuffling, still-naked, with a Frankenstein-like gait that doesn’t involve either of my feet leaving the carpet for even an instant. Toppling into my computer chair, I blink my eyes again, letting them acclimate to the bright glow of my monitor and setting one hand on my mouse in a position so familiar it’s gone past second nature, into... first nature, or whatever it is that comes before second nature.

(four hours ago) SuperiorDweeb: Kate, you there?

Fuck, did I leave Tor online? My mind flickers to what I can remember of last night, but there are some blank patches. Must have drank too much and blacked out before I signed out of my anonymity router. Stupid. Though that does remind me of the best way to get rid of this hangover.

Not answering the message blinking on my screen, I swivel my chair to the side -- facing the full-sized refrigerator set directly on the left side of my desktop setup. Opening it causes its golden internal light to burst forth and do battle with the depressive LED gloom that cloaks the room. I reach in and grab a half-empty pizza box and the bottle of gin I left there, the latter a little more empty than I remember leaving it. Nothing new there.

Unscrewing the cap, I sprawl back into my gaming chair and tilt the bottle up and into my mouth, pouring a long stream of the pungent alcohol down my throat. What would have been a cough a few years ago is now only a growl, and I set the bottle back down hard on the flaking wood of my desk -- etched with fifth-sized rings of condensation from the countless other times it’s been mistreated thusly.

Finally, I turn my attention to the message on my screen.

Moonlyte: What did we talk about, Adam?

Even faster than I expected, “SuperiorDweeb is typing...” appears at the bottom of my chatbox, and I find myself mesmerized by his avatar (a gif of an anime girl swaying her ass from side to side) while I wait. He must really need someone to vent to if he’s been waiting for me to reply for four straight hours. While he types, I flip open the grease-stained pizza box, no scent whatsoever greeting my nose as I reach for a slice of ice-cold bacon-and-olive pizza with extra cheese.

SuperiorDweeb: You’re on a hidden network! Doesn’t matter.

Moonlyte: What did we talk about.

There’s a pause this time. Then he starts typing again.

SuperiorDweeb: *sigh* Only call you Moonlyte.

Moonlyte: There you go. Good boy. Next time you call me Kate I’m doxxing you.

SuperiorDweeb: Lmfao. Like you could dox me.

Moonlyte: Try me, cuckboi.

There’s silence again. I see “SuperiorDweeb is typing...” a few more times, though it seems like Adam keeps backspacing what he typed. Must have hurt the little guy’s feelings. Didn’t know he had any, to be honest. Stuffing a bite of pizza into my face, I throw the crust back into the box and try to get him engaged again.

Moonlyte: So what is it you wanted to tell me about?

SuperiorDweeb: :D
SuperiorDweeb: I thought you’d never ask :D
SuperiorDweeb: I made a new mining bot. A smart one.

Moonlyte: None of you cryptominers have ever seen Terminator, have you?

SuperiorDweeb: I don’t like Christian Bale that much. 2/10 worst Batman.

I sigh out loud and go braindead for about a full minute, my mind still catching up with me. I take another long gulp of gin. For... inspiration, I guess.

Moonlyte: So how smart are we talking? Gonna take over the world?

SuperiorDweeb: No AI in existence is that smart. I’m not even sure I’d classify this as an AI at all, it’s got some really advanced search algorithms. It can process deep web databases on its own. I’m trying to get it to figure out the dark web but it’s been slow going.

Moonlyte: I thought you wanted Bitcoins, not crystalmeth and fucked-up anime. Why dark web?

SuperiorDweeb: Dude like every transaction on the dark web is done in cryptocurrencies. If I can skim a little off the top, through that negative space? I’ll be rich in seconds. But the program isn’t quite there yet.

Moonlyte: Well. Tell me if it works out. You can buy me a new tower. This one’s starting to make a weird sound.

SuperiorDweeb: Problem with the fan?

Moonlyte: If it was a problem with the fan I think I’d know.
Moonlyte: Alright, I’m gonna go... shower I guess. I’ll catch you later.

SuperiorDweeb: Wait, YOU SHOWER?!

Moonlyte: Hah. Hah. Hah. Lol. Lmao. Rofl. You really got me.

SuperiorDweeb: ...Sarcasm?

Moonlyte: Yes.
<Moonlyte has left the chat>

Sighing, I roll my chair back and sit up, leaving the pizza box open as I wobble back up to my feet. I briefly considering not actually showering after all -- think the water might be turned off, anyway -- but after saying it, it starts to sound like a decent idea. Just because I’m showering doesn’t mean I have to wash my hair, after all. Not like there’s any way I’m getting this mess brushed out.

The shower is... worth it. I stand with my head hung in front of me as the narrow, forceful fusillade of water pummels me from above. The dimly-lit cell of the shower spins with gnawing shadows as the bathroom’s dull overhead light flickers and sparks. The price you pay for stealing electricity and doctoring your bill, rather than actually paying for it like a normal person.

Pretending to be Robin Hood, it turns out, doesn’t pay as well as I thought it would -- a dream of scamming the corrupt and dispersing that wealth to those in need ended up more like “barely scraping by with enough money to keep my blood alcohol at a safely high level.” Don’t think I’ve helped a single person yet. Some hero I ended up being.

A long, low sigh escapes my chapped lips when I hear the tinny shriek of the apartment buzzer, barely audible over the sound of the shower. Busy day already. What time is it, again?

I turn off the water and throw on my dark green bathrobe. It’s got electrical burns on the side and hem, the bullshit artificial fabric having melted when I fell asleep with the corner laying on my mining computer tower. Scratches my leg every once in a while, but I can’t bring myself to get rid of it. Nothing to do with me being too lazy to leave the apartment. I lean back over my chair to check my monitor for the time -- it’s a little after three in the afternoon, making this sudden housecall less audacious than it could have been.

“What do you want?” I grunt from behind my door, the living room still dark but for the light of my computer, the windows all but boarded shut and the central light not having been turned on in weeks.

“Do you have a minute, Kate? I’ve got something I might need your help with.” Familiar voice. That psychotic cop, I think. Or... consultant. Whatever the fuck she is.

“Who’s Kate?”

I hear a muffled sigh on the other side. “Moonlyte.”

I open the door, grimacing through bloodshot eyes at the half-inquisitive, half-utterly vacant stare that’s always so unnerved me about Lindsay Alexander. “Breakfast.”

“Why do I always have to bribe you just to talk to you?”

“At least I’m a cheap bribe. Keep me standing here in this doorway and I’m gonna make you get me coffee too. I can already smell Stevenson’s nag champa from across the hall, so if I keep this door open too much longer my whole fucking apartment’s gonna smell like an occult bookstore. So either go away or buy me food.”

Lindsay narrows her eyes briefly, glancing across the classy concrete hallways of my apartment complex, as if visually seeking the source of the incense smell. Analyzing it. Thinking. She’s silent for an uncomfortably long moment, then turns back to me. “I’ll meet you in the car.”