Q Report; Total Security 2010
Alert! The interweb is a vile and corrupt temple where moneylenders and whores have been given all the keys. I came upon this revelation recently when my upload device [Model HP Pavilion ze2000] became infected by the most malicious and unpleasant virus I've ever encountered. Total Security blasted into the core of my OS and made a home there. Demanding I purchase their software if I was to open even the most innocuous and simplistic programming. “Your Computer has been infected with malware!” No shit Sherlock. Attempts to download anti-spyware software met only with the same result, the program being blocked for my own safety. There was nothing for it. I took the damnable machine into a quiet part of my family land. Explained about computer heaven. How the updates were all useful and the servers all had fantastic bandwidth. Then I silently leveled the shotgun at the hard drive and put it out of it's misery. In the silence that followed all that could be heard was the confused mooing of nearby heifers and the ringing in my own years. After packing the corpse with magnets and garlic I buried it at a crossroads. That's one virus that will die with the host. That task done it was a matter of finding the programmer who killed my comp. An onerous task to be sure, but one I set about. It was vengeance I sought, and a Q agent scorned is nothing to laugh at. My main contact in the computer world was a Guild Agent from way back. Nick maintains his family in the Twin Cities. Without a computer to aid me it was a matter of traveling in the meat. Stealing a car was a matter of test driving very very fast. Within three hours the car was burning and I was at Nick's place. I explained the situation and all of the obvious responses were hashed through. Switch to linux, use anti-virus programming, stop pirating so much information, etc. etc. The same sort of scolding you could expect from a doctor or judge. I bore down and nodded in agreement to all of the suggestions, ending the line of conversation with the information that the comp was dead. Deader than disco. Dead as a donkey. Dead like a doorknob. After establishing the time of death and the cause Nick's attention turned to the culprit. Using his superior comp skills he found the information I required. A name. Instinct told me to go to the top. Scalp Bill Gates and have done with it. But the man's a national hero. The greatest Info-Dictator of the 21st century. No no. Don't bite the hand that feeds. Find the programmer, net handle; 1337Pimp69. Real name; Myron Wilson. Why do the real nerds have such fantastic names? Myron, thy days are numbered. Thanking Nick with cheap drugs and coupons I made my way to the next car dealership. Unfortunately Twin Cities dealerships are more savvy to grand theft auto. Less likely to let you drive away alone. This left me no alternative but to get physical. Find the most obnoxious salesman peddling the most socially irresponsible vehicle. Like shooting a mad dog as opposed to a puppy it helps sooth the conscious. Car dealers don't feel pain like we do. A spoonful of self-righteousness makes the poison go down. Hummer dealers are a rare breed indeed. Solidly entrenched in their own skewed reality. Convinced that oil is as renewable a resource as the wind or hair gel. Having dealt with cocaine dealers and talent agents I knew the smell that came off my mark. It was success. His name was Chet. Men like Chet had major medical. Men like Chet believed they were going to win. Men like Chet never suspected that with a combination of violence applied to pressure points, creative use of a seat belt, and tactical application of a sturdy zip tie he could be shanghaied on a road trip to Colorado Springs in pursuit of a computer programmer who had fucked with the wrong agent. Poor Chet. After withdrawing enough cash from Chet's account to cover expenses, [no luxury road trip for us, H3's do not have stellar gas mileage in case you have not heard], we were on our way. I have a transcript of our interactions throughout the trip, but after review they did not make the report. Mostly begging and threats in equal measure. After slipping a tab of mescaline into his 5 Hour Energy the threats were washed away in a wave of horror/delight. A waste of good hard drugs to be sure, but one I was willing to to spare, assured that the police that collected him would be reluctant to believe him. Colorado is beautiful. If you've never been I suggest you make the trip. The Rockies are an American treasure that rarely are seen as anything more than an obstacle. In truth they are a geological masterpiece. A cornucopia of vistas and beauts. That being said they also contain some of the most treacherous highways ever conceived. The Colorado highway department is peopled by roller coaster design drop outs and sadists. In the end Chet went fetal on me and perhaps it was for the best. I parked him in front of the police station and made my way to the marks home. Myron Wilson was not a hard person to find. Hackers put all sorts of defenses between themselves and the programs they create to fuck the public, but these defenses are all for naught if you can follow the money. The program asked for billing information, and every Agent is issued a series of bank accounts and credit cards that travel to shadow governments real and imagined. Follow the routing information to Kenya. Check the forwarding address from there. Severs and proxies and firewalls, oh my. Eventually you follow the ether-brick road to the address where the checks get sent. In this case a modest double wide trailer on the edge of town. The doorbell rang and why shouldn't Myron answer? A peer through the nearby window and then a curt; “Can I help you?” “Are you Myron Wilson?” “Maybe.” A maybe is as good as a yes when dealing with scum. I traveled light on this mission. No sword. Few drugs. No paperwork. My only weapon fit into my jacket pocket. “MYRON WILSON I'VE BEEN SENT BY GOD TO DESTROY YOU!” And with that I was on him. 95.6% of Americans are ill prepared to contend with a drug crazed lunatic attacking them with fists. This figure comes from my own estimation. In Myron's case this held true. He hit the ground like a sack of crying potatoes. Instinct told me to continue the savage beating, but my intellect got the better of me. I wanted him awake for this. “Myron, I'm going to monologue a bit before we get started here.” [zip tie] “because causing an ass-hat and a fiend physical pain is meaningless if you don't explain the reason they are being visited by it. You see Myron, I'm an information broker of some repute, and in order to capture the information I require I need to have a computer in fine working order. I don't truck with anti-virus software because I have found that most of it is all hooey. McAffee and Norton hiring people like you to create a need in the market. I get by OK without it for the most part, until butchers like you shove your programing into my work. It is for this reason that I am here Myron. You killed my computer. I am here on behalf of everyone who you've ever crashed in the middle of a project. I am here for every hard working writer who has had their lives work corrupted and stolen. I am here to take your teeth Myron. Say 'Ah.'” It was then I showed him my weapon; a rust pair of needle nosed pliers. He obliged me to say 'Ah' without the need to break his jaw. No gold though. After about an hour of work I was on the streets of Colorado Springs, enjoying a fine day in the brisk mountain air. Pocket full of teeth and a face full of smile. Today was a good day.