“I’ve said before and I will say it again cyber warfare is every bit as important as infantry warfare—perhaps more important, considering how reliant our world is becoming on technology.”
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—Richard Caperno, while gushing to Alex Westsmith about computer hacking and cyber warfare in the modern war zone.
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Having already used his burner phone to text Richard what he’d discovered from Allen Brown, Alex once again found himself looking at the screen of his personal smartphone, as he lay in bed. This time, the video he played was a recording of a press conference.
A short, muscular man in what appeared to be a very formal, and very expensive, tailored suit stood behind a podium in this video, the front of which was emblazoned with the Daedalus Inc. logo—namely, a blue rhombus being carried upwards by golden wings. He had olive black hair, and a scar from just under his left eye to the area of his chin that sat below his mouth, at the pointy tip of his jawline. His green eyes gave off a very serious look.
“Hello. I am Andrew Taylor, the owner/operator of Daedalus Contracting Incorporated,” the man addressed the gathered reporters, “I know you’re here for information on the Brunswick Academy abduction. I have the aforementioned information. Recently, our company’s Research and Development Division had various schematics stolen due to reckless negligence regarding security protocols on the part of our former Head of R and D. This particularly manifested as his abusing his position to interfere with the jobs of the security personnel on-site, making it nearly impossible for them to accomplish their objective of securing the site of the laboratory. Fortunately, nobody was killed in the robbery, although several of the guards were injured. This was already reported to the authorities and resulted in our previous R and D chief being fired. We believe these include the recipe for the knockout gas used in the abduction, which was meant for use against criminals and terrorists in hostage retrieval operations.” The man, who was—even to Alex—clearly uncomfortable, adjusted his red necktie as he continued, “While we cannot rule out those responsible for the theft being behind the kidnapping, either to gain more technology or ransom Jessica for money—her father was recently promoted to become our Research and Development Chief as a replacement of our last one—neither our company nor, to our knowledge, the family of the kidnapped student, have received any ransom demands. We believe that these kidnappers are connected to the robbery of our lab, and we are cooperating fully with law enforcement, with our personnel standing ready to assist law enforcement officers at this harrowing time. Thank you all for your time here today. Stay safe.”
Turning, Andrew Taylor walked off, as reporters shouted various questions at him, which he made a point of ignoring.
One stood out in Alex’s mind. “Will Daedalus maintain your no negotiations hostage retrieval policy?”
Shutting off the video, Alex called Ethan, hoping to see how he was doing—and maybe how Pauline was doing while he was at it.
Ethan answered the call, saying, “Hey, Alex. How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay. A bit shaken up, but I could be worse off. How are you,” Alex replied.
“I’m with Pauline and her family. She’s really upset about this. Did you get a text from Caleb like I did,” Ethan asked.
“Yes, actually. Going to his father’s church to pray for Jessica’s safe return. Seems like a very Caleb thing to do, actually,” Alex remarked.
“I gotta go, Alex,” Ethan said
“Okay. Tell Pauline I said hi,” Alex responded.
“I will. Bye, Alex,” Ethan said.
“Goodbye, Ethan,” Alex stated.
After Ethan hung up, Alex called Richard.
Richard took the call, saying, “Hey Alex. I’m with my Uncle Rick, ‘cause mom didn’t want me on campus, and she has to work on finding Jessica. So, how are you?”
“I’m shaken emotionally, but otherwise I’m good. Jessica will be back,” Alex replied, trying to inspire confidence in Richard.
“I hope so. But let’s not discuss our Darkest Burning Star on an unsecured phone line,” Richard said, using the code phrase Darkest Burning Star to refer to Pyre and Reforger’s vigilante activities.
“Agreed,” Alex stated, before asking, “So how are you doing? And what’s that cracking sound in the background of the audio on your end? Kinda sounds like gunfire.”
“Well, my uncle’s house does have a firing range on the property. And he is a firearms collector. I figured that I could use the time to blow off steam, and it would be a shame to let the firearms and the range go to waste. I’m just taking a few more hours to ensure any residual effects of the gas we got dosed with is outta my system. Then I’ve got some computer stuff to do,” Richard told Alex, before saying—to someone other than Alex, “Yeah, Uncle Rick, it’s Alex. Okay, I’ll tell him. Hey, Alex, Uncle Rick says hi.”
“Okay. Tell him I said hi back. And stay safe around those guns. The last thing I need is you getting injured in an accident on the firing range. Imma go now. No point in distracting you around firearms. Bye, Richard,” Alex stated.
“Bye Alex,” Richard said, before hanging up.
After that conversation was over, Alex got back on his burner smartphone and went straight to the internet. Pulling up the images of the Crimson Blade’s insignia—captured by the deceased officer’s body camera—he ran a reverse image search—on the off chance that Richard’s algorithm had missed something. The results were mostly military insignias, with some gang signs thrown in. Alex poured himself over the results, only to get nothing by way of matches. Sure, the search engine gave him results, but not the ones Alex was looking for. Then, Alex ran more searches, some geared towards military insignias, some towards PMC logos, and some towards gang symbols, with yet more geared towards terrorist insignias. Pouring himself over what the search engine showed him, Alex found that none of the results bore fruit. Then Alex went to three other search engines and repeated the reverse image searches. Three more series of reverse image searches yielded no promising results. All the insignias of knives he found were fundamentally different. Additionally, the knife worn by the Crimson Blades was pointed downwards. Most of the insignias Alex found had the blade pointed upwards, not downwards like the Crimson Blades logo. Frustrated after several hours of fruitless research, Alex stopped, before setting the phone to Silent Mode and putting the burner phone on a charger, which was hidden under his bed.
The only thing remotely relevant that Alex had learned was that the Daedalus Contracting Inc. logo was a blue diamond, being carried upwards on golden wings. Given the name, it was probably invoking the Greek myth of Daedalus and Icarus, a father and son duo who had been trapped somewhere—Alex couldn’t remember where, or how—and, using the father’s designs, created artificial wings with wax and feathers. Daedalus, the father, knew they would have to fly over the ocean to get home, and warned his son, Icarus, not to fly too close to the sun, as the heat would melt the wax, destroying their wings, and sending Icarus plummeting to his death. Icarus ignored the warning, flew too close to the sun, and then, after the wings fell apart, plummeted to his death below, leaving a grief-stricken Daedalus to fly home alone.
Alex shook his head, trying to force himself to refocus on his objective, thinking, Damn it, I gotta focus! I mu—.
Alex’s thoughts were interrupted by a knocking on his bedroom door.
“Alex? Can you hear me,” Francine’s voice asked from the other side.
“It’s locked. I’ll come and unlock it,” Alex shouted to his mother, as he got up, and went to his bedroom door.
Unlocking it, he opened the door, to reveal his mother, Francine, standing there, a look of concern—or, at least, what Alex believed to be a look of concern—on her face.
“Alex, you’ve been locked in there all day. What have you been up to,” she demanded. The demand was made in a concerned, caring way, but it was a demand nonetheless.
“Oh. I’ve been playing Courage and Honor Mobile,” Alex lied.
“Courage and Honor,” Francine repeated the title, confused.
“It’s a First Person Shooter video game franchise, and they released their first mobile title about a year and a half ago,” Alex explained, knowing that he’d played enough of it to answer any questions about the game she might ask.
“Is that like that other game series, Call of Death? No, the title was something else,” Francine replied.
“I know the series that you’re thinking of, but that’s a different game franchise. They have better console and PC games, whereas the Courage and Honor franchise has better Mobile titles, and has games available on more laptop brands—particularly non-PC brands. The studio behind Honor and Courage is also planning remakes and ports of several PC games for consoles and mobile, but those are still in development,” Alex stated, knowing that giving the right amount of detail—not too much, but not too little—would likely make or break whether his mother believed this cover story.
Lying to Francine was a necessary evil. She would try to stop Alex from acting as Pyre, either out of some misguided moral qualms or out of fear that Alex would be hurt or killed. Maybe she would launch such an effort with the combined motivation of both reasons. Regardless, Alex could not allow his mother to interfere, whether the basis of the objections was religious, emotional, moral, or rational, in nature. Perhaps she would object due to her belief in mercy, or her opposition to capital punishment. Unlike Alex—an Atheist and a Darwinist—Francine was a Catholic.
Francine was not one of those holier-than-thou imbeciles who believed that anyone refusing to subscribe to their religion—or their specific sect within a religion—was somehow subhuman and property, like slaves, or otherwise meant to be second-class citizens without basic rights or dignities. Such logic was, at the most basic level, the logic behind jihadist terrorism. That said, non-Muslims need not be smug—Alex had seen plenty of other religious groups engage in various forms of bigotry. Hell, he’d even seen a very small minority of atheists, on the extreme fringes of atheism, calling for the outright banning of religion in general, something which Alex, who disagreed with, but respected, the religious beliefs of others—so long as they were not used as an excuse for unjust violence or abuse—found disturbing in the extreme. He’d been harassed before attending the Brunswick Academy, hell, before he’d even met Richard, by students and teachers, for behind an atheist, and knew that to retaliate to such bigotry in kind would make him just as bad as the bigots he loathed. It would be someone in the atheist community using the fact that atheists had been discriminated against as an excuse—not even a justification, as it would be unjust—to abuse others. To Alex, Atheism and Darwinism were simply the truth, but the knowledge that Darwinism—and other fields of science—gleaned should never be used to justify such evils as bigotry. The mere thought of such perverse and twisted actions made Alex sick to his stomach.
Suddenly, it occurred to Alex that he had no clue if Jake Junior was an atheist, agnostic, or religious. And, if he was the third option, which deity—or deities—Jake Junior believed in.
He’s my brother. My younger brother, Alex, silently scolded himself, I should be aware of such basic information about him as that. Speaking of which, it’s been a while since I talked to him. Even though he won't return my calls, I should at least do something. He’s probably still pissed that I ran and hid that night. Never again. I—
“Is something wrong?” Francine’s words brought Alex out of his thoughts, and back to the present situation.
“Sorry. Just got lost in thought. Jake Junior still won’t return my calls,” Alex answered.
“I know,” Francine soothed Alex, hugging him. As Alex hugged her back, she continued, “I know he won't interact with you. Just know that you don’t deserve his cold treatment. His rage at you is a misplaced rage against your father.”
“I understand,” Alex replied, his voice cracking with a flood of sudden emotions, “I just miss my brother.”
“I know,” Francine replied, “Plus, what happened to you at school must be extremely stressful. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I don’t think talking about it would be good right now,” Alex stated.
“Okay,” Francine said, before asking, “Do you want to go for a jog, Alex?”
The question caught Alex off guard, but Alex replied, “Sure! You wanna do it now?”
Alex wanted to refuse, but couldn't think of a way to do so without both hurting his mother’s feelings, and arousing her suspicion.
“Yeah! Let's go,” Francine said, sounding either upbeat, relieved, or maybe both—Alex wasn’t sure.
“Okay,” Alex told her, “just let me change into some workout clothes.”
Pulling a pair of running shoes out from under the bed, Alex closed the door, dug a set of workout clothes out of a drawer, and got changed, before he buckled an orange fanny pack around his waist, put his personal smartphone inside the orange fanny pack, put wool socks and running shoes on his feet, and tied the laces of each running shoe in a double knot.
Now wearing red shorts and a nondescript shirt, Alex opened the door to find his mother still standing there, prompting him to say, “Okay, let's go.”
He felt guilty about going out for a jog while Jessica still needed help, but he wouldn’t be of any use to Jessica if his mother caused a scene and got the cops called on him.
As the two left the apartment, walking down a staircase of the apartment to the front door—which was on the ground floor—Alex felt the stabbing, guilty sensation within himself growing, and firmly believed that he should be out there, helping Jessica, finding her, saving her, not relaxing. But there was nothing for it now. Soon, Alex was jogging laps along the perimeter fence that surrounded their apartment complex, having fallen into a rhythm of motion. Everything became subconscious. There was no room in the rhythm—or within Alex, at that moment—for thought, for self-loathing, self-doubt, nor for the pain, and the rage, of the past. Or the present, for that matter. In it, there was only room for the current moment, for instinct—not thought, but subconscious reflex, and action. Glorious action! Typically, it soothed him, giving Alex respite from his past, and from life itself. Yet here, there was no respite, as Alex couldn’t get the thoughts of Jessica, of what she must be going through, and how he was failing her, out of his head. At some point, Alex realized that he’d been jogging much faster than he normally would have while accompanied by his mother when Francine’s voice broke into his thoughts.
“Alex, wait up!”
Immediately, Alex stopped, and turned around, to see that Francine was not only lagging far behind himself but also appeared out of breath. Then Alex stood there, waiting for her to catch up.
Once she was within earshot, Alex immediately stated, “Sorry mom. I was thinking about Jessica. I guess I let myself go too fast while doing so.”
“No,” Francine gasped out, “That’s okay. Shit, I’m out of shape.”
At that point, Francine stopped, and stood still, catching her breath. As much as Alex would refuse to talk about it where his mother could hear, Francine was pudgy. And very out of shape.
“Hey, do you want to go to that corner store? They have ice cream,” Francine asked Alex.
Alex nodded, before replying, “Yeah. Thanks, mom.”
“Come on,” Francine told Alex, turning away, and gesturing for Alex to follow her.
Alex did so, as the two walked back to one of the fence’s three vehicular gates, then walked through a smaller, pedestrian gate, off to the side of the vehicular gate. Following that, the two walked down the street, lined by their apartment complex on one side, and houses on the other, to a street corner, where a little convenience store, one location of the Grey’s Mini-Mart store chain, stood. This one had a gas pump too, unlike some of the other locations in the chain of stores.
The two walked over to the front door, and entered, as the front door slid open—it was one of those sliding, automated double doors, composed of a metal frame holding two panels of plate glass. Inside, there was row upon row of shelving, holding products upon products, mostly food, junk food, and other convenience store items, like soft drinks, some overpriced electronics of very cheap quality, and gloves, as well as winter caps, t-shirts, and N95 medical face masks—which were probably a holdover from the COVID 19 pandemic—among other items. Alex and Francine went straight to the back, and Alex selected—from the wall-to-wall freezer section—a tub of Vanilla and Caramel ice cream.
“Looks tasty,” Francine stated before her phone rang. Francine handed the ice cream she’d selected for herself—namely, a tub of Rocky Road—to Alex as she said, “Hold this please.”
After Francine answered the call, there were a lot of responses and statements from her that, without the other half of the conversation, were not exactly informative, although Francine definitely seemed upset by what she was hearing from the other end of the call.
After hanging up, Francine told Alex, “Once we pay for this, I gotta go. That was the rehab center. Your brother was caught using more drugs.”
“Wait…how? Isn’t the method of that center supposed to revolve around removing their access to that shit,” Alex inquired.
“I know. Look, let’s pay for this and go. Okay,” Francine stated, clearly upset, before walking to the store’s front counter. Holding the two tubs of ice cream, Alex followed her, as she paid for the ice cream, and then as they went back to the apartment.
Francine left quickly after that. Alex desperately wanted to get back into the Pyre gear and get back to finding Jessica. But if Francine came back, and Alex was gone, causing her to work out that he was Pyre…Alex couldn’t risk it. As such, Alex simply ate his ice cream and began inspecting his Pyre gear, checking the uniform and equipment to ensure that they were all in working order. He could not take the risk that his equipment might fail in the field. He could not risk failure.
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Albert Wilcox was not doing well, as some might say. Then again, his daughter had been kidnapped, so that was a given. He’d barely managed to hold himself together long enough to send an email to his boss, Andrew Taylor, describing what had happened to his daughter. Now, he was only checking his work email so that he’d have an idea of what resources Daedalus was making available to help find Jessica—Albert had asked about it in his previous email, which Albert had sent to Andrew Taylor.
The guest room in the house owned by his brother, Oliver Kennedy Senior, was painted lime green, with white baseboards, and a dark brown, bamboo wood floor. Albert, were he under less pressure, would have recognized that his younger brother was doing far better than either of them had done under their abusive father—the motive behind Albert taking his late wife’s maiden name as his surname.
Ethan Staub, Pauline’s boyfriend, Albert’s sister-in-law Amanda Kennedy, and his twin nephews, Oliver Kennedy Junior and Adam—Pauline’s younger brothers—were either downstairs or elsewhere in the house. After asking for some privacy to check his work email, Albert returned to the guest room.
He sat on the bottom bunk of the guest room’s bunkbed, checking the emails on his phone, not bothering to use the black-painted, wooden desk, or the black, leather-skinned office chair that sat in one corner of the green-walled room. Light filtered in through the window of the guest room, with the sunlight settling in a puddle on the floor, but Albert ignored it as he read through the email from Andrew. The subject line simply held the words Search Resources. The body of the message read as follows;
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Albert,
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Thank you for informing us about this situation. Your request for emergency leave is granted, effective immediately. I have ordered a unit of Daedalus contractors, along with other personnel, to be placed on immediate standby for potential rescue efforts, and a medical team is among them. Regardless of whether or not we have a warrant to access this information, or the legal authority to do so, I have ordered our Cyber Warfare Division to assign several units to scour every piece of cyberspace they can for any trace of Jessica. Please keep this quiet to prevent jurisdictional disputes with law enforcement. I am bending the rules to the breaking point here, but we will find Jessica. We will bring her home. Please keep me posted regarding any developments on your end.
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Yours Sincerely,
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—Andrew Taylor
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Albert knew that using those cyber capabilities without a warrant or probable cause—and government authorization—was more than likely illegal, but didn’t care, as long as it increased Jessica’s chances of coming home alive. Then, a notification popped up. Another email, this one to Albert’s private email address. Albert switched over to the tab for his private email address on his smartphone’s email app, before opening the email. The sender’s account simply showed up as Anonymous-Redacted. The subject line was blank. Albert’s eyes went wide with terror when he read the email. It read as follows;
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Hello, Albert Wilcox,
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We have your daughter. Watch the attached video file for details.
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Beneath that sparsely worded message was a video link. Pulling a case containing a pair of Bluetooth earbuds from his pocket, Albert turned them on, paired them with his smartphone, and put them in his ears, before clicking the video link. It showed a group of armed, masked personnel, all with the insignia of a bloody, downturned knife, standing against a grey background, holding Jessica at gunpoint. By the end of the video, Chad Brunswick had torn off his own mask, revealing himself to be the ringleader. Between the information that they demanded, the weapons they had stolen from Daedalus Inc., on top of the knowledge of the training and skills that they had access to with the likes of Chad and a variety of disgruntled contractors in their ranks, there was no way the cops could handle this.
Albert’s rib cage felt as though it was tightening like a Boa Constrictor around his pounding heart, as panic burned through his mind like a wildfire through a forest. This was such pressure that Albert could barely manage to call Andrew Taylor on his smartphone.
“Hey, Albert. What’s up,” Andrew asked.
Albert then proceeded to blurt out everything in, and about, the ransom video.
“Look, I’ve already got a retrieval unit on standby. Forward me the email, then give me the login credentials to that email address. I’ll have our cyber warfare people get on finding its originating location,” Andrew instructed Albert.
“Thanks. I’ll get right on it,” Albert replied.
“I know you will,” Andrew said, “The cops may not be able to handle this enemy, but we can, Daedalus can. I’ll need you to report to the office though. We can’t risk them trying to further target you.”
“Sir, is there any way you can scramble a security detail to my brother’s house? I don’t want the enemy to try and kidnap them for further leverage,” Albert asked.
“I’ll send them over right away. Just get to the office,” Andrew Taylor told him.
“Of course. I’ll be right over. Goodbye, sir. See you soon,” Albert replied, before hanging up the call, putting the Bluetooth earbuds back in their charging case—which he then put back into his pocket—and running to the door, pocketing his phone as he went.
Running downstairs, Albert had to pass through the room that served as a hybrid combination of a living room and a kitchen, where Pauline Kennedy, Oliver Kennedy Senior, and Ethan Staub, were situated. They were all sitting on the velvet red sofa, in the living room portion of the space, with Ethan holding Pauline as she lay her head on his shoulder, with her father sitting on the other side of her. Both Pauline and Ethan were holding each other as they slept. Amanda Kennedy—Albert’s sister-in-law—and the two youngest Kennedy children were nowhere to be found.
Pauline’s father and Albert’s brother, Oliver Kennedy Senior, stood up—wearing his US Marine Corps field uniform—and asked, “What’s going on? Where are you running off to, Al?”
“Workplace emergency,” Albert lied, “Andrew needs me to double-check one thing at the office real quick. Something about a subordinate getting out of hand. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Really? They’re calling you in now,” Oliver Senior asked, in stunned disbelief.
“Yeah. Apparently, their measures to avoid needing me right now fell through,” Albert replied, “I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Also, my boss will be sending over a crew of security contractors in case the abductors try to target our family again.”
“Understood, brother. Stay safe,” Oliver Senior said, concerned.93Please respect copyright.PENANAUL56grjfxd
“Oh, I’ll try. But I won’t make any promises,” Albert stated.93Please respect copyright.PENANAm3WehwGUyJ