Protocol 1337

By D. Henbane

Haus, a talented young hacker faces a steep prison sentence, but is offered another chance by a kind judge. He accepts the offer, and tries to set his life on the right path. His talents have caught the eye of a secretive organization called Omega Phi, and director Thomas Reese extends his version of a job offer. Its lucrative, well paying, but comes at a huge cost up front. Haus meets an attractive young nurse named Eve, and as their budding relationship begins. Haus discovers a secret that could tear his new life apart, and brings back many skeletons in the closet.

Things go from bad to worse, as Haus tries to make sense of the situation. In his search for the truth he discovers that fact is stranger than fiction. Haus befriends an antisocial scientist on the verge of a major biological breakthrough. A virus the scientist hopes to control, and ultimately clone is far more dangerous than expected.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. Henbane
• Release date: Jan 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465742049

D. Henbane

Upcoming Books: Protocol 1337: Rise Once More Protocol 1337: End Game The Spod Complex Aetherius Hellavirus

Book preview

PROTOCOL 1337

By

D. Henbane

*****

Protocol 1337

Copyright D. Henbane 2012

Smashwords Edition

Prologue

I watch black smoke rise from the burnt out shell of what used to be a hybrid car. The smell of rotting flesh is inescapable. What was once a thriving metropolis, has now been reduced to fragments of concrete, garbage, and broken glass. My stomach tenses up. I look at the blood stained doll at my feet, and can't help but wonder about the welfare of its owner.

I used to love Las Vegas the only city in the world with immediate name recognition. Even school kids knew of the Sin City, and all of its appeal, literally for all ages. Looking down the strip, I see half burnt buildings, the blood-stained sidewalks, and the ever frequent dead body. It is what I don't see, that makes me feel more uneasy. Them. The infected.

Confident that the course is clear, at least for now, I motion for the rest of the group to follow me. To call us an army is a joke. Maybe a rag tag group of survivors, always trying to stay one step ahead of the infected is more appropriate. We do our best to survive, finding a little something here and there. We usually leave behind the guns, ammunition is becoming a thing of the past, and we resort to making our own improvised weapons.

When this all first started, I would have raided military supply depositories for grenade launchers, but experience has taught me a thing or two. All the modern weapons were designed to kill something that was alive, but almost worthless against an enemy that doesn't play by the rules. While melee weapons are not sexy, they are amazingly effective on the waves of infected.

How long has it been? I can't even remember the old world, the innocence of it all, and a daily life without worries. No sense in thinking about the past anymore... It's a waste of precious calories. Daily life now evolves around the constant struggle to evade them, and with any downtime we focus on resupplying our dwindling forces.

It isn't just them. We have to worry about the others. For every civil set of survivors, there are an equal number of aggressors. They lack the survival skills needed to keep up in this chaos, so they resort to attaining anything they can, at all costs, and with no remorse. Rape, pillage, steal, no cowardly act is below them. I once saw a family slaughtered... I watched helplessly from atop a hill.

The gang of marauders surrounded them. They stood their ground for a bit, until they slit the throat of the father... The wife pleaded for the lives of her children... They didn't care. I walked amongst their dismembered corpses, as I continued my journey, and I couldn't help but wonder who was to blame.

Was it the infected? For destroying our once stable civilizations. Was it the marauders? For being too callous to even care about humanity. Was it the victims? For not being prepared to defend what little they had left. Was it me? For just watching them all die, without any attempt to intervene. I think it was all of the above, or at least I tell myself that. I had to justify the memory somehow, if no one has to take responsibility, then we can all share the guilt.

You ok Haus? Eve asks. She places her gentle hand on my shoulder. I snap out of my daydream, jerk away from her touch by reflex, and stare at her with distrusting eyes. I realize she isn't one of them, and let my guard back down.

You scared the shit out of me! I lean forward, dragging her close to me in a strong embrace. Eve is the only one who knows my past, and is one of the few, who can disrupt my nightmares without getting a violent response. There is just something about her face that calms me before instincts react, and diffuses the situation before it turns ugly. I guess you could call her my guardian angel.

You were doing it again. Eve says.

God, I am so sorry. I have just been on edge since we entered the city. This whole idea, it just makes me really uncomfortable. I say.

Well, how long were you just going to stand there, staring out into space, while the rest of us look at you? Eve says.

Too long... We got a job to do, so let's get on it.

CHAPTER ONE

Balls Deep

The way I see it, you got two choices son, says Judge Anderson. The knot in my gut feels like it's going to explode, and after hearing those words, all thoughts of getting off light have left the room. I grind my teeth and force my-self to stop staring at the marble floor. You know, I never thought about it before, but why are courthouse floors so damn shiny? I mean, do they pay some migrant worker three dollars an hour to spend countless nights hand polishing it to a mirror sheen? Like any of that matters, I am done for, the gig is up, and it's time to accept the consequences. The idea comes to my mind to beg my mother to put lots of money into my commissary fund for lubricating jelly. If I am going to be raped repeatedly, at least I can afford some lube. My court appointed lawyer nudges me in the ribs to remind me I should say something about now.

Yes your honor. I manage to mumble out of my numb lips.

Taking into account all of the accusations against you, I don’t want you to think for one moment I am condoning what you have done. I feel that you should utilize your skills in a constructive manner. I am referring to activities that are legal, Mr. Long. You would have a bright future with plenty of success. This is a first, in the many years I have been sitting at this bench, to make such a statement. If you were to be given proper guidance and, more importantly, discipline, your talents could be of use in the world. So, Mr. Long you have a choice to make. The first is to choose a path for your life from this day forward. Number one is the path of redemption, and the other is the path of fulfillment. I will give you 10 minutes to talk to your council, and after that time you will let me know what path you decide.

Take number two my lawyer says. His mouth keeps moving but I can't hear a word he is saying. Something about judges usually offering the most lenient option first, and then the harsher punishment next. At this moment, I can't help but toss the words around in my mind over and over. Confused as usual, and wondering what my next move is, I rely on a trusted old friend. Like so many times before, I fumble around in my pocket for my maiden of salvation. It is a well-worn coin, an 1892 Silver Dollar, commonly known as the Morgan silver dollar. I pull the coin from my pocket and roll it back and forth amongst my fingers. I roll it back and forth from the tops of my index finger to my pinky, snatching up the coin into my fist, and holding it close to my heart as if saying a quick prayer and trusting it with my future. Letting all of its magical forces flow into my body, I take the coin into my hand face up. I stare at it for what seems to be an eternity. It's as if I expect the face to talk to me and offer some kind of words of guidance. I close my hand and toss the coin into the air. I think to myself, heads for one, tails for two. I watch the coin for what seems like forever and finally it rests in my hand. My fist is tightly engrossing it in a death grip. I peel my fingers away one by one. A shining portrait of lady liberty stares at me in the palm of my hand.

Heads! I scream.

Excuse me son? Judge Anderson questions.

I choose the path of redemption your honor. I exclaim.

Is that your council's advice? asks Judge Anderson. There isn’t even a moment of hesitation. Screw my attorney; he is a public defender and willing to negotiate to end this fast. He isn’t prepared to represent someone with talent. So I removed him from the trial.

Yes sir, me acting alone. I am my own defense. I choose the path of redemption. I realize I have done wrong, but I am willing to correct my ways. I am willing to do whatever the court pleases as punishment. Throwing me in front of a federal judge on the charges is, well, double suicide at best. What other options do I have right now? I hacked into the CIA, DOD, FBI, random military servers, and, of course, Navy databases. All I ever hear people ask me is why? Why not? Does Area 51 have aliens? What happened to Hoffa anyway? Was JFK an inside job? I wanted to know for my own morbid curiosity if any of those accusations had any truth to them. Once inside, the truth actually bored the hell out of me. I didn’t find secret files about any of that stuff. What I did find was far more damaging to any public official. It was total corruption, waste, hookers, drugs, dinners for the other woman, and, of course, money laundering. None of that even made me slightly interested in what I was reading. Hence, why am I so upset at my sentencing? It's like expecting a brand new toy at Christmas and looking at the wrapped box all pretty with a bow. It matches the same height, length, and width of what you are hoping for only to unwrap it and find a used AM radio with a broken antennae.

I will accept your plea of guilty, and given the circumstances, will sentence you to 12 years in federal prison, says Judge Anderson. At hearing those words, my balls drop three feet. They hit the floor with whatever thought I had that told me to go with door number two. Quickly fading away, all I was left with was this look of total shock. Not to mention the look on my attorneys face of complete confusion.

You have already served 1 year during the course of your trial. I will allow that as time served and further amend your sentencing. I will suspend 11 years of your sentence for labor given to the Department of Defense. A total of 2000 hours, and that is being very generous. During that time, you will receive no pay or benefits. After completing your time, it's to the discretion of head officers to extend your employment. With one quick swipe of the gavel, Judge Anderson sealed my fate.

I walked out of the court room and ripped the tie from my neck. Finally, I could take a breath, and let my thoughts collect. So now I gotta work for an entire year for free. How am I supposed to pay my bills? I guess I will have to work two jobs. Who am I kidding; I haven’t held a job for more than a month my entire life. Work is for people who aren’t smart enough to scam other people. Well, on the bright side, I can remove all the images of being raped out of my head. I almost leaped out of my own skin when I felt my phone vibrating. I drag my ghetto, pay-as-you-go, phone from my pocket and look at the unknown number. I consider answering it but decide now is not the time to have any conversations not to mention God only knows who it is. Well, they didn’t leave a voice-mail so it must not have been too important.

I walk over to a bench, sit down, and lean back in the sunshine trying to control my trembling body as I think of what my next move should be. My phone starts going postal, and I quickly lose my cool. I don’t even bother looking at the number and answer the call.

Yeah what the hell do you want? I yell.

Mr. Long......I want you to listen to me carefully. Answer my questions honestly and without hesitation. Do you understand? The voice on the phone is digitized badly, and I almost find it amusing.

Uhh, Yeah. Sure... whatever. I reply.

Is there anyone in your life that you love?

What the hell kinda question is that? I have a lot of loved ones in my life. I mean, I got friends, family, and lovers. How am I supposed to even reply to that? You know, only serial killers ask a question like that. I am pretty sure this is one of those dudes I met at Def Con last year messing with me. They couldn’t have picked a better time to pull one over on me. Then the words enter my brain again, and I am forced to think about them. A sick feeling falls across me as I realize that I don’t really have anyone that I love. Aside from Mom, I can't actually say I love anyone and even then you have to love your mother. We don’t even really speak except when I need money. I started doing a reality check in my head and named off all my friends. Then I subtracted all the ones that I know from playing video games. Then I removed all the ones I have never met in person. Three people were left, all childhood friends, who I hadn’t seen in years.

Answer the question Mr. Long!

No man! I don’t love anyone and I don’t know what the hell you want from me, I reply.

"Just one more