Shit! I got too greedy. It was that last 2 million that must have done it. Should have just let that one go. I knew there was something wrong with that account. FUCK! Now they were getting close. It looked like they thought that I didn’t know it yet, though. That would help. I still had time to get away and make sure that they couldn’t track me down any further. Thankfully, I had a plan for this.
So, who am I, and who is trying to track me down? Who I am right now isn’t important, as this identity is about to completely disappear. In two hours, I will be someone completely different. The trail that the hunters are following will dead end before they can get enough information to figure out who I am. What I am, or soon to be was, is a hacker. I am a very good hacker. I’m also a very pissed off hacker with a very select list of targets. I go after drug cartels. I go after their bank accounts, and (anonymously – of course) supply incriminating evidence to the proper authorities. I am personally responsible for the convictions of four politicians, at least fifty cops, a dozen soldiers in different countries, and so many small-time dealers that I can’t even count. I’ve also drained well over $100 million from their coffers. Of course, I take a percentage of that, but about 80 percent ends up with different charities. Most dealing with drug abuse and rehab programs.
Why, you ask? Simple. My younger sister got involved with the wrong guy. I really didn’t like him, but she didn’t listen to me. I did what I could, but she made her choice. I had tried my best to take care of her after our parents died. I was always really good with computers, but the two dark years I spent in a depressed isolation after identifying what was left of her body turned me from really good to almost magical. Those two years were spent alone in the basement of my parent’s old house learning the dark secrets and how to manipulate them. I learned code. I discovered how to navigate the dark web. I discovered back doors into most security software. Sometime in that two years, some very damaging information on the drug gang that tortured and murdered my sister ended up in the hands of the DEA. Unfortunately, rival gangs somehow got the information that the gang in question was turning state’s evidence on others to try and make a deal. Gangs move faster than cops, so the State saved a bunch of money on trials.
Now, as for who I am running from? My best guess right now is either Russian or North Korean hackers. Even though I’m not sure which it is, I am sure that they were hired by the cartel that I had just relieved of about $30 million. I really should have stopped at $28 million, but then I discovered that other small account. I knew there was something wrong with it, but I was young, dumb, and still pissed off. As soon as that money was on its way through forty different accounts in six countries, my counter-hacking programs started alarming. Someone had put a back-tracking program in the account. They were looking for where the attack was initiated. That was going to take a while. I was using a bot-net attack. They were going to have to cycle through about a hundred IP addresses before they could even start the roundabout server chain track. I put in a flash drive and gave a few keystrokes and mouse clicks.
Four servers in Europe fried. Two servers in China reformatted themselves six times. One server in Iran, and another in America rewrote their entire memory with a random series of ones and zeros. The trail back to me was effectively severed with no way to retrieve the data. Three more mouse clicks, and my carefully crafted machines were reduced to useless scraps of wires, plastic and fried silicon. The ‘abandoned’ building I was using burned down from ‘homeless campfire’ that got out of control. Most of my wrecked computer system had been divided up and thrown in random dumpsters around the city. The hard drives and memory sticks were burned in a bonfire out in the desert along with all my personal identification. After making sure that there would be no way to get any information from the burning pile of rubble, I got in the van and started driving West. I arrived in Las Vegas four days later.