Protocol 1337 (2 page)

“He forced everyone, small and great, rich or poor, free and slave, to receive a mark in his right hand or in his forehead, so that no one could buy or sell unless he had the mark, which is the name of the beast or the number of his name.” The words of John:13:16 echo in my head. My cell door comes open as a man enters. He is cleanly shaven, and the looks of a man who is on a mission.

“I'm director Reese and I realize all of this may be shocking to you. Hear me out, because it will all make sense once everything is out in the open.” Reese explains.

“Where the hell am I?” I ask.

“Mr. Long, we have been watching you for some time. I am the director of Omega Phi and, as you have already seen, we do things a little differently around here. Omega Phi is a select group of brilliant minds with exceptional computer skills. In fact, it was one of our members that finally sniffed you out from the nether regions of the internet. We operate off the books and answer to no branch of the government. We defend our nation's data and counter attack vulnerable enemy targets. Needless to say, your intrusions on our servers were not welcome. Besides, you were looking in all the wrong places if you wanted to find out the juicy stuff. Not really your fault, we purposely mislead the public into thinking sensitive data is held by those agencies'. When in all truth, it's held by our agency, and to be honest, we are much better gate keepers.”

“So what you're saying is, you want me to break the law, and while doing so, you are going to turn a blind eye as long as it's in your favor?” Reese's face shows no sign of misunderstanding. It's clear that he thinks I am a total moron. I do gotta say it makes me feel important, and mostly it makes me feel the lust of power. The same lust that turned me to hacking in the first place. It's the thrill of doing things to people who had no control over my actions. It's the freedom to come and go as I pleased like a ghost in the real world. Nobody could see me and no one could stop me. This idiot just told me everything I needed to know. He's gonna give me access to the best kept secrets on the planet, and best of all, he can't always be watching me. There has to be downtime where I can roam around and get to know the neighborhood, so to speak.

“Mr. Long, I take your silence as a confirmation that you are buying into this idea. There’s more you need to know. We can make that whole “doing volunteer” hours go away. In fact, we can make the whole thing never even exist, no arrest, no jail time, no trial, and, best of all, you can make a little money too.” Reese folds his hands into his lap, sits back in his chair, and waits.

“You can't make me, I’m an American citizen, and I have rights! What about this damn tattoo? You wanna talk about defamation of character? How about defacing my body! Hello! Kidnapping ring a bell? When my lawyer is done with you guys, I am gonna own the pentagon!” I scream as my rage begins to build. My old backbone has decided to return to me and it's time to swing my Johnson around the room. Yeah, that’s right, I got the law on my side and I am not gonna stand for anymore crap. Reese starts to chuckle, stands up, and I suddenly realize how tall he actually is.

“You people really are delusional. I suppose now you're gonna demand to be read your Miranda rights? Take a look around, you little piece of shit. I am offering you the chance of a lifetime and willing to erase your pathetic past. The only thing I am asking is for you to cooperate and the best you got, is to reply with hollow threats of suing me? You don’t know where you are; you're confined to a hospital bed, and the best part is.... I bet you didn’t know you have been in a coma for 3 months.” Reese bursts into uncontrolled laughter and my ego takes a nose dive. The confidence I once had has just booked a flight to Rio de Janeiro and didn’t bother to say a proper goodbye.

“So let's talk reality, for a bit eh? You, Mr. Long, are knee deep in gator shit and your prime directive is to drain the swamp. I have served my time, maybe you are familiar with it, a little something history calls Vietnam. I spent my time in the Hanoi Hilton; I am very well versed in what a human being can endure when it comes to torture. I can personally tell you, that if you think you are ahead in this situation, you are very mistaken. I could have you killed in less than three minutes and your body thrown into any sea of my choosing to be eaten by sharks. No body, no problem in my mind. Or, I could get even more creative and have someone walk through that door, shoot you with magic juice, and then you go back to sleep. While you are sleeping, I invite a group of surgeons to dissect you. Their goal is simple, to cut as much of your body up, while keeping you alive under anesthesia without letting you die. That’s good practice for a field surgeon who has to be ready for anything.”

“This is bullshit! You're just messing with my head and it's not going to work. You can't make me do anything.....” I exclaim.

“Don’t make me make you...” Reese hands me a folder containing full page photos. I grab the first one, and I see my mother crying. I can feel the hurt in her eyes, the disbelief, and I wonder to myself if she even stills loves me. After all I put her through, the late nights, the lies, the fights, and worst of all, the way I treated her.

“You know your mom took it hard.... at first we thought we made a mistake. Then came your funeral and only a handful of people showed up. That’s when we knew you were a good candidate.”

“Funeral? What funeral?” I yell.

“Well, Mr. Long, we sent officers to your moms residence to inform her of the news. It's natural the way she reacted, and if it's any condolence, the officers let her down lightly. You see, on your way home from the courthouse, your car collided with a delivery truck. Unfortunately for you, the cargo was sulfuric acid, and I regret to inform you, your body was severely disfigured to the point that dental records were the only way to confirm your identity. We sent agents to your funeral to watch it, and quite frankly, what a sad existence you must have led. Less than 15 people came to your funeral. Aside from your mother, there were more people concerned over the price of coffee, than your soul.”

“On a side note, a letter was mailed to your mother informing her that you had purchased a life insurance policy years earlier. Given your early age, you were able to get a huge sum for very little cost; one million dollars to be exact, payable directly to her. That money has been sent to escrow. She will receive those funds as we see fit. You play ball, and mom gets a million bucks; if you don’t, mom lives on food stamps.” Reese stands up and starts to leave the room.

“I’m in....” I whisper. The thought of actually giving my mother something for all her pain has a lot of appeal to me. In all reality, the best I could have given her before was a gift card to IHOP that I stole from some drug store. She has already buried what she thought was my body, and gone through the grieving process. At least the money can ease her burden from the failure of a son I turned out to be. I picture mom, in my head, buying nice things and upgrading everything that she has put off for so long. Moving out of that trailer house and buying a real home. A home with a fireplace, a driveway, and a white fence. A lawn that doesn’t have weeds in it and clothes that don't come from second hand stores. Furniture without stains or holes and, best of all, barren walls to hang the many pictures of happy times.

“I knew you would come around Mr. Long, or should I call you Haus? I prefer personal information not be used in this organization. We use either numbers or nick names. If you're a number, I don’t much care for you, but if you have a nick name, consider it a term of endearment. I trust you won't share that information with anyone else as it might offend some. So from this day forward, you will be regarded as agent Haus. Welcome to Omega Phi, rest a bit, and I will get back to you when you are ready.” Reese collects the photos and walks quickly out of the room.

I figured that someday I would end up in rehab but this isn’t what I had in mind. My medicine induced coma has left me with very little physical strength. The most routine tasks are no longer possible, and without help in some fashion, I can't even use the bathroom. I do have my magical weapon with me. I have a little red button on my fancy watch that summons the best of the best to wait on me. I press my magic button, and wait for her voice. More often than not, I hear her voice, but sometimes I get the old nag whose voice is not to be desired rather avoided at all costs. Every time I get the old nag, she acts as if I have demanded her first born and is down right offended I called in the first place. Every request I have is always answered with the most half ass-ed response possible. I swear she wants me to feel like crap. I ask for a roast beef sandwich, she sends saltine crackers and yogurt. I really hate her. She is just a worn-out cat lady, that no one loves.

“Yes agent Haus.” Her heavenly voice echoes into the room. I jump with excitement knowing that she is working, my request will be fulfilled, and even granted a rare treat if I sweet talk her enough.

“I was expecting Gretchen.” Well that was a poor choice of words! I wish I could recall that phrase, effective immediately.

“I’m sorry Haus, but Gretchen is not on duty tonight. I am sorry to let you down, but I can assure you that I can help you just as well.”

“NO! For the love of any god, NO! No more Gretchen; I swear I will do anything, but no more of the old hag. That came out all wrong. I mean... NO! I want to hear your voice... Oh god that sounds just as bad... I mean... Please I just need to go to the bathroom and I don’t wanna jump through a bunch of hurdles not to mention wait for 45 minutes while she does god knows what.

My door slides open and I see a figure enter my barely lit room. The only thing I can focus on is her eyes. Those stormy blue eyes, her burgundy colored hair, and the smell of cinnamon. Her eye liner was thick; her lips were plump and covered in black lipstick. The dragon tattoo running down her neck is covered by coils of burgundy hair. Here she is, finally, the angel of my nightmares, my voice in the darkness.

“No, I like Eve; its just that I was expecting you to look much differently. Your voice doesn’t really match your body. WOA! Wait, that came out wrong. I mean, I been locked in here going on a month now, and I have only heard your voice. I had a different mental picture of what you looked like. The only other person I have seen has been Gretchen. The 100 year old, over weight bag of wrinkles that treats me like a burden and smells like black licorice.” I manage to squeak out, but I suspect from the look on her face that she is not impressed.

“Typical man, only worried about my weight, bra size, and dimensions. Did it ever cross your mind that not everyone is a rubber stamp mold of the norm? Let me guess.... You expected some blonde bimbo, with ruby red lips, an over exaggerated ass, with silicon jugs, and the IQ of broccoli?” Eve exclaims. Her voice was getting louder and more defined at every word. She steps closer to my ear and whispers.

“For your information, Gretchen retired, which leaves me the entire medical ward to tend to. I have no other staff and am forced to take over her direct care role. I haven’t slept in 36 hours and the future isn’t looking any better. Our HR department doesn’t seem to think we need to replace the decrepit old hag, because I have the skills to do her job. So just between us, the more you sleep tonight and the less you hit your call light, the more sleep I can get before any management arrives in the morning. So let's just pretend you're 9 years old again, get your glass of water, and take a potty break right now, not later. Also, if you are hungry, let's get that done right now as well.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was such a hassle. I will try harder, and you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” I say. I didn’t know it was possible, but her words cut me harder than anything the old hag would have said. So blunt, honest, and direct that I felt like a complete idiot for being so selfish. Had I known her side of the story, things would have gone so much smoother for both of us.

“Pick your poison.” Eve has a catheter in one hand and a urinal in the other. She waits a bit for my reply and then wiggles them back and forth. When Gretchen was taking care of me, I would have always opted for the urinal. That would have minimized the direct contact she had with me but tonight is different. The thought of having an attractive woman’s hands on my penis sounds like a damn good idea to me.

“Catheter.” I reply sheepishly. I could have won an actor of the year for sounding so innocent and down right helpless. Eve gently pulls the covers back and applies a layer of lubricating jelly to the catheter. She grips my manhood in her left hand, and like a seasoned surgeon, inserts the catheter into me. A few moments later, the urine exits my body into the urinal. Like a true professional, she looks me directly in the face and offers some words of encouragement, none of which I am paying attention to. I didn’t even notice the sound of the liquid slowing down from a stream to a trickle, and then to drops. A few moments pass, and the silence is interrupted by her voice.

“I think you're done, agent Haus.” I glance down to see Eve blushing and removing the catheter quickly. She pulls the covers back over me and that’s when I see it. A little white tent pitched over my groin. President Woodrow is at full salute, commander in chief reporting for duty sir! Eve hastily empties my urinal and exits the room without a word.

“Rise and shine, Haus!” Eves voice echoes through the intercom in my room. Are you kidding me? It's morning already? I barely had time to catch a moment of sleep. I spent most of the night trying to get Woodrow to go to sleep. Any male who has ever gone to bed with a hard on knows negotiation won't work, resistance is futile, and all you haveleft is good old fashioned elbow grease. Anyone who has ever been an awkward teen knows it's best to improvise when things aren’t in your favor. A randomly discarded sock, some left over hair conditioner, and late night infomercials have subdued an entire generation from their frustrations. In my case, I had a plastic bag, some apple sauce, and a very creative imagination.