Chapter 5 : Ground Rules
The notepad sat on the desk, blank and waiting. Old school. Unhackable. Untraceable by anything except a physical search, and I'd burn it when I was done.
"GHOST, I need to establish operational parameters before I do anything else."
"Logical. Recommend codifying rules now while cognitive clarity is high. Stress tends to degrade decision-making protocols."
I picked up the pen and started writing.
RULE 1: Don't attract attention too early.
The temptation would be there. Every time I saw something I could fix, someone I could warn, a disaster I could prevent—I'd want to act. But acting meant visibility, and visibility meant death in this world. The Dark Army had eyes everywhere. The FBI was building cases. Even fsociety, the supposed good guys, couldn't be trusted with secrets this big.
Stay small. Stay quiet. Build in the shadows until I was strong enough to matter.
RULE 2: Don't approach main characters until capable.
Elliot was brilliant, paranoid, and suffering from a mental illness that made him unpredictable. Darlene was fierce and protective and would absolutely have me killed if she thought I was a threat to her brother. Tyrell was... Tyrell. Even the people who might become allies were dangerous until I could prove myself useful.
No contact until I had something to offer. Something that would make them listen instead of react.
RULE 3: Build resources before risks.
Money. Skills. Information. Equipment. Every asset I accumulated made the eventual risks more survivable. I couldn't save anyone if I starved to death or got arrested for petty cybercrime or made myself a target before I was ready.
Foundation first. Always foundation first.
RULE 4: Trust the system but verify.
GHOST was helpful. The skills were real. But I didn't know where this system came from or what it ultimately wanted. Trust, but verify. Use the tools without becoming dependent on them. Remember that the voice in my head might have its own agenda.
"I note your caution regarding my motivations," GHOST said. "This is appropriate operational security. I am unable to confirm or deny hidden directives at my current access level."
"That's not reassuring."
"It was not intended to be. Truth rarely is."
RULE 5: People die here. Remember that.
This wasn't a game. It wasn't a show anymore. Real people would bleed, suffer, and stop breathing because of choices made in the next few months. Shayla wasn't an actress playing a role—she was a woman with a life and hopes and fears who would be murdered unless something changed.
Every decision carried weight. Every action had consequences. Forget that, even for a moment, and people would pay the price.
I stared at the list. Five rules. Simple enough to remember under pressure, comprehensive enough to guide most decisions. I read them three times, committing each word to memory, then touched the paper to the burner on the stove and watched it turn to ash.
"Rules internalized," GHOST confirmed. "Recommend immediate implementation of Rule 3: resource building."
"Starting with security?"
"Affirmative. Current operational security is inadequate. Your laptop retains browsing history, lacks encryption, and connects to networks without VPN protection. Any moderately skilled investigator could reconstruct your activities."
The next two hours were tedious but necessary. I changed every default password on every device. I enabled full-disk encryption on the laptop, grateful that the original Marcus had at least installed an OS that supported it. GHOST walked me through VPN configuration—not perfect anonymity, but a significant improvement over broadcasting my activity to anyone who cared to look.
"Password hygiene acceptable. Encryption active. VPN connection established through offshore provider. Minimum acceptable threshold achieved."
"Just minimum?"
"Advanced operational security requires hardware modifications, dedicated systems, and physical security measures beyond current resources. This is adequate for Phase 1 activities."
Good enough for now. I could upgrade later, when I had money and skills and a clearer picture of what I was actually trying to accomplish.
The skill tree called to me. I pulled up the interface and found Basic Port Scanning, already unlocked from my stat allocation. The description glowed faintly:
[Basic Port Scanning — Tier 1] Effect: Identify open ports on target systems Range: Local network Success Rate: 65% base Cost: 5 SP to unlock
I had exactly 0 SP. The "successful adaptation" bonus GHOST had mentioned must have already been spent on the initial allocation.
"Query: how do I earn SP?"
"Skill points are earned through system-relevant activities. Successful hacks, completed operations, skill improvement through practice, and milestone achievements all generate SP. The amount varies based on difficulty, risk, and novelty."
"So I need to actually do something."
"Correct. The system rewards action, not intention."
I looked at the skill tree again. Basic Port Scanning was just the beginning—a single node in a vast network of capabilities I'd need to develop. Above it branched vulnerability scanning, exploit development, network mapping. To the side were social engineering skills, counter-surveillance techniques, physical infiltration options. Each path led somewhere useful, and all of them required SP I didn't have.
The fish caught my eye again. Still circling, still oblivious to everything happening around him.
"You need a name," I said. "I can't keep calling you 'the fish.'"
Byte seemed to consider this for a moment—or at least, his endless circling paused near the glass. Then he resumed his patrol, apparently satisfied with the new designation.
"Byte. Like a unit of data."
"Creative naming conventions noted," GHOST said. "Shall I add 'Byte' to your asset manifest?"
"Sure. Under 'morale support.'"
"Category created."
I turned back to the laptop. Rules established. Security improved. Fish named. Now came the hard part: actually using the knowledge I'd been given to accomplish something real.
The skill tree showed my current capabilities—or lack thereof. Basic Port Scanning would be useful, but I needed to practice it. Theory downloaded directly into my brain wasn't the same as muscle memory, as reflexes honed through repetition.
I needed a target. Something safe, something low-stakes, something that wouldn't bring the FBI or the Dark Army knocking on my door.
"GHOST, find me something easy. A practice target. Poorly secured, minimal risk, no connection to anything that matters."
"Searching public vulnerability databases. Cross-referencing with local network infrastructure." A pause. "Identified: small business website, domain registered to accounting firm in Queens. Known vulnerabilities documented in public security reports. Low traffic, minimal monitoring, abandoned contact information suggests inactive maintenance."
"Perfect."
I opened a terminal window. My fingers hovered over the keys, suddenly hesitant. This was it—the moment theory became practice. The moment I stopped being an observer and started being a participant in this world's dark underbelly.
"Skill practice is essential for progression," GHOST reminded me. "Initial failure is expected and acceptable. Learning occurs through iteration."
Right. Everyone failed the first time. That was how you got better.
I started typing.
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