To him, despite how tired he was, and just how racked with loneliness he felt, delving deep inside a piece of software from his desktop computer felt almost instinctive. And that was, of course, why he found himself in this precarious position. His software manipulation skills had got him noticed, unfortunately, and now he was to weave his completely different magic on creating what he considered a meaningless diversion, hoping the pathetic humans would 'look the other way'. He'd been tasked with building and then unleashing a devastating form of ransomware, a malicious type of software that blocks access to the victim's data, until they pay a fee. That was just fine with him, especially given that he'd done the exact same thing on at least three previous occasions, and made rather a lot of money from it. The issue he had with what he'd been tasked to do, was that the software would just block the victims' access, even if they tried to pay the money. There was no collecting the cash. It was simply a way of taking as many computers as possible out of action to once again cause as much chaos as possible. Bright, intelligent and articulate as he was, he figured that much the same was taking place across every part of the globe, and that it wouldn't matter to those higher up in the chain of command if he skimmed just a little off the side.
Solely focused on the task at hand now, his mind lost in the lines of code on both monitors, his body reacted almost on autopilot, his fingers but a blur on the black keyboard, the noise of the keys music to his ears. His aim was to modify the 'WannaCry' worm that spread viciously across the internet in May of 2017, unprecedented in scale, infecting more than 200,000 computers. He'd chosen this virus because unlike most ransomware attacks which are typically carried out using a 'Trojan', legitimate files designed to trick the user into downloading them, or opening them as part of an email attachment, the 'WannaCry' worm travels automatically between computers without user interaction. A tall ask even for him, he knew that if he were successful, his masters would be utterly delighted with him.
Fingers gliding over the keys long into the night like a master musician, by the time the sun bounced off the boats and reflected off the silky river surface, his work was complete, with a working virus ready to be dispatched at the touch of a button. Now all he had to do was allow the tricky little beast to run riot across the internet. The more computers infected, the better.
8
Fan of Steel
Privileged couldn't begin to describe her feelings, given that she'd been chosen from hundreds and hundreds of nurses to look after him. She had, of course, been to every match, got every book, magazine and had all the other merchandise. In short, she was a true fan. Not just of the Indigo Warriors, but of laminium ball itself, and that meant that looking after HIM was nothing short of a real honour. Up until now, it had been her dream job. But about fifteen minutes ago her dream had turned into a nightmare... a nightmare in which she currently found herself hiding in a supply cupboard alongside other members of the medical team, all afraid for their lives.
Confusing didn't begin to cover it. Only as recently as a few weeks ago he was unable to speak or communicate in any way, shape or form, so severe had been his injuries. In that time, he'd come a long way. He knew it was all down to the miracle medical team that cared for him twenty-four hours a day. Not only had they done a terrific job with his body, but had also pieced back together his splintered mind. Over the last week or so, he'd finally remembered who he was and just how he came to be in such dire straits. A laminium ball player, who'd have thought. And then there was THAT bomb. Memories flooded through him, like it had only just happened, sending a shiver along his powerful, brand new tail. Gazing at his reflection in the tinted glass that separated the room he was in from the next, he marvelled at the craftsmanship of the dragons that worked here.
'The job they've done is amazing,' he thought, as he ran both hands across the shiny new scales that made up his sleek belly. It was an odd feeling, that's for sure. The scales felt smooth, flexible and wafer thin. They weren't weak he knew, but they were brand new, fully regenerated. How? He didn't know the details. But what he did know was that they hadn't hardened yet and taken on that almost impossible to penetrate trait that gives dragons everywhere such piece of mind and makes them such formidable warriors. This combined with the fact that his wings had yet to reach their desired size, and the missing fragments of his memory, had made his decision seem even more remarkable. But when things had gone to hell, only a matter of minutes ago, something deep inside him had stirred, screaming at him to fight. Given his nature, it didn't take very much for him to comply.
During his enforced stay here, he'd been cut off from everything in the dragon domain. No news, no telepathic papers... NOTHING! At the start, he hadn't missed what he hadn't known, but as his memory started to come back, he felt the need to understand what was going on in the outside world. Still they hadn't told him. It drove him crazy, like an itch he just couldn't scratch. But some time ago, he'd overheard a conversation between a few of the staff. Clearly they'd thought him asleep. Their mistake! What he'd heard had both fascinated and terrified him in equal measure. Apparently, deadly bombs had gone off across the world, unleashing devastation beyond anything ever known. Dragon and humankind targeted. It was unbelievable, almost as if made up inside one of the humans' books on the surface, something he kept hearing about, and wished at some point to see for himself. At the moment, he wondered if his current predicament was somehow linked to that cataclysmic event. He supposed it was, but he had no idea how. All that he cared about was surviving whatever was going on and getting the staff that had done so much for him, out of here alive.
Looking down at the broken body of what he assumed to be a naga (he'd seen pictures and learnt all about them, just like every other dragonling) lying there at his feet, neck snapped, looking for the most part like a child's broken toy, so impossible was the angle of his head, he wondered how many more were scouring the building. Procuring the vicious looking sword his attacker had worn at his hip, he decided it was time to go on the offensive.
Opening the room's door just a smidgen, he checked to see if the corridor was clear. It was. Making no noise at all, he swept out and headed off towards what he assumed was the entrance to the facility, knowing full well the rest of the staff had barricaded themselves in, further back where he had come from. He couldn't be sure about the way he was heading being the entrance, as he had no memory of arriving here, and up until ten minutes ago he hadn't left the room they'd been treating him in. Abruptly he dived into a secluded alcove off to his right, hidden from the main corridor by a giant potted fern, which looked as though it had come straight out of the rain forest. He'd heard voices coming from somewhere in front of him, in a strange tongue he didn't understand.