Chapter 3- Home?!

The alleyways were the safest way to travel, not what you would expect if this was about 500 years ago back in 2024, well now we're in the 25th century, and this is pretty much how we fucking roll. My house wasn't a house, I stole a van last year, and I've been living in it. It was decked out with a single bed and a table with an outdated PC and monitor on it, but I had no use for the InterWeb's 3D porn or Metube videos, what I used this computer for, was to get into the corp files.

a computer this old won't even be signaled as a threat, yes it took forever to steal using it, but for fuck's sake, I have a bloody van, what's the point if I'm not getting into high-speed chases. All the corps were different, for the ones with good funding, you could tell who they were, by what they did and how they did it. 

The biggest corp in the entirety of Core Country was Chrono-Corp, run by one of the most influential people on Core Soil, Desmond Raleigh. They have facilities in every Core city, even Core City 0, the wasteland, this was the corp that found me.

My name is J, they said they would name me, and they did. Vincent Jerome Canales. But the name never worked out, so I stuck with J. It just worked. No one knew me around here except for the netter that I get my pills and check-ups from, but I'm guessing now that I've killed some snobs, I can't go out for a while. The van's insides were painted in a magnolia sort of color and as I searched the inner meanings of the wall, I remembered my phone was on charge, and I quickly took it out of the charging box and held it.

There were no contacts on the phone, except for my handler. It was the only relationship I had and needed, he gave me jobs and requests, and I completed and fulfilled them. They say the fucking corps are the enemy but I don't give a flying fuck who I pull a net heist for, I only care about the Salt I get paid in. 

Yeah, the currency was called salt, something about how Roman soldiers used to be paid in salt because it was expensive back then, so now we're paid in Salt. now you might think, why can't I just be nice and live a normal life in Core City 1? I am. This is how nice it gets. Unless you're a hardcore merc or gang member, there is no civilian life, there is no proper family, not in Core Country there isn't.

I stared at the flickering screen of my outdated PC, the dim light casting a pale glow on my face as I contemplated my next move. The van's cramped space seemed even smaller in the solitude that accompanied the quiet hum of the city outside. The alleys, once my refuge, now felt suffocating as I considered the potential consequences of my latest actions.

My phone vibrated, breaking the silence. It was a message from my handler, a terse command that sent a shiver down my spine. The job was riskier than usual, involving breaching Chrono-Corp's heavily fortified servers. A sense of trepidation washed over me, but the allure of the promised salt was too potent to resist. In Core Country, survival often meant navigating the murky waters of corporate intrigue.

As I reached the outskirts of Chrono-Corp's territory, the imposing silhouette of their skyscraper loomed above. My heart raced, but I couldn't let fear paralyze me. This was the life I chose, or perhaps the life that chose me. The van, my makeshift home, served as a reminder of the unconventional existence I led – a life on the fringes, fueled by survival instincts and the pursuit of salt.

Entering the virtual realm, I hacked into Chrono-Corp's intricate network. Each keystroke felt like a dance with the devil, my fingers moving deftly across the keyboard as I navigated through layers of firewalls and encrypted data. The outdated computer might be a relic, but its inconspicuous nature served me well in the shadows of corporate warfare.

The minutes stretched into hours as I delved deeper into the forbidden realms of Chrono-Corp's digital fortress. The thrill of the heist mingled with the fear of discovery, creating a volatile cocktail of emotions. My focus narrowed to the task at hand – extracting valuable data that would fetch a handsome sum in the underground market.

As the digital tendrils of my intrusion spread through the corporate labyrinth, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Paranoia gnawed at the edges of my consciousness, but I pressed on, driven by the desperate need for salt and the elusive taste of freedom in a world where normalcy was a luxury afforded to the privileged few.

No files just a single message.

*WE KNOW YOU'RE HERE VINCENT*