I wasn’t politically inclined, so maybe these fem-hackers wouldn’t take my case. I voted, most of the time, in presidential elections. But that was it. Being a die-by-the-sword social justice warrior wasn’t my thing. I was more the “social justice worrier” type.
“How do I get in touch with these friends of yours?”
She cleared her throat. “I’ll go ahead and send them your email and phone number now. They’ll reach out to you soon and send you a link that will activate an encrypted video chat right away. They’ll probably grill you with questions, but remember, their intentions are noble, and their goal is to help you and they’ll explain how. It’s a motley crew of women: security consultants, computer programmers, there’s even a stay-at-home hacker mom of twin toddlers.”
“Okay, at this point I’m desperate. Thanks, Candace.”
“No problem. Let’s chat later.”
Kat and I pulled into our work garage. “Thanks, Kat, for everything. And about what you just heard—”
She opened her door. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“I need some quiet time, so I’m going to sit in my car a few minutes. I’ll be back up soon.” She hugged me and headed up the elevator. Ian had parked his Porsche next to me and gave me so little room that I dinged his car when half opening my door. Oops.
Brrrrrrring!
A new message notification popped on my screen. Amazing that my phone worked so well in the garage. “Please click on video chat link sent to your email from WheedWackerPony.” The creativity with some of these bizarre online names astounded me.
The link on my phone opened up on my browser, cycling through a series of redirected URLs. This happened a dozen times before I landed on a screen with a static picture of a My Little Pony. The rainbow one, Rainbow Dash? She had swirly black-and-white eyes, like she was being hypnotized. Very dizzying, yet calming. I shut my eyes, in case this was a weird plan to put me under a hypnotic spell and steal my bank account number.
The screen switched from Rainbow Dash to a gender-ambiguous silhouette. A voice that sounded like Morgan Freeman boomed from my speakerphone.
“Melody Joo! We have a question for you. What justice do you seek?”
Could anyone bring justice for what had happened to me? An online troll mob was out for my blood. Justice would be for all these monsters to quit hiding behind the cloak of anonymity and show their faces, and then get locked away forever by the police or FBI. But that wasn’t ever going to happen.
“Um, I’m new to all this. What sort of justice are you able to get me?”
Morgan Freeman answered, “We at the Justice Brigade believe in . . . well, getting justice. You have been viciously attacked online, and you have restrained yourself from responding or going on the counterattack. We respect your restraint.”
Interrupting Morgan Freeman to mention the company’s gag order didn’t feel appropriate. I’d bring that up another time, maybe.
The baritone voice continued. “We can help you. We want to help you. Many of your attackers have been problematic before, and we now have the resources and tools to figure out who these persons are behind the pseudonyms and avatars. We can trace IPs, hack into the gaming message boards, and dox these assholes right back, too.” It was weird to hear Morgan Freeman say those words.
I looked down and caught myself wringing my hands. “This is all so impressive and I appreciate your willingness to help. But I’m extremely risk averse.” In fact, so risk averse that I drove the speed limit exactly and always paid parking tickets and taxes months in advance. What the hell am I doing with these rulebreakers? “Is everything you’re doing within the confines of the law?”
She laughed hard. “Melody, you are very funny. You don’t worry. We’ll get you justice. We can figure out the identities of these assholes and we’ll take full credit for bringing them down. You don’t even have to take part in anything.”
“So that’s basically a no then.”
This whole idea of fighting evil with more evil didn’t seem to be the best way to handle this. Like drinking black coffee on an empty stomach, an acidic uneasiness in the pit of my gut presented itself physically. A wave of nausea hit. “Um, Miss WheedWacker, before you publish anything, could you let me know what you find first? Then maybe we, I mean you, can decide what to do with that information. I want to see who we’re dealing with, like if it’s an eighty-year-old granny from Kansas, or a twelve-year-old schoolgirl from Osaka, I’d be less excited about retaliation on those types of people.”
She paused before answering. “Yes. That is an acceptable arrangement. We’ll bring the info to you as it comes in, as you requested,” said Morgan Freeman. “We’ve actually already tracked down a few IP addresses since we’ve been on the phone with you. We should have some verified identities revealed in the next few hours.”
“Wow! Thank you so much. I mean it.” Although this path we were taking felt a little uncertain, it was nice to have people rallying around me. Even if they were hackers flying under the radar of the authorities. “Also, since you’re investigating, could you find out who leaked the original info to BetaGank in the first place? The person who started the shit tsunami?”
“It might be difficult, but we will try. You’re a friend of Candace, so you’re a friend of ours.” The call ended, and I headed back upstairs, feeling more optimistic. Finally, I was regaining control of my life again.
COMING BACK FROM a quick walk to clear my head, someone bellowed “Hold the elevator!” as the doors nearly closed. Feeling generous, and lucky enough to mash the door open button instead of the door close one, I allowed elevator refuge.
Unfortunately, the person benefiting was Asher. Crashing back into my life again like an annoying Twitter user who kept unfollowing and refollowing you.
He hurtled in just as I hit the door close button. Damn it.
“Oh, hey,” he said, noticing me, panting from his fifteen feet of running. Not that I should say anything about that. After all, sometimes pulling off a sports bra got me winded.
Up, up, up we went in silence. The quietness between us was excruciatingly painful, but on the flip side, it was also much better than him talking.
He shifted his feet and looked over at me. “I want to apologize for taking your lead title status. My dad had sway with the board, and he and Ian are college buddies. I didn’t earn any of it. It was just plain, dumb luck.”
I closed my eyes and calmed my breathing. This was an apology, but I didn’t want to accept it. Sure, I had my own fair share of lucky breaks, but the difference was that people like Asher didn’t get undermined, scrutinized, and second-guessed all the time. I’d proven my competence time and time again, but every day I lived with a nagging feeling that everyone was waiting for me to fail.
The elevator lurched to a stop and my eyes flew open. “Asher, what’d you do?!” I hissed.
He held up his hands like I was robbing him at gunpoint. “Nothing, I swear. I didn’t touch anything.”
A few seconds later, the elevator whirring sounds from the shaft above us slowed to a halt. The bright overhead lights flicked off and on a few times, before converting into a dimmer mode. That’s when it hit me. The building power was out. Or maybe the elevator malfunctioned. Either way, it resulted in the worst outcome imaginable: Asher and I were stuck on this elevator together for god-only-knew-how-long.
Then all these thoughts flooded my mind.
What if the building evacuated and no one was here to rescue us?
What if it was an earthquake and this danger goes way beyond this building?
What if this was a REAL bomb threat?
What if I die here, and Asher is the last guy I will ever see? Oh god, no. “Help!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “We need help!”
Asher paced around the elevator, swishing his ripe bro smell throughout our seventy-square-foot space. Without power, there was no airflow. No oxygen. The walls closed in around me like a trash compactor.
Above us, we could hear some muffled shouts and murmurs. Asher yelled, “We can’t hear what you’re saying!” The responses back were garbled and muted. He pulled out his cell, but he didn’t have a signal. He tried the emergency dial on the elevator panel, but it just kept ringing. Like a caged animal, Asher yelled “Ahhhhh!” as he pounded on all four walls, forcing me to retreat and cower to the far back corner. Deranged and wild-eyed, he ran up to the sealed doors and used his meaty Hulk hands to pry them open.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he chanted, willing the doors to move. Somehow, he was able to separate them, but just by a few inches. Through the opening, we could see a bunch of our coworkers’ legs and feet, as we were positioned a few feet down from our office floor. Asher tried to squeeze his body through the opening, but only his arm and leg could fit. Desperate now, I took a turn, only to find that my arm and leg were maybe the same size as Asher’s, which was especially depressing to think about given our entombed state.
Asher pressed his face in the opening and yelled, “Someone call for help! I need to breathe!” Fresh air from our office floor pushed in, but because Asher was standing in the way, all I got was slightly cooler Asher-tainted air to inhale.