#y'know for a game named 'decapolice' it's funny how every single character in this little microfiction thing hates the police

[salty-dracon]

once upon a time, there was a happy couple (decapolice microfiction)

an: this game won't be out for a WHILE but that has never stopped me from writing little microfiction passages based on the premise. and despite the title, this is a purely platonic drabble. 1.3k

The hacker understood, in the times that his eyes passed away from the screen, what the difference was between logic and emotions. Yes, the room he was in was about five meters by five meters, plus an extra three for the ceiling. That was the logic part. But sometimes the room felt smaller or larger, despite its dimensions never actually changing. On days when it was suffocating, he would sit by the vent for oxygen, trying to stifle his breathing while steadying his heartbeat. And sometimes, the room felt wide open and comfortable, and he would lie back on his bed thinking about how cushy the job was.

He remembered the terms of the contract. He couldn't forget the old man's voice if he tried, though even the memories of what he said began to fuzz and fade with how much time he'd spent inside.

That old man spoke with a calmness that hardly fit the demands he made. "We'll pick you up outside your apartment at midnight. Make sure you carry your necessary belongings with you. Leave your cell phone, personal computer, and anything that might connect to the Internet or reveal your location at home. However, we will need your hacking tools, so you need to bring a hard drive with any programs you might need. Of course, you could bring a program that alerts the police to your location- but this is an assignment that relies on trust. You know what that means, don't you?"

The hacker nodded. "Of course I do. As stated, I'll get the job done as long as you don't stiff me."

"To maintain absolute secrecy, we will be knocking you unconscious with sleeping gas en route. You will wake up in a room we have provided, with enough food and water stores for the entire contract period. You'll also have a bathroom, a bed, a closed-circuit two-way communication system to contact me, and a delivery system which I will handle personally. And of course, you will have a state-of-the-art personal computer which we will provide, with all of the connection protocols required for the assignment. Think of it as an apartment which you can't leave, entirely closed off from the world, whose location is unknown even to you, for which I am your only contact."

Honestly, the accommodation sounded miserable, and it wasn't like he'd ever grab a drink with the old man for fun, but he was willing to endure a few months of misery for the pay.

"Your assignment, then," said the man, "is to hack the program known as DECASIM."

It had been three weeks since then. The assignment seemed simple enough- apply an algorithmic model encryption program to every PC and NPC within DECASIM's simulated version of Broadstone City, effectively changing their appearances from the root. They couldn't change between runs, hence why it had to be algorithmic. Specifically, it had to apply a certain set of parameters to a few specific people.

"The rest is up to you."

The hacker smiled when he heard that. He already had an idea of how he wanted to encrypt the models. As long as it worked, no one would complain about his peculiar taste.

A message came from the old man a few hours ago. "The papers have published that DECASIM was compromised. Good work. Take a break for now, won't you? If DECASIM is repaired, we'll need you to hack into it again."

He had been resting on his bed for an hour, listening for any sound he could. He could hear the humming of the computer's fan, and see the blinking of the lights on his hard drive. Occasionally, he'd hear people walk past.

The clip-clop, clip-clop of strong leather boots and high heels. The casually formal manner of speaking. And the words they spoke, which, as time went on, fit together within his mind like little puzzle pieces. Several times a "break room" had been mentioned, and there were mentions of different floors within the building and different departments. From this, he'd deduced he was in an office building of some kind- though as to what kind, the people around seemed to be intentionally vague about it. There were clients and suppliers that gave the employees headaches, but as to what they offered, he could only guess at. At least in some sense, he never felt like he'd been abandoned to the middle of nowhere.

His employer would never approve of his eavesdropping. It could compromise his location, and he'd have to forfeit the money he was owed at the end of the commission period. Still, as a hacker, he didn't come this far by being inflexible and incurious.

It surprised him when the next words he heard were about his own work.

The quiet clip-clop of rubber-soled loafers, and a louder clip-clop. They sounded like boots, but heavier and a little more unsteady. And the voice from the wearer sounded different from the usual fare.

“One hell of a resume, messing with DECASIM like that. What do you think their goal is? Oh, and who do you think's behind it?” It was a woman's voice- a little croaky, with a hint of mischief. She sounded like she was smiling.

“I heard my daughter's high school email servers were hacked last week by a bunch of white-hats playing pranks.” A middle-aged man spoke now, once again from beyond the wall. "But this isn't an email server, it's a resource used by the police to solve crimes, particularly cold cases. Don't you think that's more concerning?"

"I'm curious to see what'll happen. I think it'll be good for the rest of us."

"You're hardly a criminal." He gave a short, tired sigh. “I can’t say I’m not happy, though. The person who invented that thing… copying our very selves into a simulation... they’re pure evil.”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” The woman spoke up again. Her teasing tone was replaced with a serious one, like a storyteller's. “Once upon a time, there was a happy couple who loved this city. But a tragedy took one of them away. The living spouse missed walking the streets with their late lover, and wanted to recreate that feeling down to the last atom. And so they created a lifelike simulation that could copy even real people. But then their creation got bought out by a corrupt police force, looking for ways to train their soldiers.”

“Is that a fact about its history?”

“Nope, just speculation.” The woman laughed, her jovial tone returning. “But I still don't trust DECASIM. So long as our every movement is recorded in that thing… they’ll use it to justify every crime with false evidence they can twist into being 'circumstantial proof', maybe even find ways to induce us into committing crimes while they rake in the spoils. Follow the money, and you can solve any mystery.”

“You’re no criminal, right, Doc?” the man asked.

“Of course not. I’m just a person worried about my human rights.” The woman laughed, her heavy boots clunking in the distance. “Hurry up, we're gonna miss the train.”

"It's not going to arrive for another ten minutes... "

Their voices and footsteps faded in the distance. He'd learned quite a bit about them from that exchange. Still, they were only fragments of facts- fragments that hardly fit in neatly with his understanding of the whole.

"An anonymous hacking group, huh?" The hacker sighed. "If only it were that romantic. Still," he said, sitting up and stretching his arms, "not bad for a claim to fame."