Gone Phishing

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The cyan-tinged moonlight gave the perfectly white and smooth supports of the overpass a somnolent glow as it filtered in through the Dome of the Inner District.

In the soft shadows below, a stock white Maintenance Van turned off its electric motor, though with the constant, near-silent whine of the Unmanned Transports above, like ghosts on a mission, as they carted the Ins in leather-lined lavishness to their dinner parties and galas, no one would have heard.

A heavily overweight man hauled himself out of the front seat and lugged his heavy frame towards the back doors of the Van, his bearded face sweating from the effort.

Christ, even the unmonitored places are pristine, Sergio spat to himself as he threw open the doors, pulling out a long and heavy container with some effort. Sometimes having nothing to look at but perfect angles and monotone white could be very boring, there's no texture to anything when everything is the same.

Setting the container down on the smooth concrete of the underpass with a bodily grunt, Sergio mopped his balding forehead, a large plain beneath a singular jutting crag of a salt-and-pepper widow's peak, with a sleeve. Then, snapping open the container's heavy clasps, he delicately withdrew a hacked-together Terminal, setting the rattling box of microchips, motherboards and other assorted hardware on the Transport's matt-white bonnet. Fishing out another bundle of electronics, he hooked up to the DIY antenna-array he'd spent the afternoon fixing with some old mobile phones from last century, and then began punching-in code onto the ancient touch display on the Terminal.

Next, wiping his sweaty palms on his navy blue uniform, despite the perfect climate control of the District, he slipped on a pair of modified NavGloves, their normal sleek design now encased with an added exoskeleton of wires and electronics. He flexed his fingers, testing the movement and grunting with approval, happy with the result.

Finally, he bent down and lifted out from the container a cobbled together headset of sorts, box-like and clunky like everything Last Gen, and placed the visor over his eyes, adjusting the straps for a snug fit before lifting it again onto his forehead.

Modifying the hardware was easy, it was getting hold of them that was the problem. The Brass had tight control of every piece of tech this side of the Wall. Since it was mandatory to hand-in all out-of-date equipment, bringing contraband into the Inner District, even if its just pieces of falling-apart junk, was not an easy feat in itself. Let alone communicating with the Outside.

He had had to spend considerable time and his own credits sourcing obsolete parts from the Out. In person. And dealing with Outs is a whole bag of fun as well.

Poor buggers, muttered Sergio to himself as he began double-checking all the connections. As if smothering pollution wasn't enough, they had to deal with abject poverty too. They really are poor buggers.

He hadn't been one of them for 10 years now---being a talented engineer, good with his hands, had its perks. Especially in a society that relied on drones to function smoothly. Drones might be useful, but hands they did not have.

Getting an old fold-out chair from the Van---a particularly useful piece of contraband---he settled in, its old joints groaning from the weight, and he pulled the headset over his eyes once again.

Clicking his neck, he raised a clenched fist out in front of his bulky, reclining form.

Right, time to do some fishing...

Opening his gloved fist, the display inside his headset blinked on, showing him real-time routes of all the drones currently online. Most of them had been rerouted to the Central Tower for tonight's gala, but there were a couple still monitoring the perimeter.

Selecting the nearest one, Sergio began inputting in the override codes with his other stubby hand, fingers gracefully dancing in mid-air.

The Administrators would notice if it just disappeared, so you had to mirror the registration number first, and then you could hijack the controls...

There we go, I nice shiny drone all of my own.

Instantly, Sergio's vision was filled with a 360-degree view of the Inner District, its perfectly aligned streets and straight buildings splaying out beneath the large Dome, like an OCD architect's dream.

As the small surveillance drone veered right, cutting through the clean air of the Inner District and heading towards the designated spot by the Wall, Sergio, the best Guide the Moles had to offer, hummed a tune to himself.

The guy better be there, I'm missing a fancy gala for this. Credits or not, if he's not there I'm heading back.

All that talk of fishing had made him hungry.

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Part 1 - The Window
Part 2 - Sylvia

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Art by me, MajorMajorMajorThom