The federal government of America decides out of worry to secretly send CIA teams to different communist countries so they can plant dormant nukes in the sewers of their capitals. Near the middle of the mission a hacker leaks out the plans globally.

It was a list of numbers. Three numbers to a line.

Greg recognised them as co-ordinates straight away. He’d played at geocaching, back when he was younger, before the money he could earn from sitting in front of a computer screen became more than his absent father had ever provided.

So finding a list of points on an IRC channel frequented by his own kind was not unheard of. What was unusual was the poster.


She (Greg assumed a she, but assumptions were typically the first thing to fall when a system came under attack) was legend. Stories of her conquests filled the ‘net. Which meant everyone in the channel was now poring over the datadump.

Latitude. Longitude. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the last one was altitude.

Greg fed the data in PostGIS, fed in his own co-ordinates and plucked the nearest number. Suddenly his little city apartment, nestled in the heart of the culture quarter, didn’t seem so secure.

The nearest point was less than two clicks away.

He didn’t hesitate.

“/afk 1 hour: checking my local point”

He’d picked up his bugout bag and was out the apartment before his system had even finished locking. The point was underground, Greg’s black phone pushing him towards the nearest metro stop. It was late. Local time. For a hacker local time rarely meant much, but in these circumstances it afforded him the ability to hop the ticket barriers and drop onto the tracks without worrying about an overzealous security worker.

Two hundred metres from the capital station his phone lost signal. Gyros took him onwards, accounting for drift. Soon his phone pinged. He was as close as technology could get him.

Maintenance hatch. Lock (every hackers best friend, Greg had several back home he would whittle away at on a dull evening). The room beyond was lit by a bare bulb, but the device took up most of the room.

It wasn’t blinking and whirring. There wasn’t a handy LCD countdown or even a light to show it was on. But Greg knew. He could feel the radiation as surely as if he’d had a geiger counter on him.

“Oh boy, wait until I post this,” was the last thing he ever thought before the door closed behind him and the shadows moved.

Prompt originally posted by pervertoftime on reddit and received 1 upvotes.

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