Ticking Data Breach (a short story)

26 Sep, 2024

Gears turned, grinding together amidst the steamy heat.

‘You serious about taking the neophyte for the job? He can’t even wind his own watch if his life depended on it!’

‘But Chief, all our other Tinkers have been compromised.’

Cole sat hunched over, eyes fixed studying the blueprint in front of him. The blueprint was covered in sporadic pencil marks, some smudged over by sweaty fingers. It was labelled ‘ICCC: Intercontraption Clinking Communication Cipher.’ A cannibalised ICCC unit sat on top, though its job had been reduced to being a paperweight.

He strained his hearing for the device’s periodic clicks. He ended up eavesdropping on the two guys outside, instead.

‘This isn’t another one of those economy-analysis-engine hijacking jobs. This is a FAANG corp that we’re talking about. We can’t risk a bust. The higher ups won’t take a failure lightly.’

‘Then you would rather risk a Tinker ratting us out? Syndicate, as you know, is quite secretive. You wouldn’t want them sending the Janitors here.’

‘But that’s… I…’

‘Besides Chief, we’ve noticed the new guy’s practically wired for cracking calculation and communication tracks.’

The door burst open. ‘Hey, new guy,’ a man shouted.

Cole jumped, dropping a spanner. The tinker’s tool clanged against the concrete floor, reverberating around the room.

…Clink! The ICCC, as if responding, made a series of loud clicks, adding to the racket echoing throughout the small space, bouncing off the walls. A filing cabinet – locked by a gear mechanism that only opened by resonating with authorised personnel’s timepieces when wound in a certain way – shot open, launching balance sheets and forged documents sky-high.

Papers strewn all over the floor. The room was shroud in silence.

‘…Case in point, Chief.’

///

The rookie tinker kept close to his escorts. A vanguard of three halberds; two lock picks by his side; and three pistol falchions – a newer, experimental division in the syndicate’s armed forces – on his six. Sure, most corporate guards carried swords, so they’d have the range advantage, but halberds simply seemed unfashionable in this day and age. It can’t be helped, it’s better than dying here.

The boss guy was right on point, this is a bad idea. Sending the guy they’d just hired a week prior to infiltrate and hijack the Farcetome mainframe.

Halberds stepping aside, the picks begin cracking the backdoor locks.

‘Rake.’

‘Here.’

He shoves it into the keyhole. ‘Dimwit, this is a fork…!’

Five minutes passed. No progress on the lock. The right-hand pick flung his lock picking paraphernalia to the side in frustration, and resorted to more… crude methods.

‘Dynamite.’

‘Lit.’

‘For real.’

The door blew off its hinges with a bang, leaving a plume of smoke in its wake. Beyond it were about six men on the ground, thoroughly charred. Their dead, stiffening hands clutched onto their sabres.

Of course they’re onto us, we did blow their doors off, for heaven’s sake.

///

The mainframe chamber was in sight, at the end of a long hallway. Two huge humanoid brass statues stood unmoving by the doors, their hands resting on broadswords planted firmly into the floor. Spanning across the room were many evenly spaced limestone pillars, laid in an even grid, jutting out of the glazed, brown marble flooring and held up the prismatic glass ceiling.

Cole stepped forward. His boot soles squeaked against the meticulously polished flooring.

He froze. He had tripped something. Some sort of mechanism chinked and chunked, the metallic noises reverberating through the pure, empty hallway.

The chamber doors opened. A person wearing a butler’s suit walked out.

‘Welcome to the mainframe chamber! Could I interest you in anything?’ he said.

The falchions moved to flank Cole and his picks.

‘No?’ Cole said.

‘A shame.’ The butler grinned. ‘Then, I bid you farewell, sire.’ He stepped to the side, and unveiled an unusual holey machine.

‘They’ve got mech units…!’ a halberd cried.

Cole’s flanks pulled him aside, shielding behind a pillar. Two halberds hid behind another. The middle halberd, not so fortunate.

The butler guffawed; the strange machine accelerated into a spin. Hundreds of holes immediately opened up in the halberd’s body, the sploshes and ripping of flesh accompanying the rapid firing of bullets and gunpowder.

Bullets chipped away at the fine construction. Bits of limestone, dust, and wood chippings flew about among the barrage.

The machine grinds to a halt. The butler chokes, and examined the weapon.

He bends over, and throws out something that seemed to have jammed the timing belt. Seeming to have fixed it, he smiles and stands back up. He turns around. A halberd loomed over the butler. They’d somehow sneaked behind him at some point.

‘You killed Bob.’ he grumbled.

One swing. A decapitated head rolls along the floor, still with a complete maniac’s smile.

///

They entered the mainframe chamber. Only one thing left to do, then.

The mainframe system towered over Cole, mouth wide agape at its sheer scale. Brass pipes, gears, and valves; intertwining together in complex networks to perform various calculations and the like. It’s wizard to think it could manage records of every registered citizen in the country.

And that’s where the money is. His goal, was to disrupt all operations of the mainframe, and to focus its attention to writing out a copy of all its records for the boss guy.

The picks uncovered a terminal valve, presumably reserved for maintenance.

Cole sat down on the floor cross-legged, and unwrapped his load. Another device, a box with arms sticking out holding fountain pens; and a paper scroll. Cole adjusted a couple of screws on the device, filled the pens with fresh ink, and slotted the scroll between two bearings.

Next to the valve were many more valves and gears which directed the steam through different paths in the machine. Cole pulled out a spanner, and got to work.

Steam hissed, gears turned, screws spun in place, to no avail. I’m useless, aren’t I?

Cole got up. He sighed, and walked away. The noises remained.

Then, grumbling. Something was set off.

The ground shook with every thump and clang.

There they stood, before the eight infiltrators, with every joint geared to kill.

///

The Farcetome Automaton, the latest in mechanical weaponry, towering over the average armed soldier at their height twofold and the strength of five. It was met with criticism during its unveiling, as it was presented as an experimental product designed by a corporation which, historically, has never done anything in the weapons market other than selling intel.

Great, even the statues want to kill me.

‘Move!’ the falchion units push the halberds aside, taking their stance. Both automatons sweep with their swords, throwing a powerful gust throughout the room.

They sweep again. A falchion clashes with a broadsword, beating into a caress. Disengage. The falchion fires one bullet into the automaton’s neck joints. They beat again, and the machine locks onto the falchion’s wrist. The falchion’s blade cracks under pressure. Their chest, slashed open. Thrown aside, the falchion slams into a pipe. The pipe bursts, steam leaking into the open air.

A halberd came charging for a jab, battle cry and all. The attack connects. Their weapon snaps. A metal fist came swinging. Their neck snaps.

The machines continue hacking away unimpeded; their flawless, polished metal lustre tainted by deep, dripping crimson. There was no momentum to their swings, none of the grace or passion displayed by swordsmen their engineers had tried to emulate. Only the sheer, crude force of a clockwork myrmidon, tuned to one purpose only: to kill.

Swing. Swing. Creak? One of the automaton’s heads wobbled with each sweep, and an empty space in its neck exposed.

Cole pulled over one of the picks, and rummaged through their sack. He quickly moved behind one of the remaining to falchions. He gave them one stick of dynamite.

The idea struck them. ‘Hey, spear guy, catch,’ throwing the explosive, ‘We’re shoving this into that bastard’s neck.’ The halberd caught the stick. He wrapped it around the tip of his halberd.

‘You, you know what to do,’ the falchion points at their comrade. They nod, kneeling over into a ready position, and aimed the pistol falchion at the automatons.

The falchion dashed to the vulnerable golem’s back. They jumped on, clinging to dear life as they wrangled into a choke hold, sharp blade restraining the machine's brazen neck.

The halberd sprung forth. The explosive pole arm lodges into the opening. The other automaton advances towards the two surrounding its brother. Both units disengage and take cover. ‘Now!’

One last bullet, shot into the dynamite. One final blast, completely obliterating the automaton from the inside out, the mechanical shock disabling the other. Both ceased their fire.

Steam continued to leak into the room.

///

‘Oh?’ Cole turns to the terminal valve.

The pen-equipped device was by then completely functional, and had proceeded to write out Farcetome’s stored personal records of various people. Paper unrolled from the scroll, coiling together on the floor in serpentine fashion.

Steam overflowed from damaged pipes. A memory leak, I think they called it.

In what seemed like no time, he had it. A single paper scroll containing thousands, if not millions of random people’s personal data, hoarded by one of the biggest, greediest corporations in the land. Cole smirked.

‘Enemy reinforcements incoming…!’

A platoon of sabre-wielding arms marched down the hallway. The leading officer, a man in front with a white cap instead of the others’ blue ones, raised his hand. They halt.

‘Cease, intruders! Surrender, or we will use force.’

The air tensed into a profound silence.

‘No way, pal,’ one of the picks yelled, ‘Get the doors!’

Both picks hurriedly slammed both doors. The enemy pushed against the doors from the other side. ‘Quick, slide the rust bucket over here.’

They pushed the decommissioned automaton, scraping against the hard ground, behind the door. ‘That should do it. Rookie,’ the pick points at Cole, ‘Do something with the other machine man. This won’t hold for that long.’

Cole hesitates for a moment. He then rushes over to the disabled automaton and pops off its back panel.

This is impossible. Gears, rods, valves, and the rest of the brass golem internal soup. He was sure that only a handful of people in the world knew how the experimental machine worked.

Hmm… Wait, the ICCC…

///

‘Lieutenant Tay-Bel “Foos” Bahl,’ a massive bushy-moustached man roared.

‘Ah, General.’ Foos saluted.

‘I trust you have this under full control, boy?’

Foos gestures at his right-hand officer, who calls for a door breacher. ‘Complete control, sir. In numbers alone, we’ve long left them in the dust. They’re only seven men strong, what could they possibly do?’

The general nods in approval, and goes back up the hallway. The door breacher squad arrived. They brought with them a hydraulic door spreader, operated by a crank.

The device forces the metal door open bit by bit. Light leaked through the crack in the door. Clicking could be heard from the other side. Click. Click. Clicky-click. Clunk.

‘Prepare to engage, men.’ Sabres raised in a ready stance.

The steel door finally gives way, and breaks wide open.

One Farcetome Automaton, reared and ready to execute.

Those engineers did some job, didn’t they? It’s up again. It stood in the mainframe chamber, completely unattended. ‘Automaton Unit, disengage and report,’ Foos called.

No response.

‘Disengage and report, Lieutenant commands,’ he points a watch at the machine. It wasn’t at all accurate, and served only as a proof of identity. Click. Click, click. Clunk. Click.

No response.

‘Nice try, but ‘tis mine now. Shouldn’t have made it this easy to brainwash,’ one of the intruders popped out of the automaton’s back, ‘Automaton Unit, engage. Full assault, enemies at twelve o’clock. No survivors.’

The machine obeys its master, and advances to carry out its execution.

///

‘Anyway,’ Cole jumps off the machine, ‘You lot up for lunch? All on me – I’m filthy rich now.’

The seven-man infiltration group walk away, doors closing behind them on the ensuing carnage.

This work is licensed by Ivy M. under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0.

#lostinthesauce #writing