Flash Fiction: Logs Don't Lie

Sci-Fi: We’re going goddamn crypto cryptid hunting.

Photo by Abdullah Aslam on Unsplash

Alright, strap yourself in, get your VR goggles on tight, and pay fucking attention. I don’t like to explain shit twice.

This hunt, it’s kinda like a bug bounty thing. Except I’m way cooler than those fucking nerds looking for software vulnerabilities. While those hacker wannabes get up to their eyeballs coding and learning about ports and DNS and all that bullshit, we’re going goddamn crypto cryptid hunting. I’m a goddamn maestro. I know hacking is magic, honest to god, and that’s why I have my arcane armaments.

Little hard to see them here in Port 443 through your goggles, right? That’s intentional. I don’t buy into the nerd shit, but being able to encrypt your weapons when you hunt? That’s beyond necessary. Just take my word for it that, behind this electron fuzz, I have a big ass sword and a really shrill whistle.

Nothing confounds cryptids in cyberspace more than a whistle. Know why? Cause everything here is made of light or electricity. So what the fuck is sound doing in cyberspace? Figure that out and you’re golden.

But first thing’s first. People assume cryptids just up and crawl out of the ooze. As if Mister Swampmonster was always there, waiting for ol’ Betty Sue and Ranger Jim to get too horny and pull over on the side of the highway.

But see, that’s not right.

The rub is, we manifest cryptids. Out of the dark edges of our senses where nothing makes sense, we pull them out and give them a home. Nature abhors a vacuum and nothing’s more vacuous than the gaps of our understanding, you follow?

Now, that was all well and good when those gaps were in the dark center of the forest and Mothman Junior had a range of, say, 100 acres or whatever.

But now that everything’s fucking mapped on your phone, you know where those gaps are? Fucking cyberspace, man. Don’t you lie to my face and tell me you have a map of cyberspace and know what the fuck is going on there. No one does. Not you. Not me. Not the fucking CIA.

And let me tell you, shit gets real weird real fast in here. Well-placed cryptids in the bowels of cyberland can get from little Ethan’s Xbox to fucking North Korea in three hops, assuming they shamble onto the right VPN.

But enough of this jibberjabber. You want to know what we’re after? Course you do, that’s why you followed me here instead of sniffing packets on Port 80 with all the other perverts.

We’re here to track a Mongolian Death Worm. Now, I know what you’re thinking: that’s not real! That’s some Tremors bull shit! Blah blah blah.

Of course it’s fucking real. I’ve seen the tracks. Packets devoured on a crystal clear connection. The insides of fiber optic cables covered in mucus. Old copper lines chewed from the inside out. This isn’t your granny’s programmable WannaCry worm. No, man, this is straight up monsters flitting through this goddamn cesspit.

Anyway, hold on tight. We’re jumping. It’s gonna feel weird, being split into packets. But don’t worry. We’ll be reassembled long as the protocols don’t trip. Just don’t get too attached to all of your nails. Noticed those are the parts I lose most.

Let’s fucking go!

—tracks are grade-A Mongolian Death Worm. What are you looking at me like that for? Did you lag? God damn, I hate repeating myself. Okay, look, we’re in a webcam out in the Erlian Residential District four hops from where we started. And do you see this right here? Woah, fuck, man, watch where you step. That’s not just a dropped packet you’re stomping on; that’s worm goo.

Don’t you doubt me, I know exactly what I’m talking about. See how the binary’s curved? No one curves binary. It shouldn’t even be fucking possible. But you know what’s cylindrical? Worms! Worms are fucking cylindrical. And this is obviously where the worm shed. Yeah, sheddings and goo are one-and-the-same.

Try to keep up.

We’re right on the cyber-physical edge of Mongolia and we’re getting close. Now, this is when things can get dicey, okay? So if you want to turn back and log off, I won’t judge you. Not everyone is a master hacker like me. But no, you’re that committed, huh?

Okay, well, just stay behind me. Once I pull out this sword, it’s gonna want a byte—get it? But seriously, I don’t want to cut up your avatar. Anyway, just one more hop should do it. This goo looks like it communicated with a piece of smart mining equipment in Örgön. Typical worm territory. Get your screenshotting tool ready, if nothing else. We’re about to get ourselves some—

—image capture! Fuck, I’m—

—Whistle! Pick up the go{{#mn whistl3!—

—wha* i& h#p%9#8> Help! Somethin7 1# me&&2n7 )|th my connec7*0n! Take 4#e im$g3!

#

This is what you captured? Amazing! Sure, the packet headers are missing, and we’re encrypted so that data is unreadable, and the logs are slightly corrupted. But look at this...You did it!

See here, this spike in the logs is when you finally got your shit together and blew on my whistle. And see how all the rest of it is full of that binary. Looks just like that damn worm goo, don’t it?

This is the best proof anyone has ever gotten of the Mongolian Death Worm. Once we post this on Reddit, those mother fuckers will think twice before saying we got blocked by a firewall.

Like a firewall could take out such masterclass hackers as my—no, wait—ourselves, right?

Anyway, I hope you’re ready to go again. There’s still plenty of beasts that haunt cyberspace.

Next up, we’re going whaling.

Just call me Ahab, baby.

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Author’s note: This story was written for a Writing Battle competition based on an assigned cryptid fiction genre. Thought I’d try something a little different with this one, which got…mixed reviews. One judge absolutely loved it, one hated it, and one thought it was pretty okay.

So, curious to hear what you all think. Does this feel like something that’s worth stretching out? Like it the way it is? Think it’s a fun (or not) experiment but not worth sinking any more time into?

Let me know your thoughts!