The Games We Play

DISCLAIMER: This story is NOT MINE IN ANY WAY. That honor has gone to the beautiful bastard Ryugii. This has been pulled from his Spacebattle publishment. Anyway on with the show...errr read.

Infiltration

At times like this, I thought back to the question I first asked my mom, about the difference between Intelligence and Wisdom. To be honest, back then I'd mainly just trusted her and had taken her word for it—though even now, there were a lot of times I wasn't sure about the difference. Hell, there were times I even wondered if I was wise and how I could tell. What did that fifty-five on my character sheet mean, really? I could test how strong, fast, tough, and, though it was a bit more difficult, even how smart I was, but how could I do that for wisdom? It wasn't easy.

But then there were moments like these when I thought maybe, just maybe, I could see it.

Blake and Tukson had provided me with more than my fair share of books about computers—stuff about computer languages, how to build computers, how to network them properly, security, hacking, on and on. By the time I'd devoured everything they'd given me, I…well, I wouldn't claim to be a master at any of the stuff, but I had options and skills. My Intelligence showed me all the ways I could use that information, put what I had to use. Within minutes, I had rough plans for half a dozen viruses that I could send through emails, downloads, and more. I had ideas to figure out who had access to what, to find system admins and project heads or perhaps even where the company's server farms were located. A few minutes of browsing on my scroll and the right phrasing led me to some web applications for several programs I could set up to try and brute force it after I got a good enough computer.

Wisdom, though, told me I shouldn't do any of that stuff. It said all those ways would be impractical at best, taking weeks of effort if they worked at all, which they probably wouldn't. In the movies, there would be a lot of skulls and geometric shapes and cool, flowing lines of code while I used my lightning fast reflexes to type on my keyboard, but in reality what probably would of happened is that I'd have spent at least several days planning and writing code and building the computers I'd need, set the program running, and then reloaded pages a lot to see what happened. Or just walked away and come back a few hours or days later, after it was done trying stuff.

And maybe I'd have found something, some weak point I could then exploit, possibly even a really useful one to do exactly what I wanted.

But I was kind of doubting I'd find anything major any time soon. I was sure the Schnee Dust Company spent some ungodly amount of money on all their security and had a bunch of people watching things and if they really had to, they'd probably just shut their computers off if they noticed something wrong. People always seem to forget about that in movies and stuff; the all-powerful off switch and reset button. Even if I'd had several more weeks or a few months to prepare and test, I wouldn't try that method. I might do it in my free time because it turns out they pay anywhere from five hundred to forty thousand lien if you do find something and report it—which also meant I'd need to find something that no one else had found and corrected—but as a way to accomplish my current goal? No.

Because Wisdom said I didn't need to. It said that those methods were needlessly difficult and I didn't need to bother hunting down weaknesses when the biggest one was already right before my eyes. Behind those defenses, behind the probably millions or billions of Lien the Schnee Dust Company had spent on cyber security, behind everything like that—I was facing people. A large group of people, perhaps, which greatly outnumbered me, but that was to my advantage in this case, not theirs. After all, I didn't have to outwit everybody in that group, I just had to outwit a person who had the information I needed.

And I figured a lot of people had that information, or at least could get to it. Sure, it wasn't public knowledge, but it was top-of-the-line, cutting edge new airship. You can't build something like that secretly, not really. How many people need to be involved in the planning for something like that? The countless trials at every stage of the development? The programming? The shipping of materials, the budgeting, the planning, engineering, construction, error checking? People were going to have to go over it repeatedly to make sure everything meets the proper criteria and safety regulations and then there were the people outside the company who were going to go over it. Probably the advertising department had been involved extensively, designed the marketing campaign for after it was finished, plus who knows how many project directors, however many test pilots, on and on.

Did all those people have exactly the information I needed? No, probably not. But the point was, this 'secret airship' was secret only in the sense that we and the public didn't know anything about it. In even the most conservative estimate, hundreds of people were involved in the project; more realistically, there were probably tens of thousands with various levels of involvement.

It's said there's an idiot in every crowd. How many were there in a crowd that size?

"Before we get started, let's get a few things straight," I said as I shifted through the trash the White Fang had provided me with, using Observe to sort things out quickly. "First off, passwords. People aren't very good at making them. There's a lot of reasons why that you can find out easily if you look online; general, people have a hard time memorizing something past seven or eight digits if there's no meaning attached to them, so they use things like words and dates and stuff instead—but things like that don't make very good passwords, especially not the words people tend to choose. I could get into how many combinations a computer can guess per second, but even ignoring that, you can look up a list of the most common passwords. Take a guess at what some of the most common are."

A dark-skinned man with folded dog ears set a box down in front of me, another bundle of uneven trash. I was mainly interested in the papers and had already begun sorting useful stuff into a pile, but it was easier to just have them bring me everything because you never know what you might find. And I meant that literally—it's kind of stunning what people just throw out.

The various Faunus in the room looked at me nervously. I was already in costume, practicing my disguise, and I don't think they knew what to make of me yet except that I was with Blake and Adam—who were obviously well respected and high-ranking—and that I was giving orders without either of those two complaining. These guys seemed a bit intimidated by me as a result, though it could also be Adam who was looming silently behind me for lack of anything else to do.

When none of them replied, however, he was the one to speak up.

"Stupid stuff," He guessed with a bored sounding tone.

"Stupid stuff," I agreed. "The most common password in the word is, perhaps inevitably, 'password.' The second most common is '123456.' From there, you get variations like '12345678' and '654321,' words like 'pussy' and 'penis,' the same character repeated some number of times like '111111' or seven sevens, easily recognizable patterns on keyboards like 'qwerty,' and common, popular words and phrases. A lot of people tend to make the password the name of the website or application they're accessing, so 'Schnee' itself is also a common one, and of course there's the enormous number of people who use their birthdays or some other date. I went through the trouble of printing off a list for you all; if your password is on this list, go change it."

I handed the list to the dog Faunus who retreated quickly, grimacing after a short glance at the long list.

"One in every nine people use a password on that list. One in fifty use one of the top twenty. Odds are good we could use that list to get what we need, given some time," I said. "That's our backup plan if our current strategy doesn't work and we'll likely need your help for that as it's relatively manpower extensive. However, thanks to your help thus far, I don't predict it will be necessary."

I saw several of them shift as if to ask, but then they seemed to think better of it. I just smiled cryptically at them.

"For now, however, this should be enough," I said, nodding my head at the pile of garbage I'd accumulated. "I—and the White Fang—thank you for your help. If you would be willing to give us a bit more of your time, we'll be proceeding to site be for a secondary mission, but I understand if you wish to go home now."

"That's it?" The dog-man asked after a minute, hands twitching towards the box he'd dropped off. "It's only been an hour…"

"I believe in working smarter, not harder," I replied calmly. "The secondary mission shouldn't take much longer than this one, though there will be a bit more heavy lifting involved. Nothing dangerous, I assure you, but I wouldn't mind your help. If you will excuse me, gentlemen."

I emptied on of the boxes and replaced its contents with my horde, arranging it so that the most important bits were on top, and then lifted it and left the room with Adam trailing behind me. I heard whispers as I left, the Faunus I'd left behind already talking about me, but my mind was on other things.

"So what's with the trash?" Adam asked after a minute and I was a bit surprised it'd taken him that long.

I smiled again but didn't look at him.

"Haven't you heard? One man's trash is another man's treasure, Adam."

"Ah," He said and was silent for a few steps. "So what's with the trashy treasure."

I snorted and looked down at the box—and really this was a great example of one man's trash being another man's treasure, purely because of whose trash it was. I'd enlisted the aid of the local White Fang to go through the Schnee Company's trash through Blake, scrounging up the things that hundreds of employees thoughtlessly threw away—which was a lot. There wasn't a master list of passwords or a folder stamped 'Top Secret' or anything, but there didn't need to be. There were reports, documents, print offs for presentations, and countless other things; tiny bits and pieces you could take as a whole to get a larger picture.

And I'd struck gold, if not in a way that might have been immediately obvious to most people. I'd been able to piece it together eventually even if I hadn't found a convenient graph, but it didn't even take that much effort because there'd been several.

I held up my greatest prize.

"This beauty is what's called an Organization Chart," I told him. "As its name implies, it's a chart of an Organization—of the local branch of the Schnee Dust Company, specifically. Its purpose is to tell people in the organization who's responsible for what. Note that beside their names are their email addresses. Also recall those 'Remember Me' checkboxes we use on most sites. In most cases, getting into someone's email is actually fairly simple, given access to, say, their work computer or something similar."

"Is that where Blake left to after you talked?" He asked. "Looking at other people's computers?"

"Pretty much," I shrugged. "I gave her one of the copies and she's running recon and stuff, too. I told her that if that wasn't enough, she should search the computer for any files labeled 'accounts' or 'info' or 'passwords,' too, and then move on. Once we have their email well…you'd be amazed. That's plan B, for 'Blake.' You and I will be working on something else."

Adam sighed tiredly but played along.

"Oh? And what's plan A?" He asked.

"We'll be using this copy of the chart for something a bit different," I said and allowed the suspense to build for a moment. "See these scroll numbers? We're going to call people…and ask for the passwords to things like the company server."

"Ask them?" Adam asked disbelievingly.

"Our boss needs us to do something," I said seriously. "It's very important."

Adam stared at me for a moment before shaking his head.

"When I dreamed of being a spy as a kid, it was a lot cooler than this," He stated flatly. "You're ruining the magic."

"Just wait until we go dumpster diving," I said, wagging my eyebrows.

True to my word, we'd been shifting through trash within the hour. The simple fact of the matter was that people threw out a lot of stuff without thinking about it. Company or not, you'd be amazed at what people put in the garbage—even ignoring the little stuff which can add up a lot if you put some work into it, there's the stuff they throw out just to get it out of the house. A few years pass and the family upgrades their scrolls or hologram projectors or whatever; what do they do with the old ones? All sorts of things. They can leave them somewhere to gather dust or give them to a friend or try to sell them or any number of other things.

But a lot of the time, people just throw them out.

Thanks to Crocea Mors' guidance and some long poles to poke around with, we had found a lot of stuff even before the others showed up. I checked my scroll and saw that Blake had forwarded me a fair number of emails which seemed promising, as well as a steadily growing list of usernames and passwords, which brightened my day somewhat. By the time the next car pulled up, Adam and I were carrying a large hologram generator that must have been relatively new, but had somehow been cracked. At the fourth place we checked, we found a set of scrolls that might have been a few years old at most—I assumed a family had gotten new ones and thrown the old ones out. With the White Fang working together and following my orders carefully, we soon had a small mountain of devices in various states of disrepair.

Those were half my interest in this, but that was for later. For now, I was more interested in the scrap metal we'd gathered en masse. It was easy enough to gather to get any number of forms. Aluminum, of course, was trivial to find in large quantities and iron and steel were pretty much everywhere, and in short order I had all the metal in the world to play with.

And after several days of grinding Crocea Mors, I was ready to play.

"Blake get what you wanted?" Adam asked as I got everything ready.

"More or less," I replied absently. "Plenty of email accounts and that's a goldmine on its own. I'll have to search through to see what I can find, though, and I'll make a few calls once it gets late enough to make people feel really bad for a put upon new guy. It shouldn't be an issue, though, and with any luck we won't even have to set foot on company property."

"And if we do?"

"We'll handle that as we come to it," I promised easily. "I'd prefer not having to actually go on site, but if it becomes necessary, it shouldn't be a problem. In all likelihood, though, someone emailed themselves a copy to work on at home or something and it's just a matter of patience. If we do have to, though, we'll run some reconnaissance, steal a scroll, and I'll walk into the building with a clipboard, a box of donuts, a coffee-holder, and a confident stride. If even that's not enough, we'll have to take a few chances. But for now, let's cross our fingers and hope that it won't be an issue; we don't want to risk anything if we don't have to."

He grunted

"What are we going to do now, then?"

"We'll prepare for what's ahead. Remember, Adam, that whatever happens, whatever difficulties arise, this is going to be the easy part. For now, we have the advantage of being proactive, because no one even knows they're supposed to be fighting us," I said. "As soon as they do, though, things are going to get hectic and that's what we need to be ready for, because our only advantage then is going to be the fact that we had time to prepare ourselves. So if you'll excuse me, Crocea Mors and I have something to do."

I knelt beside the pile of junk we'd gathered into the hideout, gauntleted hand touching the floor. I closed my eyes and focused on the image in my head. I imagined aluminum cans and metal parts liquefying into a wide, controlled puddle before beginning to move—and then felt my Aura flowing out of me as if through a sieve. When I opened my eyes at a crumbling, crunching sound, I saw cans being crushed and flattened, a broken toaster cracking along the edges, parts tearing free of old toys, and screws twisting free. As they did, as metal parts and pieces clattered to the floors, they all but jumped in place, several pieces hoping up and down. After a few seconds, gleaming droplets seemed to almost condense on their sides before flowing free, crawling across the floor towards me until they touched my armored hands and began to climb up them with increasing speed.

The flowing metal was surprisingly cold as it touched my skin and climbed up my arms. More drops of metal joined the stream with every second, leaving tracks of metal across my bare skin. I began my work just above my elbows, building my armor as the metal progressed. I flexed my arms as I did, making sure I knew exactly how wide each piece needed to be, and they constructed it based on that, the metal alternatively tight against my skin and giving it room. In places where solid armor wouldn't work and beneath it, I thought smaller, of links of chain so small they could barely be seen, fine enough to be almost like cloth. I guiding the metal over my feet, next, and up my legs, before four streams converged upon my chest, before it went up my neck and over my head. I built the helmet around the mask I wore now and covered my lower face as well with air holes built into the mask.

It wasn't fancy, even though my control over metal gave me a great advantage. Most of the materials I used weren't ideal, either. Ignoring the metallic cloth, it was nothing but smooth surfaces and hard, heavy plates. Maybe when this was over and my affinity for metal even greater, I'd work on something stronger and more detailed, but that wasn't the purpose of this. Even protecting me wasn't really the point, though the defense rating was decent and I was sure Crocea Mors would put it to good use. I was only after the training it would provide.

Even with the stat boost of my Aura, getting to my feet was a bit of an effort, as unused to the new weight I was carrying as I was. Counting Crocea Mors, I must have been carrying sixty kilos and it was weighing upon me in ways I'd never had to deal with be for, changing how I had to do even basic things like balance myself—and it was going to take time to get used to that.

I glanced at the windows that appeared before me, informing me of the levels I'd gained in Craft by making the armor and the new blueprint I'd created, and then turned to look at Adam who'd waited silently while I worked.

"What do you think?"

"I've seen worse," He said, looking me up and down. "But you don't seem to have any way to take it off."

"I'll have to melt it every time," I said, voice muffled slightly by the piece in front of my mouth. "Both to take it off and put it back on. Figured it'd be good Crafting experience. I'll change it once I grind that some, but making it hard to remove is fine for now, since I don't intend to remove it unless I have to."

Adam hummed in understanding, pushing himself off the wall and striding closer to me. He knocked on my chest plate with a fist and then nodded to himself about something.

"You sure you're gonna be able to fight in that?"

"Only one way to find out. Feel like going for a spin in the Bullhead?"

Adam grunted again.

"First you wanted me to help you move trash. Now you want to go play with monsters," He said. "No offense, but hanging out with you isn't much fun."

"Hey, if it's fun you want, I'll be happy to oblige," I smiled. "I never got to fly an aircraft before. Let's see if we can find a Nevermore or something to practice on, yeah?"

Adam just sighed.