xp_logs | Operation: Teenage Wasteland - How Do You Hack Yourself?

Remy needs to find Glorian. The problem is, his hacker is about seven years behind the technology curve. And without the seven years of built-up institutional paranoia. Step one: get access to systems.

Also Doug finds out that he has an absurdly large...porn stash.

Doug whistled softly in awe as Remy (and he was still having difficulty thinking of this older man as Remy, the last he remembered, Remy was a troublemaking eighteen year-old) showed him into the server room that was apparently all his. It wasn't so much that he doubted he worked in there, since he had the key that let him into the room, but rather the idea that he had this much raw computing power at his fingertips on a daily basis. "Wow. This is...wow," he said as he tentatively took a seat in the plush swivel chair in front of a bank of monitors. Which was another small confirmation that this was all his, as the chair was set in a position for him to be perfectly comfortable as he reached for the keyboard.

"So Remy is told." Remy said, taking a seat beside him. "Now, you need to listen to me, Doug. Dere's about a million different avenues dat you can end up wit' dis system. But I need you to focus only on de task at hand. Not go roaming around de internet loading up wit' as much information as you can gobble up."

Doug shrugged, then nodded at Remy. "I can understand that. But you're going to have to walk me through some of it, then, because I'm seven years behind the curve." He had hit the power button for his workstation as he had sat down. It had booted up extremely quickly. A simple box came up on the screen with a prompt.

::LOGIN - BIOMETRIC SCAN NEEDED. LEFT INDEX FINGER FOR FIVE SECONDS, THEN RIGHT PINKY::

"What language is that? I don't recognize it," Doug asked Remy as he looked for the fingerprint scanner, and finally found it, recessed slightly into the side of the monitor in front of him. Obviously he could read it, but that was a given considering his powers. "And double fingerprint scan? I must be paranoid."

"Dere's reasons for it. More den you could understand right now." Remy pressed his thumb into the scanner, familiar with Doug's procedure. "You'd be amazed de person dat you end up being. Ramsey."

After the fingerprint scan, another prompt came up. ::SIX DIGIT AUTHENTICATION CODE REQUIRED:: Doug turned his head to Remy, guessing he'd be familiar with this step as well. "Good amazed, or 'what the hell is with you' amazed?" he asked. Because, from the way Jamie had hung up on him without a word, he was a bit worried that it might be the second option.

"Probably a bit of both, homme." Remy tapped in a code. "Suffice to say, de world you operate in is something very different den you might imagine."

"Well, I can -kind- of imagine it," Doug said with a pensive shrug. "I mean, I always kind of wanted to be Martin Bishop from Sneakers when I grew up..." And Martin Bishop could have only dreamed of the kind of technology that Doug could clearly put his hands on in the 'present day'. He just wouldn't think about what Remy's words (and Jamie's actions) might say about how white his hacker hat might be.

"All right, we're in," he said to the Cajun as the authentication code registered, leaving him with a utilitarian desktop screen, uncluttered and with a generic background. "What now?"

Remy passed over a number, the digits scribbled on a torn piece of paper. "We need to isolate dis number and find a position from de user. De problem is dat it might be stolen or used to order five hundred pizzas."

"Global Positioning System? On a mobile phone?" Doug whistled, impressed. "Last I remembered, some company was just talking about how they were experimenting with assisted GPS in mobile phones." He hit the command menu, where all the programs were neatly labeled. One was titled "Phone GPS Tracker", conveniently enough. He supposed that after all those various security steps, it wasn't like euphemisms were needed for even something as powerful as the ability to track a phone's location.

The program brought up a streamlined user interface, with a prompt for the phone number. He entered it, then waited while the system contacted whatever satellites or other technology it needed to search, finally spitting out a set of coordinates. A few seconds later, a map of New York City came up on the monitor with the position highlighted. Doug tapped the screen. "There you go."

"Alright. I'm going to take a look. I want you to monitor dat line, Doug. Any activity on it, you record it and call Remy immediately. Understood?" He said, getting up from his seat.

Doug looked at everything in front of him and cocked his head before nodding. "I think I can handle it," he said, patting his keyboard possessively.

"Doug," Remy said, oddly laced with authority for the younger man. "Listen to what I told you. I know dat two minutes after I out de door, you going to try to assimilate ten years of files and history. Don't. You got a porn stash de size of a server in dere. Spend you time wit' dat. Because if I come back here wit' you useless from trying to incorporate all de data you missing, Remy going to be pissed. More importantly, it hurts our chances of fixing things. You promise?"

A porn stash. A large porn stash. That was his. That Remy was clearly aware of. But then again, he got the impression there was very little that this Remy wasn't aware of. Doug blushed, torn between the urge to go delving through his 'porn server' to see what exactly his adult self was so interested in, and embarrassment at the idea that Remy would know that was what he was doing. "I...I promise," he stammered.

"Bien." Remy said, turning, and then turning back as he remembered something. "Also, if you click on dat button dat says, what was it? Merde, right, 'De Old Republic', Remy kill you. It hard enough to drag you in your twenties away from it. Stick to de porn instead, neh?"

"O...kay?" Doug really wished Remy would stop talking about the porn and head out already.