Project Asclepius
I’ve hacked many people. Never maliciously. Yes, I’ve stolen identities, taken money from bank accounts, changed my grades at school, looked at classmates and non classmate nude selfies. But I’ve never put any of those nude pics online. I’ve never emptied a bank account, taken money from, yes, but never taken more than half. I never run up a credit card bill too high. Twenty thousand is my max and only if I know the individual can afford the hassle with creditors; this I gather from their banking information. And I’ve never been a hacker for hire. I take pride in these things. I know I break the law but I do it to keep me afloat. To live a comfortable life. I don’t do it for greed or to hurt anyone. I know plenty of hackers who only want to get as much money as they can and don’t care about the life they destroy. My father got his identity stolen when I was a ten and it ruined him. The financial strain it put on my parents cost them their marriage. So I feel guilt free when I lay my head down at night. Yes, I’m stealing. But everyone’s scamming or ripping someone off. I’m just doing it blatantly. But no one gets hurt. That’s important to me.
Being a hacker I know when someone’s trying to hack me. Trust me, I’ve had plenty of attempts of people hiring other hackers to find out who hacked them; wanting to extract a revenge hack. Once I had one of my accounts cleaned out and all my emails deleted accept for one that said, “Revenge is best served quietly while you don’t even know it’s happening.” It was signed Vilos Cohaagen. I never found out who it was. I wasn’t too mad. It was one of my dummy accounts I use when I hack. I try to leave no trace but I have to admit I’m not the greatest hacker. I know geniuses. I’m not one of them. I think it’s comical when I get spam that’s obviously phishing for info. Fucking amateurs. Yesterday I received two emails saying to call the number listed in it because they had important information for me.
Today I got the same cryptic email saying to call what I assume is a phony number. This time they got creative they added that my sister, Emily, had an urgent message for me. I ignored the email at first, if my sister needed to get me a message she’d get it to me. But then they sent me another email an hour later. This one included a photo of Emily. I’m fine with being fucked with, but I draw the line when it comes to family. I called the number hoping some fuck-shit would answer so I could rip into his asshole. There was no answer or an option to leave a message. Fucker must have moved on to a new target.
Motherfucker!!! What am I going to do? Think think think. Fuck, think Mallin. They sent you the email again this time with an address and a picture of Emily tied in a chair. An audio message attached to the email had Emily on it telling me she’s OK. Maybe it’s not her voice… fuck, it’s her. It’s definitely Emily. Shit. I can’t go to the police. Or should I? Maybe they can storm the address and get Emily back. No, they’d never be at that address. That’s the first move, to see if I’ll go alone, cooperate. The message clearly stated… “her life is in your hands, be smart she lives, be a hero, she dies.” Don’t be a hero Mallin. Go to the address, be smart.
I Google street view the address. It’s a townhouse in the middle of a row of other bland townhouses. In a normal boring suburban neighborhood. It’s a twenty five minute drive. I hacked the electric company to see who the bill was under for that address. The name on the account was Albert Haynes but they hadn’t billed him in a year. His email address was on file but there was nothing for me to hack. The email account had been deactivated and emptied out. I searched Google’s results more and found a listing for the house. Lee Ann Realty Express was handling the sale. I called the number inquiring about the home. Lee Ann’s a talker, made my life easy. She told me about Albert Haynes without me needing to ask questions. The information came pouring out of her mouth like a leaky faucet. Albert Haynes died in a car accident a year ago. He wasn’t married, had no kids or pets and as far as she knew no living relatives. At least none were left the home and none came trying to claim it. The place was left to a man who only went by the name Fritz. She first thought it was Albert Haynes’ brother. But after speaking with him he seemed to cold to have lost a brother so he must have been a friend. Fritz, whom Lee Ann never met in person, put the house on the market, site unseen.
I went to the house the next morning. The email didn’t have specific instructions other than to come alone. When I pulled into the neighborhood I noticed how nothing stood out. The house, the area, everything seemed normal, too normal, it made me uncomfortable. Aren’t scenarios like this, meeting of kidnappers, supposed to happen in dark, isolated places? I walked into a barren home. Nothing was left. There was no trace that anyone ever lived here. It was the skeleton of a home. All structure, no life. I ambled around the lower level but discovered zilch. I let my hand hover over the basement knob for a minute before deciding that would be my last stop to check. I moved upstairs. There were four rooms with their doors closed. I looked at those doors and thoughts of the countless horror movies I’ve seen popped into my head; I began worrying what might be awaiting me on the other side of one of those doors. It’s never good in the movies. I held door one’s knob took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and entered. I slowly lifted my right eye, nothing, lifted my left eye to confirm the site of nothing. The first two rooms were empty. I never made it to the fourth bedroom because what I came for was in the third. I opened the door expecting what I got from the first two, nothing.
There was a small black recorder sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. The voice on the recorder had been altered. It instructed me to hack into the security system of, PharmaTech Diagnostics, disable it break into their building go to the ninth floor to room 909 then delete a file called, Project Asclepius. And kill a Dr. Englesby. The voice repeated the order, lowering his tone, becoming weighted with seriousness. “Kill Dr. Englesby or Emily dies.”
I sat home for hours thinking of what to do. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday evening yet my hunger was missing like Emily. At 10pm I settled into my only course of action. I had to break into PharmaTech Diagnostics. Delete Project Asclepius and kill Dr. Englesby.
Disabling the security system was fairly easy as was hacking the back door lock, popping the door open. I crept inside and kept my hood up. I was going to wear all black but realized I only had blue jeans and no black sneakers. I opted for my darkest pair of blue jeans and my navy colored Nike Air Max’s. They aren’t black but they’re like walking on fluffy pillows. I debated taking the stairs or the elevator. The stairs would be quieter but the elevator would be faster and less tiresome. I went with the elevator. Can’t chance being tired when I have to kill a man on the ninth floor. I watched as the elevator climbed floors. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8…. The doors opened as the elevator’s ding echoed loudly down both sections of the hall. I went left then halfway down the hall realized the room I needed was the opposite direction. I swiveled my feet and headed the other way. A few moments later I stood in front of 909, my palms slick with sweat. The voice said Englesby would be in there working late on Project Asclepius. I reached in my pocket and pulled out the flip knife my grandfather got me eight birthdays ago. The knife feels warm, hot even, or it might be heat seeping through my palms. I flipped the knife out, wiped my sweaty palms off on my jeans and rested it on the door knob. This is for Em. This is for Em. I repeated to myself. My nerves trembling my body with fear.
The voice said the door will be unlocked and Englesby will be sitting at a computer to the right. It said to not hesitate because there’s a silent alarm under the desk that will alert the guards to come, limiting my time to delete Project Asclepius in its entirety.
I took a deep breath, turned the knob and rushed in. I looked right and there sat Englesby, eyes fixed on a the computer in front of him. The monitor glowing in his thick eye lenses. To the left was a sparkling clean lab the dim lights from above reflecting off the floor. The glow of the computer emphasized the swirling look of shock and fear on Englesby’s face as I ran toward him with the knife in the air. He stood right as I jabbed the knife down into his shoulder; he fell back into his seat and covered his wound with his hand. Blood leaked between his fingers, dark and luminous. He began to swing his hands frantically, knocking the computer’s monitor off the table onto the floor. His eyes slanted upward, half pleading — half conceding to his fate. I raised the knife. “This is for Em,” I shouted.
The instructions were to report back to Albert Haynes’ house after I deleted the file. I walked in the front door and momentarily questioned why I hadn’t contacted the police. I know they said not to, but why’d I listen? The police are equipped to handle these situations. I’m not. I yelled to see if anyone was there. A man’s voice, light and peaceful, not evil as I had been imaging, echoed off the walls traveling down the steps and hit me in the ear. It only said,”upstairs.” Not which room he might be in but I figured it wouldn’t be hard to find this time. I reached the top step and saw a room to the right with the door opened with a light on inside. That’s the room. Em’s in there. That slick sweat returned to my palms as I stared at the door worrying what condition I might see my sister in. I only noticed the pocket knife open in my hand after I happened to look down from catching my breathe. Fear and anxiety had been squeezing my lungs as I watched the door. I’m not sure what moment I got the knife out, but it was there, resting in my sweaty palm. Suddenly a spike of adrenaline surged through me. My lungs loosened and my palms began to dry. A calmness swept over me. My nerves still high. But not fear induced. A worry of the outcome. Will I die or will he, or they? Dying doesn’t seem so bad in this moment. Em, being really hurt is a worsening feeling. I tucked the pocket knife, open, carefully into my back pocket and walked into the room.
A young man, can’t be older than twenty three, is standing by the window. His face is familiar but I’m sure I’ve never seen him before. I scan the room for Em and she’s nowhere in sight. The young man’s face is aloof. His eyes dark and beady. His build athletic but slim. In the shadows he’d look frightening in the light he looks like a stoned college kid. I pull the knife from my pocket and swing it back and forth in the air to show I’m serious about using it. “Where’s Emily?” He looked at me with unchanged eyes, his expression calm, indifferent, even with my knife waving. “Albert Haynes, are you Albert Haynes?” His face, frozen as a sculpture, his college boy looks turned into threatening calm. “Did you delete Project Asclepius?” His voice was light, not dangerous, in tone but I didn’t think him to be peaceful at this point. “Where’s Em?” I shouted. “You better not have hurt her.” I took a step closer. I wanted him to feel the violence of the knife was a real possibilty. “Did you delete Project Asclepius?” He said it with force this time. I pulled a hard drive from my pocket. “It’s right here. The whole thing. Give me Emily and you can have it.”
“No!” The voice was loud and felt of disappointment not anger. A man came walking out of the closet I had no idea was there in the first place. “Goddammit, you didn’t kill Dr.. Englesby, did you?” He spoke in a strong commanding voice. “Did you?” I stood quiet analyzing the man’s face. He looked familiar as well. Remarkably and shockingly familiar. “Did you kill Engelsby?” “Where is my sister?” He looked at his watch with the greatest amount of concern. Then he turned to the young man I figured to be Albert Haynes, but he had never clarified. “We’re out of time?” The men looked at each other with pained faces as if their sister was the one being held hostage. “Where is my goddamn sister?” I took a step forward, knife leading the way. I meant it to be threatening. Neither had a look of concern on their face. “We don’t have her, we never did.” “What are you talking about? I heard her voice on the recording.” “She did it herself.” “Emily would never.” “Fuck!!!” The man shouted. “What are we gonna do?” He asked no one. “What the hell are you talking about? Where is my sister?” “She’s sitting in an office thirty years in the future waiting for me to return with good news that I won’t be able to deliver.” I stared at the man like he was crazy. He looked me dead in the eyes… “Who am I? Don’t listen to the part of your brain that’s telling you this can’t be possible. Look at me and tell me who I am.” He was right my brain was telling me this can’t be possible.” “Can’t be.” My words came staggering out. “Me. You, are me.” “Yes, from thirty years in the future. I came back to get you to kill Englesby and delete Project Asclepius before it’s released to the world.”
I stood without breathing or thinking or doing much of anything but standing. My feet felt attached to the floor. My chest, tight, as if it were being squeezed by some unknown force. The tips of my fingers were numb. I thought I reached up and touched my face but when I looked down I realized my hands hadn’t moved an inch. “What is Project… Are you doing here? How are…. I don’t.” My thoughts felt clear, but I was unable to arrange full sentences. Shock seeping into me like blood into a carpet.
“Project Ascelpius is the cure for cancer. Or, it was supposed to be. It worked for the first year. People with any stage of cancer, even terminal, were being cured. Ridding cancer completely from their bodies. It was amazing. Dr. Englesby wrote the formula for the drug that’s what he was doing tonight. Finishing the formula. His praise was global. He won a Nobel prize and was given a special Humanitarian and Scientific achievement award by the president. The drug quickly went international. The drug was so groundbreaking it didn’t go through the rigorous FDA testing as other drugs do before it hit the market. No one wanted to be the person who stopped the cure from cancer to reach the people. And, everyone wanted a piece of the billion dollar pie. It only did a one year patient study but it yielded a ninety five percent success rate. Unheard of in any medical field. It was given the green light early and pushed to market rapidly. A year after the drug was released the initial study patients’ health began deteriorating from an unknown illness. They died within six months of each other but the news of this only surfaced after the doctors who lead the study, but did not take the drugs, began to fall ill as well, with the same mysterious virus. That’s when everything went shits up. People who had taken the drug began dying one after another. No one could find a cause or cure. The only thing they knew to point to was the cancer curing drug, known to the world as PAC1. As they tested the drug trying to find clues to the mysterious virus people continued to die, hundreds of thousands monthly. People who hadn’t taken PAC1 began to get sick with the same symptoms. Their only fault, having been in contact with a PAC1 user. Doctors didn’t know how the virus passed from person to person so they advised no contact should be made with those who had taken the drug. Those who had were rounded up and quarantined, this only slowed the problem it did not fix it.
The virus found its way to those who weren’t quarantined. Ten years after Project Asclepius was introduced ninety percent of the world’s population had died. A group of space and computer scientist spent years trying to figured out a way to go back in time. I headed up the program. To us, there was one solution. Go back and stop Project Asclepius from ever happening. That’s the only way to save billions of lives. Including our wife, Sarah, and daughter Lola. That’s why you needed to kill Engelsby because as long as he’s alive so is Project Asclepius.”
I sat on the floor, put my elbows on my knees and rested my face in my palms. “Why didn’t you tell me this from the beginning? Why pretend to kidnap Emily.” “Because we’ve tried that before.” “Five times,” the young man said. “What, this isn’t your first attempt?” “Twelfth.” “Thirteenth” the young man corrected. “Thirteen,” I said lifting my head from my hands. “How can I have fucked up thirteen times?” Older me checked his watch again. “We have to go soon,” said the young man. “Why didn’t you just have Albert do what needs to be done.” “My names Cooper not Albert.” The young man said, his voice pinched with annoyance, as I got to my feet. “There is no Albert Haynes. I created him because I know you, me, and how we think. I knew you’d try and find out who was behind this so I had to give you something.” I stared at myself as I spoke and found myself quite pleased at my age progression. I look worn and tired but my skin appeared healthy and I had eyes that were strong and smart. But I also had a noticeable edginess to me, a hanging on the ledge back against the wall attentiveness. Something I do not possess now. “When we come back it’s only for a few minutes at a time. Cooper wouldn’t have the time to finish the job. We’ve tried and failed three times.” Older me glanced at his watch again, a look of perturbation absorbed his face. He let out a heavy defeated breath. The air felt thick with despair. “Time to go back,” older me said to Cooper. Cooper went and stood next to him. “Don’t worry, you won’t remember any of this.” He said it to me as if the words should bring relief, they did not. Suddenly Cooper and myself began to fade like they were stains being scrubbed away. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know,” I said back, a sad smile on my face.
