Requisition by Ani Fox

Author:Ani Fox
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Action, science fiction
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2018-03-20T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

R&R with A&D

I pulled up to the house where Aidan and Declan No Last Name lived. They’d literally erased their last name on a dare and no one could find the original records. That’s how they came to my attention. They were completely outside the world of The Web, a couple of computer game obsessed kidults (a term they had to teach me which is short for kid-adult) who had almost reached their 30s but had remastered slacking and made it a kind of Zen art form. A&D, as they called themselves, funded all their fun by stealing software, mostly computer games and cheat codes, then reselling them via peer to peer file sharing sites. When last I’d asked them, they told me their net worth was something around 15 million in bitcoins. Neither law enforcement nor any agency had ever heard of them and they lived so minimum drag, I doubted anyone would ever discover them.

The house was an unassuming adobe McMansion in the Flagstaff suburbs. It gleamed in the noonday sun, a taupe and glass monstrosity with little topiary shrubs of some hardy vintage and a lot of gray rocks, arranged in a riverbed meets sculpted chaos kind of look. Someone had probably charged them a fortune to make it so artless. Besides their xeriscaping, a duo of outlandish sports cars sat in the driveway, daring the sun to despoil them. A&D traded up every eighteen months for new and better. One was some kind of silver Jaguar speedster and the other I knew, a Lamborghini Aventador, done out in cherry red with bumble bee yellow trim. Each had a plate with their names. Aidan owned the Jag, Declan was apparently now a Lambo kind of guy. The last time I’d spoken with him, he’d been tricking out Jeeps for survival in the wilds of Kaibab National Forest. Mostly he’d jacked into satellite signals and played games from the tricked out plasma monitor he’d rigged in his Jeep trunk while pretending to camp.

I knocked politely and was met with “Dude, it’s open.”

I walked in to a scene of utter mayhem. The boys were sprawled on the living room floor, their couch had been tipped and around them were a series of cushions and blankets. They were playing some violent war game on twelve linked plasma screens that took up the entire front wall. On the floor lay the wastes of war: candy wrappers, some empty and half empty microwave popcorn bags, something called Doritos Collisions that came in a five pound bag, and a bunch of ugly triangles all over the shag carpet. Empty beer cans competed with soda bottles, some little Perrier bottles that looked like hand grenades, and a bottle of Dom Perignon that had been wedged into the fireplace grate like a door stop. There were several pizza boxes also pushed to one side, a stray slice of dead pepperoni hanging limply, the last of its kind.

The brothers wore headsets over their dark hair, with big fuzzy microphones of safety orange.

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