0x01 - 2(W@k3y) + 366$ AND(B@k3y)
It was a day like any other, back on April 12th, 2012. The suspect, one James Ferrario, supposedly posted on an ancient bulletin board that he had shot some cops and to ask him anything. He stated that SWAT was about to bust in. The response “then who was fone” was not unexpected. This became linked to the meme known as, “Rustling Jimmies.”
The event caught media attention from news due to the violence. They quickly picked up on the Internet link. At the time, the Internet was considered to be akin to the Wild West of Human interactions. The bulletin board in question was already infamous for being a hive of villainy and haven for the vile. The ability to be anonymous on the Internet was only partly true to the degree in which one took such measures.
Prior to that day, the phrase relating to the rustling of “Jimmies” really had no meaning. It remained rather obscure until then. The aspect of which was in relation to the feelings of discontent or discomfort in response to something in which one had an issue. The standoff itself brought the meme new life that was already two years old. The name of the suspect relating to “Jimmy” and “Jimmies” exploded in relation to the cold, callous and unsympathetic forum from which the poster had linked the events of that day to the Internet.
It wouldn’t be right to begin telling you about recent events without referring to this link in the story. People couldn’t understand as they have issues comprehending the Cyberspace already. Back in the day, it was more a collection of “websites” and “blogs” consisting of text and pictures whereas now it’s services and plug-ins doing more or less the same thing. Immersion has taken it to a new level and the people who use it, do so for business, work or pleasure. Others who use Immersion, do so for quasi-legal, extra-legal and illegal purposes. Depending on wealth or connections, the degree at which one could Immerse oneself into Cyberspace varies.
Nothing really has changed in the few decades since this meme began. Having fallen into obscurity not being the reason for it fading from Cyberspace. Laws against Cyber-Bullying were enacted and “Jimmy Rustling” by “Internet Trolls” were targets. By far, “Trolling” was no longer ribbing and causing general chaos. It had become abused to the point of actually attacking anyone for anything with hope to push that someone over the edge. There were attempts to eliminate Trolling by others, which met with some degree of success.
Let’s face it though: Humans are creatures of habit. Where there is good, there is evil, and people on the Internet felt unconstrained. Freedom and Anarchy are not mutually inclusive. In the time it took for people to understand that there were no differences between online and offline, too many laws had been enacted. The Internet’s freedom was Cyberspace’s creation and shackle.
I began my investigation based on this premise.
The suspect of the standoff was the obvious place to begin. I was called to the crime scene at about one in the morning. Being half-asleep, my communicator began to buzz in my skull. I knocked over my shot glass and the bottle of vodka that now was missing a fifth. The groan from the person next to me was a gentle reminder that I had had an even remotely good time prior. I had picked her up in a Tek Bar. I sat up and fluffed my long black hair out of the tangled mess.
Something fell onto my lap and hit the floor. With the light streaming in from the OLED billboards, I picked up the cigarette between my toes and snagged the lighter. Switching off from foot to hand was the reverse of my present fortune. Nothing had changed between the past and the present with regard to a detective’s salary. No matter how much you made, you never made enough. I suppose if I cut back on picking up drunk girls to satiate my Sapphic desires, I might avoid another divorce.
Using a napkin to wipe the smeared makeup off my face, I looked back at the younger woman and poked her in the back with a jab. “Hey, you… time to go.”
She had red hair. I don’t mean a ginger. She had fire-engine red hair, the kind that comes out of a can of spray paint. Taking a glance at the nightstand, at least I didn’t pay for it… this time.
“Hey!” I pushed her off the bed entirely. She yelped and crashed onto the floor.
I took a drag from the cigarette as I lit it at her exclamation of the de facto and totally warranted, “What the fuck?”
“You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. Work calling. I don’t want someone I don’t know hanging out while I’m Immersed. Too creepy.”
“Story of my life.” Another drag of the cigarette and I couldn’t remember if I had even blew out the last one. Fuck it. I supposed I could have been a bit more tactful. She wasn’t hard to look at while putting herself together in a hurry.
“Call me?” She said, pausing at the door.
I arched an eyebrow and threw a pillow at the door. She had already left her contact information in my InfoCatcher. Of course, I’d call her back. I, too, am a creature of habit. Sliding off the bed, scratching my bare ass, I began picking up the bottle and shot glass. Pouring another shot, it was sucked it down by a pro at a glory hole.
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