One Big TrapAutumn 2024

Blood on the pilot door of the multicopter, inside the window and on the outside, smeared. Wincing in pain, unable to sit straight is Ahmed O'Reilly. Broken bone has torn through the skin of his shin and his pants. Ribs likely broken too. It hurts him to breathe. He is 500 meters in the air and the turbulence is mild. The craft he is in is looping the property of a hospital with no paved roads that lead to it, just a nearby river. The sky is blue, empty, and cloudless.

He is looking at the hospital landing pad below with a quadcopter on the big H. Its propellers are still. There is not a single person within sight. Not on the landing pad, not in a window, not at the entrance. No cars, neither VTOL(Vertical Take Off + Landing) or earth-bound are visible.

Call them again.

The clicks and tones of the call being activated hummed and vibrated from all speakers in the cab until a pulse indicated the call in action. It pulses its tones lifelessly.

No response from the desk nor from any agents at any of the other contact desks throughout the building.

Th-fuck is happening down there. Is this hospital populated or not?

Blood seeps through the wound in Ahmed's side as he tries to soothe the pain by sitting in different positions. It doesn't help. Moving his leg causes even more pain as the bone sticks and the blood pours.

It should be populated, sir. I've tried surrounding hospitals. There is no contact at any of them, not from agents, not from any people either.

I'm alone on this fucking planet

Planet Earth is populated with over…

(through pained anger)

Turn the fuck off!

The projected display showing all the exotic data the light multicopter commands continues on voicelessly. Ahmed eyes what little landscape he can see from his twisted position. It is the same as it has been in this spot for a thousand years and probably longer. Same overgrowth. Life unrestrained.

Striking rock formations, including cliffs, escarpments, and boulders, sculpted by glacial activity over millennia. All spray-coated with an overdose of black spruce, white spruce, jack pine, balsam fir, trembling aspen, and white birch.

Life everywhere. Somehow for Ahmed, it is a desert. He hyperventilates, calms himself, and drifts into a blackout.

His clothes all undecorated, faded shades of black, perfectly fit on a lean frame that is currently packing a well-organized and orderly assortment of goods into a comically colorful neon backpack. Out of a mesh pocket sits a water bottle with a laser engraved logo that reads North American Bitcoin Conference Miami 2014.

You've forgotten your medi-kit again and the emergency call necklace.

Do you mean if I holler you won't pick it up? You or one of your many friends scanning and reporting and collecting and invading every inch of the planet.

He opened a drawer immediately to his right, pulled out the necklace with the giant white plastic device with the equally giant inverse button and slipped it over his short, non-haircut haircut.

It's possible that a device powerful enough may be listening if you shout for help but why risk it. Every time you travel alone you take unnecessary risks. You do want to come back don't you?

I only travel alone, you prick.

To that, there was no response from the soulless, incorporeal entity that controlled Ahmed's home and was his sole personal contact. It fatigued him to talk to it. His energy slowed packing the bag he would carry on his walk.

He looked out at the early morning light, doubting his interest in leaving, and decided to leave all the same. He held his hand on the door as he closed it behind him for that satisfying thunk as the computer, knowing his intention, drove down the lock bars from within the door into their sinks in the ground.

Ahmed stopped less than a mile into his journey to pull a twig out of his shoe. Looking up, he found himself on one knee, in a surprise proposal to a wounded brown mink with a white chin who was perched on a rock looking down on him.

We're pretty far from water there, little guy. How'd you get here?

Above circled a hawk, tipping off Ahmed as to what may have happened. He imagined that that hawk caught this mink and tried to carry him away but this guy, being wilder than most, fought back and was dropped. He lives on.

You little champion. You and me, we’re both just trying to survive out here, huh?

You'll run away if I try to help you -- but help you I must.

With the caution of a man perhaps approaching the open mouth of a snarling honey badger, Ahmed stepped closer. The mink just twitched his nose, mouth slightly open, and half closed his eyes as if fighting a deep sleep.

He held out his unzipped bag near the animal. Ahmed had a mind to make a broom of his arm and push the mink into the open bag. The mink surprised him by limping right into the bag with no fear rolling into a curl and finding a perfect fit immediately.

Now I really like you.

Ahmed and his new friend started the journey back home by walking a clear path along an escarpment which hung over some ten meters to a drop cliff and another 20 after that. The treetops hinted at a false cushion if he fell.

A sliver of Earth, like a thin piece of cake for your Grandma's plate, loosened and fell from it's ancient hold taking Ahmed and his new friend down with it.

A patchwork of too-small padded bandages is wrapped around Ahmed's leg wound. He has torn off the bottom part of his pants at the knee, ripped it into a long flat piece and used it as a tie to stop the bleeding.

That's a good method to stop the bleeding for the short term. If it continues to bleed, as a last resort, you can create a tourniquet tied above the wound site. I'd also advise you to immobilize the limb with a stick or piece of wood to prevent further movement.

You fucking prick, are we in the fucking sky right now?

Yes, you're right we are.

Ahmed begins checking all the compartments that he can reach, most are empty or have single bandages or leaves in them. The fake leather interior is cracked and likely has seen many days with the cab doors being left open. The faint smell of dried scat hidden somewhere hits Ahmed's nose.

OK, it now somehow seems more likely there might have been a stick or piece of wood in here.

Not that I can see.

After the exertion of applying bandages, tearing his pants, tying them, and focusing on his leg wound, Ahmed lays back and does his best to not move. He sucked air through his teeth with every stab from his sides. He reaches for and tries to locate the emergency necklace that started this rescue. It is missing from his neck.

Why did I think this is a medical transport?

It is. It was reclaimed, refurbished, and transported near the place you sustained your injuries. A donation from the Musk family of the Northern Territory.

Do you transport animals? How much power do you have? How long have we been in the air? Oh hell I passed out, do we have wheels? Can we land? Fuckinganswerme.

Stay calm. I'm having trouble reading this craft's capacity, not all sensors are reporting or are reporting nonsense. When fully calibrated, a range of 553 km or 5 hours on a full charge is not uncommon. It has been almost 2 and a half hours since you boarded. When new or operationally this craft should be fully powered…

Wheels?

No wheels, or driving capability.

Why are we so high? Can we land at the front doors, I can't wait. This is agonizing.

I'm afraid that isn't up to me, though in one log record I can access local regulations demanding this height for queued landings. My code was loaded during this craft's refurb, most of the flight controls are automated by the craft and the designated landing sites, like the hospital we're above.

Fuckinhell

A fresh streak of blood rolls down his leg prompting Ahmed to twist himself to adjust the bandage and when he does, his broken rib shifts and he passes out again from the pain.

A family of kids of random ages from 10-23 litter the furniture and the living room floor of a gorgeous luxury home on a quiet residential street, in any city, anywhere. A 12 year old throws his game controllers across the room, screaming. They have shattered against the wall next to the head of the eldest boy who does not stop typing or clicking on his device. Not even to wipe away the sweat on his forehead or the broken bits of plastic on his foot.

I hate this game and I hate you!

Chaos erupts as the children fight and argue. An adult storms into the room and like a sea parting everyone gets out of his way. He picks up the child by the arm who immediately bursts into tears.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry, please!

Wordlessly, the adult takes the screaming boy down the stairs into the basement where the eventual pop of the handgun is barely heard.

The Eldest Boy continues his work, uninterrupted. The adult returns to look the boy in the eye to ensure the message has been received. He points to the display. The boy nods his head in agreement. He will keep finding victims. He will keep breaking into their machines. He will steal everything. He will steal it all.

Ahmed is awake and slumped into the seat and can only see upwards through the blood streaked window. The control dash of the mostly-automatic craft is rearranging itself. A classic text and video display, designed by some fledgling budget-AI, is indicating someone is trying to contact Ahmed.

His eyes catch the blinking reflecting from everywhere. He is perspiring excessively. The thought of moving and inviting another storm of pain is making his stomach turn.

Computer. Computer - answer that call. Activate the call.

There is no call. Without a booster for a satellite within range, this craft should have no incoming calls from outside this area.

I can see it. I can see it, it's a video call. Activate it. Answer it.

Ahmed, where are you? Why am I looking at empty chairs in what looks like the shittiest helicopter ever?

I'm here, I can't move. Your reflection is amazing. Fuck Im glad to hear from you how did you find me? Did my house alert you when I didn't come back?

Are you in pain? What happened?

I fell, I'm in a loop in the shittiest flying ambulance of all time waiting for permission to land at the least fucking helpful hospital on Earth. Can you call for me?

I'm not getting back any details on this call - it's like all the metadata is scrambled. Give me your home computer's passphrase and I'll try from there.

The pause was tangible and enormous, it felt odd, everything about it. Decades of working in tech, only in this condition - weak, in pain, terrified would he ever consider giving up his most vital secret. And that made him suspicious.

How are you calling me here? (to himself)

Gloria, do you remember the last thing you said to me?

Audible distortion of the audio compressed and decompressed popped, clicked, and was soothed poorly. With one last clap, the call ended and the reflection in the window was no longer a stretched human face but the same useless screen that showed almost no details at all.

The sound of the blades, the turbulence rattling the craft, and his shallow breath were the only sounds he could hear. With great resignation he sucks air through his teeth and pulls himself back upright into the chair. The pain is unlike anything he has ever experienced.

I have yet to make contact with any other services or the hospital below us.

Just as the robot finished its sentence, the main display lit up and the call was active without being activated. A gorgeous face with a look of concern spoke.

Ahmed, can you see me? Are you there?

I'm here, I'm here. Can you see me?

I can see you, it's been a while. You look good.

I kindly doubt it. Send a distress call to any emergency services near me - please. I'm in agony.

I can't do that.

He knew what was coming. It wasn't Gloria. A filthy criminal hacker got to him first. His throat was dry, it ached like an infection made from shards of broken glass. This prison craft was just old enough to not have a comms system that validates blockchain IDs.

Let me guess, you want something first.

Give me your passphrase and put your fingerprints on the display or I'll drive your aircraft into the ground nose first. Do it now, motherfucker.

Fuck you, kid. Fuck you and your crew and your failed parents.

Like you should talk, I couldn't find anyone believable enough to pretend to give a fuck about you, you tired old fuck. Not a single recent contact. Pay me or die. You have 60 seconds.

I can't even control this fucking thing and I’m in it. How are you going to?

The rotors on his side of the craft slowed until they stopped spinning and the craft dropped on its side 10 meters before the blades spun again. Ahmed is thrown into the door, breaking his ribs completely and puncturing his lung.

FUCKINGHELL. assholecriminalfuckingwhorefucks

I can see your heart is beating much faster than it should be. You may be in shock.

(agonized)

Its fucking shocking how useless you are.

Your caller is not who they say they are. There is a 98% chance that they are using a program to mask who they really are. Take slow, shallow breaths to avoid causing more pain and discomfort.

His skin is clammy and pale and his breathing shallow and quick.

I'm getting dizzy.

They're calling back.

The display lights up again without any activation from within the cab.

What is the passphrase for the agent that manages your house wallets? Tell me now or I'll fucking kill you and I'll make it hurt while you're dying.

You didn't do enough homework you fucking prick. Gloria was a duplicitous cow who had not one but three relationships while she was living with someone else who thought he was the only one. You can control this helicopter but you can't control me. Fuck you and fuck Gloria and whoever she's lying to right now.

With that, Ahmed waves his hand at a phantom button and the display changes and the call is disconnected.

//

The eldest boy is sick to his stomach while assembling an entirely new background for an entirely new target.

He works frantically to connect scripts and agents with orders to assemble what he needs and a graph connected with dots with names of people and relationships fill up his view as a progress indicator counts its way up from 40% to 50%.

He stops only to retch in a bin beside him. The smell is never too far from his nose.The sounds of playing in the house have completely stopped. Where there once was levity on the nearby couch is just a young kid so high out of his mind he’s mumbling half-formed ramblings, trying to catch a thought long enough for it to resolve fully into meaning. The intent of sentences that trail off into incoherence.

His adopted brother remembers him from before all this. He has no time for that memory. He knows who the next bullet is for. He knows who is going to the basement next.

His typing and clicking and sliding and pinching gets a little faster and the indicator counts its way up from 50% to 55%.

Your attacker has left open a channel that I can use to boost outreach to hundreds of call agents. We must act now. Tell me one person to contact who might want to help you.

You fucking fuck - why not look for the names of doctors or nurses or maintenance staff of the fucking hospital we're fucking flying over?

Those contacts are hidden from me. Not from your attackers, some other service is in the way. It is also possible this hospital is entirely empty. Tell me who to try to reach.

Ahmed sat with this news, staring into inner space. He’d never speak to any of them if he didn’t have to.

Reach out to Gerry Baittus. He'll be at a different company from the one we worked at together - you have that right? No, get Felix Aashson from the shelving startup A Tchotchke For You. People still like bullshit and clutter right? That one will still be minting coins.

The fake Gloria is calling back.

The display screen split into two and now the attacker wearing his ex's face and an old colleague are both looking at a soaking wet, bleeding, and agonised version of Ahmed.

Tell me now or die.

Hel-lo?

Felix, please call me an emergency drone. I'm broken and bleeding. Two hours north of the retreat we took with your first startup. Remember? I don't have time to explain.

Wait... what? What is this shit? I haven't heard from you in 9 years. Remember? I caught you banging my girlfriend. Ringabell, you cunt?

Please, I'm dying, please help me.

Why can't you call one yourself? You're not on the moon for chrissakes.

Identity thieves trying to get my staked Bonk. I can’t tell you where I am.

I know where you are, motherfucker.

Gloria?! Is this a fucking joke? I'm out.

Felix disconnected his call and the display adjusted to put the AI generated fake Gloria back in the center view.

Goddammit fuck, Get him back! Get him back. Send a text - send a robot waving fucking nautical flags…

No one left. You've been a selfish prick your entire life and you're aging and alone out in the woods and sad and fuck you give me my money.

Blood runs out of Ahmed's leg wound, soaking his foot and the foot mat under his seat looking like a butcher shop apron at the end of an 18 hour shift. He tries to look away. He sees himself getting paler in the reflection of the cab window. A ghost reflecting back on itself.

I'm going to die here. And the only creature I want to see right now is a feisty mink with a white chin.

Flying through the air, cracking its way through the high branches of trees, is a brightly coloured bag, weighted with a first aid kit, assorted outdoorsy detritus, and a confused mink on his second trip through the sky that day.

The bag catches on the very thin crown of a white pine. The speed and weight of it pulls the tree toward the ground, slowing descent and depositing the bag two feet from the ground where it drops harmlessly before the tree launches back up to its preferred place in the world.

Our hero the mink noses his way out of the bag's zipped opening simultaneously pushing apart the threads of the zipper and leveraging his slinky body. Now free of the bag, he sets out, with one good front paw, some bruising and scratches and a relentless determination to get back to his river.

A new level of turbulence rattles the craft, things that shouldn't be loose, sound loose and getting looser.

How much time left? Computer, how long are we up in the air for?

We could have as long as 15 minutes.

No one can help you. Give me the phrase.

I can't count how many years I spent sickened by the people I worked for and with. How many mindless fucking campaigns dreamed up by the well-funded and under-experienced VCs driven by coke and fame. How many pointless fucking meetings. How many managers of managers. How many stupid fucking ideas I had to build into software because I couldn't handle my dad's constant immigrant beratement of never being fucking enough. How much fucking contempt from his wife for the attention he gave me and the money when I went broke. I took it all on and year after year fought to work, fought to exist, fought to just pay bills and you, you bloodsucking cow-faced whore - you think I'm going to give you my peace? my freedom? Fuck you, fuck you and your criminal cunt friends who raked through the detritus of my life and…

Ahmed paused. He'd worn himself out with his fury. It had exhausted him to remember how little he wanted life. How little he left behind when he moved to the northern woods.

All done?

My life is a nightmare but at least it's mine. I'll be fucked if I give in now.

Too bad.

I hope I come back as a mink.

One by one, each of the four blades slowed and stopped and the craft that saved Ahmed from one decent became the craft that dropped him to his death. It fell and fell and the Earth hurtled up towards it. The impact of their meeting witnessed slowly was a spectacular cacophony of broken vehicle, thrown Earth, river water and riverbed grain.

By the time the mink arrived at his burrow the sun was descending in the western sky. Having only caught a frog or two on his way home, he was tired and sore and moving slower than he normally would.

He sniffed around and recognized everything except the giant mess of machinery broken in a colossal mess right on top of his beloved burrow. It had taken him weeks to build out that burrow. There was food in it. There were memories.

Investigating possible ways into his burrow from within the mess, he came across a familiar scent from earlier in the day. He found a hand attached to a bloody mess. He sniffed around it, stood up on his back legs for a second to better see if the crushed skull and dead eyes might suddenly become a threat.

A quick nibble.

These digits taste fine. Just fine. The mink began to bite and tear at the soft flesh of the hand.

Above the grisly scene, high up, is a faltering, aged, emergency multicopter. It loops the hospital in a queue that has another, and further than that another, and further away still another craft flying above it.

The End