Monday, January 12, 2015

Flames for the Moth

One by one, the blinking icons in prime position on the monitor flashed once, twice, a third time, before blinking out. For a short while only one remained. This one, more than an icon, a 3d image built by a dozen static photos. A relief of a young woman. Before fading away, like the rest.

The information had been acquired. For all the resistance, taking it had been met with little struggle. And the file wasn't even locked. How fortuitous.

The true value of information was always underestimated, he found.

But although the icon had faded, he kept the render of the young woman. Her and her team had been everywhere lately, on every screen, in every message. Strange. So many tracks had been swept clear, so many trails removed, all for what?

"Remember when we used to play, dear brother? I was so lost, and you would always save me."

What was left of him sighed. He brushed his hand against the monitor, just for a moment pretending he could still feel, before closing the connection, at least, for now.

"We can't all be heroes. You taught me that. We need victims, as much as we need villains."

And he dilligently returned to his work.

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