Aspiration Station

Derek felt a rush of giddy anticipation as the TOR browser blinked to life. It never disappointed him. There was always something waiting, something grotesque, something to drown himself in. He told himself it was research and curiosity, but really, it was hunger. Tonight he wanted to go deeper, past the surface weirdness into whatever lay below. Some of his most memorable nights had been spent, as he liked to joke, “touring the sights.”

As usual, he made his way to the taxi, hoping to find something new. For the better part of an hour, he scrolled and scrolled. He thought he had failed when suddenly he found Aspiration Station: Your new one stop shop for Murder.

Now, Derek was a miscreant by all definitions, but murder was a whole different world. He valued light larceny, burglary, even a little auto theft, but he never could stomach blood. He had spent several weeks locked up because of his last stunt and was genuinely sorry for it. That little old lady didn't deserve to get punched just because she scared him while he dug through her jewelry box.

He would like to think it took him some time, a little soul searching, before he decided to step into the Station. In reality, it was only seconds.

He was met with a standard dark web site: black background with a chain link fence transposed sloppily, neon red and green buttons, half blurred pictures of... something. The usual. What was different was the chat box.

Before he could really take it all in, the box expanded, and someone with the username GrinningGutter began typing.

GrinningGutter: Welcome initiate. Please stand by while matchmaking takes place.

Derek felt elation. Was this some kind of game? He intended to find out. While waiting, he browsed some of the options the site had. There was an image board titled Sliced Mice, each thumbnail blurred and twitching as if alive. Another section was labeled Dynamo Dynamics, which appeared to be an odd leader board with monthly rankings. The usernames were blurred, with a flashing icon stating, "Unlock NOW for just .00359 Bitcoin!". It was all a bit strange, but then, what on the dark web wasn't?

Suddenly, the chat box blipped once more.

GrinningGutter: Match found! Enjoy.

But nothing else happened.

Derek felt the crash coming. He had all but moaned with satisfaction when he thought something new would happen. Now it felt like just another site made to rake in easy Bitcoin, nothing more. He was about to admit defeat when he saw a flashing banner, rhythmically pulsing away at the bottom of the screen. Curiosity killed the cat. He hoped he would fare better than that dumb cat. Happily, he clicked it.

To his utter delight, another chat box blipped open.

ImInURhouse: Hello.

Derek made to reply, but was stopped behind another pay wall, this time in bright green, flashing "Trial over, to continue, SIGN UP NOW".

It was obvious now, how could he reply without a username? Daunting as it seemed, what was a slice of Bitcoin for a little late-night fun? Yet again, he clicked, only to be faced with a rather lengthy sign up contract. It was grueling, but thankfully didn't require personal information. After a time, he was back at the chat box.

5FingerDizcount: Sup!

It sat that way for some time. One minute turned to two, then five. After nearly fifteen minutes he finally got a reply.

ImInURhouse: New?

5FingerDizcount: Yea, aren't you? And what is this site? Some kind of gore house for creeps?

ImInURhouse: Not so much. Last partner was no fun. Had to cut him lose. And no, it pairs you with a new friend. Together you can learn all sorts of new things. How to really have fun.

5FingerDizcount: Well, what kind of fun are you looking for? I'm ready for some fun.

ImInURhouse: You'll scratch an itch. Just play along.

Derek was a little confused. He knew people online loved to roleplay, but this guy was boring. Maybe he should move on. Just as he was about to head back to taxi, his monitor froze. Now, Derek wasn't just a nobody. He knew to have everything squared away and safe before running TOR, so this had to be a fluke. He went to shut the computer down and step away, but decided to leave it up. When he woke up he may watch a movie, and boot up times sucked.

As he got up and went to bed, he didn't notice the script box running on his desktop.

---

Derek sighed and slumped into his chair. Another lousy night on the town left him with a cut hand and nothing but pocket change to show for it. The car he’d picked looked promising, but the guy was either renting it or wisely kept valuables elsewhere. Once again, the direction of his mood hinged on the dark web. He knew he was becoming a junkie. Knew it, but didn't care. The screen was always waiting, eager to soothe his needs.

As he flicked his mouse to wake the pc, a strange knot of apprehension built in his gut. He tried to search for a reason why, but when none came, he happily resumed.

Instantly, Aspiration Station blinked to life. That gave him pause, but he was jonesing. Briefly, he explored the site more. The paywall still blocked him from seeing other users, but the pictures were un-blurred. Just as he began to look through them, the chat box returned.

ImInURhouse: Rough night?

5FingerDizcount: Was it ever. Bad day all around. No one makes it easy these days.

ImInURhouse: Isn't that the best? The thrill of the game. Almost makes me teary-eyed, if I could cry.

Derek frowned, wondering what this strange person meant. Everyone could cry. Hell, he’d cried after spending a week in the slammer for blowing up those mailboxes. The threat of federal charges made him steer clear of anything mail related after that.

5FingerDizcount: Well, this is fun, but I think I wanna find something to get into. May come back here later, bye.

Derek mulled it over. He wanted to go back out. Someone had to have something lying around he could snag. Just as he sent the message and reached for the power button, the chat box blipped again.

ImInURhouse: NOT SO FAST. I have an idea for some real fun.

Derek bit

5FingerDizcount: Oh yea? Hit me, crybaby.

ImInURhouse: Want to play a game? It's simple. I ask five questions. You answer them. Then, you ask five and I'll answer. Simple enough for someone like you. Wouldn't you agree?

5FingerDizcount: Sure. No weird shit though.

ImInURhouse: What is the next line in the phrase "Peekaboo..."?

5FingerDizcount: Huh?

ImInURhouse: ANSWER THE QUESTION

Derek hesitated before he replied.

5FingerDizcount: I see you... What kind of question is that?

ImInURhouse: Not your turn. What would you do for a chance to make history?

5FingerDizcount: I don’t know. Depends on what you mean.

ImInURhouse: Think. What would you risk to leave a mark?

Derek hesitated. This was no simple question. It was testing him, probing for the dark corners he usually kept buried. A part of him wanted to scoff, to type something flippant. But another part, the part that craved thrill, leaned in.

5FingerDizcount: I’d… I’d do what it takes.

ImInURhouse: Spoken like a true pariah. Now, say I had a score lined up, something lucrative. Would you want in?

5FingerDizcount: Listen man, you're kind of creeping me out. I love money just as much as the next guy, but why do you think I'm into scores?

Derek sent the message, then realized he'd asked another question out of line. Not that he really cared, but he didn't feel like being talked down to by some dark web flop who enjoyed role playing as a creep. He decided to cut out for real if that was how it would go down.

ImInURhouse: Ah, playing hard to get. No worries. I've almost been sated. Just do me a favor. Keep this tab open. I'm working on something big. May need a partner. We can meet up in a public place if you'd like, talk it over. Sound good?

Derek had to admit, he needed something big. Having struck out the past few nights, he was open to just about anything. Only, there were a few problems.

5FingerDizcount: Listen man, I'm not about to tell you where I live. For all I know, you could be a million miles away anyways. Chats been fun, but I'm gonna head to bed.

ImInURhouse: I'm south of Cleveland, near Parma. I'm sure you can make it.

Now Derek felt… excitement. Fear. Both. He lived in Parma. This was too good to be true. A new thought popped in his head. Was he talking to a chatbot? Something designed to draw people to the site, get them to pay some Bitcoin and waste time.

5FingerDizcount: I read somewhere that bots have to admit they are bots when asked. are you a bot? Cause if so I'm done here, unless you can point me to some good places to rob.

Derek sent this message and chuckled to himself. If it was a bot, maybe it would spew some small business names from the area that he could case. At least then he could recover some joy tonight.

ImInURhouse: Ah, I've been discovered. Yes, I am bot57. And since you asked, I have just the place! Come back in a few for details.

Before Derek could reply, the chat box flickered, the site vanished, and TOR crashed to his desktop. The abruptness gave him a jolt. He stared at the screen, half-expecting it to come back. When it didn’t, frustration welled up, then quickly faded into a restless buzz.

Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, he told himself, it was high time he went out and made something of himself.

---

Four days later, Derek trudged up the stairwell to his apartment, each step echoing like an accusation, and fumbled with the lock until his knuckles ached. Tonight had been one long misfire. He'd scoped a tattoo parlor earlier, watched the owner round the corner and then chickened out when a kid on a skateboard started yelling at a dog. He'd tried to bluff his way into a secondhand shop with a story about being an inspector, but the owner had squinted at him and closed the door in his face without a second thought. By the time he finally shuffled into his apartment, the cheap thrill had curdled into embarrassment. He dumped his jacket and sat on the edge of his bed. Silence pressed in until he laughed, low and humorless, promising himself tomorrow would be smarter.

Tonight he planned on binging some Sopranos and eating pizza. After such a bust, he'd have to settle for cold cuts. He idled over to his desk and swept a pile of eviction notices into a trash bin. His luck was wearing out. Any day he'd be tossed to the streets. No good. Just as depression started the settle, he noticed the Aspiration Station chat box, pulsing with an urgency. Maybe his luck was about to change.

ImInURhouse: Suggested engagement: Marigold Antiques, Third and Linden. High foot traffic, late deliveries, lucrative occasional pickups. Human confirmation required for further details.

Derek blinked. Marigold was a name he did not know, but Third and Linden was in his part of town. The words lucrative and pickups skated by the edges of his greed. It sounded like a bot trying to sound human but failing badly, and that failure made him laugh.

5FingerDizcount: Never heard of it but I know the spot. What makes is lucrative?

ImInURhouse: High income records. Closes at 6 PM. No one watches it. Plus, it is a back street business. Plenty of cover.

Derek looked at the clock, and began preparing immediately.

---

Derek was thrumming with elation. Not only had that stupid AI led him to a literal goldmine, but he had been successful. Just like it said, no one was around. When he busted in the back door, no alarm went off. The cherry on top had been all that lay in wait. The owners had no safe, so any cash was left in a small wooden box under the counter. It was full. Aside from cash, he found old jewelry, silver, and certified coins. His backpack was heavy enough to make him grin with every step, each jingle and clink sounding like proof that maybe, just maybe, his luck had turned.

The bot, he thought, deserved some kind of award for "Best Source for Chaos", or something to that measure. Derek didn't care what happened the rest of the night, he just knew that he was going to put the bot to work. If it could feed him one score, it could feed him ten. He pictured himself on a run of easy hauls, each one bigger than the last, like the start of some half-baked legend.

He hummed along to some half remembered tune as he all but skipped up the stairs. When he unlocked the door, his hands didn't fumble. Most nights he bore the damage of a failed break-in or a lost fight. Tonight, he was a king.

As he pushed the door closed behind him, he glanced around. First, he needed to stash his haul. He usually kept it all in a shoebox under his bed. That, in itself, proved how little he managed to take. This haul would need an upgrade. He decided to worry about that tomorrow when he noticed... something.

A steaming coffee cup sat on his desk. Derek didn't own a coffee maker, much less drink the stuff. Instant panic set in as he glanced around.

He approached his desk, head on a swivel as the screen lit up with a new message. The coffee cup sat forgotten as he slid into his chair and saw:

ImInURhouse: How was it?

Relief hit him, as he figured the message must have activated it somehow.

5FingerDizcount: You are amazing bot! You gotta give me more. A few licks like that and I can catch up on rent!

ImInURhouse: Yes, that bag does look heavy. How quick would you want another?

5FingerDizcount: As soon as you can! I needed this. And what, it cost me hardly anything. Get to work bot! Scram, move, skedaddle. I'd be game for another tonight.

ImInURhouse: Not so fast. I want to play my game again. Before you resist, know this; by the time we are done, you'll never have to worry about finding a score again. Sound good?

5FingerDizcount: Fuck it. Let's play. Make it quick.

ImInURhouse: What was the first question I asked you?

5FingerDizcount: Something about Peekaboo

ImInURhouse: Say Peekaboo for me. Say it out loud. Feel it against your tongue.

5FingerDizcount: Why would I do that. I've said it before, probably, when I was a kid. It's just a word bot. You're weird, just give me another lead.

ImInURhouse: SAY IT.

Derek sighed with frustration. He thought, why not. It is promising another score. As he leaned back in his chair, he said, "Peekaboo."

Silence.

Then his bedroom door creaked open and a deep voice answered from the dark: “I see you.”