[TH] Phishbrain
The car pulled up and Agent Gore got in.
‘Hey, nice to meet you.’
The agent in the driver’s seat didn’t even acknowledge him. The car pulled out into the Friday night traffic. Oncoming headlights gleamed off the driver’s sunglasses.
Is it safe to drive in those things?
Agent Gore decided not to say anything. It was still his first week in the Federal Super Investigation service. The main thing he had learned so far, aside from the fact that all agents wore the same black suit, was that no one liked being asked questions.
‘Did you read the case file?’ The driver asked.
‘I saw the email,’ Gore replied. ‘You’re Agent Samson, aren’t you?’
‘Correct.’
‘And this is an investigation into Fishbrain.’
‘Affirmative.’
‘So is this like an evil sea genius scenario, or is he more of dark-lord manfish…?’
Agent Samson slammed on the brakes.
Gore rubbed his neck where the seatbelt was biting into him.
‘Ouch...’
‘You didn’t read the email.’
‘I said “I saw it”.’
‘Phish,’ Samson said. ‘With a ph. And let me tell you something. There isn’t a more dangerous supervillain than Phishbrain.’
#
Gore read the rest of the email while Samson drove. ‘So. He was a conman and loser who used dating apps to convince lonely women he was George Clooney. Not a very smart guy, the police caught him and he spent some time in jail. Then, one day, he gets in a freak fishing incident, whatever that means, and almost drowns.’
They were past the city limits. After winding through forested backroads, they pulled up in front of an abandoned-looking hut that backed on to a lake.
‘When he woke up in the hospital he discovered he had a superpower,’ Samson said, ‘Perfect Phishing.’
Examples of his “perfect” phishing filled the case file. Emails, fake social media profiles, sophisticated keylogging techniques that activated the moment someone breathed on the link. ‘I mean. I guess his emails look legit. The sender addresses look real.’ Gore got out of the car. ‘I just don’t understand why he is so dangerous.’
Samson powered up a flashlight. ‘At 0700 hours yesterday an employee of the arms manufacturer Blockheed Martin received a convincing email from someone claiming to be the company CEO. They even knew that the employee had recently asked for a payrise, and the email contained a passive aggressive reminder that everyone at Blockheed was a family, and families didn’t quibble over money.’
‘Asshole!’
‘Exactly.’
Something moved in the trees and both men drew their guns. Gore tried not to think of the last time FSI officers cornered a supervillain. It had taken the cleaning crew weeks to scrape their remains off the Liberty Bell.
‘At 0830 hours the employee retrieved a vial of deadly toxic gas from the Blockheed labs. This gas could be used to blackmail governments. Or trigger WW3.’
The door to the shack was unlocked. Their flashlights swept across a dusty, single room with a desktop computer and a chessboard.
‘If the employee didn’t happen to be a member of a union,’ Samson said, ’Blockheed wouldn’t have been monitoring his emails. FSI officers were called to intercept. And now the gas is under FSI custody back at HQ.’
‘So why are we here?’ Gore asked.
‘We traced the IP address to this shack.’
While Samson powered up the computer, Gore looked at the chessboard. It was an antique, expensive looking. Mismatched pieces were laid out across the surface.
There was a Post-it note stuck to the back of a king piece.
It read: “You’re move.”
#
The night flew by at 150 miles per hour as the agents raced back to HQ.
‘This isn’t even how you play chess,’ Gore said. He was looking at the quick photos he’d taken of the shack’s interior. The chess board was in a ziplock bag on the back seat. Evidence. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s a monopoly piece.’
‘Phishbrain is sending us a message. We’re playing his game now. Yahtzee.’
‘Why would he just leave his plans on the computer?’ Agent Gore asked. ‘How is he even going to get past the biometric scanners? Or the bullet proof glass?’
And don’t you mean “Check”?
‘Who are we to comprehend his genius? All we need to know is he wants the gas.’
Gore thought of the typo on the note: You're move. With a sinking feeling, he reached for his phone.
Agent Samson seemed to have no problem driving fast while talking. ‘You know until now, Phishbrain used his new powers for good. Hacktivism. He got a job as the head of IT security at a children’s hospital. He tricked Grimlord into revealing the location of his doomsday weapon. He even secured a date with the actress Jennifer Lawrence.’
A brutal turn made the tyres scream. They were back in the city now but Samson wasn’t slowing down.
‘Yet it was the other superheroes who got the credit for storming Grimlord’s base. Jennifer Lawrence escaped out of a bathroom window when Phishbrain didn’t match his dating profile. And the hospital fired him after he dropped a laptop on a coworker’s head. Because telling people EVERY DAY to not open suspicious-looking emails can drive you A LITTLE CRAZY!’
Agent Gore found the emails. The case files. They looked real.
But there was another email above them now, also from an Agent Samson: Where are you?
Oh no.
Gore looked up just in time to see the glass-fronted FSI building rapidly filling the windscreen.
They were driving straight at it.
‘SLOW DOWN-!’
#
Agent Gore was woken by the sensation of his hand being pressed against the biometric scanner.
‘…what…’ he coughed. He hurt all over.
Beep. The lobby elevator door slid open.
Someone released Gore’s arm and he flopped backwards. Agent Samson loomed over him. He had something big and heavy in his hands.
‘I really enjoyed this little game of chess, Agent.’ Samson raised the chessboard overhead. ‘But it’s match point.’
‘Thats…not…chess…idiot.’
He brought the chessboard down. Hard.
Then he stepped into the elevator.
Phishbrain had arrived.