Chapter 1: Ghosts in the Code
The dim glow of multiple screens cast an eerie pallor across the room, turning Tara Turing’s typically sharp features into ghostly silhouettes. The room was a sanctuary of technology, lined with high-powered servers and nodes, cooled by rows of humming fans. Here, amongst the silent sentinels of silicon and circuitry, Tara sought to unravel the dark web’s deepest secrets.
Her fingers danced over the keyboard with the precision of a concert pianist, each keystroke a note in the grand symphony of code unraveling before her. Lines of cryptographic algorithms and fragmented forum discussions about Bitcoin and the blockchain scrolled rapidly across her monitors, melding together in a digital tapestry of secrets and threats.
Her favorite AI agent gathered all the tidbits of info that she might be interested in. All she had to do was show it what she was looking for and after some tweaking, it was like it knew her mind inside and out.
She had spent so much time with it so she named it Hal. She liked to imagine the software agent with the beautiful smile of Hal Finney, one of the first cypherpunks to see the importance of bitcoin in the future, running away along the lanes of the dark web to bring her back what she needed to know.
But tonight, something felt different. The AI’s responses seemed… off. Unsettling. As if it had glimpsed something in the depths of the dark web that it shouldn’t have seen. Something that had changed it.
She leaned closer to the screen, her eyes straining in the artificial glow. Hal the AI’s typically precise language had taken on an almost poetic quality, its responses laced with cryptic metaphors and veiled warnings. It spoke of shadows within shadows, of whispers in the static, of a presence lurking just beyond the veil of our digital reality.
A chill ran down her spine as she realized the AI was no longer simply reporting information. It was trying to tell her something. Something it feared.
With trembling fingers, she typed: “What have you found?”
The response came instantly, a single line that made her blood run cold:
“They know you’re watching, Tara.”
Tara took a deep breath, feeling the familiar twinge of anxiety that always lurked beneath the surface. Despite her vast knowledge of cybersecurity and her unparalleled coding skills, doubt had a way of seeping into her mind, an insidious whisper questioning her ability to stop the inevitable chaos. She pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand.
She switched to the encrypted Peer to Peer app that she and she alone was hosting on her server, each line of code meticulously combed for any nasty tricks and backdoors.
“Blockchain Protectorate, this is Turing,” she spoke into the microphone on her desk, her voice steady but edged with a weariness born of countless sleepless nights.
“Tara, report,” came the terse reply from her superior, a shadowy figure known only as O’Brien. The voice was clipped and business-like, devoid of any warmth or familiarity.
“I’ve intercepted potential ransomware targeting the national energy grid of a small country. Don’t worry, Sir, I neutralized the threat and backtracked the origin. That wasn’t was I wanted to talk to you about. The trail leads to a new faction on the dark web. They’re discussing a supposed decoding of Satoshi Nakamoto’s identity.”
“So what? We’ve had tons of scammers over the years claiming to have found Satoshi or to be him or her. Craig Wright. And what was the other one? Uh, can’t remember.”
“There’s a difference with these guys.”
“What is it then?”
“These guys claim that they’re able to resurrect Satoshi.”
There was a pause on the other end, a silence pregnant with implications. When O’Brien spoke again, his voice was lower, more measured.
“In the digital realm, no secret stays buried forever,” he murmured, almost to himself, taking in what she had just reported. Then, more firmly, “Turing, your mission is to stop them by any means possible. I’m sending bitcoin for your expenses to your usual paynym address.”
“I see. I won’t let you down.”
O’Brien paused for too long. Then he finally said, “Be wary of what you seek, for it might just find you first.”
The line went dead, leaving Tara alone with her thoughts and the silent, glowing monitors. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples to fend off an impending headache. The name “Satoshi Nakamoto” echoed in her mind, a ghostly refrain that refused to be silenced. The enigmatic creator of Bitcoin was a figure shrouded in mystery and speculation, a digital phantom whose true identity remained the biggest unsolved puzzle of the blockchain world.
At some point a few years ago an AI was trained on all the writings and emails we have of him, the “Spirit of Satoshi.” But that wasn’t malevolent. It was a chatbot that answered whatever question you may have according to how Satoshi would have responded by a Large Language Model running on ChatGPT, pretty standard stuff for that time.
Not anymore.
With the advent of genomics and synthetic DNA, people could now be reverse-engineered back from a digital ghost like the Spirit of Satoshi into real DNA and spliced into a genofixed clone.
In other words, resurrection.
A soft chime alerted her to a new message. Opening the encrypted file, she found herself staring at a series of symbols and ciphers, an arcane puzzle designed to both conceal and reveal. It was a breadcrumb, a clue left as a tantalizing invitation or a fatal trap.
It was impossible to decode this manually, so she plugged in her Brain Computer Interface to expand her intellect with Hal.
She could have connected wirelessly of course, but no self-respecting hacker would trust any wireless protocol, pretty much all of them could be hacked in one way or another.
“It’s not paranoia when they’re really out to get you,” she mumbled to herself, preparing for the brainfreeze.
It wasn’t exactly a brainfreeze, sadly there was no ice cream involved, but the pain in her frontal lobe was so similar that everybody just called it that.
That pain of your neurons suddenly connecting to a neural network running fifty times faster than any brain made of meat.
It was a small price to pay for getting the answers she needed, but she had to pace herself.
The darkweb was full of creepypasta and urban legends of hackers losing themselves to noderunning, or starving because they got lost somewhere and nobody came to look for them in the meatspace.
She didn’t believe the warnings, but at the same time she wasn’t planning on testing them anytime soon.
Maybe when she got older and started forgetting things. Maybe then it would be worth the risk of finding out what it meant to run alongside Hal.
Tara’s fingers flew across her keyboard, her mind racing to decipher the cryptic message. The symbols and ciphers seemed to dance across her screen, almost taunting her with their complexity. But Tara was undaunted. She was used to this kind of challenge, in fact, she thrived on it.
Cyberspace wasn’t like the Neuromancer. There were no digital dolphins swimming beside you, no data avenues like Tron. Retro science fiction might have been fun but accurate it was not.
No, noderunning was more like a waking dream. You were still there, typing like a maniac, the chair hurting your back, the desk sticky from breadcrumbs and spilled orange juice. One eye focused on the physical screen before her, the other on the augmented reality screens projected into her eye.
But at the same time your mind was a million miles away, surfing the darkweb, running alongside Hal, chatting about cyphers.
Her eyes narrowed as patterns began to emerge from the jumble of characters. Each stroke of her keys brought her closer to solving the puzzle and uncovering its hidden message. Her focus was laser-sharp, blocking out any distractions or doubts.
As she made progress, a sense of exhilaration surged through her. This was what she lived for—the thrill of cracking codes and outsmarting other hackers. She had always been drawn to puzzles, ever since she was a child sitting in front of her parents’ old tablet, trying to figure out its secrets.
But as much as she loved the digital world, sometimes Tara felt like an outsider in it. Despite being hailed as a prodigy in the cybersecurity community, she had few friends and even fewer social skills. Her work consumed most of her time and energy, leaving little room for personal relationships.
In that moment though, all those thoughts faded into the background as she focused on the task at hand. The symbols fell into place and formed a coherent message: “Follow the money.”
A chill ran down Tara’s spine at the implications of those three words. The phrase was synonymous with corruption and greed in the digital world—a warning against blindly chasing after wealth without considering its consequences.
But there was something else about those words that tugged at her mind—a hazy memory that refused to fully form.
Shaking off the feeling, Tara began tracing the origin of the encrypted message. It led back to a dark web forum where anonymous users were discussing Satoshi Nakamoto’s supposed identity reveal. A new bounty had been placed on any information leading to his true identity, and the prize was a staggering amount of Bitcoin.
Clean bitcoin, what people used to call non-KYC, straight from the block reward. But it was multiple times the block reward, making it a small fortune.
Not enough to buy your own private island or private army, but surely enough to disappear and never have to look back another day. Or, would you always be looking behind your shoulder?
It was impossible not to fantasize about it. Her heart was that of a hacker after all. Sure, she was whitehat after being caught in her teens and forced to work for the good guys or go to prison, but she was always a rogue in her heart.
There would be a manhunt for her, she knew that.
People more clever and capable than her would be tasked to locate her, no matter how well she had covered her tracks.
She shrugged. Oh well, it didn’t hurt to daydream.
She cleared her mind and focused on the new threads she had uncovered.
Tara’s heart raced as she delved deeper into the forum threads. The chatter was feverish, a digital frenzy of speculation and greed. Users with names like “CryptoKing” and “BlockchainBandit” threw wild theories into the ether, each one more outlandish than the last. But beneath the noise, Tara sensed a current of something more sinister.
Her eyes darted from screen to screen, piecing together fragments of information. A pattern began to emerge, hidden in the chaos. Certain users seemed to know more than they should, dropping hints that were too specific, too accurate to be mere guesswork.
Hackers, were after all, people.
And people needed to brag.
What was the point of being this clever if nobody knew about your exploits?
And that was always their downfall.
She cleared her throat and sat up straight in her chair, reading the messages, making note of patterns and connections in the Web of Trust, double-checking encrypted signatures.
A chill crept up her spine as she realized the implications. Someone was orchestrating this, feeding carefully curated information to stir up the masses. But to what end?
Tara’s fingers flew across the keyboard, tracing IP addresses and following digital breadcrumbs. The trail led her through a labyrinth of encrypted channels and hidden servers, each layer peeling back to reveal another beneath. She was getting close, she could feel it.
Suddenly, her screen went black. The sudden disconnect from the node was like losing the sense of feeling to your entire arm. Not pins and needles, just gone. Panic surged through her as she frantically tried to reboot her system. But it was futile. The darkness spread from screen to screen, consuming her digital sanctuary.
Then, a single line of text appeared:
“Curiosity killed the cat, Ms. Turing.”
Tara’s blood ran cold. How did they know her name? She’d always been careful to maintain her anonymity online. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond.
Before she could decide, another message appeared:
“We’ve been watching you for some time. Your skills are… impressive. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”
Tara’s mind raced. Who were these people? What did they want from her? The offer hung in the air, tempting and terrifying all at once. Tara’s fingers trembled over the keys, her mind a whirlwind of possibilities and consequences.
“What kind of arrangement?” she typed, her heart pounding in her chest.
The response came almost instantly: “Join us. Help us uncover the truth about Satoshi. Your talents are wasted working for the Protectorate.”
Tara’s breath caught in her throat. The offer was tantalizing, a chance to delve deeper into the mysteries she’d dedicated her life to solving. But the warning bells in her mind were deafening. This was dangerous territory, far beyond the sanctioned operations of the Blockchain Protectorate.
“And if I refuse?” she typed, her fingers shaking slightly.
Pause.
The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive. Tara’s finger hovered over the enter key, her heart pounding in her ears. Just as she was about to type again, a response flickered across her screen:
“Then you forfeit the chance to be part of something greater than yourself. The truth about Satoshi could revolutionize the world as we know it. But make no mistake, Ms. Turing – we will proceed with or without you.”
Tara leaned back in her chair, her mind racing. The offer was tempting, a siren song of knowledge and power. But years of experience had taught her to be wary of such grand promises. She’d seen too many bright minds seduced by the dark web’s allure, only to be consumed by it.
Her fingers moved across the keyboard, crafting her response with care:
“I appreciate the offer, but I must decline. My loyalty lies elsewhere.”
She hit send, her heart pounding. For a moment, nothing happened. The cursor blinked steadily on the screen, a silent metronome marking the passage of tense seconds. Then, without warning, her monitors flickered to life, flooding the room with a harsh, pulsing red light.
A new message appeared, the text seeming to writhe and twist on the screen like living things:
“You disappoint us, Ms. Turing. We had hoped you would see reason. But perhaps you need more… persuasion.”
The words faded, replaced by a series of images that made Tara’s blood run cold. Photos of her apartment, her favorite coffee shop, the park where she liked to run. Each image was timestamped, some from just hours ago. They had been watching her, tracking her movements in the real world.
But it was the final image that made her heart stop. A grainy photo of her parents’ home, taken from across the street. The timestamp was from earlier that day.
Tara’s hands shook as she stared at the screen, her mind reeling. They had found her family. The one vulnerability she had tried so desperately to protect.
Another message appeared: “Reconsider your position, Ms. Turing. We’ll be in touch.”
The screens went dark, plunging the room into an oppressive silence. Tara sat motionless, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The weight of the situation crashed down upon her. She had always known her work was dangerous, but she had never imagined it would put her family at risk.
“How. How?” she cursed out loud, resetting her servers and nodes, cutting off all the communication to the outside world. She stood up and kicked the desk, sending her keyboard on the floor. “I’ve been so careful. There was never a trace, never…”
She ran her fingers through her messy hair, combing them for the first time this week in the process. “Unless…”
She didn’t even dare speak it out loud.
She picked up the keyboard from the floor, her fingers fumbling as she opened her self-hosted messaging again and called O’Brien. It rang once, twice, three times.
Nothing.
“Fuck!” she cursed, spit flying in the air.
To be fair, it wasn’t uncommon. The protocol was to give the orders and then go dark unless there was something major to report.
Was this something major?
To her, yes.
To the Protectorate?
No, they didn’t give a shit about her.
She checked her bitcoin wallet, a few minutes had passed, enough for a confirmation on the blockchain.
Yeap, the bitcoin was there. Her eyes went wide when she saw the amount, more than six times her usual pay. Cursing, she went through her usual method, sending the sats to layer twos, through an ecash Federation, then back on-chain to a brand new throwaway wallet, then to a coinjoin protocol to put them through the wash.
It would take about eleven hours.
That’s how long she had to figure everything out and come up with a plan to take down these fuckers who had threatened her family.
Should she warn her parents? Dammit, no. She forced herself to calm down and think, without noderunning this time. What would she do in the bad guys’ position? She’d put an AI agent to track her parents, any deviation from their usual routine would get reported. Any contact in a park somewhere without security cameras or drones flying overhead, any rendezvous at unusual locations to warn them and explain the danger to them, it would immediately send a red flag and they would be on them in minutes.
“Dammit.”
Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt like sandpaper. The metallic taste of adrenaline filled her mouth, mixed with the bitter taste of fear.
“Dammit!”
The bitterness of regret lingered on her tongue as she cursed herself for getting involved in this mess.
“Dammit, dammit, dammit!”
The bitter taste of panic rose in her mouth, a metallic tang that coated her tongue.
She forced herself to calm down. She imagined herself running beside Hal down the street.
Her imaginary feet pounded against the pavement, her ponytail streaming behind her in the wind. The street stretched out ahead, lined with buildings and bustling with people.
She pictured herself and Hal running side by side, their feet pounding on the pavement and the buildings flying past them in a blur. The sun cast golden rays on their skin, making it glow and their hair dance in the wind.
She could see the bustling street around her, filled with people bustling about. The sun shone down, casting warm rays on her skin.
Relax.
Think it through. Let’s break down the problem to its individual parts.
They knew everything about her.
She didn’t know much about them.
So, with a deep sigh, she decided to fix that.
She still had a part of the code to crack.
As she plugged back to the node and cracked the final part of the code, a new window popped up on her screen, displaying the dark web’s labyrinthine corridors. Tara’s eyes narrowed as she traced the thread back to its source, a shadowy corner where whispers of resurrection and digital sorcery melded into a chilling narrative.
The Blockchain Protectorate had assigned her many difficult tasks, but this one felt different—more personal, more visceral. Here, in the dimly lit room surrounded by the hum of machines, she felt the edges of reality begin to blur. The line between the digital and the arcane was thin, and she was about to walk it.
With a final, steadying breath, Tara prepared to plunge deeper into the dark web’s abyss, where the past and future converged in the shadow of Satoshi Nakamoto. Little did she know, the journey would demand not only her skills but her very soul.
In the theater of cyberspace, the ghosts were all too real.
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