Chapter 8: All I Want is a Nap
My face is leaning against the bus's cold window. Every bump on the road sends my head bobbing left and right, banging on the glass, but I am too tired to do anything about it.
Biology class took everything out of me. My classes in the afternoon were both breezes, but they didn't do anything to rejuvenate the life I lost back in the bio-lab.
"Hang in there, Arthur. One more day and then it's the weekend," Brooke says from beside me.
There isn't much room on the cramped school bus, so I don't understand why Brooke chooses to sit next to me every day.
The seats here are different from the public buses. Each person doesn't get their own individual chair, but rather, a wide, couch-like seat is supposed to be shared by two; however, they were mostly designed with elementary school children in mind, not us.
Brooke's legs are basically touching mine, and her hair intrudes over onto my shoulder, tickling my neck.
It's not as if we aren't already close enough. Brooke and her family live in the apartment directly below mine. During the summers, she would literally come over every single day, and it wasn't like she had anything to do. She simply lazed around on the couches, which she could have done just as easily in her own home. I am surprised her parents aren't at all concerned about their daughter dipping off to some guy's apartment every chance she gets.
To be fair, her parents are good friends with mine, and Brooke and I have known each other ever since first grade, so maybe there is an unspoken level of trust going on here, but she should still at least be a little bit mindful of certain things, especially at our age.
Or maybe it's just me being cynical, having witnessed the worst of humanity over the last few years. Ignorance is indeed bliss, I suppose.
"After the weekends, it's going to be Monday again, and then comes another week," I say, too tired to put any breath into my voice.
"Yeah, but after next week, it's will be the weekends yet again," Brooke says.
How can this girl be so optimistic?
"That's too far in the future to be looking forward to," I say with a sigh.
The brakes of the bus let out a squeal. I feel my body being pushed forward as we come to a stop.
The gray building outside the window is my apartment. This is where I get off.
A handful of people, including Brooke and I, stand up from our seats and saunter off the bus into the bright afternoon sun.
"I need a nap badly," I say as we enter the apartment lobby while breaking out a wide yawn.
"Didn't get much sleep last night?" Brooke asks.
"Not really."
"Studying for the test?"
"Yeah…"
Actually, I had to get up at 5:00 am this morning for the operation. The effects of caffeine last about six hours or so for me, and I didn't have time for a refill before I left in a hurry. I am barely able to keep myself awake.
We walk into an open elevator cabin and press the buttons to our floors.
"When are Mr. and Mrs. Pearce coming back?" Brooke asks after the doors of the elevator close, sending out a low hum beneath our feet and bringing us upward.
"Can't remember the exact date, but sometime before Christmas," I say.
"Man, that's pretty far away."
"Yeah." I shrug my shoulders. "I don't really mind."
"You don't get lonely?" Brooke asks.
"No."
"You want me to keep you company?"
"I just said no, also, didn't I tell you I was going to a nap?"
"I don't see how that stops me from keeping you company." Brooke chuckles and nudges me with her elbow.
This girl… there are other people in this elevator. She and I understand that she is just messing around, but what are the others going to think?
"I think Ashley needs more of your company than me," I say.
"Ash? Nah, she's out with her friends… or a club meeting… or a soccer practice…" Brooke's eyes wander off in an attempt to remember where her little sister had gone.
"Responsible big sis, eh?" I say sarcastically.
"You think so? He-he."
I can't tell whether she is being serious or not. It's always so mystifying with her.
DING. The elevator doors slide open on the sixth floor.
"Alright, I will see you later," Brooke says and steps out with a wave.
"See you."
…
I toss my backpack onto the ground and collapse onto my couch, letting my body sink deeper and deeper into the leather, ideally to a point where I become one with the couch and no longer have to move a single muscle.
I still have some homework left, but I just can't muster up the motivation to do… anything.
Unfortunately, the gods are apparently not on my side today.
A few seconds after my phone connects to the VPN server I got set up at home, it starts vibrating in my pocket.
Against the wish of every fiber of my being, I take out the dreaded messenger to check what is going on.
If notifications are coming through right after the VPN connection is established, they are probably coming from the private messaging servers, which only Hanna and a select-few other high-ranking QUALIA members have access to.
I can't ignore them the same way I can with homework.
I hold the phone up above my face and open up the encrypted messaging app Hanna created, and indeed, she has been sending me messages, quite a number of them:
'Arthur, you there? One of the CEOs we prosecuted, Hadley Kimmons, has been causing some trouble.'
Oh, great.
'We don't understand how he got access to social media. He should be sitting in jail and awaiting trial right now, but he has been publicly defaming us on every platform he has an account on."
Hanna attached some screenshots of Hadley Kimmons's tweets about how unjust the policing system is to rely on outlaws like QUALIA.
'While doing that, Kimmons has rallied up a bunch of anti-vigilante activist groups, and they started denying the truth of QUALIA's report, accusing the authorities of using us as a tool to reshape the economy's power structure. Kimmons, of course, seeing this as an opportunity to cause havoc, fanned the flames and began demanding for him and his fellow billionaires to be released. Do we make a move?'
She ends it off with a question.
They were from an hour ago or so, but her status shows that she is still online.
Damn, I guess my nap will have to wait. This is indeed a problem. Obviously, Kimmons's demands won't be met. The truth of our report is infallible. The police know that, the government knows that, and everyone who witnessed the nationwide crackdown on human-trafficking operations knows that; however, having a billionaire with hundreds of thousands of followers publicly denounce us is not something to turn a blind eye to.
True, he is now a to-be-convicted sex criminal, but we can't let people think QUALIA has the capacity to forgive those who insult us.
I can't bother to do anything myself, though.
While my brain runs around to think of ideas, I begin typing up instructions to send to Hanna.
'He likes his social media, eh? Hack into them, and while you are at it, his file systems, too. See if there are any embarrassing or potentially incriminating photos of him. Don't reserve yourself. Find the worst possible ones. Publish them all for the world to see until his accounts get banned. If you can't find any, ask Joey to photoshop a couple. Mix some cringy and out-of-date memes in there. Make sure that people know that this is QUALIA's doing, and that Kimmons will never be able to show his face in public ever again, not that he will have the chance to any time soon."
I send that big chunk of text to Hanna. Usually I wouldn't have been that mean. Simply taking his accounts down would have been enough, but this guy took time out of my nap. Unforgivable.
A few seconds later, Hanna replies: 'Understood, but what are memes?'
Well, I guess I now know the rough age group Hanna is in.
'Ask Joey. He will understand,' I write.
'Gotcha.'
I set my phone aside on the living-room table.
That's enough for today. It's funny how a billionaire sex trafficker with an army of radically devout followers didn't stress me out as much as my bio teacher Ms. Blanchar did, but it is what it is.
I don't have the energy to wait for Hanna's confirmation of her success, but there's no need to worry over her ability to do something as simple as hacking into a social media account.
I am just gonna wait to read the headline tomorrow morning… I think to myself as I drift off to sleep, cradled in the soft leather of my couch.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
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