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@fvllensouls
⟨ nikhil parmar. non-binary. they/he. 30. ⟩ We just saw boudhayan "bo" pandey entering the broadcasting house. I heard through the grapevine that they are a hacker. Although they are a civilian, they can sometimes be skittish, manipulative, or even untrustworthy but I’ve also heard some people say that they were gifted, practical and quite observant.— niek. they/them. 31. cet/gmt+1.
threads // biography // muse
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who: Olivia & Boudhayan @fvllensouls where: The Tate Modern. when: Afternoon, weekend.
The gallery was a serene space, bathed in soft lighting and filled with fascinating pieces of art. The only sounds were the gentle tapping of heels on the polished floor and the occasional murmur of friends taking selfies with the artwork as a backdrop. Amid the silence, Olivia's large bag of crisps seemed to make an uproar. When she crunched down on a crisp, the noise echoed through the gallery, drawing disapproving glances from others. Olivia felt self-conscious and lowered her head as she moved on to the next piece. Feeling unsure of herself, she turned to the person next to her and whispered, "Is it okay to eat in here, or am I missing some rule?"
Bo called those they helped on the dark web who wanted to disappear ‘ghosts’. People who needed something deleted from the internet or changed, who wanted to become the wind, and who thus asked the services of a hacker. And as the Worm, Bo didn’t leave any traces, neither did they ask questions. But they were careful, a quick hacking of someone’s webcam or phone camera and they could figure out if they were in fact talking to the right person. You could never be too careful, too many stories. Their eyes scanned her face and they smiled apologetically. “I haven’t seen any files,” they said, as they drew in on themself, as if worried that any attention directed her way would come theirs too. “Maybe it’s the type of snacks that they don’t like,” he suggested.
Internal body heat could be a fascinating thing. Dante remembered when he and his friends were all children, purposefully heating themselves up, doing jumping jacks and squats, running in place to increase their body temperature as high as it would go before rushing out of the tiled halls of the school into the cold air. Skin steaming, making them look devilish against the frigid, cool colour palettes of the winter, matching the grey, lifeless brick. Then they'd imitate smoking their candy sticks with the condensation that spewed from their lips.
Sometimes the sheer change in temperature made them ill. Oftentimes they were berated for pretending to smoke when they weren't old enough to. None of it ever made it far into Dante's head, with his charming smile, dark eyes and coy words. "It was just some mischief, miss. Honest." With the false saccharine, covering his words in a shellac of intention.
All memories that burned in the eternal fire that operated Dante nowadays. He stood meticulously on the curb of the club, feeling the pulse of the bass line from the dance music psychosomatically pumping in tandem with his heart. He didn't pretend to smoke anymore, taking a drag from his cigarette and letting it swirl in his lungs before craning his neck back and spraying it back out like a dragon showing off the fire inside its belly.
"Indeed." He replied casually to the figure that had just joined him on the sidewalk. "Very astute observations. Places with a lot of bodies and UV lights tend to generate a lot of heat." Very dry, but there was a saying about a certain Captain Obvious. "What other insights do you have to share with me this chilled eve?"
Bo hunched his shoulders, an attempt to look smaller, to fall back into this persona, to not pretend he had better words to say, better thoughts to share, merely a wide-eyed local who had no home, no house, no family. How anyone believed it was a thing he always questioned: after all, they had been on the street for over a decade now, even if you were not intelligent, you learned to be street smart. Wise in other ways than intelligence. And Bo had both: intelligence and street smarts, a dangerous combination in a mind like theirs. A dangerous combination in a mind that kept growing towards their father’s revolutionary tendencies, no matter how much they tried to ignore them.
To bring forward an insight now, an insight into the person in front of him, it would suggest that hidden intelligence, and Bo did not give much to strangers. Unless strangers wanted a job done. “None,” they said, “That’s it, when it comes to my observations.” He shivered. “And all I can focus on, it’s really cold.” He looked back at the club. “But I don’t feel like going back in, because it’s also very loud in there.” Loud enough to forget everything.
When he told her long it's been since they'd seen each other her eyes widened in surprise. She hadn't remembered just how much time had passed, preferring to surpress the memories of foster care. It had been before she became part of the Jolly Rogers, early into her life as a thief. A teacher had reported her parents as she'd missed several days of school, which lead to a home visit that ended with her being taken away from them for several months until they managed to get her back. "Must have been around fourteen years. How'd you recognise me?" Her face still held a lot of what it did when she was a kid, family members visiting from Turkey always saying how little she'd changed since the last time they'd seen her. She of course disagreed, but everyone saw things differently. "That's good, I'm glad. I've been good too. spending a lot of time with my cousin. He moved to London a few years ago."
Bo nodded. “Fourteen.” It sounded implausible, even if they knew it rang true. What else, how much else. Years passed in the blink of an eye, before he knew it, he was old, he was aged. Before he knew it, there was nothing left of that boy who had once been alone in the world. Except that very clear fact: he was still alone. A child left in the care of others because nobody came to claim them. “I have a good eye for detail,” they admitted. Which wasn’t faked, because they certainly could keep certain faces in the back of their mind. A skill made possible through sorrow: to remember the face of their parents. That and the ones that were important were the ones they tried not to forget. “You still have the same smile, and a dimple in both cheeks,” they admitted, a tiny smile, nothing to suggest it was anything other than melancholy. But it was shared memories, not memories shared that kept her in their mind, meaning right now, they had no idea as to who her cousin was, perhaps with a look at his face, he’d say differently. “And you’ve never left?” he asked.
Yelena stared up at them, the curled idleness of their leg, the slight crook in their back as they bent down. They wore glasses, the funny kind that threw your eyes out of whack and made you look like a cartoon. They were a study in rapt concentration. A statue almost, if the constant moving of their hands didn't give them away.
Bo was absolutely in their element. They were even smiling, a half thing that was hardly there at all, but it was. It made Yelena's mouth quirk too. Bo was so earnest about everything, so intelligent. They knew things about the way this machine worked that Yelena couldn't dream about knowing. That was cool, she supposed.
"Built to last huh-" she nodded, mouth pursing. "-not that it's an issue, but how much as we talking for a space age machine that can do everything for me for the rest of my life-" she grinned at them, eyebrows popping for emphasis when she said his name "-Bo."
She nodded along when they spoke then, eyebrows flaring at intervals as if to say 'Yes I absolutely know what you're talking about and I have no further questions at all'
Only she did have questions. Lots of them.
Yelena leaned forward again, arms up and hands splayed. She settled her chin in her open palms and blinked up at them, her smile lazy.
"You really like doing this, huh?" she said, voice so low it could be argued that she was talking to herself. "-taking these things apart and seeing how it all works." Her head cocked to the side, and she stared up at them "-Why?"
Bo mused, eyes blinking as they touched another piece, hands moving to clean another piece, and another, a tiny pen to clear out the dirt, a small brush to brush away the dust. Machines caught dust, in small numbers it did not matter, big amounts however, they fucked up the machines. Cleaning them was important. He couldn’t believe people didn’t do that on the regular, but he also knew many who did not take care of their bodies either.
“Not built to last,” Bo corrected her. “But at least to last longer, with proper maintenance.” Which they figured… Yelena would have them for. If there was anything Bo couldn’t stand, it was machines that needed love, and they cleaned plenty of them, for a little money here and there. “A thousand? Less probably, I wouldn’t need to get you the best graphics card to play that Sims game.”
They grinned at the name use. It was not strange to be called by their name, the nickname that fitted them like a glove. Boudhayan was only now heard in professional places, reminders of hurt and loneliness rather than love. Bo suggested a closeness. And a shyness seeped into their bones, whether made or created, he faked it because it suited him. To pull his shoulders inward and make himself small.
“It’s calming,” Bo explained. “It makes sense. Machines don’t lie, they give the outcome that they can calculate, and they fit in a specific way because that’s how they were designed, and how they can work. If they’re broken, they’re broken, perhaps their pieces can still fit other places, or they are broken completely.”
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"I'm no scientist, but I believe it has to do with the amount of people in here. Body temperature, and what not," he's perched on the roof of a car, feet on the windshield which he feels is an appropriate use of a Tesla Model 3. Resting his forearms on his knees, Malo looks up at the night sky. Not a single star in sight. Not that he's used to seeing them. His family navigated between Paris and London when he was a child. He couldn't have been able to tell the difference between the two dippers if he saw them in the sky.
"I could be wrong though. Like I said, I'm no scientist," he yawns. The smell of marijuana fills the air. He's not going to try to conceal it. It's not like he's gonna get in trouble for it. The owner of the club, and the car owes the Jabberwocks a lot, and he's here to remind them of it.
Boudhayan wasn’t a scientist either, but had not expected that it would need one to explain the difference. They just smiled, nodding kindly at the individual on the roof of the car: rich guy, or simply someone who enjoyed the thrill of sitting on the roof of someone else’s car. He had to grin, figuring perhaps, they could find out this curious fact. And most of all: Tesla’s were so easy to hack, they wished they had their hand-held with them so they could attempt it. “Most certainly,” they agreed. “That makes sense.”
They stepped closer, fingers brushing the cold steel of the car, taking a look at it, though they'd already clocked the type from before. They’d never been one for Tesla’s, perhaps when it had started, perhaps at the very very start, when they were front and centre when it came to electric cars. But now, the idea of taking one of these apart wasn’t as enticing anymore. “Is this yours?” he asked.
Sofie offered them a smile as she shifted in her seat her leg crossing over her knee. She was about to respond when the waitress brought the pot she'd ordered. She thanked the server with a nod her gaze shifting back to Bo. "I hope you don't mind, I generally order a pot for the table when I come here, you are free to of course order anything you'd like. It's on me."
She nods in understanding of their comment. She couldn't fault them that choice, no one could be too careful when meeting someone new and she imagined most in their line of work preferred anonymity. "I appreciate you making the exception. I preferred meeting in person, atleast before entering into business, can help get a better understanding of the person you're working with. Especially when entrusting them with a product that has yet to launch"
Bo nodded. They had an interesting relationship with food. When it was offered freely, they couldn't really hold back, despite the gut feeling that it might be rude to take advantage of free food. But there had been plenty of times when there hadn't been enough to go round, when they had to ration or portion or simply acknowledge they could do without food for a few days. So when the offer was extended, Bo muttered a happy 'thank you' and opened the menu. This job would feed him, but he didn't mind the preview. So he ordered something small. "Tea is universally a sign of honest business," they said.
They'd never been much of a social observer, not at least in trying to garner other people's intentions. They let actions speak for themselves, and found that those said the most. Though it was different when they were playing their character, the shy version that wouldn't even dare to show up to something big like this. "I understand the neccesity," they agreed. "Given the project, you want to know if you can trust me, after all, it's a big request." And depending on security, an easy or a difficult one. Only time would tell. Though he was eager, and trying not to let it show.
It took her a few moments but when she recognised Bo her smile widened immediately, the happiness genuine. "I do, yeah. My bad. How many years has it been? How are you? What are you doing here? Of all places, this isn't where i thought we'd run into each other again." Namely because this wasn't the type of place she'd normally be at.
The Hacker smiled, glad to be recognised, if only because it didn't mean they'd already been forgotten. There weren't many faces from their youth left, not ones they'd gotten along with at least. "It's been... at least more than twelve years," they said, the realisation hitting them hard. "Perhaps the fact that this is such an unlikely place is why it makes sense," they offered, not poetically, but matter of factly. After all, there were fewer people around this place than anywhere else in London, statistically the idea that they might run into each other at random was bigger here than in more crowded venues. "I've been good." Which wasn't a lie despite his circumstances, he was making money, after all, he was self-reliant, that was all he wanted to be. "How have you been?" He didn't answer the question on what he was doing there, of all places, after all, technically he wasn't supposed to be here.
Yelena bore over them like a shadow, arms still folded, scowling like a big cat with a headache. She watched them fiddle with a screw, toss a piece of plastic casing away, frown slightly. Her foot was tapping impatiently. She was not a woman who took to waiting well.
"Bo-" Yelena began again, almost groaning in exacerbation. Her sims were stuck in that computer, she had a family of 6 depending on her. "Really?" she said, peering at them over their shoulder "-are you sure?" There was a huff of annoyance and then, the scraping of wooden legs on a wooden floor.
Suddenly, she was sitting beside them. Lower down, on an antique foot stool that looked precarious, at best. One leg was wobbling slightly as Yelena adjusted her weight and braced forward, elbows on her knees.
"You can just...build a new one of these? and it would cost you less money than going to the shop right now and buying one?" Yelena asked, an eyebrow quirking. Her attention was fixed on them, rapt with a sparkling delight that showed in her eyes but not in her expression "-How? Explain this Bo
Bo was in their element, too focussed on everything they were doing, and how they were doing it to be concerned with anyone forcing them to work harder or to explain themself. Bo was, in a way, a perfect figure of meditative work. Legs pulled to his centre, his back leaning forward but not dangerously so, gravity working in his favour.
"Positive," they said in response, as they pried another piece loose and cleaned the inside of the old laptop.
They noted the sudden nearness and risked a look over their shoulder. Yelena looked different through the tiny glasses, so they quickly refocussed on the machine. "Hmm, perhaps not cheaper than buying one from the store right now, but certainly cheaper than getting the one you have fixed. And I could make you a better one. They don't make them as sturdy as these anymore," they said as they tapped on the old laptop. "Certainly not making them to survive anymore. If you want something that can hold out a decade, you need a custom made." They carefully removed the touchpad. "I would get you a good price."
NIKHIL PARMAR as Harish in The Rig (season 1)
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who: Boudhayan @fvllensouls
where: its 5oclock somewhere
Sofie runs a hand through her hair as she makes her way into the tea room. Settling at one of the tables she orders a pot of tea to be brought to the table. She preferred to do business in her office of course, however hackers were a different breed. While code had a place close to her hear, those lines that hidden underneath the surface creating the beautiful mask that everyone sees, she hadn't connected to it like hackers do. The software and programs she created were built to keep people safe and while her people can find entry points hackers did it better. Their brains worked different.
Her head lifted as Bo walked in and she motioned to the seat across from her. "Thank you for meeting with me"
Boudhayan did not promote their skills in the normal way, stating out there that they were a hacker would only get them the worst kind of attention. So instead they advertised on the internet, the dark web was filled with individuals like them who were looking for work. On the web, they were the Worm. Known for barely leaving a trace, if at all.
Meeting people in public wasn't their usual gig, usually it was a request that could be done completely online, and Bo only had to hack someone's camera to know they were not being set up for anything.
Actual face to face meetings made them feel a whole lot more like they were in danger.
"Of course," Bo said, sitting down, their backpack between their feet. "I don't usually meet people in person," they acknowledged. "But I liked your offer." It was less illegal than most of the other things Bo got into.
OPEN STARTER
Not having a home meant that Bo could always be on the road, they had a backpack that held everything they could ever need, they rented places, clothing, bikes, and so forth. Whenever they had money to stay at a hotel, they'd make sure to wash all their clothes and soaks in a bath for as long as possible.
Anyone who met them on the street would not suspect that Boudhayan had no home to call their own, they simply came off as someone mysterious who was always typing away on their laptop and drinking coffee, and who was shy when spoken to.
Except at the clubs, when all their belongings were stowed away in some locker, and they had the freedom to move around without having to worry how far they strayed away from their spot. They were sweaty and hot and in need of fresh air and water, making their way outside of the club with a bottle of water - no cap - and took a few sips. "It's bloody hot in there," they said, brushing the sweat from their brow. "And freezing out here."
"I'm aware, and they're aware I'm here as well," he had been living in London all his life, and working for the Guardian for most of it too. People knew who he worked for, which was just as good as it could be bad. It essentially depended on whether they were friends with the owners of his newspaper or not. Know your place, and all that. "The Liddells are old friends of mine," he simply stated. Friends was a loose term to use for people who most likely couldn't stand him.
He had written quite a few pieces on the family's ascension to power, and regretfully had to cover events of their personal lives too. He didn't like it. Portraits were great to write, but this felt more like intrusive bullshit that deserved to be on the Sun's front page. Tonight also felt beneath him. He was actually hoping to write about more than horses and protestors tonight. There had to be something larger behind those doors. "Are you offering to help me with security or are you just here to take a shite on my parade?"
Bo nodded, though whether they believed it was a second. They didn’t consider any family or gang their friend, if anything, they figured if they knew their father had been a politician who dreamt of taking down all the corrupt officials and do away with all the gangs and mobs and criminals by making a whole lot legal and pouring a lot of money into social services. And in return… Bo was helping these gangs. But he was helping whomever, offering his services to government officials, police, criminals, and civilians. So long as they could pay the price he set.
“Oh,” Bo said, faking shyness. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to help you get in there,” they admitted, looking at security. “And if you’re friends? Would they not just let you in?” they asked.
At first glance he didn't seem familiar to her, but his face was mostly hidden by a mask so she couldn't be sure. She wasn't sure if she should go by the route of pretending to know who he was or stick to the truth. She pondered it for a moment before sticking with the latter. " I know a lot of people. You'll have to be more specific. Maybe take off your mask?"
Bo did as asked, removing the mask they’d almost forgotten they were wearing - after all, they always wore a mask with other people, a mask of pretending to another person, another personality, to please those they talked with. Their hair was shorter than when they’d been younger, less wild now that they combed it themself. The memory of brushing it the only they had left of their mother. “Do you recognise me now?” they asked, because for them the memories were slipping back in.
Who: Yelena & Boudhayan (@fvllensouls) Where: Yelena's Flat When: After the Event
"How long is this going to take Bo?"
She was getting bored now. Yelena could really only take so much silence and Bo seemed to thrive in it. They worked better when it was quiet, they had told her after she had done nothing but yammer on about her latest job. A nasty kill down in Harrow. He was a squealer, Yelena told Bo with a smile.
It was only a stupid computer, Yelena thought bitterly as she watched Bo tinker away with a flathead. I mean it wasn't like it was that hard to get up and running again. When did you last update this, Bo had asked and Yelena couldn't even meet their eyes when she mumbled something that sounded like "Dunno. Maybe 2014."
So here she was. wandering around her own living room, picking up little trinkets of a book shelf and inspecting them carefully. She had turned the radio on, half way through her wander and Bo had given her a look over their shoulder. Yelena made a face at them before exhaling loudly. She stomped back over to the desk they occupied and folded her arms. Peering over their shoulder, all of those little plastic pieces and gadgets set her teeth on edge. Yelena didn't like not knowing what was happening, and that included things she couldn't make sense of at all.
Bo didn’t mind old computers, if anything, they loved old computers. The fact that those still could be easily taken apart, and they could heal them, look them over, pick them apart. It was always a challenge, but one they were certain they could fix, because it just needed new parts, or it needed a good clean. Usually it was a good clean.
For regular customers, they wouldn't be doing this, this wasn’t their job. They were a hacker, not a fixer like this. But that didn’t matter. Yelena had requested their help, and she was one of the few he’d be doing this type of thing for. They gave her a tiny smile as they gently pried the thing further apart.
“I’m not sure I can fix it, not even with new parts… even if I did, it might not be worth it,” they stated. “It would be better if I build you a new machine.” They had their legs crossed, special glasses on their head, and eyes tiny from focusing on something small for too long. They were in their element, and clearly Yelena was not. “It would cost you less.”
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where: liddell hippodrome
who: open to all
Wandering off on her own she made her way to the table with the food once again. In her defence, it was tiny and delicious, she could hardly say no, especially since it was free. She'd be a fool to turn down free food. There has never been a time she'd said no to free food, it went against her nature. Besides, there was more than enough for everyone so it's not like anyone could say something to her and if they did, they could go fuck themselves. She was wearing a mask, she might as well make use of her anonymity. So there she was, loading up her plate when she felt someone's eyes on her from the side so she turned towards them, looking them straight in the eyes. She had no idea what they wanted from her, but she thought better to get this over with quick and then she could focus on the food again. "Is there a reason you're staring at me?"
Bo was never one to turn down free food, and anyone who'd seen him without clothing knew he needed it. Years of being in foster care and on the streets had left them with the knowledge on how to deal with hunger, and how to make due with little. Even here, they made sure not to take too much, not to look suspicious or out of place.
Yet now on their newest food run, they found themself looking at a stranger who didn't seem to be a stranger. They frowned. "I think I know you," they said, some of that shyness melting away. They tried not to let it slip away completely, because they didn't want people looking too closely.
WHO: Anyone! WHERE: The snack table at the Liddell Hippodrome WHEN: Before things go Absolutely Wild
It wasn't that a masquerade party was really that much more dangerous than any other formal event--from a security perspective, people's hands were more telling than their faces--but considering everything else that was going on, Ender didn't like being surrounded by so much anonymity. And even though Hector could have had a bit of privacy, too, the Prime Minister had refused to wear a mask. So now everyone knew who he was without having to reveal their own faces, and Ender didn't like that at all.
Ender wasn't wearing a mask, either, which meant anyone familiar with Hector's public appearances could have recognized him, but in a plain dark suit at least he wasn’t dressed like a cop. He hoped that would help him figure out what was going on. All of today’s complications—the protest, every fiasco at the racetrack—seemed like more than just coincidence…and yet, his team hadn’t been able to draw any conclusions. So, after leaving Hector in the care of a few trusted officers, Ender had decided to take a short break from his post. If he had any luck, he’d find some clues about what was happening—and at the very least, he wouldn’t be starving anymore.
The buffet table was filled with hors d’oeuvres and desserts of every kind, and as he chose a selection, Ender turned to the person behind him. “It’s crazy out there, isn’t it?” Every time the music stopped or conversation lulled, the protestors’ muffled chanting would fill the silence. “Did you have a hard time getting inside?”
Boudhayan was getting better at pushing into places where they didn't belong, like a worm they would find a way to be where the action was. From the race track to this place, they simply snuck in and nobody thought about asking them to leave. Act like you belonged. And Bo knew how to act. They made sure not to gobble down the food with vigour, eating small pieces, and rarely, while accepting drinks that they would later on leave some place.
The chaos was a great place to make some money, and nobody was paying them much mind, nor would they think later to question why they were a few thousand euros lighter and if the person who did it had been at the party.
"It is," they agreed, but they shrugged, their shoulders slightly pressed inside, showing off their shyness. They didn't look Ender in the eyes. They were just a regular bloke who did computer work and didn't like big crowds. "Not really, I just followed the crowd," they said. Which was a lie. "Have you... been outside?" they asked.
