#fahrenheithero

To Ms. Saxon, upon 120:00:00, your laptop should have a new text file on the desktop. It'll keep replicating until you access the account listed inside in, containing one fourth of my ill-gotten wealth. Probably a drop in the ocean for you, but one could never have too much money. Also the anatomically correct plastic skeleton in my room is yours; bought it for the sole purpose of giving it to you in the event of my eventual death - can't say I'm not crazy prepared. Anyway, the last items I'm bequeathing to you happen to be on my desk in my room, all of my personally annotated programming books and notes. Who knows? Maybe with eternal time, you'll feel inclined to become master of life, death, and the digital. 

To Crispin Strathen, I leave behind a vacuum cleaner for the sole purpose of removing the stick up your ass. I hand-picked it on Amazon Online for the steaming option too - hope you enjoy it. In two to five days, you should receive it at your apartment- depends if I remembered to renew my Prime membership. And if Descopera really did end up doing me in, I give you my congratulations. 

To the fairy girl Mag, I bequeath two thousand because I felt like it and a couple cans of this. Enjoy yourself. Have fun. "Hey Listen" people to insanity. Since I'm unsure if you'll be sticking around the Austell / Ausgang residence, the next time you start your pesterchum client, send my omnipresent username the name of the restaurant we went to and the date we went for the account information. Oh, and I guess you deserve to hear what happened when I discovered your stupid Christmas present- you'll get that if you ask for "Christmas" 

To Elias Ausgang, I leave behind a virus showing a hundred-hour rerun of Rick Astley and his greatest hits. It won't be coming today or even tomorrow, but it'll appear someday. Don't worry if your viewing gets interrupted. This baby will ensure you'll get your full hundred hours on all your associated devices. Included also are your fav dick cheetle wallpapers on your laptop and phone. Those you'll probably notice immediately once you get connected to the internet; you're welcome. Finally, I ordered premium cat food for Snowflake to be delivered in two to five days, assuming you're still at the same place we met. Oh yeah, and if the Admorsus ended up being my cause of death, I give you my congratulations; if you have control over my dead decaying corpse, Oppa Gangnam Style in the middle of Trifolium is a good way to add insult to injury.

To Everett Ausgang nee Austell, can't really say we interacted much, though it was mostly cordial. It's hard to think of a present for someone who has everything: love, wealth, and health (at least as healthy as an Admorsus could be by us human-nonparasite people standards). But lo-n-behold, I heard you had an impromptu wedding a couple weeks back, and since Strathen's government right now has less structure than a pile of dog shit, I decided to save you the trouble. Congratulations Ausgangs, you're officially married. You're welcome.

To Adona, sucks that we never did hang out before I kicked the bucket, and I know you're living with Mr. Strathen nowadays, so I typed "Star" into the Amazon.com searchbox and added the first five pages to the Shopping Cart, along with a bunch of star stickers which surprisingly didn't appear in that search. All that should be coming to you in four to seven days. Coming with that bulk shipment is the account information for any digital things that ended up in the Shopping Cart. Enjoy. (If you aren't living in Mr. Strathen's place any longer, please send my omnipresent Pesterchum account with the favor you've asked of me (location) and what you gave me in return (its use would suffice) within 48 hours.) Also, I did do one last automated thing for you - pretty small but whatever. It'd make it a pointless effort to tell it online though. 

To Jonathan Tarvos, we've never met, but you've always been a source of entertainment to me. If after all this you're still alive, I bequeath an eighth of my wealth to your personal bank account. Go hire some new peeps and show everyone the reliability of the Strathen City Postal Service.

To Petale, I guess I'm sorry for all the Mentula Verde jokes I made, even if they were all hilarious at the time. I leave behind a box full of dresses that I've accumulated over my life but never had the courage to wear outside. Problem is I don't know where you live or if you're even still alive, so if you send me a message with your address and the kind of car you got kidnapped in (sorry I couldn't think of anything more specific) and your phone number to my omnipresent Pesterchum account, that should do it. Oh, and if you happened to be the one who did me in, I give you my congratulations. 

To napalmcircuit, I know it was you who found the exploit I used for the Trifolium Broadcast - if only because there's only one other person who had enough skill to do it, and she didn't rez herself until months after. I leave behind half of my enormous botnet to you. Since I'm aware of the computers you've tried to track me through, I left the IRC channel and account information under an encrypted file called bigcricket.txt in those computers. Use it for chaos! (Sorry Flamma.) 

To Lulacroix LaLuxe, I leave you several Cory in the House DVDs and a slinky. If you want it at a specific address, just state the url of the person who did you in at the Austell Funeral and the manner of your death. Yeah, shitty protection phrase - your fault for not getting to know someone as awesome as me. 

To Kaiv, I have no fucking idea where you've living right now, but I had a set of premium golf clubs delivered to your last known place of residence. Also included are a bin of one hundred golf balls and several cell phone blockers for your use. You also have 48 hours to redirect the delivery to Adona in case your last known place of residence is a minefield or something by sending to my pesterchum "Adona."

To Swarley, I don't know where you live, but contact me with the words you said to LaLuxe moments before the shit hit the fan and an address so I know where to send these Goodyear tires to.

To Gavril, I leave behind a cheese sandwich and a camera since you're so fond of pretty scenery. You'll probably get the cheese sandwich once that Jimmy John's place finally opens in the morning. Camera will be in two to five days.  

To manoaltum, I leave behind a full-body mirror and a year supply of Poland Spring water delivery. Contact my Pesterchum with the date we talked on the chat client so you can set up an address. 

To the Orphanage at Trifolium but moved out of Strathen like smart sons of bitches due to the anonymous donation you received, I deposited a fourth of my wealth into your account because I like kids.  

To Flamma, I leave everything else to you: the other half of the botnet, the rest of my wealth, and all the random contraptions at the hideout like the anonymity device I'm so fond of. Go have fun. Buy some superhero comics. Get a day job for your superhero identity that you love since I doubt you'll have to worry about money anymore. If you do decide to get into programming, make Ms. Saxon share the damn books too. You know what. I'm making it a condition that Ms. Saxon has to share right here because I'm too lazy to go back and decrypt all these partial texts. Information for accessing my account and botnet are left in my safe at hideout. The combination is the month / date / year we met in person. (Or you could just burn the back of the safe open. I suggest not using trauma or forcing it open from the front since that'll just trigger my anti-police measures.)

If you happened to be the one who did me in, I am sure that I deserved it, and you shouldn't feel guilty about what happened. That's a joke; I seriously doubt you did me in, but everything, the latter especially, still applies. 

And if I never got to say it before I kicked the bucket...

I'm glad we were friends. 

___

That's all, you greedy fucks. Nothing else to see here. As soon as the countdown is over, this blog is gone along with my Pesterchum.

My advice? Don't be too hasty in following me. 

___

>> End of text file. 

>> Subprocess 2 :: Endcat :: Operation Electric Boogaloo

>> Opening Part 2 / 2 of Encrypted File. 

>> Sending to Strathen News and Television station. 

>> Sending to std_out.

___

I knew I was forgetting something - haha.

Anyways, for the rest of you morons still living in Strathen, this is my gift to you. Maybe you lot don't remember this because you were nowhere close, but the Northeast had a really nasty blackout in 2003.

Just the entire Northeast turning dark within the span of minutes. Utter chaos. Stupidity at its finest. The cause?

Karma. I'm just messing with you, ha - I'll get on it in a sec, need to confirm this with Wikipedia. "Digital race condition that caused the nastiest cascade of power lines in the history of the United States." Didn't help it was hot as balls that summer too. In short, every time a power line fried due to too much current running through it, the rest of the power grid tried to compensate. Needless to say, concentrating the power in fewer lines when all of the lines were stressed from people using too much A/C caused more power lines to fail as a result, causing the entire thing to cascade into failure. GG.

Now that entire thing happened by accident - no foul play. Oversight, they called it. 

Well, how much damage do you think someone could do if they did it on purpose? Oooo, now I see the lightbulbs turning on in those hollow heads. Really, I'm impressed. Really. If you don't get it yet, I'm going to do the very same thing to Strathen City. Everything from stressing the power lines to completely blowing out the power grid. Soon after the countdown ends, be prepared to live with no water and no electricity.

But this time, I won't give the power grid any chance to recover. You all will feel my utter contempt for this city as I take it down with me. Enjoy.

: )

___

>> Resuming countdown.

> You hired enough mercenaries for the operation, a good number of squads that were nothing more than pieces on the grand board that was Trifolium Square. Some, of course, were more valuable than others as each one had their own unique weapons, but none were queens or even rooks.

> In fact, the only queens you had in your disposal was Ms. Saxon and Flamma. And they already knew how to maximize their effectiveness on their board. 

>  Your opponent on the other hand had strength in the form of an army of pawns. But to assume that was their only strength would be folly. You are already aware of the technological advantage of the other side; you've been trying to reverse-engineer that technology after all. You were even aware of the possibility of encountering magic and Phenotypes...

> But it was the opposing side's computer expertise that worried you. Mostly because it was something that you could understand.

> If Elias's "Cricket" was participating, your own effectiveness as the King might be severely limited. It was your job to coordinate the mercenary groups, "recruit" unwilling members to the fray, and play trumps as needed. And Cricket could compromise that...which was why you were here in this police station masquerading as a middle-aged obese handicapped man trying to get into a stall with the help of a friendly police officer.

> You reach into your bag, its appearance occluded by the illusion produced by your "watch." 

Sorry for this.

> Before the police officer could offer a reply, you press the two metal ends against the man's side and pull the trigger. Instantly, the man went into convulsions. As his spasms stopped and his eyes glazed over in unconsciousness, you put your fingers over his neck, making sure he still had a pulse.

> Thank god. Now here comes the hard part.

> With a grimace, you avert your gaze and pull the man's pants down. You seat him on the handicapped toilet and lean his head against the brown wall. It was mostly to get him out of the way, but if you were lucky, he might believe he fell asleep on the toilet.

> Pfft. Yeah right.

> You press the button on your Disguiser and take on the officer's appearance. Locking the stall door, you crawl underneath it before leaving the bathroom altogether to carry out your plan of leaving some hardware behind.  

> Something hits you in that very moment, causing you to slap your forehead.