social engineers, August 6th

^{Kai Ima, [06.08.20 19:51]}

Could I do something like that?

The truth stands that course of action would not become me. I chuckle at my friends’ meddling, enjoy a game of strategy and shooting, and brainstorm with my brother, a shopping list of childhood relics for multiplayer nostalgia. My ambition radiates heat like the sun, in waves of hot rays. Sweltering, even as a fish tank’s aquatic apparatus gurgles nearby, I slouch into the couch. I listen to my acquaintances, agonistic and aliased, writing volumes with their characters.

Their faces I seldom see, but their experience I share often. Three times a day, three times a week, we bare our souls, to call out for support, keep a teammate in the pocket, complete the objective – otherwise, avoid defeat. Tune in, as his sound, a raspy exclamation feels like the lanky, boisterous owner fears the worst. The realistic first-person horror game he streams may play a part, albeit he grows less excitable. A sign his aching head holds priority, a pathetic tone escapes. The server houses something different for each member, from an audience for poorly attended recitals to a net to snag the stuff of our dreams late at night.

Deeply pitched, reserved, his voice mumbles and shuffles in shyly. A bashful musing about dinner options or a reflection on the correct choice of gift rings similarly, to me. Gone before I can ‘picture’ him there, I sense melancholy from his low volume. In earnest, she articulates, steps of certainty, the sounds that she makes – one thought following another, a constant progression. Her pace does neither race nor jog, but walks forward. Her voice proves the best answer amongst multiple choices, an agent of reason.

Would they say I sound similar to someone who could do that, seriously?

The bad egg of a plot to scam Bitcoin online via Twitter tastes like a guilty pleasure, a secret indulgence. I think of plucking two ice cream sandwiches in this brow-wiping humidity. Only a difference of desires cuts our cloth differently. I voice ideas to those around me for interdependence, a co-op multiplayer online, role-playing experience. The rewards will follow, not as it seems. Of this, I bore witness during victories in tight contests. How could Twitter’s worst ever hack come of at the hands of three adolescents? The sight of Graham Ivan Clark, in a booking photo offers a secure look, with a slight grin. His eyes pierce, his eyebrows lanced so slightly, one could shudder at the ‘social engineering’ his questions probed in Twitter employees. I cannot hear his voice. His accomplices, hackers and the like form their own community, where crime’s their only production. Cannot we create with the honest forgery of our wills, I feel as I listen to my friends online.