Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Powerless
“S-So…” I started. “Does this take away your control over me?”
“Not exactly.” Gerard laughed nonchalantly. “I no longer have a reason to hurt you, but I still have the power to.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“As of now, you are my… my assistant.” He smirked. “I say jump, you say how high. Y’know, all that shit.”
I nodded uncomfortably at the aspect of having to do whatever he tells me to; starting to think that maybe death would have been the better option after all.
“So, Frank. You’re a smart guy, am I right?”
“Uh…” I cringed at his question. “I was. I mean… I suppose I am, but-“
“Good. How are you with computers?”
I’ve worked with computers my entire life. I ran the fucking database for my comic store for pete’s sake. I was the only 9 year old on the playground that could hack the Pokémon gameboy game.
“I guess so.”
“Fantastic!” He chimed overenthusiastically. “Your first task is to hack into the government computers and erase any trace of your existence. How does that sound?”
“Isn’t that sorta… risky?” I asked, trying to persuade him to forget the whole fucking ordeal.
“No riskier than leaving you in there. If they’ve got you on file, they can track you down. If you erase yourself, you may as well have never been born.” He grinned cunningly. “How do you think the whole mafia business survived long enough to migrate from Sicily?”
“But how?”
He grabbed my hand and led me downstairs, flicking the light switch at the bottom of the stairs on as we passed.
“So there is a light in here.” I concluded.
He ignored my comment and dragged me through a metal door to the left of the chair I woke up in only hours ago. Through the door was a massive computer; almost robot-like. Surrounding it was a counter-like desk, covered in various papers and pens and calculators. It was reminiscent of a science lab, in a way.
“Show me what you got.” He said. “Hack into this.”
“Um… okay.” I responded, hoping to God that he hadn’t picked up the nervousness in my voice.
I went over to the computer, looked it over, and soon realized that it wasn’t as complicated as it looked. It’s basically a standard desktop with a few more features, and a hell of a lot more intimidation.
“What do you use this for?” I asked, running my fingers along the various buttons and panels. “Like, what’s its primary purpose?”
“We hack whatever we can from here. Small businesses and personal computers, mainly. With enough skill, you can hack any small database with this baby. And this is where we deal with basic tracking and location tasks. You get the picture.”
“Alright.” I said, biting my lower lip and pressing a combination of a few buttons, praying that this computer isn’t too different from the ones I’ve hacked before. “Ah, got in!”
Black writing filled the empty spaces of the black screen. This is child’s play; here we have the screen that normally, the password would be entered into. But press a few different buttons, and it’ll wipe the function clean. A few more manoeuvres, and I should be able to reset the system.
I pressed the last button that I thought would have been the one to reset it. But instead, the screen flashed white and red, with text reading “Error: code 47090002”.
“You think we keep our computers that accessible?” Gerard chuckled from behind me. “Any rookie programmer could get into it like that. Keep trying.”
Determined to show him that I could do it, I pressed a few more buttons, which took me back to the main page I was on before. Again, black text filled the screen space, and I carefully looked it over in search of any possible pattern or clue. Many small businesses have a code on the main hack page, and only their associates are trained to find it.
When I was 15, I hacked into my high school’s database on a mission to increase my Law grade a bit. At that point, I was just starting to lose interest in my academic pursuits, in favour of art. I remember telling my parents that I was sleeping over at a friend’s house that night; instead I biked over to the school, hacked the alarm system with ease, and found the main database. The memory is foggy, but I definitely got to the main page and applied my at-the-time advanced math skills to get in.
But how?
I looked over the screen again. All I could see was a shitload of codes, all of which meant nothing to me.
“Frank…” Gerard muttered from the background. “I think you’re a lot like me. And if I’m correct, you know how to do this. Just think.”
Huh?
“Wait… how am I supposedly like you?” I asked, turning around to face him.
“You’re smart. But from what I’ve seen of you, you threw it away because you got sick of it.” He explained, avoiding eye contact. “I was in the 93rd percentile all through middle school, and then up until grade 10. That was when I dropped out.”
“Why did you drop out?”
“Bullies. Nobody likes the smart kid, but everyone loves the badass. I was always a bit of a people pleaser.”
“But why-“
I was cut off as he pointed to the computer, which admittedly I had forgotten completely about in the midst of our conversation.
So he DOES have a weak spot. He’s a people pleaser.
I looked the screen up and down a few more times, searching for anything that could lead me to a solution.
“And if I’m correct, you know how to do this. Just think.”
Wait. Binary.
“Gerard!” I exclaimed. “I-I need a decoder of some sort.”
He smiled, nodded his head slightly, then reached into his pocket and handed me a small binary conversion calculator. I typed in the applicable number series, and converted it into text, reading “SECOND CTRL FUNCTION. REPLACE CODE 19 WITH USER VALUE”.
“Easy enough.” I grinned, proud of my work. “Any registered user value will work, correct?”
“Correct. Use mine.”
I navigated back to the main screen, used the second control function, and then replaced code 19 with “WAY”. A couple of seconds later, I was in the computer’s system.
“Congratulations.” Gerard clapped. “What made you guess the last name thing?”
“You’re the motherfucking mafia, I don’t think you’re gonna be running around giving your name out. It’s easy for you to remember, but not so much for anyone you don’t want to get in.”
“Right answer.” He replied. “We leave tomorrow morning, but until then we’ve got a couple of things to do.”
He took me back upstairs and sat me down on one of the bar stools.
“Wait here while I get shit.”
What, no handcuffs?
He ran outside, and was back with a pile of various apparatus in his arms before I could even count to ten. He put it all down on the counter, and shoved it towards me.
“Right here, you’ve got everything you’ll need for now, until we hit up the main base.” He explained, slightly more eagerly than what was expected. “Pistol, gloves, self-combusting phone, universal key, acid-“
“Wait, you mean I have to…”
“Acid? I’m afraid so.” He said. “You chose this, not me.”
My heart pounded inside my chest. I dreaded having to do the whole acid thing again. One finger was bad enough; I can’t imagine what ten will be like.
Looking back, it wasn’t exactly easy watching Gerard doing it, either. And we weren’t even partners-in-crime – so to speak – back then.
“You should probably go do that now.” He said, pointing over to the bathrooms. “The fewer fingerprints you leave, the better.”
I took the small vial of acid and held it in my palm.
“Go, you know what to do.”
Shuddering with fear, I got up and forced myself through the squeaky bathroom door. I looked at myself through the dirty mirror, and I was surprised at how bad I looked.
How does Gerard keep himself looking semi-decent?
After a few minutes of procrastination, staring at my reflection, I undid the vial and poured its contents onto the countertop. It formed a puddle on the dust-padded tile, and I watched in horror as it bubbled and started to melt away a bit of the surface.
Just do it. You’re only making it worse for yourself.
In one smooth motion, I pushed my fingers down into the puddle. The searing pain coursed through my fingers, up my arms, and right into my heart; it was like being in that fucking hotel all over again. Tears streamed down my face, and I barely even heard my own cries and screams over the deafening knowledge that not only had I just burned my own skin off, but I was now in the fucking mafia. And it was more real than ever.
The pain calmed down slowly, and I heard the bathroom door creak open. A timid-faced Gerard appeared and came in.
“Sorry you have to do this.” He muttered.
“Why do you care now? You were the one who fucking did this to me before I even had to!” I whimpered. “I don’t understand you.”
He didn’t respond. But his arms were soon wrapped around me; my head resting on his broad chest.
I’m mad at him. I swear it. He pisses me the fuck off, and he’s terrifying as hell.
I say that I don’t understand him, but I’m starting to think that maybe I do. It’s just myself that I don’t understand.
“Not exactly.” Gerard laughed nonchalantly. “I no longer have a reason to hurt you, but I still have the power to.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“As of now, you are my… my assistant.” He smirked. “I say jump, you say how high. Y’know, all that shit.”
I nodded uncomfortably at the aspect of having to do whatever he tells me to; starting to think that maybe death would have been the better option after all.
“So, Frank. You’re a smart guy, am I right?”
“Uh…” I cringed at his question. “I was. I mean… I suppose I am, but-“
“Good. How are you with computers?”
I’ve worked with computers my entire life. I ran the fucking database for my comic store for pete’s sake. I was the only 9 year old on the playground that could hack the Pokémon gameboy game.
“I guess so.”
“Fantastic!” He chimed overenthusiastically. “Your first task is to hack into the government computers and erase any trace of your existence. How does that sound?”
“Isn’t that sorta… risky?” I asked, trying to persuade him to forget the whole fucking ordeal.
“No riskier than leaving you in there. If they’ve got you on file, they can track you down. If you erase yourself, you may as well have never been born.” He grinned cunningly. “How do you think the whole mafia business survived long enough to migrate from Sicily?”
“But how?”
He grabbed my hand and led me downstairs, flicking the light switch at the bottom of the stairs on as we passed.
“So there is a light in here.” I concluded.
He ignored my comment and dragged me through a metal door to the left of the chair I woke up in only hours ago. Through the door was a massive computer; almost robot-like. Surrounding it was a counter-like desk, covered in various papers and pens and calculators. It was reminiscent of a science lab, in a way.
“Show me what you got.” He said. “Hack into this.”
“Um… okay.” I responded, hoping to God that he hadn’t picked up the nervousness in my voice.
I went over to the computer, looked it over, and soon realized that it wasn’t as complicated as it looked. It’s basically a standard desktop with a few more features, and a hell of a lot more intimidation.
“What do you use this for?” I asked, running my fingers along the various buttons and panels. “Like, what’s its primary purpose?”
“We hack whatever we can from here. Small businesses and personal computers, mainly. With enough skill, you can hack any small database with this baby. And this is where we deal with basic tracking and location tasks. You get the picture.”
“Alright.” I said, biting my lower lip and pressing a combination of a few buttons, praying that this computer isn’t too different from the ones I’ve hacked before. “Ah, got in!”
Black writing filled the empty spaces of the black screen. This is child’s play; here we have the screen that normally, the password would be entered into. But press a few different buttons, and it’ll wipe the function clean. A few more manoeuvres, and I should be able to reset the system.
I pressed the last button that I thought would have been the one to reset it. But instead, the screen flashed white and red, with text reading “Error: code 47090002”.
“You think we keep our computers that accessible?” Gerard chuckled from behind me. “Any rookie programmer could get into it like that. Keep trying.”
Determined to show him that I could do it, I pressed a few more buttons, which took me back to the main page I was on before. Again, black text filled the screen space, and I carefully looked it over in search of any possible pattern or clue. Many small businesses have a code on the main hack page, and only their associates are trained to find it.
When I was 15, I hacked into my high school’s database on a mission to increase my Law grade a bit. At that point, I was just starting to lose interest in my academic pursuits, in favour of art. I remember telling my parents that I was sleeping over at a friend’s house that night; instead I biked over to the school, hacked the alarm system with ease, and found the main database. The memory is foggy, but I definitely got to the main page and applied my at-the-time advanced math skills to get in.
But how?
I looked over the screen again. All I could see was a shitload of codes, all of which meant nothing to me.
“Frank…” Gerard muttered from the background. “I think you’re a lot like me. And if I’m correct, you know how to do this. Just think.”
Huh?
“Wait… how am I supposedly like you?” I asked, turning around to face him.
“You’re smart. But from what I’ve seen of you, you threw it away because you got sick of it.” He explained, avoiding eye contact. “I was in the 93rd percentile all through middle school, and then up until grade 10. That was when I dropped out.”
“Why did you drop out?”
“Bullies. Nobody likes the smart kid, but everyone loves the badass. I was always a bit of a people pleaser.”
“But why-“
I was cut off as he pointed to the computer, which admittedly I had forgotten completely about in the midst of our conversation.
So he DOES have a weak spot. He’s a people pleaser.
I looked the screen up and down a few more times, searching for anything that could lead me to a solution.
“And if I’m correct, you know how to do this. Just think.”
Wait. Binary.
“Gerard!” I exclaimed. “I-I need a decoder of some sort.”
He smiled, nodded his head slightly, then reached into his pocket and handed me a small binary conversion calculator. I typed in the applicable number series, and converted it into text, reading “SECOND CTRL FUNCTION. REPLACE CODE 19 WITH USER VALUE”.
“Easy enough.” I grinned, proud of my work. “Any registered user value will work, correct?”
“Correct. Use mine.”
I navigated back to the main screen, used the second control function, and then replaced code 19 with “WAY”. A couple of seconds later, I was in the computer’s system.
“Congratulations.” Gerard clapped. “What made you guess the last name thing?”
“You’re the motherfucking mafia, I don’t think you’re gonna be running around giving your name out. It’s easy for you to remember, but not so much for anyone you don’t want to get in.”
“Right answer.” He replied. “We leave tomorrow morning, but until then we’ve got a couple of things to do.”
He took me back upstairs and sat me down on one of the bar stools.
“Wait here while I get shit.”
What, no handcuffs?
He ran outside, and was back with a pile of various apparatus in his arms before I could even count to ten. He put it all down on the counter, and shoved it towards me.
“Right here, you’ve got everything you’ll need for now, until we hit up the main base.” He explained, slightly more eagerly than what was expected. “Pistol, gloves, self-combusting phone, universal key, acid-“
“Wait, you mean I have to…”
“Acid? I’m afraid so.” He said. “You chose this, not me.”
My heart pounded inside my chest. I dreaded having to do the whole acid thing again. One finger was bad enough; I can’t imagine what ten will be like.
Looking back, it wasn’t exactly easy watching Gerard doing it, either. And we weren’t even partners-in-crime – so to speak – back then.
“You should probably go do that now.” He said, pointing over to the bathrooms. “The fewer fingerprints you leave, the better.”
I took the small vial of acid and held it in my palm.
“Go, you know what to do.”
Shuddering with fear, I got up and forced myself through the squeaky bathroom door. I looked at myself through the dirty mirror, and I was surprised at how bad I looked.
How does Gerard keep himself looking semi-decent?
After a few minutes of procrastination, staring at my reflection, I undid the vial and poured its contents onto the countertop. It formed a puddle on the dust-padded tile, and I watched in horror as it bubbled and started to melt away a bit of the surface.
Just do it. You’re only making it worse for yourself.
In one smooth motion, I pushed my fingers down into the puddle. The searing pain coursed through my fingers, up my arms, and right into my heart; it was like being in that fucking hotel all over again. Tears streamed down my face, and I barely even heard my own cries and screams over the deafening knowledge that not only had I just burned my own skin off, but I was now in the fucking mafia. And it was more real than ever.
The pain calmed down slowly, and I heard the bathroom door creak open. A timid-faced Gerard appeared and came in.
“Sorry you have to do this.” He muttered.
“Why do you care now? You were the one who fucking did this to me before I even had to!” I whimpered. “I don’t understand you.”
He didn’t respond. But his arms were soon wrapped around me; my head resting on his broad chest.
I’m mad at him. I swear it. He pisses me the fuck off, and he’s terrifying as hell.
I say that I don’t understand him, but I’m starting to think that maybe I do. It’s just myself that I don’t understand.
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