Episode 2: The Narrative

Alexandra Alejo

Episodes: 1 | 2 | 3

Dec 31, 1999 - 11:50 p.m.

Thirty-something Alexandra Alejo (Xandra) sat at her desk, poring over notes for her next big story. Right in the middle of her research, the computer screen glitched, and the mouse stopped working, completely breaking the flow.

Xandra fiddled with the mouse, checked the connections, and then resigned to the fact that her computer had frozen. It was old—there were bigger fish to fry.

Still, just in case…

“Screw it.”

Xandra rebooted the machine. Gathering her long brown hair into a ponytail, she twisted it tight into a bun and found a pencil to use as a fastener.

Jan 1, 2000 - 12:00 a.m.

Even as she prepped to finish the piece by hand, which she’d been working on for weeks, Xandra wondered what was taking so long for the system to start back up. Once it did, digital noise and a stream of zeros and ones filled the screen.

Xandra leaned back in her chair, taking in the scene. The same sequence repeated for a few seconds, then another started.

Xandra looked at the clock, blinking like it needed a reset.

“What the actual hell?”

After a moment of staring blankly into space, Xandra sprang from her chair and did a little pirouette. Sitting back down, she pulled the pencil from her hair—scratching her head with its eraser.

“No friggin’ way.”

Examining the first block of eight digits—01000100—Xandra tapped, tapped, tapped her pencil against the edge of the desk as more sets of numbers appeared on the screen.

“Hold on. I know what this is.”

She popped out of her chair, face flushed, and rushed to her bookcase; frantically flipping through magazines—if anyone was watching, they would have thought she'd lost her mind—until she found what she was looking for.

“YES!” Ripping a page from Technology Review, Xandra grabbed a small notebook on the way back to her desk.

Hesitating, she opened the notebook and waited until the screen went fuzzy, hoping the numbers would start again as they had been for nearly 10 minutes. As Xandra anticipated, the numbers reappeared and began running the same sequence.

Holding up a chart of ASCII codes, she compared them to the numbers on the screen and scribbled eight digits onto the page—01000100.

Next, she found the exact number on the chart and began decoding.

• 01000100 = D

• 01101111 = o

• 00100000

“A space. It's a message."

She took a deep breath, exhaled, and deciphered the next few sets.

• 01101110 = n

• 01101111 = o

• 01110100 = t

Inhale, caught mid-way.

"Okay, you HAVE TO calm the F down."

Exhale.

Xandra shook her hands hard and cracked her knuckles one by one, trying to get the feeling back.

Click.

Click.

Click.

She focused on each letter like a detective piecing together clues at a crime scene.

Do not be alarmed.

Xandra froze. She could barely hear herself thinking above the angry ocean surging through her eardrums. Who had written this? Why were they targeting her? Was it because of the article?

Adrenaline-fueled, the decrypting came faster.

We have taken over your device to send a message of vital importance.

Hands trembling, Xandra stared at the words, not moving as the notebook slipped from her hands.

Clunk!

Tink went the pencil, as it bounced off the keyboard.

“Taken over my device?”

Click, Click, Click. Shake. Shake.

The numbers kept coming, so she forced herself to continue dictation.

We have the technology for a social and economic revolution that will severely diminish the government's ability to surveil its citizens. The State will, of course, try to slow or halt the spread of cryptography, citing national security concerns, the use of the technology by drug dealers and tax evaders, and fears of societal disintegration.

Xandra’s mind reeled. Who were these people? How had they hijacked her computer? Were they watching her?

Many of these concerns are valid. But is it your goal to be co-opted into the establishment? […] Is it to be a respectable voice for moderation and a gentle negotiating process? Do these things work when a government has deserted its people? We think not. We fill an important ecological niche by being the outrageous side, the radical side […] perhaps a bit like previous generations' Black Panthers, Yippies, or the Weather Underground.

The refrigerator's low hum in the next room was a faint reminder that the rest of the world still existed. But here, at this moment, it was just Xandra decoding an invitation she knew she had to answer, like it or not.

"We are The Narrative. Join us." 🤖