3

Apparently, law brokers on this site are either overly friendly or in some sort of unspoken competition to outdo each other in obscure legal jargon. The people commenting under forum posts? Probably geniuses teetering on the brink of madness—or maybe just really bored lawyers with Wi-Fi access and no social life.

As for my newly signed account, I gave it the nickname "Desmond." Again. Why? No particular reason—except that it sounds like the name of someone who knows all the loopholes in the tax code but refuses to share them. It's cool, okay?

It was also the name of my one named Face dash book account that was burned after finding out that I used an Indonesian VPN.

As an antisocial individual who gets heart palpitations just thinking about conversations, I figured the best way to blend in with this group of apparent law-breaking masterminds was to act like I belonged. After all, fake it till you make it, right?

And so, with trembling hands and the confidence of a wet sock, I typed my first-ever comment:

﹂(Newly signed account) Desmond: When someone loves their life, it's better to be blind.

I meant it metaphorically—like, "ignorance is bliss" or something. But the replies were… unsettling. Maybe I'd accidentally channeled Nietzsche, who believed loving life meant embracing its chaos head-on.

Meanwhile, I was out here promoting metaphorical blindness, essentially saying, "Duck and cover!" Guess I wasn't Desmond the philosopher—just Desmond the life-dodger.

﹂Fuck?

﹂+1

﹂ +2

﹂Is it really the Desmond? Moriarty Jr.?

That's actually an intense reaction, particularly towards a wannabe terrorist who created those incidents because of stupidity and be like: Oh, damn! What a coincidence, I just made the whole country shake with fear and caused a whole school's data to burn.

And to never actually say that I'm guilty of what I really did, I am. So much. That it fears me if I confessed, and if I did, I would still be locked up inside the jail.

One simple comment and the notification I received surpasses my level in every RPGs' I have.

If I claimed that, "It was all an accident." They might really think of me as a natural human being who uses 'lying' to save my sorry ass from sitting inside a dirty bunk bed with a roomie of three other scary hunks.

Let's stop for today. Sipping tea too much is bad for our stomach, it's not really recommended unless you're immune to it.

I turned off my computer, grabbed my barely alive laptop and sprawled on my bed and started binge-reading a forum thread titled "Top 10 Ways to Cover Your Tracks Like a Ghost" on what I now lovingly called "Face-dash-book-for-felons." My laptop was perched precariously on my stomach, and I was fully immersed in this rabbit hole of questionable advice when I decided it was time to stop prying. Curiosity was one thing, but I wasn't about to turn into a full-blown conspirator.

This place was truly a goldmine of morally questionable advice—anything from "How to Erase GPS History Like a Pro" to "Top Ten Alibis That Never Fail (Unless You're an Idiot)." Every post made me feel like I was watching a reality show for criminals, except I was rooting for no one.

My laptop is far from warm; it's so hot I sometimes imagine it might spontaneously combust, taking my pajamas—and possibly my thighs—with it. What do you expect? I forced it to run Windows 11 even though the poor thing was built for an era when "touchscreens" were considered witchcraft. Every time I boot it up, I feel like I'm asking it to recite Shakespeare while balancing on one leg.

It doesn't help that this was a second-hand find, a "pre-loved" device that no longer works properly because the RAM requirements for anything modern are a joke. Proudly, I can say it's a disposable laptop—a piece of hardware this very well-known tech company discarded and sold off dirt cheap. You know, the kind of deal that makes you wink and tell yourself, "Look at me, scamming the scammers." Except the real scam here was on me.

As I scrolled through yet another suspiciously titled forum post, my trusty overheating laptop froze for a second, then resumed as if nothing had happened. A slight lag, nothing new. But when I clicked on a random link titled "Test Your Skills Here!"—thinking it was one of those quirky, pointless quizzes—something bizarre happened. Instead of a silly meme or joke, the screen went blank for a moment before loading… a sleek, unfamiliar interface.

The header read something like "Internal Access Panel" with an intimidating logo stamped at the top. My first thought was, Oh great, a pop-up ad. But this wasn't some shady spam link. The design was too polished, too… official. A menu of options appeared—things like "File Access," "Server Logs," and "Execute Command."

For a solid thirty seconds, I just stared at the screen, my brain doing cartwheels to process what was happening. Was this a joke? A test? Some kind of elaborate phishing scam? But the more I looked, the more horrifyingly real it seemed. It finally dawned on me: I had somehow, "through sheer accident", bypassed the security system of that very tech company that discarded this laptop.

I froze, my hands hovering over the keyboard. The laptop hummed ominously, as if it were trying to decide whether to betray me further. "This is fine," I whispered in a shaky voice, pretending I wasn't two clicks away from becoming a headline: "Incompetent Nobody Uncovers Corporate Secrets with a Broken Laptop."

Of course, in true comedic fashion, my laptop chose that moment to heat up even more. The touchpad burned my fingertips as I tried to back out of the screen without clicking anything else. I wasn't a hacker—I wasn't even a halfway decent multitasker—but somehow I'd stumbled into a world I didn't belong in.

Commercial break… Did some stupid dude really forget to delete all hidden files here inside the sold laptop that the Test your skill gibberish bypassed and was awakened like a dragon?

It's far impossible that you can retrieve no longer available files after resetting it, and damn H* elitebook 745 g6 you're making me feel poor.