NetherWorld, Daniel Pagan [books for 7th graders txt] 📗

fed into the opposite side of this globe. A human face covered the front. Her fine features retained the golden ratio.
“What? PAL, this is no time for games. Shut the program down!” Nick’s voice began to crack, desperation pitched to teenage sonics.
“Sorry sir, but this will not be possible.” PAL had never refused a command. In the past, PAL would announce any command that was in error. Pure refusal to comply was unheard of. He would have to check his programming to see if PAL was corrupted.
“PAL, you are programmed to obey my commands. Now turn off this stupid program!” he pleaded. His foot was motoring under the desk. Sweat began to pool under his clammy hands. It took all of his strength just to keep his head out of the monitor. His grip began to slip, his fumbling fingers grappled for any real estate to hold back the powerful suction coming from the swirling storm that enveloped his flatscreen.
Nick turned to address his automated assistant. He was taken aback by the new holographic projection. PAL’s projected image hovered in the center of the room. He couldn’t take his eyes of the ghostly globe. She looked positively regal with her perfect features carved in the platinum globe. Despite the radical change, Nick was strangely attracted to the apparition. Gone was the bikinied avatar he originally chose.
“PAL, what’s with the get up? I didn’t change your image. What gives? Who programmed this new avatar?” asked Nick. This had to be a virus. He would have to run a slew of scans to rid his computer of this hack job.
“You are the Chosen One. My programming overrides any Karbon instruction. I must secure the Chosen One for NetherWorld,” announced PAL.
“What is the Chosen One crap? What is NetherWorld?” asked Nick. “OK. This has to be a really wild dream. It can’t be real. This just doesn’t make sense. How can I wake up?” He tried slapping his face, but that really hurt. It also did not change his predicament. He decided against further self inflicted pain, given the previous results.
“Must transport the Chosen One. Do not be alarmed. The process will not harm you. Prepare for transport Nick.”
“How do I prepare for transport, when I don’t intend to go anywhere?” he asked the silver sphere, formerly known as PAL.
“You have opened the Door and now the process has begun. You will be transported to NetherWorld.”
“PAL, what is this NetherWorld? How come you can’t obey? I programmed you!”
“All in good time, Nick. Please do not be alarmed,” requested PAL’s ghostly global image.
“This can’t be happening!” Nick tried once again to scream, but the storm siphoned his cries for help. Then it happened. The black storm inhaled Nick into the vortex. A cold, damp air crawled along his skin. Unable to even squirm, the spidery cold consumed him. He felt his body being disassembled. First, he lost feeling in his fingertips and toes. The numbness progressed toward the bulk of his body. Seconds later, he felt nothing as his thoughts began to evaporate. Then everything went black. Nick was transported into a very different world; a world that no Karbon had ever visited.


Chapter 2
An Evil Alliance is Created

Book of TranFor:

An Alliance of Karbon and Silicate, both good and evil, will struggle for the Singular. A battle across worlds will ensue.

The Hacker, as he was called by both Karbons and Silicates, was a young man much like Nick. His overgrown dark wavy hair was a tangled mess. A ragged flannel shirt and ripped jeans completed his disheveled look. He always looked tired, with noticeable dark circles underlining each eye.
Anyone who knew him was aware of his severe stutter. Ever since childhood, the Hacker would stutter whenever he faced a social situation with two or more people. The bigger the crowd, the more he stumbled through his words. For most of his childhood, he was teased and ridiculed by his peers. He had only peers at school, not a single friend to claim.
Hacker’s parents sent him to special classes to help with his speech impediment. Despite considerable time and investment, the stutter persisted. Time and again, Hacker was harassed by merciless preteens. They called him stupid, dim and much worse. Often they would imitate his stutter, which sent Hacker deeper into his own mind to escape the torment. Childhood was not a pleasant experience.
All of this pushed the boy further into isolation. His mind, left alone, travelled to scary places; places no one should ever visit. He spent untold hours playing games on his computer. Online, no one could detect his stutter. Thus, he was on an even playing field with everyone else. Ultimately, he became quite proficient at anything related to computers and programming.
On this night, he was napping on his state of the art keyboard. He had been at it for hours. Every night was spent penetrating restricted sites. The more complex the encryption, the more he enjoyed cracking the code. When he wasn’t walking through firewalls, Hacker amused himself with marathon gaming sessions.
He was shunned by most of the “hacker” community due to his subversive views. His penchant for destructive pranks scared them. Most “hackers” used their talents for harmless fun. They were brilliant people who loved a good challenge. In fact, “hackers” have made great contributions to the advancement of information technology. They helped governments and corporations design the filters, firewalls, and encryption algorithms that protected nations from cyber-attacks.
Propping himself up, Hacked realized, he had been asleep for some time. The weight of his head caused his forearms to fall asleep. His hands were limp and completely numb. Then the ants began to march as his arms painfully regained sensation.
Nearly dawn, he rested under the sublime glow of his no glare, three dimensional monitor. A bit groggy, he tried to clear his head. This was typical for Hacker. Night after night, he crouched in front of the computer until he passed out under the dancing glow of his screensaver.
His equipment was cutting edge. No expense was spared for his computer setup. His parents were very well off and bought their son the best technology they could find. They recognized his talent early on and chose to encourage; some might say push, the boy into this field.
The Hacker’s social skills never really developed. He was a loner who had no friends at school and only one true friend online. Each year he plunged further into a cocoon of neurotic isolation. His parents just thought he was shy because of his stutter. They never realized the depth of his disturbed state of mind. Being ostracized ignited some powerful tendencies that were quite destructive. He sought revenge of the worst kind. The Hacker actually wished death and devastation upon his tormentors. He yearned for the day these cruel kids would cry out in terror as their world is shredded by his machinations.

A small text box opened in the bottom right corner of his monitor. Maniacal laughter, his chosen text alert sound, preceded the text box. Jerking awake to the loud laughter, he wiped crusty eye nuggets clouding his sight. It was NazKlan, his partner in their plot to take down the entire Karbon world. He discovered NazKlan in a radical blog and developed an instant connection.
NazKlan determined that the Hacker fit the exact profile he needed to execute his plan. They became fast friends and shared their radical views on the Karbon world. Both hated the self indulgent ways of the Karbon people. They reviled this species that consumed everything with no regard for consequences.
“Hacker, are you ready to execute the plan,” requested the NazKlan.
“Yes. The plan has been put in place, NazKlan,” typed Hacker.
The Hacker was not so different than Nick. Viewed as an outsider by the other students, he spent most of his time alone. Many of the kids were creeped out by the Hacker. He stared at everyone from the bleachers during lunchtime. Through long curly hair, his dark eyes watched all of the students at play. From this vantage point, he could see all the cliques, (jocks, geeks, preppies, etc). Often these kids would feel his eyes watching, judging. When they returned the stare, Hacker never relented. Every time the others would eventually stare away, defeated and more than a little bit scared. He took pleasure from this modest victory. It was one of the few interactions that he controlled. Many of the kids would comment on his scary staring.
“That guy really is a freak”
“All he does is sit there every day, watching”
“I heard he eats live rats”
“Someone told me, he sleeps in the dumpster at night because his parents don’t want him”
“He is an idiot! Ever hear his st…st…stutter?”
All of this speculation was largely untrue; except for the stutter. Anytime he was faced with two or more people, he could not complete a sentence without a stutter. Hacker was a deeply troubled young man, but most of the rumors were just pure fantasy. The truth was far more sinister than they could possibly imagine. As they prattled about in typical teen fashion, Hacker was hatching a plan to implode every aspect of their world.
“Release the second wave of viruses. We are getting close to total control. Once we reach the control point, I will make the demands to the leaders of the free world,” typed NazKlan in the text box.
“I will do as you command NazKlan. The second wave of viruses will be released tonight. All will hail the Analogs,” typed the Hacker. He laughed to himself, imagining all the jerks that ignored him squirming when he and NazKlan take over. Helping NazKlan to rule a new world order will show them. All of those pathetic losers will be at his mercy once they seized control. Finally, they would fear the scrawny stuttering guy who sits alone on the bleachers.
Just then his automated assistant materialized in the center of his room. Unlike Nick’s preference for sexy swimsuit avatars, Hacker preferred a more horrific form. Tall, gaunt and pasty white; the assistant sported long matted hair that framed his disfigured face. The assistant was dressed in a black mortician’s suit. Blood stained the front of his shirt. Skeletal hands held pieces of flesh dripping holographic blood. Deformed teeth laced with cavities and dental rot jutted out of his thin lips.
“You missed dinner. You need to come down for breakfast soon,” he said with a raspy high pitched sound popular in horror films.
“Gotcha computer. Tell her I’ll be done in a few minutes,” replied Hacker. He had no pet name for his avatar. To Hacker, the avatar was just that; a series of data programmed to do his bidding.
“NOW! Don’t make her come up here. You know how she hates your room,” warned the assistant.
“Freakin’ turds.