15443/Meeting in Cyberspace

Meeting in Cyberspace
Date of Scene:	23 July 2023
Location:	Cyberspace
Synopsis:	Felicity encounters the Vermilion moniker while backdooring into an FBI database and the two set up a meeting IRL.
Cast of Characters:	Felicity Smoak, Jane Roe, Oliver Queen

---

Felicity Smoak has posed:
With the "Articles of Incorporation" for Smoak Technologies filed, a lawyer and accountant hired to set up bank accounts and tax identities, and Oliver's realtor looking for suitable physical office space for her startup, Felicity was return to her 'old job' as Overwatch of staying a step ahead of whatever monsters might be trying to eat the Green Arrow next time he hits the streets of Hell's Kitchen.

Namely, the whole thing with the drug lab and the blind, possibly brainwashed, suicidal workers and the network of unmapped underground tunnels beneath Phoenix Towers. Had no one noticed that before? Not one single weird report from inspectors or maintenance workers? Not one concerned citizen that filed a police report of suspicious noise, vibrations, comings-and-goings?

So, sitting at her new command center in the 'Arrowsuite' (yes, it had a name, much to Oliver's chagrin) with a can of diet coke, Felicity began digging.. first through city maintenance records, then into the NYPD's records, and then into the federal databases. She already knew for certain SHIELD didn't know anything about it. The Justice League didn't know anything about it, either. But that didn't mean the FBI didn't have an ongoing RICO investigation they weren't sharing details about.

Except, you don't just log in to the FBI's database.

Well, sort of. The NYPD network had a firewalled connection she could tunnel through, but she didn't need /that/ traced back to the Arrowsuite, either. So, as was usual, she bounced her connection off of a series of VPNs with overly-complicated routes, traversing her way through cyberspace across physical boundaries and continents. They fell one after another to the superhacker's prodigious skill, until she eventually doubled back to the NYPD, whom she'd already backdoored for access to their live call center dashboard and incident report database.

What she didn't realize was that, along the way, she'd tripped an alarm of sorts -- slipping otherwise harmlessly through a server that was already owned by someone else. One that could, with enough effort and skill, actually be back-traced back to her. Or, at least, as close as anyone could get with web of security appliances and spoofed IP addresses she had protecting her home-away-from-home.

Jane Roe has posed:
You don't just tunnel through anonymizing nodes and backdoors, without leaving some trace. The nodes you use always know that you used them: The one that you used to tunnel knows the next and the last one you used just to make it happen, or at least knows it long enough to facilitate, even if it doesn't retain logs. And there exactly lies a problem: There's only so many nodes that do not retain logs and offer the service. Many such servers are abroad, but every hacker knowing their salt also knows one or two in close proximity. Keeps the latency down.

It's one of those rerouter nodes that just happens to be in New York City. That is, it was hooked up into a server rack that was put into the back room of a computer cafe that had been shut down years ago - and to which offered access to a fiberoptics line from its operational days. But the server was not unattendend, as Jane Roe was sitting next to it on a stack of wooden crates, her own laptop open and resting on a similar stack but from banana cartons. She was monitoring the server to triangulate a different of these nodes in the area, but then the tunnel right through there and finally to the NYPD caught her attention.

Joining that tunnel was as easy for Vermilion as touching the server rack that was doing the actual magic. Tracing it to both ends was as easy as inserting a tiny ping into the path on both ends, and finding the NYPD being jsut the gateway to the FBI database did only make the interest glow so much further. So she started logging the traffic, but also did the nigh unmentionable: The moment that the FBI connection started to offer a tiny problem, it was Vermilion that adjusted the code sent on the fly, making the hack go through. It wasn't entirely without benefit of her own, as she injected extra searches for a specific face pattern that she would filter out of the data stream back. It was her own face, but that wouldn't find any response.

But then... she did offer an answer back, sent in the basic underlaying code to open as a terminal popup. Indeed, it came
    You nearly failed that bounce into the FBI. Lucky that I was watching.
    C:>

Felicity Smoak has posed:
The code Felicity was using was a variation of the virus she'd written back in her college hacktivist days a decade ago as Ghost Fox Goddess. The fact that she'd used it to backdoor the Department of Education didn't escape the notice of the darknet forums, many of whom were upset that she'd only wiped out a couple hundred student loans before abruptly cutting the connection.

Of course, it wasn't Ghost Fox Goddess that had been picked up for that. The FBI had arrested one Cooper Seldon who had later hung himself just before sentencing. Ghost Fox had lingered on the darknet long enough afterwards to scrub any traces of that code she could find, and then she'd disappeared utterly. There were still snippets of it out there lingering because nothing online (especially on the darknet) was every truly forgotten, but there wasn't a complete enough package to actually allow that kind of access again, either.

Not until now.

Felicity's fingers froze as a cold shiver ran down her spine. Not only had her remote access script miraculously fixed itself just before it set off even more alarms, it wasn't a system message that had popped up on her screen, either.

For a few seconds, the terminal window sat there blinking, leaving no doubt that she was caught off guard and considering her response. She /could/ just close it, kill the connection, do her best to clean up her footprint.. but whoever it was hadn't just mocked her. They'd /helped/ her.

Could she really pass up on talking to someone with that kind of skill?

>> They upgraded to CRX5704s. Nice catch. What do I call you?
>> C:>

Jane Roe has posed:
Nothing was truely forgotten unless a virus was made to specifically take care of such things. Which was the reason Jane Roe had hijacked the FBI connection. Because a virus did seem to have wiped out data partaining her face, which was the only thing that connected her to her past. But then again, this was now.

>> That code you use reminds me of the Ghost Fox Goddess Incident. Stylistic choice?
>> C:>

A snippet of the code just sent moments ago appears right after, side by side with a part of the original code. Somebody knew her coding quite well. The C prompt reappeared, waiting for an answer of some sort, without offering a name in return so far. But in the devoided computer cafe, Jane was preparing said answer. Coding an icon in telnet quality comand prompts, pixel by pixel and 16 bit resolution while she waited for confirmation if it was GFG or not.

Oliver Queen has posed:
It is not that Oliver Queen is computer illiterate really. He grew up with the best ones that money could buy. They played some wicked games. What was not to like?

Even after getting back from being stranded on Lian Yu for years he managed to put them to some reasonable use. But there is certainly no real comparison between his skills and those of Felicity. He might have a bare bones understanding of her world, the online world, but he will never really know it like she will. Thir strengths just differ.

It's okay, she will probably never knock another arrow out of midair with one that she fires. Their diverse talents are part of what makes Team Arrow effective.

He has been tied up a little himself most of the day, though not exactly with Green Arrow work. He might not be quite as adverse to working in the day as his collegue from Gotham City, but there are generally enough other responsibilities to tackle that it doesn't come up that often.

Today is no different in that respect. He has been on the phone most of the morning trying to finalize and lockdown the details of the contractors going into the Phoenix Towers and starting the most important of the refurbishment work.

It hasn't been going well, judging by the scowl on Oliver's face as he peeks into the safe room set up within that penthouse apartment, specifically for the purpose of hiding away the increasingly elaborate computer system that has been setup there.

"I hope you've been having a better day then me, because I'm just about at the end of my rope with..." the blonde billionaire starts before catching the look of intense concentration on Felicity's face, his own stormy disposition almost immediately easing as he pads up behind her.

"What's up?" he asks, peering over her shoulder. The chances of him making heads or tails out of the specifics of what she's doing are... not great.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
As Felicity read Vermilion's response, her heart skipped a beat. She hadn't expected anyone to recognize that old code -- it was a piece of her past she had tried so hard to bury. Yet here it was, staring back at her from the computer screen.

Seeing the snippet of her code alongside a piece of the original was like staring into a mirror from a decade ago. Whoever this was, they knew her style better than anyone she'd ever come across.

For a moment, she debated denying it. But something about the question, the sheer recognition of her style, and the lack of malice made her decide against it. She didn't confirm it outright, but her response didn't need any decoding:

>> I always did like the classics. It's not easy to hide a unique style, is it?
>> C:>

She'd just finished typing the response, the whole 'chat' history available for him to see on the terminal over her shoulder on one of the many screens. There was a lot going on -- code scrolling past, network traffic shown as a graphical network that spans the globe, a window with a flashing cursor that displayed part of the exact code snippet that had been sent in the terminal window, and a live search of the FBI database still in progress on another.

Front and center is that terminal window, though. It's impossible to miss, given that it's most of the focus of Felicity's attention.

"I... don't know."

Which is an odd thing for Felicity to say. She glances up and over her shoulder, blue eyes peering at Oliver through the lenses of her rectangle-framed glasses.

"Someone's riding the slipstream of my access tunnel through the NYPD, all the way to the FBI. Their digital fingerprint doesn't match any known cyber-criminals, but their skill level is off the charts. They're running an advanced neural net algorithm on a dual-layer blockchain protocol. They even caught my code's resemblance to an old virus from my Ghost Fox Goddess days. We're dealing with someone on par with me. Maybe.. better? I'm taking countermeasures, of course - bouncing our signal through additional ghost servers and ramping up our encryption schema to the 4096-bit RSA level."

Jane Roe has posed:
>> It's impossible to hide style unless you forget yourself.
>> C:>

The answer stayed on the screen for several long moments, not exactly an answer or accusation at all. Just a statement. Then, one more line rolled in. Character by Character and slow. Deliberately slow, indicating that wasn't exactly a normal transmission but someone had delibarately added the wait-commands between each character.

>>Welcome back, G H O S T - F O X - G O D D E S S.
>> Meet

After the two lines, the telnet connection actually contained direct midi sounds that matched up the speed of blocky red, orange and yellow pixels to appear on the next several lines. Just about 4 lines high and the width of the console they popped up in 8-bit graphics scaling. Some bird flapping on one side, but as the work evolved, characters were kept black. VERMILION.

Oliver Queen has posed:
Each of them has their own balliwick. This is hers.

He might take the info she gives him out in the field, might remain open to suggestions from her and the others on the team about how to tackle and specific tactical problem, but at the end of the day he tends to make the final call. It's where he excels. It's what his training, it's what surviving on his own for all those years drilled into him. He does not tend to be plagued by doubts, does not tend to secondguess his decisions.

Even when they don't work out.

Sometimes the opposition just catches all the breaks. Sometimes things just go wrong. Sometimes, even, they're just better. It happens.

So Oliver glances over the chat log on one of those screens as Felicity sums up the situation for him. He has picked up enough terms from his time with her to at least have a barebones grasp of what she's talking about. He had pretty good incentive. No one likes to feel completely lost in casual conversation. It's a little hard on the ego, even for the most enlightened.

Straightening some, so he isn't just looming over her shoulder while she worksm he instead lays a hand there gently and gives a little nod. "Do what you need to do. You've got this."

There are times out in the field when all the information has been provided, all the digital tricks have been played and really all she can do is okaying cheerleader for him and Dig and any of the others out with them.

That's pretty much his role at the moment.

Of course all the cheerleading in the world doesn't necessarily mean things are going to turn out the way you want or expect and as that invitation slides over the center screen Ollie schools his features. "What are you going to do?" he asks quietly, simply.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
The screen flashed, the text scrolling in, and Felicity's hand rose instinctively to set on top of the one on her shoulder. Whether or not Oliver had anything to add to this particular exchange, his presence is comforting.

/What are you going to do?/

"Figure out who I'm talking to."

Felicity was silent for a moment. She hadn't used the moniker 'Ghost Fox Goddess' in a very long time and it was jarring to see it there on her screen. It felt like a ghost from her past had suddenly come back to haunt her.

It wasn't so much that Vermilion knew who she was. After all, she'd pretty much admitted it. What truly unsettled her was the familiarity, the recognition, and the understanding Vermilion had of her. It was as if Vermilion knew her, even though she didn't know them.

The 8-bit bird brought a smile to her face, despite the situation. She could appreciate the craftsmanship, the finesse and the fun in the middle of an unexpected challenge. It took a unique kind of hacker to appreciate that, one that reminded her of herself, and the younger Felicity who once loved to code with a playful spirit.

As she responded, her fingers glided across the keyboard, her eyes still glued to the pixelated bird. There was a challenge to the tone now, a spark in her eyes, the thrill of the game in her heartbeat.

>> Nice pixel work, Vermilion.
>> C:>

A pause, then she added, a smile dancing on her lips.

>> I could use someone with your talent.
>> C:>

Her heart pounded in her chest. She knew this was a dangerous game. But it was also exhilarating. A worthy adversary, a mystery, an unexpected throwback to her past -- it was more than enough to get her pulse racing. For better or worse, she was in. This was her world, her battleground. And she was ready to face whatever was to come.

Jane Roe has posed:
>> 33-01 Northern Blvd, Queens.
>>Tomorrow afternoon. You and at most one more.
>> No guns. No cellphones. No transmitters.
C:>

After sending the message, Jane's body almost violently recoiled as she pulled back from the server, breathing harshly. The screen of her laptop showed the console log, and the lack of data found in the servers of the FBI from her own search for her own face. Shivering, the young woman reached for a bottle of some suggary isotonic drink, dousing her mouth with it but then spitting it out with a sour face. The sudden jackout had its toll...

"Let's... see who that Ghost Fox is. Tomorrow."

Oliver Queen has posed:
It is not a perfect situation to be sure. What they do works best with a certain amount of anonymity. And while that has not been completely blown in Felicity's case, she does have a decision to make it would seem.

While Oliver knows how he would choose to react, it might not be quite so straight forward for her. Given the choice? He tends to deal with this sort of thing head on.

It usually works out okay. But not always..

Reading that last message, the billionaire vigilante gives a slow shake of his head. "You let me know how you want to proceed and if you need me there as backup," he says quietly before slipping away, giving Felicity a little space to determine her next move.