Cyberpunk Oasis: Recruitment

Abuali and the Medina Hackers

2095 elections have not taken place. The “Thawra” government confirms once again its imperialist behavior. For 20 years now, the country has been led with an iron fist. “FAID” squadrons of AI-controlled robotic policemen are everywhere at all times. The country is a police state for over a decade now. As the gateway bridge between Africa and Europe, the country has transformed itself into one of the world's most important international hubs. Businessmen and politicians come from all around to seal multimillion-dollar deals that only deepen global inequality. But there are still small patches in the city where the police cannot penetrate. A place so densely populated and chaotic that even the finest computers lose their ability to predict outcomes. These are the “Medinas,”  old town market neighbourhoods, founded centuries ago by the original Arab founders of each city. Each medina still has the original clay Islamic walls that surround it, but inside, the buildings grow taller than 20 floors. The streets are so narrow you cannot walk side by side, and the flying motorway above can only support small motorbikes and tiny carriages. Always so affluent, the Medina never sleeps, and in that never-ending rest, underground deals and organizations work with growing ardour.

Spread around secret offices and subterranean mazes, the “Karsana” organization has its roots dug deep into the Medina, making it the oldest lasting “hacking gang” in the history of the country. Recruitments take place every day, and dozens of new members join weekly. Most of them are desperate Saharan immigrants seeking ways to work without papers. These people are not just anybody’s; they are the first-class programmers from Kinshasa to Dar el Salam, eager to find a way to survive under the grid before the Tharwa officials find them and send them to their so-called high-density slums, just another way to call their mass prisons.

Abuali, a young math prodigy from Conakry, who won every contest possible at the age of 16.Born and raised in Conakry, he dreamed of working with Futur-tech, a non-profit organisation that fought for Ai regulation at a international scale. They were sort of the ones trying to save the world from power crazed Billionaires. Even though they were losing the fight, in Abuali eyes they were the only hope we had and as a technology geek they were his superheroes. Following all their actions since a kid, posters of their big figures layered all over his room. Unfortunately in Guinea power cuts were common, yes, even in this day and age, to consequence education (that dependent completely on it) was completely compromised. Nevertheless, Abuali was still a promising potential unknow prodigy. Sooner than tought he was offered a scholarship to go to Toronto, but the night before his departure, a dark-suited official from the government gave him a visit. He was given an ultimatum: vow to be a government informant, or be arrested the next day morning. Abuali had no other option than to flee. Without even leaving a small note, he left his parents and brother, with no plan than to survive. He just knew from some rumors that up north, the hackers were high in demand. They were surely preparing for something, perhaps revolution?

Abuali made it to the Medina walls at early dawn. He had already been walking for hours from the city outskirts. The smell of street food, even at the early hours of the mornings, woke him up instantly. There was so much happening, so many people in a hurry, hologram ads and announcements all around the building walls. The more he walked in, the more mesmerized he was. Drones of all sizes and shapes, robotic animals that once were only used for lab tests, apparently found ways to survive on their own here. Faces of all ethnicities, shop banners were written in all languages. It was all so overwhelming for him, but he had limited time until the “FAID” cops would be onto him. Even in the underground medina, he wouldn’t make it to the next day if he didn't find help, quick.

Driven by destiny, Abuali follows the path lined with rows of noisy computer repair shops. He tries not to stare for long, but he can tell the pieces they're repairing are not ordinary household laptop motherboards, not even military equipment. Maybe they are from new prototype computers designed in northern Europe? As he approaches the end of the dead-end backstreet, a minuscule flying drone hovers playfully right in front of his eyes. Behind one of the wings, he can see an Arabic insignia in red - he had seen it before, tagged around abandoned buildings and train cars in the outskirts. The drone keeps flying in circles in front of him, like a playful dog calling to be chased, so he follows it and is taken to what seems to be the end of the medina - a tall building back wall with no windows or balconies, just a dark concrete wall. The drone then flies up and abandons him. With a glance to the sky, Abuali realizes how naïve he was, wasting time following a stupid drone.

But against all odds, a hologram lights up, seeming to be the instructions for a game or something. The colorful and bright lights attract some of the merchants out of their shops, with some even starting to spectate. Apparently, they are not surprised by what is happening - they are waiting for something, waiting for someone. An old lady slowly approaches him, speaking in Arabic, which confuses Abuali even more. "English?" she asks, and he nods. With absolute pronunciation, she says, "You have to climb, son. They are calling you. Hurry!" Abuali wonders where he has to climb to, as the wall is polished flat.

Police sirens start to approach. Abuali gets closer to the dusty wall, drops his backpack, and takes a leap of faith. With a kick-jump trying to reach anywhere, eyes closed, his right-hand fingertips find support. Like a brick out of the wall, he has something to hold onto in mid-air. He continues to climb, now faster, as the police lights reflect down the alleyway. Already 25 meters high, megaphone warnings echo behind him. He is surrounded and passed the point of no return. Abuali is holding with all his strength, but even the strongest cannot hang forever. He feels his fingertip skin ripping and he slides off. In a second that feels like forever, he remembers the night he left home and said goodnight to his parents one last time. The shock of gravity sends him into a deep sleep. He cannot see anymore, but he hears voices arguing all around him and hands pulling him from every limb, then a strong explosion that turns into a sharp hiss.

He wakes up in an abandoned hangar, surrounded by many others resting in stretchers. He tries to understand what this place is. "Surely this isn't Thawra's work”, he thought. Where did the cops take him?" A young girl approaches him from behind, he has never seen eyes like hers, buried in dark liner, they shine like diamonds in the dark.

 "Hey guy, you made it to Khalas! Cheer up!" she says.

"What is this?" he replies.

 "Sometimes men are soooo dumb! We know you, Abuali. We recruited you," says the young girl.

Abuali stands up with his patient robe, ready to follow her.

 "Come on, man, put some clothes on at least. Check out the lockers on your left. There are a shit-ton of stuff. Choose what you want, and hurry up!"