Qualityland

WANKERS

“You call that not far?” asks Kiki, once they finally arrive in front of Peter’s used-goods store.

“Would you have come if I’d told you I don’t live that close?” asks Peter. “And besides, I was carrying all the bags.”

The smart door opens for its master and his visitor.

“What’s all this junk?” asks Kiki, her mouth gaping open. One object in particular has grabbed her attention. “Is that an iPhone X?” she asks. “People still buy that ancient crap?”

“No,” says Peter. “If they did, it wouldn’t be here.”

He leads Kiki through the scrap-metal press to the small kitchen-cum-bathroom at the back.

“This just gets better and better,” says Kiki.

Peter climbs onto a chair and searches for something in a cupboard above his kitchen unit.

“I don’t want any coffee,” says Kiki.

“Hm?” asks Peter. “Oh. Well, that’s good, because I don’t have any.”

“I’m warning you,” says Kiki. “If you’re planning to attack me with a sex toy again…”

“I didn’t attack you,” says Peter, climbing back down from the chair with a candle and a packet of biscuits in his hands.

“Is that your romantic plan?” asks Kiki. “A dusty packet of biscuits and an old candle?”

“Hey, I’m improvising here,” says Peter. “I wasn’t exactly expecting you to come.”

“Listen up, master of improvisation,” says Kiki. “I think you’re kind of sweet, but also totally weird. Coming with you was a batshit crazy move and therefore unpredictable, hence why I did it. But now I’m here it would be much too predictable to sleep with you. That’s why I can’t do it.”

Peter is speechless. Kiki can see him thinking intently.

“But isn’t that actually very predictable in itself, not sleeping with me in order to stay unpredictable?” he asks eventually. “Wouldn’t it be much more unpredictable to sleep with me?”

“Nice try.”

“You’re totally crazy.”

“Of course,” says Kiki. “It’s the only way to be free.” She looks around the kitchen. “Do you have a high-speed internet connection here?”

“What? Oh, yes. From the shop.”

Kiki pulls a notebook computer out of her jacket pocket and unfolds it four times.

“Do you need the password?” asks Peter.

“No, thank you,” says Kiki. “I can manage.”

Peter sits down next to her at the kitchen table.

“You went to see the old man…” says Kiki.

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you his horror story about the super intelligence?”

Peter nods. He glances at the screen of the notebook. There are thirty-two little videos playing on it. All of them show men. Sixteen sitting, eight standing, eight kneeling, and every single one of them has his penis in his hand and is masturbating.

“What in God’s name are these recordings?” asks Peter in confusion.

“They’re not recordings,” says Kiki, smiling. “Not yet. It’s live.”

“And you said I was perverted…”

“I’m not perverted,” says Kiki. “This is how I earn my money.”

“Well, that makes it much better!” exclaims Peter. “You run a porn site?”

“No, no. It’s not my site. I just hacked into it.”

“Why?”

“Have you ever heard of revenge porn?”

“No.”

“How sweet. But you’re familiar with sexting?”

“When people send revealing pictures or films of themselves to their partner?”

“Revealing?” Kiki laughs. “Fuck photos, you mean. Yes. And revenge porn comes about when these photos and films are put online by spurned partners.”

“And what does that have to do with the masturbating men on your screen?”

“What does that have to do with the wankers? Well, they’re currently getting their kicks by looking at the biggest revenge porn site. What they don’t know is that I’ve written a small program that activates the internal camera of their QualityPad or computer, and as soon as they visit the site, it streams the recordings to me. My program automatically recognizes when the wankers spurt their mayonnaise—it’s easy to tell from the facial expression—and immediately sends little e-blackmails with the video and the threat of publishing it.”

“And that’s how you make your money?”

“Amongst other things, yes.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting caught? What happens if it gets traced back to you?”

“I’ve taken precautionary measures, of course.”

“Oh yes?”

“I always use other people’s internet access, for example.”

“What?! Now, hang on a minute—”

“Don’t worry. I don’t leave any tracks. Presumably.”

“Isn’t it impossible not to leave any tracks?”

“It’s not about committing crimes that can’t be traced back. The trick is to commit crimes where there isn’t enough interest in tracing them back. And besides, I wouldn’t exactly call this a crime. It’s more of an educational measure.”

“So what does your silence cost?”

“It depends,” says Kiki. “An algorithm calculates the probable bank balance of the wanker in question and establishes an appropriate punishment in digicoins. I don’t ask for much. The equivalent of 10 Qualities. On average.”

“That’s very cheap.”

“Yes, but that way they don’t need to think twice about whether to pay. That’s the great thing about digital crime. Whether I steal 10,000 Qualities from one wanker or 10 Qualities each from one thousand wankers, for me the result is the same. But one wanker who’s robbed of 10,000 makes much more of a fuss than 1,000 who only had to pay 10 Qualities each.”

“But what about the operators of the porn site? What if they track you down?”

“Them? They have enough skeletons in their closet already. Do you know why these porno sites are free?”

“Because of the advertising?”

“No. Well, that too. But the main reason is that all the wankers unknowingly solve CAPTCHAs for the website operator’s bot armies.”

“I didn’t understand a word of that,” says Peter.

“A wanker? It’s a man who takes his penis in his hand and…”

“Yes, I get that. There were just a few words I didn’t understand.”

“CAPTCHA stands for Completely Automated Public Turing test to tell Computers and Humans Apart.”

“What?”

“Those little pictures with the distorted letters. Or the nine images of gross-looking lunch plates, and you’re supposed to say how many have chips on.”

“I’ve seen those!” cries Peter.

“There you go!”

“Though I have to admit that I’ve been failing them more and more recently.”

“Indeed, because the better the algorithms’ pattern recognition became, the more difficult the CAPTCHAs became. Eventually, they didn’t work at all anymore. Until someone came up with the idea of reversing the operating principle, so that a CAPTCHA solved without any errors whatsoever means that you’re a computer. After that, they were reintroduced everywhere. For example, when you want to open up a new account somewhere. And from my own experience I can tell you that CAPTCHAs are really annoying if you’re planning to set up a few thousand zombie accounts.”

“I can imagine.”

“Luckily some smarty-pants came up with the idea that these CAPTCHAs could be mirrored in real time on porn sites. Unsuspecting wankers solve the CAPTCHAs in order to access the pictures and videos.”

“Fascinating. And you’re really not worried that all your trickery will land you in court? That’s so…” Peter interrupts himself and stands up. “Me! I could go to court. Of course!”

“You’re going to sue me?” asks Kiki.

“Don’t be ridiculous. TheShop.”

“You want to sue TheShop?”

“Of course. Because of the dolphin vibrator. To make them take it back.”

“Got it. But how exactly are you planning to pay for that? Even the most reasonably priced lawyer must far exceed the means of a Level 9 machine scrapper.”

“Come with me,” says Peter. “I’m going to show you something I’ve never shown anybody before.”

Kiki gives him a half concerned, half amused look.

“Are you still a virgin?” she asks.

“What? No! Of course not.”

“Good. Because I’ve seen a lot of embarrassing attempts to hit on me in my time, but that would be by far…”

“Point made,” says Peter. “Now are you coming with me or not?”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“Into the cellar.”

Kiki laughs loudly. “Of course. Into the cellar…”

“It’s nothing perverted,” says Peter. “I promise.”

“Well, that’s okay then. If you promise…”

Kiki pulls something which looks like a plastic prong out of her bag.

“This is an electro impulse weapon with 600,000 volts,” she says.

“Is that a no?” asks Peter.

“I didn’t say that. I’m much too curious about your model railway for that. But you go in front, and if you make any sudden movements then: bzzzzzz. If the lights suddenly goes out: bzzzzzz. If you even think of doing anything stupid…”

“Bzzzzzz,” says Peter.

“I’m glad we understand each other.”