Page 15 of Ruin My Life

The progress bar crawls across the screen so slow it feels like a taunt. I dig my nails into Dad’s cherrywood desk, leaving crescent moons in the lacquer as I wait.

As expected, the search returns way too many hits to be useful. It’s not worth my time to search through them all andhopeI stumble across him. It would be like playingWhere’s Waldowithout knowing what the hell Waldo even looks like.

I slam my palm against the desk, my heart hammering painfully against my broken chest.

Still no answers. No names.

But I’m not giving up.

I open a browser and make it incognito.

When I was sixteen, I got in trouble for playing around on the dark web. I did it mostly out of curiosity. I wanted to see what peoplewantedfrom hackers—to test my skills.

Some asked for school records. Others wanted full criminal histories.

A few asked for... worse.

I nevertooka job. But I always remembered how to find them.

Now, I don’t care about the money.

I just want results.

I create a new account, hiding behind my usual alias—The Black Rose. It’s the same signature bury into every piece of code I write, kind of like a signature for the hacking world.

And I post my first job request:

Hacker for hire:

Information for information.

Looking for anything related to the identity and/or location of the individuals pictured below.

No questions asked. No questions answered.

Don’t waste my time.

I attach two grainy stills—one from the gas station, one from the house—and hit submit.

Then I slam the laptop shut before I can second-guess any of it.

It’s a reckless move. Adesperateone.

I could be arrested. Thrown in prison for the rest of my life.

But they broke into my home.

They murdered my parents.

They raped and executed my little sister while I watched.

They tookeverythingfrom me.

And now, I plan to take everything from them.

ISPEND THE EVENINGpacking the things that mean the most to me. Photo album, sentimental knickknacks.

Dad’s original script from the movie he directed in Banff National Park.