“I’m not a hacker,” the man said. “Trust me.”

“Not a chance,” Rudd said. “Get out of my head.”

“Not a chance,” the man said. “There’s no other way to do this.”

“Pussy,” Rudd said. “If you were man enough to show your face, I’d punch the shit out of it.”

“Exactly,” the man said. “Which is most of the problem.” He paused a beat. “You have serious trust issues, Rudd. When this is all history, I suggest you look into therapy.”

“Fuck off,” Rudd said.

“Not a chance,” the man said. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to hack one of these things?”

“You said you weren’t a hacker.”

“I’m not,” the man said. “But sometimes duty calls.”

“Who are you,” Rudd said. It wasn’t a question.

“Nobody,” the man said. “Not someone you know, nor someone you’ll ever meet.”

“Awesome,” Rudd said.

“Think of me as Jiminy Cricket or Gollum.” He paused. “Except I don’t give a fuck about your ring.”

Rudd looked down at his right middle finger where his silver band rested. He balled a fist, then stretched his middle finger to the sky.

“You need help, Rudd,” the man said. “Simple as that. And I’m sympathetic to your cause. And I can help.”

“Fuck off,” Rudd said. “That’s how you can help. I don’t need help, especially from some pussy bitch who won’t show his face.”

“Not gonna happen, Rudd,” the man said. “This is way too important.”