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Description
Ceasar tried to enjoy his lunch in the break room.

"What was I thinking? Oh well, nobody will understand the information anyway. It's just kids on those games. Still, people are intelligent... but not intelligent enough to use my information for anything subversive. I mean, I wouldn't try to capitalize on someone's mistake. It's not like someone has a secret program where they keep all their secret data. They'd have to have the funding to carry out some spy plan. Who has a government watching games to see if someone gives out secrets? I'm safe."

A breeze wafted Ceasar's brown hair. He caught his moving napkin, and wiped his mouth. He ate alone, just like he did everything else. Ceasar's job was his life. When people went out to movies, Ceasar was at work. When people took a long lunch, Ceasar quickly shoved down his food to get back to work. Ceasar thought that anyone other than him, trying to protect his government's data, was insufficient. So he stayed at work as much as possible. It didn't hurt that he could simultaneously play war games.

If Ceasar did go home, he felt as if he had nothing to do there. The only thing to protect was his TV and couch. That's where he ended up every night, watching lives being led in fantasy shows. Ceasar was too introverted to pick up a woman, and he probably wouldn't have anything in common with her if he was successful. He was a lonely person.

Since Ceasar didn't see any way out of his shell, he lost himself in his game. All of his troubles were forgotten, as he collected medals and kills. No women traipsed across the front lines. The losses were temporary, until the next game began. Ceasar reinforced his ego, through mastering both the game's emblematic challenges, and his own job's tasks. Both skills complemented each other.

Back at his desk, Ceasar checked for new weapons reports. He entered all of the raw data into a program that calculates percentages,
then copies all the new information into assigned folders. Amusing to Ceasar, was that he could probably process the new data just as fast, and more efficiently, than the computer. Higher-ups would base their research and production on these factors. From what Ceasar saw every day, he could predict the appearance of new weapon types, and their capability improvements.

"They need me, not just here, but as a consultant. I could create a new job simply from the information I've gleaned over the years. They really just don't know... huh?"

Ceasar thought he heard someone. He scanned for the Director.

"Doesn't matter anyway, I'm busy."

He relaxed and sped through his procedures. His bored mind wandered. It would be appealing to come home to a nice girl. When he completed his work, Ceasar logged into a chat site. He looked at some of the girls' profiles and pictures. Nothing worth noting surfaced. He typed.

"C.Zar: Sup?"

No one answered. They were all busy talking to each other. Ceasar tried harder.

"C.Zar: She said her bf wouldn't let her talk to me anymore. Oh well, that's cool

bunnilvr2: aw

C.Zar: yeah

bunnilvr2: yul get over it

C.Zar: before, she said she didn't even have a bf

bunnilvr2: oh noes

C.Zar: i guess i'll be lonely in chat now

bunnilvr2: :``(

C.Zar: you love bunnies?"

Mysteriously, a strong feeling of guilt drifted over Ceasar. He needed to get back to work.

"Yes, soon I will get a pretty girlfriend. But first, I have to do something. I am good at my job, and can complete this task efficiently"

Ceasar considered his own thoughts with interest. His deeper, subconscious mind became suspicious. Soon, he buffered these thoughts and all their resulting scenarios. Ceasar relied upon his gut feeling, since his only friend was himself. He cautiously listened.

"I will be more confident with women, if I take action." Ceasar reluctantly accepted this logic. Vague ideas took shape in his mind.

"The higher ranks won't promote me, or raise my pay grade, because they think I'm not confident. They see that I have no family, and I do my job too well right where I sit. I am upset that they won't give me a chance to exhibit my capabilities. I'm stuck here, so it's no wonder I don't have a girlfriend. I don't have any money or hope that would help me to be confident. It's a catch-22."

Ceasar felt increasingly hopeless and frustrated.

"They insult me with so little pay. They need to be paid back. I'm capable of taking from them, without them knowing it was me. I need a mission that's worthy of me. Everything will fall into place if I have the nerve.

I can gain confidence, and women like confidence. I can teach the military a tactical lesson. I can poke them with a needle of insecurity. No one will get hurt, they'll just have to work harder at safeguards, and improve some weapons. It'll be for their own good, since they'll improve the country's defense. One man can make a difference."

Ceasar listened with caution to the voice that drowned out his own thoughts.

"I just need to copy the weapons information, such as people involved in their production, their test controls, their failure and success rates, their target locations, and their targeting system specifications. Later, I'll think of a good place to send this information. This mission is worthy of my abilities, since I'll need all of my skills to save the country from their vulnerabilities. I'm a rebel with a cause."

To have a bad day was normal for Ceasar, but he was surprised at himself for reacting so negatively toward his job. Was he really so angry, as to deliberately sabotage what was his job to protect? So many questions bombarded him. Ceasar felt distressed. He had to find an escape.

"No, I must stay here, since every day that passes chips away at my confidence, and sinks me further into the quicksand of my lonely life. Don't give up now."

Ceasar was convinced, as he was so tired of his daily grind.
"Let it grind to a halt. Let's do this thing."

The dark spiritist needed to be successful. His efforts would remotely produce data useful to the physicists. He would temporarily store the information until someone in authority came to retrieve it. He would then gain the recognition he desired.
He wanted more power.

When the evil spiritist extracted the data from Ceasar, he would have Ceasar send it to an email address. The address would be impressed upon Ceasar's mind with the same compulsory force that the spiritist used with Olafa. If not convinced, Ceasar then would be mentally tortured, until he accomplished the dark man's mission. Ceasar was a mere pawn in a spy game.

As he mapped out the first steps in his mind, Ceasar's fingers automatically followed. Login windows challenged him at every stage. Though one terminal could access each login, the codes were longer and more numerous in the ascending levels. Ceasar copied data to a new file, as he progressed up the ladder.

What was difficult, or nearly impossible, for anyone else without experience, Ceasar quickly blew through. The file system types were different for each office that held a server. Ceasar was able to recognize what each system required. Hidden keystrokes and windows were only navigable with previous knowledge. Any breakdown in the security sequence led to lockouts, which prevented further attempts. This was besides the danger of sending red flags to whoever owned and maintained the database. The additional risk of making an unauthorized and illegal copy was unthinkable.

Ceasar considered his insanity secondarily to these unwarranted new ideas. Instinctively he abhorred his actions, yet it was as if he was possessed.

"Good, I'm doing my job as it should be done.
(I can't be doing this!)

I will feel so proud of myself when I send this!
(Why do I feel so unsure about it now?)

They will never know, since I'm so experienced.
(What will happen if I'm caught?)

Yes, things are going to change in my life for the better.
(I'm supposed to protect this information, not give it away.)"

Each copy brought Ceasar more torment. He felt mentally obligated to continue. Finally, the new file was full of the relevant information. Ceasar was scared of what would come next. He began to sweat.

"Now, create an email account with this username and password."

He could picture the name and password clearly, as well as the certain site to enter them. Creating the email account was a temporary distraction to Ceasar's turmoil. Finally done, he debated.

"Now, email myself the file I copied.
(I don't think I'll do that. Besides, why do I need to email myself?)

The information will be held for later use.
(I still don't understand.)

Remember the mission, it's important to security.
(How, again?)

Weaknesses minimize if they're tested. I'm doing a service by exposing the same areas that an enemy would; except I'm doing it for a good reason, to initiate defensive action. This will alert the VIP's of a vulnerability. After they take appropriate action, my work's true purpose will come to light. And they'll unknowingly have placed the right person in my position. I deserve a medal of honor."

These thoughts bolstered Ceasar's confidence. He copied the new file into the email. The data was ready for sending. Ceasar stared at the screen. He couldn't make his hand mouse over the 'send' button. Mental prompts quickly began.

"It's so easy; I'll just press Send now.
(No.)

I've thought of every way out of my situation, and this is the only positive action.
(I can't.)

If I don't do it now, I'll never have this opportunity again.
(Is my life really going to change?)

Press Send. Press Send.
(How did I get myself into this?)

Don't listen to weakness. Be strong. Press Send.
(Am I sure?)

I've been over this, and my reasoning is sound. Press Send now!"

Ceasar wanted to scream. Who was he? He had to get some air. Something had to give, and perhaps a break would buy time. He readied his computer for his return. Prying eyes could never guess his plan. No one could see his subversion.

On the building's roof, Ceasar felt the cool wind pushing him.
There must be an escape from his trap. He wanted to mentally flee the intrusive, uncharacteristic thoughts that dominated his own.

"What am I doing here? I need to go where I belong, and complete my work. If I don't go back, someone will discover me, and it will be too late. Not only is my job on the line, but my life as well. I can't put either at risk. I'm scared, not only of the immediate consequences, but of the greater patriotic result of not completing my mission. Also, I'm going to be in great mental pain if I don't comply with what I know is the correct action. Here's a sample."

Soon Ceasar had a migraine that felt as if his eyes would bulge out of his skull. After he vomited, the pain slowly ebbed. He slumped against the concrete doorway. Ceasar knew he was in dangerous trouble. He saw no way out. He made a decision.

Ceasar lagged and stumbled to the concrete wall that lined the roof. He lifted himself up on the ledge. As he got to his feet, he felt the wind grow stronger. The city street was eight stories below him. None of this mattered to Ceasar, since he was resolved in his own plan.

"I can't be serious. My new life is within grasp. I just have to press a silly button, and I'm set.
(I don't want to listen to you anymore.)

If I don't return, they'll find the evidence! I've got to go back now! Hurry!
(Your tricks won't work on me anymore.)

Go back now. Do it."

The current dilema sobered Ceasar. Everything seemed brighter and louder. He thought of all the choices that brought him to this point. Never would he send the data. He couldn't betray himself like that. His country would remain free from anyone's control.

He fought to stay upright, despite the wind and painful throbbing in his head. A single tear trickled down his cheek. Ceasar gave a final glance over his shoulder, as if surveying his past. Sacrifice was his defense.

Desperation overcame Ceasar. He could see no way out. He would take one for the team. He closed his eyes and stepped forward. Ceasar was a real hero.

Description
Ceasar tried to enjoy his lunch in the break room.

"What was I thinking? Oh well, nobody will understand the information anyway. It's just kids on those games. Still, people are intelligent... but not intelligent enough to use my information for anything subversive. I mean, I wouldn't try to capitalize on someone's mistake. It's not like someone has a secret program where they keep all their secret data. They'd have to have the funding to carry out some spy plan. Who has a government watching games to see if someone gives out secrets? I'm safe."

A breeze wafted Ceasar's brown hair. He caught his moving napkin, and wiped his mouth. He ate alone, just like he did everything else. Ceasar's job was his life. When people went out to movies, Ceasar was at work. When people took a long lunch, Ceasar quickly shoved down his food to get back to work. Ceasar thought that anyone other than him, trying to protect his government's data, was insufficient. So he stayed at work as much as possible. It didn't hurt that he could simultaneously play war games.

If Ceasar did go home, he felt as if he had nothing to do there. The only thing to protect was his TV and couch. That's where he ended up every night, watching lives being led in fantasy shows. Ceasar was too introverted to pick up a woman, and he probably wouldn't have anything in common with her if he was successful. He was a lonely person.

Since Ceasar didn't see any way out of his shell, he lost himself in his game. All of his troubles were forgotten, as he collected medals and kills. No women traipsed across the front lines. The losses were temporary, until the next game began. Ceasar reinforced his ego, through mastering both the game's emblematic challenges, and his own job's tasks. Both skills complemented each other.

Back at his desk, Ceasar checked for new weapons reports. He entered all of the raw data into a program that calculates percentages,
then copies all the new information into assigned folders. Amusing to Ceasar, was that he could probably process the new data just as fast, and more efficiently, than the computer. Higher-ups would base their research and production on these factors. From what Ceasar saw every day, he could predict the appearance of new weapon types, and their capability improvements.

"They need me, not just here, but as a consultant. I could create a new job simply from the information I've gleaned over the years. They really just don't know... huh?"

Ceasar thought he heard someone. He scanned for the Director.

"Doesn't matter anyway, I'm busy."

He relaxed and sped through his procedures. His bored mind wandered. It would be appealing to come home to a nice girl. When he completed his work, Ceasar logged into a chat site. He looked at some of the girls' profiles and pictures. Nothing worth noting surfaced. He typed.

"C.Zar: Sup?"

No one answered. They were all busy talking to each other. Ceasar tried harder.

"C.Zar: She said her bf wouldn't let her talk to me anymore. Oh well, that's cool

bunnilvr2: aw

C.Zar: yeah

bunnilvr2: yul get over it

C.Zar: before, she said she didn't even have a bf

bunnilvr2: oh noes

C.Zar: i guess i'll be lonely in chat now

bunnilvr2: :``(

C.Zar: you love bunnies?"

Mysteriously, a strong feeling of guilt drifted over Ceasar. He needed to get back to work.

"Yes, soon I will get a pretty girlfriend. But first, I have to do something. I am good at my job, and can complete this task efficiently"

Ceasar considered his own thoughts with interest. His deeper, subconscious mind became suspicious. Soon, he buffered these thoughts and all their resulting scenarios. Ceasar relied upon his gut feeling, since his only friend was himself. He cautiously listened.

"I will be more confident with women, if I take action." Ceasar reluctantly accepted this logic. Vague ideas took shape in his mind.

"The higher ranks won't promote me, or raise my pay grade, because they think I'm not confident. They see that I have no family, and I do my job too well right where I sit. I am upset that they won't give me a chance to exhibit my capabilities. I'm stuck here, so it's no wonder I don't have a girlfriend. I don't have any money or hope that would help me to be confident. It's a catch-22."

Ceasar felt increasingly hopeless and frustrated.

"They insult me with so little pay. They need to be paid back. I'm capable of taking from them, without them knowing it was me. I need a mission that's worthy of me. Everything will fall into place if I have the nerve.

I can gain confidence, and women like confidence. I can teach the military a tactical lesson. I can poke them with a needle of insecurity. No one will get hurt, they'll just have to work harder at safeguards, and improve some weapons. It'll be for their own good, since they'll improve the country's defense. One man can make a difference."

Ceasar listened with caution to the voice that drowned out his own thoughts.

"I just need to copy the weapons information, such as people involved in their production, their test controls, their failure and success rates, their target locations, and their targeting system specifications. Later, I'll think of a good place to send this information. This mission is worthy of my abilities, since I'll need all of my skills to save the country from their vulnerabilities. I'm a rebel with a cause."

To have a bad day was normal for Ceasar, but he was surprised at himself for reacting so negatively toward his job. Was he really so angry, as to deliberately sabotage what was his job to protect? So many questions bombarded him. Ceasar felt distressed. He had to find an escape.

"No, I must stay here, since every day that passes chips away at my confidence, and sinks me further into the quicksand of my lonely life. Don't give up now."

Ceasar was convinced, as he was so tired of his daily grind.
"Let it grind to a halt. Let's do this thing."

The dark spiritist needed to be successful. His efforts would remotely produce data useful to the physicists. He would temporarily store the information until someone in authority came to retrieve it. He would then gain the recognition he desired.
He wanted more power.

When the evil spiritist extracted the data from Ceasar, he would have Ceasar send it to an email address. The address would be impressed upon Ceasar's mind with the same compulsory force that the spiritist used with Olafa. If not convinced, Ceasar then would be mentally tortured, until he accomplished the dark man's mission. Ceasar was a mere pawn in a spy game.

As he mapped out the first steps in his mind, Ceasar's fingers automatically followed. Login windows challenged him at every stage. Though one terminal could access each login, the codes were longer and more numerous in the ascending levels. Ceasar copied data to a new file, as he progressed up the ladder.

What was difficult, or nearly impossible, for anyone else without experience, Ceasar quickly blew through. The file system types were different for each office that held a server. Ceasar was able to recognize what each system required. Hidden keystrokes and windows were only navigable with previous knowledge. Any breakdown in the security sequence led to lockouts, which prevented further attempts. This was besides the danger of sending red flags to whoever owned and maintained the database. The additional risk of making an unauthorized and illegal copy was unthinkable.

Ceasar considered his insanity secondarily to these unwarranted new ideas. Instinctively he abhorred his actions, yet it was as if he was possessed.

"Good, I'm doing my job as it should be done.
(I can't be doing this!)

I will feel so proud of myself when I send this!
(Why do I feel so unsure about it now?)

They will never know, since I'm so experienced.
(What will happen if I'm caught?)

Yes, things are going to change in my life for the better.
(I'm supposed to protect this information, not give it away.)"

Each copy brought Ceasar more torment. He felt mentally obligated to continue. Finally, the new file was full of the relevant information. Ceasar was scared of what would come next. He began to sweat.

"Now, create an email account with this username and password."

He could picture the name and password clearly, as well as the certain site to enter them. Creating the email account was a temporary distraction to Ceasar's turmoil. Finally done, he debated.

"Now, email myself the file I copied.
(I don't think I'll do that. Besides, why do I need to email myself?)

The information will be held for later use.
(I still don't understand.)

Remember the mission, it's important to security.
(How, again?)

Weaknesses minimize if they're tested. I'm doing a service by exposing the same areas that an enemy would; except I'm doing it for a good reason, to initiate defensive action. This will alert the VIP's of a vulnerability. After they take appropriate action, my work's true purpose will come to light. And they'll unknowingly have placed the right person in my position. I deserve a medal of honor."

These thoughts bolstered Ceasar's confidence. He copied the new file into the email. The data was ready for sending. Ceasar stared at the screen. He couldn't make his hand mouse over the 'send' button. Mental prompts quickly began.

"It's so easy; I'll just press Send now.
(No.)

I've thought of every way out of my situation, and this is the only positive action.
(I can't.)

If I don't do it now, I'll never have this opportunity again.
(Is my life really going to change?)

Press Send. Press Send.
(How did I get myself into this?)

Don't listen to weakness. Be strong. Press Send.
(Am I sure?)

I've been over this, and my reasoning is sound. Press Send now!"

Ceasar wanted to scream. Who was he? He had to get some air. Something had to give, and perhaps a break would buy time. He readied his computer for his return. Prying eyes could never guess his plan. No one could see his subversion.

On the building's roof, Ceasar felt the cool wind pushing him.
There must be an escape from his trap. He wanted to mentally flee the intrusive, uncharacteristic thoughts that dominated his own.

"What am I doing here? I need to go where I belong, and complete my work. If I don't go back, someone will discover me, and it will be too late. Not only is my job on the line, but my life as well. I can't put either at risk. I'm scared, not only of the immediate consequences, but of the greater patriotic result of not completing my mission. Also, I'm going to be in great mental pain if I don't comply with what I know is the correct action. Here's a sample."

Soon Ceasar had a migraine that felt as if his eyes would bulge out of his skull. After he vomited, the pain slowly ebbed. He slumped against the concrete doorway. Ceasar knew he was in dangerous trouble. He saw no way out. He made a decision.

Ceasar lagged and stumbled to the concrete wall that lined the roof. He lifted himself up on the ledge. As he got to his feet, he felt the wind grow stronger. The city street was eight stories below him. None of this mattered to Ceasar, since he was resolved in his own plan.

"I can't be serious. My new life is within grasp. I just have to press a silly button, and I'm set.
(I don't want to listen to you anymore.)

If I don't return, they'll find the evidence! I've got to go back now! Hurry!
(Your tricks won't work on me anymore.)

Go back now. Do it."

The current dilema sobered Ceasar. Everything seemed brighter and louder. He thought of all the choices that brought him to this point. Never would he send the data. He couldn't betray himself like that. His country would remain free from anyone's control.

He fought to stay upright, despite the wind and painful throbbing in his head. A single tear trickled down his cheek. Ceasar gave a final glance over his shoulder, as if surveying his past. Sacrifice was his defense.

Desperation overcame Ceasar. He could see no way out. He would take one for the team. He closed his eyes and stepped forward. Ceasar was a real hero.