Hacker’s Manifesto

Scene: An evening in Belize Sam and Jessica discuss Mentor’s Hacker Manifesto

The waves crashed softly against the shore, their rhythm steady, unchanging. A warm breeze carried the scent of salt through the open porch, ruffling the pages of the book Jessica had abandoned on the small wooden table between them.

Sam sat across from her, rolling a cigarette between his fingers, his whiskey untouched beside him.

“Ever read The Hacker’s Manifesto?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Jessica tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “The Mentor’s one? The old manifesto from the ’80s?”

“Yeah.”

Jessica let out a quiet huff, reaching for her glass. “That’s a hell of a shift from Camus and Kafka.”

Sam smirked, lighting his cigarette. The orange glow flickered, reflecting in his tired blue-gray eyes. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Jessica watched him for a beat before picking up her own drink. “Alright. What’s on your mind?”

Sam exhaled slowly, the smoke curling between them.

“There’s a line in it that always stuck with me,” he said. ‘We exist without skin color, without nationality, without religious bias… you call us criminals. We seek knowledge.’ “

Jessica leaned back in her chair, swirling the whiskey in her glass.

“I remember that part,” she murmured. “It’s about being more than the labels the world tries to slap on you.”

“And about the system,” Sam added, tapping ash into a tray. “The idea that the real crime isn’t hacking. It’s the way the world boxes people in. The manifesto wasn’t just about breaking into computers. It was about breaking out of the cages people don’t even know they’re in.”

Jessica smirked faintly. “Didn’t know you had a soft spot for cyber-anarchists.”

Sam chuckled. “I’ve always had a soft spot for people who refuse to accept the world the way it is.” He took a drag, exhaling through his nose. “And that got me thinking about you.”

Jessica arched a brow. “Oh?”

“You’re the same way,” Sam said simply. “You exist outside the system. No real name, no real past. You slip through cracks that other people don’t even see. And when you find something they don’t want you to know? You tear the whole damn thing down.”

Jessica chuckled, but there was something hollow in it. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees.

“You make it sound poetic. But let’s be real, Sam. I’m not some digital Robin Hood. Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m looking for until it’s too late.”

“That’s because you don’t hack computers,” he said, voice low, steady. “You hack people.”

Jessica went still.

Sam leaned back, watching her reaction. “You slip into identities. You play the game. You figure out what people know before they even know they’re being played. It’s the same mindset. The same hunger for answers. You just don’t leave code behind. You leave ghosts.”

Jessica exhaled slowly, staring at the ice melting in her glass.

“And what if I don’t want to be that anymore?” she murmured.

Sam was quiet for a long moment. Then—softly—

“Then you stop.”

Jessica let out a breath, shaking her head.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Sam admitted. “But neither was walking away from Jason, and you did that.”

Jessica swallowed, tilting her head slightly. “So what, you think I should disappear? Just let the world be the world?”

Sam flicked ash off his cigarette, watching her carefully. “I think you should decide what kind of ghost you want to be.”

Jessica smirked faintly, taking another sip of whiskey.

“You know, for a cop, you talk like a revolutionary.”

Sam chuckled, finally reaching for his drink. “And for a ghost, you’re still trying too hard to be real.”

Jessica let the silence settle between them, the weight of it familiar, but somehow lighter than before.

Maybe, she thought, she didn’t need to be a ghost forever.

Maybe, for the first time in a long time, she could just be.