Here you are again. Sitting in your favorite chair and staring at your deck. You smile wryly to yourself as you debate whether you should jack in and cruise the net. Or attend to some other matter that needs your attention. Then you think about all the names that have been applied to your kind over the decades. Hacker, netrunner, deckjock, keyboard samurai, and 'facer are but a few drops of water in the immense ocean of names. The waves of nostalgia continues to carry you deeper into it's void as you remember the various ways people used to navigate the net. Telnet, ftp, gopher, Lynx, Mosaic, Netscape, and Internet Explorer come to mind as you remove your interface plugs from the storage compartment in the right arm of the chair.

You insert your interface plugs into the sockets at the base of your skull and the opposite ends into the ports on the left side of your deck. You take a sip of the soda sitting in the floor, carefully placing it back in its resting place when you were finished. A pair o headlights flash in your window.

A look of horror masks your face. "Please! Not now! Not before I surf!"

As if the dieties of the net have heard your plea, the headlights back away and disappear to the left. You breathe a sigh of relief. Hopefully no one will come to visit while you surf. You make a mental note to yourself: Pick up a Flipswitch.

You inhale a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's either now or never," you mumble to yourself.

You press your thump to the scanner to activate your deck. A line of light moves up and down the length of your thumb, verifying that the thump print it has just scanned is a valid user for the deck.

Then it happens. Without subtlety or advanced warning. You are momentarily blinded by a flash of white light, then embraced by a blanket of darkness. You move toward a multi-colored aperture. You slow to a stop once you are less than half a meter from the closed opening. You "stand" there for a moment and contemplate how to bypass this obstacle when you hear a low hum come from the aperture.

It slowly begins to open, allowing light from the other side filter through. It opens one-fourth of the way, the hum slightly increased in decibels. With blinding speed, the barrier completely opens and you are drawn forward into it. You struggle violently to resist the invisible force that pulls you nearer, tugs you into the circular gateway of the unknown. Once inside, the orifice closes and you find yourself in what appears to be a tubular passage. Drawing a deep breath, you bring up the menu that holds a selection of avatars you choose to represent you in the net. After several seconds of perusing the symbols, you decide to use the icon of an advanced tactical starfighter.

After you "strapped" yourself in, you begin your "pre-flight" check. Everything seemed to be in order. A few seconds later, a feminine voice whispered through the speakers in your flight helmet. The nervousness you "feel" is replaced with the tranquility that accompanies the sultry countdown of a woman you hope to encounter during one of your travels in the net. It would be a dream come true if you could actually meet her in the meat world.

"Zero."

That is the last thing you hear from the voice before the powerful whine of the ATSF's twin engines come to life. Not totally prepared for the experience, you scream in horror as you are propelled forward at an incredible rate of speed. You "feel" yourself sink into the seat. Another scream escapes your throat as two dark blue metallic doors rush toward you without the tiniest of hints of opening in time.

You whisper a prayer of forgiveness to the dieties of the net as images of your life flash before your eyes. Yopu have heard tales from those who have witnessed a deck crashing on its owner. The images your mind conjures range from a zombified person to the charred remains of what was once referred to as a head. You clinch your eyes tightly and pray that when you crash into the launch bay doors, that your death will be quick and painless.

You expect to hear the horrorific sounds of your craft slamming into the doors. Instead, you are greeted by a downward spiral that soon turns into a power dive for the "planet" below. As the planet "rushes" up toward you, you frantically try to restart your stalled engines. There is the sound of rushing flames as you crash through the upper atmosphere. Your adrenal glands work overtime as the lines of the information superhighway for this place grows in brightness and width. In some instances, you can make out the avatars representing other users.

"Oh, please! Oh, please," you beg as the imminent end of your days as a netsurfer appears to be close at hand. Then you hear salvation as the engines whine to life. You sigh in relief, then realize the highway is rushing at you at twice the speed. You scream for mercy on your soul as you grab the joystick and pull back with all your might. The ATSF levels out but you are heading for what appears to be a modest data fortress. Your eyes widen as you struggle to reach the air break.

Then you come to a nauseating, bone jarring stop. Starting with the simplest of assessments, you notice that your throat is dry. You open your eyes and allow yourself to adjust to the feeling of disorientation.

That's when you notice him standing there in front of the doors to the data fortress. He stands there with no fear, no emotion. He is dressed in black from head-to-toe with a pair of black sunglasses hiding whatever truth may be held in his eyes. His arms are raised midway and extended out to the side, his black fingerless gloved hands are clenched into fists. His black trenchcoat is flared out slightly from the breeze.

He lowers his arms, then turns his back to you. He mumbles something under his breath and the doors slide apart. It was a simple command. It was not demanding nor was it to be ignored. "Come," is all he says and steps through the portal to a unique, new world you have not encountered before on the internet.

Not wishing to incur the wrath of the man who may have saved you, unstrap yourself, pop the canopy on your craft, then climb down the ladder on the left side. You jog the short distance between him and you only to stop short of running into him as he turned around to face you suddenly.

"Welcome to the Domain of Deadlock."

"I am Lord Deadlock, webmaster of this site. The site is constantly undergoing construction at random times, that is beside the point. Therefore, I would greatly appreciate it if you would adhere to a few guidelines."

  1. My web site(s), in no way, reflect the ideas, suggestions, and/or opinions of my employer, Delaware Technical & Community College. In fact, my web site(s) do not reflect my ideas, suggestions, and/or opinions in some cases.
  2. If you take a vehicle, please keep all body parts within the vehicle. I will not be responsible for any netjacking!
  3. All change that falls out of your pockets belongs to me.
  4. If you make a mess, please clean up after yourselves.
  5. If you don't like what you see, get out and walk.

Thank you for reading my narrative. I hope this was entertaining for you since I had a lot of fun writing it. If you would like to view more things I have written, check here. But for now, please enjoy you visit to my domain.