"Awesome! You just waltzed right in!"
Unable to contain his excitement, Skye whispered his congratulations.
Anthony and John remained silent, but the shock they felt was no less significant than Skye's.
At least Skye could vaguely understand what Lille was doing.
To the two bodyguards, Lille had simply squatted for several hours in front of the power substation, then wandered around the base of a communications tower before they inexplicably walked inside!
"The majority of hacker activities are just to gather enough information to take this step.
Because most genuinely secret information and things that can truly affect the physical world are... not on the internet.
Being able to hack into insignificant personal computers can only be considered the most basic level of a hacker; any organization that requires secrecy knows how to physically cut off the possibility of internet intrusion.
Only those who can indeed infiltrate through the security vulnerabilities of social organizations to solve their own issues are truly qualified hackers."
Of course, when sentencing time comes, a few extra years are added as a reward, and if you're technically superb, a life sentence isn't out of the question.
The internal control system computers in the substation couldn't possibly be connected to the internet, but once inside this LAN and having found the interface, you could take control of the whole system.
Connect to the LAN, acquire substation information, and then use the Qilusi Eye for data comparison.
One could say that the electrical supply lines for half of Hell's Kitchen were all inside Lille's head.
Lille thought for a moment and decided to install a backdoor and a Trojan horse to the substation.
This backdoor would allow Lille to remotely connect to the power station, and the Trojan could spread to other power stations when the staff used things like hard drives for data exchange.
Hacking is like breaking a dam; once a breach is opened, the water will pour in continuously and then spread everywhere.
"All set," Lille clapped his hands, "let's go."
"And then what?"
"Then we'll go back and adjust the electrical lines near the apartment. It's the same deal; the lines at the end of the transmission must match the software driver we feed in, or it's pointless."
"You're going to mess with the electrical lines?" Skye's mind flashed with rumors from the BBS, "They say that the wiring in Hell's Kitchen is like maggots twisting in a cesspool!
The municipal power grid sent many electricians, but their advice was that it's hopeless! Might as well tear it down and start over!"
"Heh, their skills aren't up to par, watch me."
The four of them walked out of the substation as boldly as they had entered, leaving the security guard gazing after them dumbfounded.
Minutes later, the senior engineer returned, and the guard immediately reported, "Sir, the electricians have already been here."
The engineer frowned, "What are you talking about? What electricians?"
The guard had a bad feeling but fortunately, he had the text message as evidence. He quickly took out his phone to show the engineer the message that had supposedly been sent to him, only to find that no such message existed!
Not only that, but the cameras at the station hadn't recorded anyone coming in!
The guard was sweating bullets.
"Did I get too obsessed with Burger King?"
————————————————-
In his past life, Lille wasn't just an old nuclear physics engineer; adhering to the philosophy of growing into a multi-talented individual, he was also an old electrician.
"You might be wondering how to tell if there's electricity.
If you're a novice, I suggest using a test pen; ensure it works before use, and make sure the rated voltage of your test pen matches the voltage level of the electrical equipment being tested.
Also, wear insulated gloves during the test, don't test alone, and ensure a safe distance from live parts..."
Lille scanned the wires extending from the utility pole and quickly located the few he needed to check.
Skye listened intently, "Being an electrician is really dangerous, so what if you're an expert?"
"An old electrician would just touch it with the back of their hand to know if there's any electricity—oh right, remember to use the back of your hand. That way, if you get shocked, you won't instinctively grab the wire.
(Do not try this at home.)"
"Huh?"
Lille reached out and then his hand snapped back instantly, so fast that Skye hadn't fully grasped what "an old electrician would just touch it" meant.
Alright, alright, is that how we're playing it?
Skye drew a big cross at the place he had just recorded and wrote: Check the wire with the back of your hand.
"Everything is normal, that's it for today's work."
Just then, Lille had confirmed that the surveillance in the apartment was also functioning normally.
Rigordo had installed a total of three surveillance cameras, which were respectively targeted at the apartment's side staircase, the building's main entrance, and the stairwell.
These cameras were re-equipped with facial recognition technology from the year 2077, capable of identifying and locking onto strangers within 2 seconds, to ensure that the footage was maximally focused on illegal activities.
The power lines supplying the apartment were, in fact, changed by Lille to new ones that had been maintained two months earlier; theoretically, only he knew how to cut the power to the apartment.
Of course, if the power station or law enforcement intended to investigate, the Trojan implanted in the power station's system would activate, altering user information to leave no trace.
With a clap of his hands, Lille announced the end of the workday. The usually reticent John now had a question, "Li, so what's the point of doing all this?"
Lille pointed at the cameras in front of the door and on the street, "The point is, the cameras won't turn off when we need them. This time the NYPD can't say we don't have evidence.
We now have a high-end surveillance system, a first step in becoming a high-end community."
"But..." John began to speak but then stopped himself, eventually shaking his head.
Hell's Kitchen doesn't believe in tears—or in the law.
Lille patted his arm—it was mainly because he couldn't reach that high; otherwise, he would have aimed for the shoulder.
His thoughts were different from those of the original Hell's Kitchen residents.
The state is the product of class struggle—99% of the country would acknowledge the law and abide by it, regardless of what they thought inside; in practice, superficially, they had to do so.
Otherwise, they would face pressure from all sides, trapped in a Catch-22, becoming criminals.
For criminals, the lower classes wanted to see justice served, mid-level law enforcement inclined to follow orders, and the upper echelons might take the opportunity to eliminate those vested interests.
People needed to learn to defend their own lives, with fists and with laws, or else even the supposedly neutral law enforcement would side with the other party if you had reason but no voice.
Moreover, Lille couldn't afford private bodyguards; he had to rely on the power of the NYPD.
"Don't worry, this is just the beginning. I know you can't always be guarding your home, but those punks are specifically into causing trouble.
If we're going to do it, let's knock them down in one go, and do it righteously, so the NYPD doesn't muddy the waters."
"I hope it works."
"Whether it works is up to you guys. Safety is earned by oneself. Have you ever been in a fight?
Not to imply anything, but it seems like most of your compatriots like to join gangs?"
John smiled, indicating he didn't mind, "I have—I just hope to be a role model for my son.
I'm an orphan; my mother ran off with another man when I was four, and my damn father, who loved domestic violence and drinking, drank himself to death when I was six.
And the birth of my son, Chris, was also unexpected. His mother... also ran off with another man."
Lille showed his respect.
John seemed quite philosophical about it: "It's like a... cycle of some sort. Though I don't abuse my family, I did once get mixed up on the streets and got into fights.
Of course, it was only for a while. I was fast and never got caught—that's when I met Chris's mom, and we had Chris.
When she left, I drank and lost my temper—then I suddenly realized I was becoming the kind of man my father was.
So I broke off contact with my old friends and found a job on a construction site, but the site shut down, the boss ran off and still owed me two months' salary."
Lille's respect deepened: because if that was the case, Kingpin's criminal gang would have definitely tried to recruit him.
United Construction Company was a gang masquerading as a construction company, with plenty of opportunities to coerce site workers into wrongdoing.
But John had not accepted.
"Sometimes I think, why is it so hard to be a good person—perhaps this is my atonement for the first half of my life."
After a pause, John solemnly said to Lille, "So if you ask me if I'm willing to protect my son, and our living space, you already have your answer.
I just don't want him to think his father is a criminal."
"That's good, because if things get worse, we're going to need that grit from the first half of your life. I promise you'll be called a hero for your bravery and not a thug."
No sooner had Lille spoken than his brow furrowed—
Crash!
A rock smashed against the glass window in the door, followed by the sound of a baseball bat striking the door!
In just a few seconds, the door had been broken down, and someone outside reached in to open it!
"Move fast, grab and go!"
The voice was clear and audible. Lille quickly sent a message to all the apartment's occupants and then shouted to John and Anthony:
"Grab your weapons!"