When I was a kid, I dreamed of being a terrorist, and it sparked wildly when I'm only ten years old, watching Terror in Resonance with eyes sparkling in amazement.
The human understanding, that's a simple word when it's actually a skill that can turn into a whole focus and then become a whole concentration. In the end, awareness or consciousness.
It was like the not so typical learning materials of Pavlov, becoming a dog. The subject, the object, and the cause; divided into three parts. One is to manipulate, the second is the manipulated and the last is the manipulation.
But the feeling of agitation, the first thrilling sensation of curiosity towards: Can I create a bomb using natural resources to explode my parent's house?
That's just a question. There's no experiment or the courage to do that as I am a slave of society, focused on paying taxes and university tuition fees while still studying college— education has never been a natural human right, it's a privilege; I tried taking each admissions test to different public state universities. Unfortunately, two schools put me on hold, I didn't pass the other one and the last one was successful yet was stolen from me.
So to quench the thirst of the long time since desirement of being a terrorist, and to at least feel the so-called obligation to be filial piety towards our motherland, I really became a terrorist. Accidentally.
That stupid act made me nervous at first until the second one after jokingly posting anonymously about twelve bombs hidden in each well known state university in my country.
I even attached a 'be like Sherlock' morse code after translating "I'm just joking." But the dumb government, mis deciphering the codes I gave.
The code was: .-.. ..--. --.-- .... ... -.- .-- .... ..- --- ..-- -- .. .--- ....-
Imagine you're a detective, sweating under a dim lamp, staring at a note left by the world's most confusing wannabe turning 21 years old. It reads like absolute gibberish: dots, dashes, ones, zeros, and what might be the outline of a chicken. The original message, innocently enough, was "I'm just actually joking," but the culprit—clearly a fan of overcomplication, as if it is their life—encoded it through a Caesar cipher, turned it into binary, and then slapped some Morse code on top for good measure. By the time you're done deciphering, you think the criminal is taunting you with, "I'm just getting started." Cue the dramatic soundtrack.
Here's the kicker: the complexity wasn't just for the fun of it—it was a masterclass in misdirection. You were so busy unraveling layers of code, you missed the subtle trick. They didn't just hide the message—they gave it an evil twin! Now you're pacing the room, muttering, "Who jokes about starting something?!" Meanwhile, the causes of the sudden loss of your brain cells is probably at home, binge-watching John Wick's movies, laughing their encoded butt off. If nothing else, this note proves one thing: some unfortunate college student prefer puzzles over plain old villainy.
Even a kid in mischief will create better damn stories than the experienced you, flipping the reality, saying shits with sarcasm. Thank goodness that I used vpn and an account that Facebook immediately burned after I one naming it.
I guess that the real purpose of without any second thoughts action is due to my incapability to pay my tuition fee. Twenty eight thousand is not a mere amount for a muggle like me, although the school claims that we can pay it by three thousand per month, it's still a big amount.
The second accident that really put me in a tight spot is due to my carelessness. I'm not a chemical student, and that program subject is my minor one. To be exact, I'm a Business Administration student that majors in Finance Management with an empty wallet and phone LCD no better than being used.
We need to demonstrate sublimation, so I bought dry ice. After finishing the experimentation, I dump the leftover dry ice into a random trash bin outside the school building because… it'll just evaporate, right? And the stupid me who was now inside the library two buildings away, forgot and too late to realize that the trash bin is next to a sensitive ventilation system for the campus data center.
Insert audio: "It was at this moment they knew, they f**ed up."
The dry ice really sublimates into CO₂, seeping into the building and trips the fire suppression system. The servers that are worth millions are damaged, and the campus descends into chaos as classes are canceled, and IT staff rush to contain the "cyberattack." because of me.
There's no security footage that can find the culprit because the CCTV in that area is just a design to scare the students who go there to sometimes do a public procreation, free porn under the bright sunlight.
Due to my carelessness, authorities declare the event an act of secondary twisted game after the first action of the terrorist. The me, oblivious to my role, was horrified when news outlets labeled me as the "Dry Ice Bomber" and the "Moriarty Jr." after connecting that the twelve bombs post is connected with the second incident.
They are probably thinking that after scaring them off using public state universities, I'm targeting well known private colleges this time. Definitely not.
Like hey, girl. That's absurd, the lowly me couldn't keep up with a legend like them. Each action of theirs is well calculated, but in my case, I'm the very, very, so poor, low budget Cid Kagenou from The Eminence in Shadow.
To be honest, I was terrified during that time that I even searched how to not act very much like a terrorist in Br4ve. I was also thankful that our prelim was called off. Professors, considerate of our mental health after experiencing such an incident, petitioned for their students to have a one week rest.
I clapped my hands, locked myself inside my room and grind gaming accounts to be sold off to lessen the burden of being a freeloader but still the responsibility of my parents, only once again to find myself stuck in a dilemma.
Who the hell accidentally created an account inside a well hidden criminals' site due to trustingly accepting cookies? Yep, that's me.