Hacker's Blood

Ruben Dominguez — Sat, 24 Jan 2026 03:59:19 GMT

I wasn’t always a humble tradesman in a small town, surrounded by unsuspecting neighbors.

Back in the day, around the late teens, I was a nomad, making my living, doing something one shouldn’t be proud of. Essentially going from nowhere to nowhere, traveling on the open road and countryside of the less urban America.

There, among the passersby and vacationing wanderers, is where I would make my mark and find myself targets who, in time, would discover they had been defrauded on their journey.

Maybe it was people going across the country, someone making a business trip across state lines, or people visiting new places in the United States.

Yes, it could have people who were connecting to public Wi-Fi networks they shouldn’t have been connecting to. Or maybe someone who was desperate to swipe their cards and pump some gas on a lonesome rural road. That would be where they would cross paths with me.

I was rarely ever too close, but never that far away from them when I targeted them, but once they were caught in my web, it’d only be a matter of time before they’d realize that someone had taken their personal information and even made large purchases in their name.

As I said, it wasn’t something to be too proud of, but I definitely took pleasure in it. From the Midwest to the South, I would hunt for prey to stake my livelihood on my ability to take as much as I could from these unsuspecting travelers. I felt free, and I was good at what I did. It wasn’t until that dreaded night, where I saw something that I would never be able to unsee in that blasted motel room, that I decided to leave all that behind me...

It was not always a lucrative endeavor. Some, heck, most people weren’t worth stealing from. I would go to a small town for weeks at a time, setting up my equipment near local inns, and gas stations, before retreating to HQ in some discreet hotel where I would lie in wait for my next victims.

Setting up access points for people to get internet access in the middle of nowhere wasn’t always that effective. But it posed little risk to me making sure my equipment was somewhere inconspicuous. Alternatively, setting up my card readers in gas stations was riskier, as I’d have to go in the dead of night to install or uninstall myself, but there generally was more regular traffic and, of course, data to skim there.

The authorities weren’t really a problem, as I and all the travelers I would target would be long gone from the area when I would strike, and the unlikelihood that these people all together would trace it back to that nowhere town they all diverged from made my life easy.

Getting access to someone’s digital information was always the holy grail. They would check into a hotel and mistakenly connect to a rogue access point I had previously set up nearby, and I would already be there, tracking all their activity on their phones or laptops.

On one occasion, a mother and her daughter were on a road trip, likely school-related on account of their Google Maps queries. The mom connects to the Wi-Fi access and is logged into her social media. From there I took her session cookie and was able to log in to her account and see her messages. You’d be surprised what people share in their messenger.

On another occasion there was a businessman, who was passing by. He stops at an inn, messages his wife goodnight, and then proceeds to enter his financial information into a dating app to swipe all night. Trust me, there isn’t anyone for miles.

Another time it was a whole family on vacation, and one of them connected to my network on their laptop. They start browsing the internet and go to one of the spoofed webpages I set up and click a link, downloading a payload, and now suddenly, I could listen in on their family dealings.

In a way I would become part of their lives, combing through their data for months trying to find something that I could use or sell to someone else. Across states and municipalities, I would travel, having these threads of people’s lives, and over time I was able to build a pretty reliable way of coming up with money for most things I would want.

This is all until I would make my last stop. York, Nebraska. Not as isolated as my usual town, and in fact I usually avoid these sorts of small towns, as everybody knows each other and people take suspicion to someone who stops by for a little to long, but I had been driving since Kentucky from another successful haul, and I wanted to try my luck before going further west.

I came into town off the interstate, and find me a place to stay in deeper in town. As much as I want to cut costs, it’s nice not sleeping in my car, and people tend to look with more suspicion when they see someone fiddling around in a tinted SUV all day. I check in and only bring my laptop inside my room with my own secure Wi-Fi access point.

The next morning I go back towards the interstate to put my Raspberry Pi nearby an inn off the freeway. This is how I get my holy grail of info.

I opt for the pricier Hampton Inn, so I take a left to turn on David Drive and circle the perimeter of the inn. There don’t seem to be many people checked in with only a handful of cars in the parking lot.

I see a perfect spot to put it at the back most corner of the building. So I parked my car, and get out.

The silence of the plains was deafening, with the subtle sound of the wind sounding like whistling. I make my way into some bushes where two walls meet, and I put my internet access point discretely against the cold brick of the building and turn it on.

As I make my way out of the brush, I see a beige sedan pull into the back of the building and I try to look like I belong, check my watch on my wrist as I head to my car.

When I think someone sees me, I may not know who it is typically. It could be people who are just checking into the hotel, but it also might be staff of the inn, so I just stay in my car to make sure. Don’t want people walking up to see what I was just doing.

Out of the car comes out a tall skinny man with combed back hair. He looks gaunt and has long sleeves. He goes to the back and opens his trunk to get a suitcase, and out steps another person from the car. A woman with thick curly blonde hair, who looks like she hasn’t slept in days.

They’re hurried and seem to have paid no mind to my presence. Looks like they just checked in. I pull out of the parking space as they enter the building.

I head back into town. It’s too late to put my card skimmers at the pumps, so I opt to have breakfast at a dinner that just opened.

As I enter the diner, the people at the front counter stop chatting and with a smile turn to me. The waitress motions me to go to a booth at the back of the diner. Without having to take the menu, I take an order of eggs, flapjacks, and sausage before being left alone with my arms clasped on the table.

There’s two other parties in the diner, someone sitting alone in the other corner, and two others at at a table. By their age, it looks like they may be regulars who live in town. I can’t help but have a moment of reflection. It’s only when I’m driving long hours or eating where I’m really having time to think about something other than how I’m going to rip people off, where I’m going next, new ways to evolve my practice.

But in these fleeting moments, it’s just me and what’s in front of me. Much like the workers and patrons of the diner, it was just another day. When you take step back from everything and sit in the silence of what people’s lives entails, it’s hard to come up with a cohesive argument for what is the purpose of it all.

‘To survive’ I thought. In that way, my life wasn’t that different from anyone else’s. All of this is just means to serve ourselves in the end, and the rest of time spent not working or eating was just what we happened to occupy our time with. I knew that if these people knew what I was, what I spent my time doing, they wouldn’t see it that way. ‘A parasite’ they might call me.

“I’m turning on the television” an older woman says looking vaguely at us. I gave a thumps up as she flicks it on. It was all the way on the other side of the diner, so it wasn’t that much of a service.

It was the local news. Just missing the previous segment, something about the most recent political scandal, a news anchor appears. “In what authorities are calling foul play medical mystery, three doctors from a Wyoming medical clinic have disappeared”.

I turn my head to the one waitress coming to my booth “Did you want anything to drink?”
“I’ll take a lemonade, if you have any.” she smiles and walks toward the back.
I turn to the TV which is now what seems to be an interview of medical staff. “It’s been really sad turning away patients, but we can’t really do more than basic assessments for people.”
“That was Nurse Quincy Thompson, and ever since last last Thursday, she says, that the doctors in their clinic which has been operating for 20 years, suddenly vanished. The reason? Thompson describes something perplexing.”
“It was a woman who came in, she had marks all on her arms, she seemed very sick, we almost refused treatment and called EMTs to come get her immediately, but our doctors finally gave treatment. Next thing I know they were calling for the whole clinic to be shut down.” The news anchor continued “By the next morning the three doctors who ran that clinic, suddenly gone. Doctors Emile Blanquet, Elias Dorshwitz, and Turner Clarkson never made it home that night.” Their names along with their professional photos appearing, I saw one of them, Elias Dorshwitz, had an uncanny resemblance to the guy I had just seen not 10 minutes ago.

He looked like shit compared to the photograph; This guy looked photogenic and healthy, and full figured. Could it really be him? I got a ping on my phone. An alert I setup for when someone connect to one of my networks. A doctor? Not many better targets than that. But these are just strange circumstances. We’re like eight hours away from Wyoming, and today is Tuesday. What’s he doing out here five days out from his disappearance? Something felt off.

The waitress comes out from the back with my drink. “You’re food will be out in a just a minute.”

I turn to her “Can I actually get that to go, please?”

Soon after, I’m driving back to HQ, still thinking about Dr.Dorshwitz sighting in town. I’ve brushed by cases of public interest before, some civil and some criminal. It’s best to steer clear of of them as it brings a lot of undue attention to the area. I just got here. It might not have even been him anyways. It wasn’t till I got back to my motel room where I would find out that there were evil things afoot in this small town.

I get to my room, and place my food at the desk right next to my laptop. Another ping from my phone signaling someone connecting to my network. Regardless of any weird things going on in town, I was thinking it wasn’t going to have much to do with me. In the worst cases, I might give an anonymous tip. Though I wasn’t sure they were after him as a main suspect. It looked like authorities more than anything wanted answers. Where did the other doctors go? Who and where is this mysterious patient? Something told me this guy, Elias Dorshwitz, wasn’t behind all this.

I log into my laptop and open the terminal. The aroma of greasy pancakes fills the air, the only light on besides the laptop’s blue glow, a cheap orange desk lamp.

I see a table of the devices that have connected. Bingo. “Elias’s iPhone” and a long-winded name for a PC, probably a laptop.

This confirms it. Mysterious case aside, I was pretty hyped about this development. Doctors are well known for their pay, and in any case, I was probably in for a great payday.

The iPhone makes things trickier if I am going to pry deeper into this guys life. Assuming that’s his laptop, it does look like Windows, which does bode well for me.

In either case, I would still be able to monitor network activity.

I ran a packet sniff on his local IP, watching the HTTP requests fly by in real-time. It’s already teaming with queries. Though, not about travel itineraries, nor destination spots, whoever this was, they were deep into research.

“Full body blood transfusion rate”

“gut bacteria blood enzyme modification”

“immunosuppression treatment protocols”

It was definitely behavior not like what you’d expect to see from your everyday traveler. Still not what I’d expect from a doctor who is on the run.

What’s going on here? I think I said out loud as I dig into my syrup drenched pancake.

They were going from article to research publication, trying to find... Well I didn’t know. Let me tell ya, I did not like this arrangement. Why did I feel this way when I already had this guy in my trap? Why did it feel like I was getting caught in somebody else’s web?

They’d been going on this rabbit hole for an hour or so, and continued for another two hours. The searches got more and more specific. I was able to somewhat tell what they were trying to do.

From the looks of it, they were trying to find a way to do blood transfusions with incompatible blood types, or at least, to make the inevitable bodies rejection of such blood more manageable. From what I knew, such a thing wasn’t really possible, but I could see the desperation in the search queries clear as day.

While that was going on, I was trying to find more on the case, and this Dr.Dorshwitz guy. There was more to this story for sure. Along with the missing people, there was also a number of missing medical instruments missing from the clinic where this all started, and the homes of the other doctors seemed to have been broken into.

Sitting here in confusion, I decided I was going to do something I don’t typically do. I was going to send an Email.

He wasn’t going through any of the honeypots I would have setup for people to fall into. I was going to have to get more invasive. I was going to have to lure the doctor into downloading malware onto his devices, so I could access his computer.

It was generally a little more risky, but in all likelihood still untraceable, but it would give authorities a clear picture of when the user was attacked. No matter.

I spun-up an anonymous email, and started to compose my message. It had to have something he’d definitely click. Something that looked harmless, without tipping him off too much that he was being watched. This guy was on the run after all, and likely had a bunch of emails he already was dodging.

I decided I would be somewhat discreet, something playful and on the nose:

Dear Dr.Dorshwitz,

I was asked to forward this to you regarding your recent inquiries into blood letting.

I just wanted to let you know that this has no place in science.

Please follow the link to learn more about the reactions to antigens in the human body and how other people tried and failed to replace their blood with incompatible solutions.

Best,
Dr. Kent

The link would infect his browser, and run the malware on his computer giving me full access to the machine. I sent it, and now all that was left was to wait.

It was not the afternoon, and I had been waiting for around 40 minutes for when the payload finally landed. He clicked the link and now, his machine was my machine.

From here getting access to the device’s webcam and microphone was easy. I opened them up and what I saw was somewhat ominous.

A man, sitting directly in front of the computer, his face just barely off camera at the top of the image. The humming of the laptop’s fan and static from the microphone. It’s quite and dark. Behind the man, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, I see the woman shrouded in darkness, completely motionless with her hair covering her eyes and face.

The mans arm is set straight to his side, while the man continues to browse on the laptop. It looks like there is something coming out of his arm, like an IV tube with dark liquid coming out of his arm. The woman behind him, I’m not sure from what light source, seemed to cast a big shadow up on the wall.

“What the fuck” I say out loud into the emptiness of the room.
The man turns to the woman, almost as if hearing me. “It’s almost done.”

I shake off the feeling of dread and keep snooping, I put the image at the corner of my screen and open up the view on the laptop. I’m able to see what exactly the man is doing on the laptop.

It’s a spreadsheet. The file is called TRANSFUSION_DOCUMENT.xlsx, with three columns each labeled subject one thru three. The rows under that having marked dates and times starting the day after they disappeared in Wyoming.

The volumes extracted is what perplexes me. This couldn’t be blood, no, in a standard medical setting, you aren’t allowed to give more than 500 milliliters of blood more than six times a year. These ‘transfusion’ though, were more than double that, sometimes two liters at a time. That would basically mean they taking out someone’s entire blood supply and replacing it.

I didn’t want to move on the screen lest the doctor see someone was in control of his machine.

So I opened the device in my terminal, and started looking at what was locally on the laptop. It looked normal enough, like he didn’t use the laptop for much else besides work, but then I found a folder labeled ‘it’s following’.

Inside the folder there was a series of text files and other spreadsheets. “Confession.docx”, “Humanoid_parasite.docx”, “Message_for_families.docx”.

I open the ‘Confessions’ document, and only read the first line.

It infects you to eat you.

The doctor gets up from his chair, removing the needle that was in his arm. “It’s time.”

The woman tries to get up from her chair, but stumbles to the right and falls, knocking over the cheap turned off lamp next to her, making a thud on the ground.

It was at this moment, that I felt a thud beneath my feet at the desk, and a sound in the room next to me. “No” I thought.

I take a closer look at the room their in, now I observe it’s layout and structure. It looks exactly like mine. I stand from my chair and turn around. They must have moved to this hotel, without me realizing. All this talk about disappearing medical staff and the excitement of the hunt had made me fail to realize that they had connected to my personal travel router.

My phone still on the desk pings, signaling that someone has connected to the network.

I go to the window and shift the curtain to look outside, and sure enough, I see the beige sedan parked at the far end of the parking lot.

I go back to my laptop, and I see what is now a clear picture of Dr.Dorshwitz dragging the woman to the chair. She looks like she’s rotting. Her veins are black, showing through her skin. Her face is swollen He put her in the chair, and starts hooking her up to the machine.

“Just hold still, that thing is still out there, we have to take that stuff out of you.”

Then from the hum of the laptop, and in my room I hear a whistling, like a boiling teapot.

At this point, my heart is thumping. I check the terminal of connected devices to the router. The new device that connected, it’s just a string of gibberish.

“It’s back! It’s hungry!” the woman says from the chair, trying to get up. The man won’t let her.
“It can eat the blood!” he screams, muffled through the walls of the room.

I’m no longer looking for data to skim, I’m trying to figure out what the hell is going on. I continue on reading the confession document, skimming as much as I can.

The woman came to us seeking help, but she clearly was too sick. I pushed the matter with my colleague until they relented, but it soon became clear that we might have a biohazard situation on our hands... It can hurt you, but it’s primary goal is infecting a target, so that it can pre-digest your insides so that it can finally- feed on you body.

The whistling grew louder, and it was localized in the parking lot, nearing right to our doors.

I didn’t date look out my peep-hole.

I sat in the chair, my hand reaching for my pistol I keep in my bag. If I was going to use it, this would a first.

I don’t keep my eyes off the door, but I hear scrambling on the microphone from the next room. “It’s here!”

Suddenly I hear twisting wood and metal from the door crackling open. I turn my head slowly to the right, ninety degrees. The two run off into the bathroom. From there I see a humanoid figure float into frame. Almost pitch black. It’s motion is slow but consistent. It is slender but rigid body, with a sort of crown on it’s head, and on it’s of it’s shoulders, faces that are upside down.

I hear screaming and calls for help. In that moment, I don’t know what overtook me. I jumped up from my chair and go towards the door. Opening it to the sound of that high-pitch whistling, and find a completely mangled door on the floor. I have my pistol in one hand and with the other, I peer inside.

There at the end of the room, there it was. It levitated outside the restroom door and with a wave of it’s hand it sent it flying in my direction. It didn’t reach halfway across the room, but I fell backwards just from the shock.

“No no, oh my god, please don’t” with a wave of it’s hand, there was a splat and a scream from the woman.

I raise my pistol from my side, and almost shoot, but I see it pull her from where it stood into it’s arms. With a dramatic sigh, it silences her with it’s teeth in her throat. Then in a manner of seconds, I see the life drain from her body, her skin almost turning into a plastic bag around her skeleton, her eyes roll to the back of her head almost deflating.

It was in that moment, where I knew I wasn’t a fighter. I got up, turn around and book it down avenue, and didn’t look back, not until that whistling was far behind me.

I would call cab service about twenty minutes later, when I stopped running. I went to the nearest airport and decided from that day onward, I was changed man.

I never did see a resolution to this Wyoming mystery, despite me keeping tabs on it, it seemed like the news just didn’t talk about it again.

Moved to a new town for the last time I did. Nothing to prove, no philosophy of freedom, no taking for everything I could. Hell, I’m shaping up to be a member of the community.

Still; On days where it’s too quite and all I hear is the wind, I always listen, for that particular whistling, and I wonder what it would take to survive without hacking my blood.

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Hacker's Blood