—Alias: FENR, Tier-4 Data-Pirate, former ORB Salvage Diver
They say ORBs are impenetrable.
They're not.
Everything built to protect something can be bent to serve something else—you just need time, nerve, and a reason.
I've cracked forty-seven Standard ORBs in my run—some in active sync, some post-mortem, some still warm from a pulse fade. I don't go after the MECH-junkies or combat drones. I hunt for the real gold:
Financial cores. Personal IDs. Biometric logs. Hidden memories.
Blackmail. Inheritance. Codes only their ORBs know they ever said out loud.
I dive through neuro-scramble and fingerprint triggers like a damn whisper.
But G-ORBs?
G-ORBs are gods made of glass and fire.
Let me break it down for you.
➤ Standard ORBs?
Two firewall rings.
Standard neurosync decoders.
Security timestamp updates every 96 hours.
Most don't even run reactive loopback unless they're high-grade.
You can slice through most of those with a good delta-key injector and a spoofed cranial echo.
➤ G-ORBs?
They've got seven rings of encryption.
Each one built by a different mind, from a different decade.
Each one adapts once you touch it.
There's deep-reactive firewalls that simulate a living thought pattern just to confuse you.
There's heartbeat-authentication deadlocks, meaning if the last bonded bloodline's not alive or close, access collapses permanently.
Some of them even project false data for weeks—entire decoy lives—to throw you off the real core.
One time?
I thought I broke into a legacy G-ORB from a political dynasty in Vallon.
Spent two months watching memories of some perfect, clean-looking golden child—his first love, his speeches, his mind.
Turned out that G-ORB had scrubbed the real host's identity and fed me a fictional decoy, while alerting a drone-sweep to my location.
I barely made it out with my skull still connected.
But the payout?
That's why we still do it.
A cracked G-ORB? That's data from generations of leaders, doctors, soldiers, thinkers.
You don't just get credit accounts—you get leverage. Secrets. Historical blackmail.
Whole lines of inheritance rewritten with one memory nudge.
And the black net?
They pay top credits for things the law won't admit ever existed.
And there's the danger.
Some G-ORBs are self-defensive.
I'm talking:
Neurofeedback traps that fry your synapses if you trace too deep.
Mimetic echo-loops that replicate your thought patterns and lock them—turn your own mind into a prison cell.
Time-locked data-viruses that burn through entire drive systems like acid, only after they've traced your coordinates.
You don't break into a G-ORB.
You negotiate with it.
And hope it thinks you're interesting enough not to kill.
People ask me:
"You ever try to take over a G-ORB and bond it?"
No.
Because that's suicide.
A G-ORB bonded to blood doesn't just reject strangers—it treats them like pathogens.
You'd be lucky to just lose your mind.
More likely, you'd fry your ORB interface, burn your short-term memory, and forget how to breathe on your way down.
But we're pirates. We don't do safe.
The more dangerous the vault, the richer the vault.
So yeah, I'm working on one now.
Codename: Veritas.
Tied to the Elric family—medical elite, old world code, legend-tier encryption.
I've got time.
I've got silence.
I've got two decoy identities and a fake bloodline map to ride under its filters.
It doesn't know I'm here yet.
...Or maybe it does.
Hard to tell.
Sometimes I think I hear it whispering back.
END ENTRY