Routine Government Business
Zero Cool had learned to fear government conference calls the way most people feared root canals—necessary evils that inevitably revealed deeper problems requiring expensive intervention.
“This is just a routine security briefing,” their handler had said. “Thirty minutes, standard bureaucratic theater, easy consulting fee.”
The Zoom call connected Zero with twelve agency representatives, each more optimistic about digital security than the last. The meeting title was “Inter-Agency WordPress Infrastructure Digital Health Checkup,” which in government speak meant “we have no idea what we’re doing but need to fill out forms about it.”
“Thank you all for joining,” said Agent Chen from Homeland Security, her background a carefully curated bookshelf that screamed “I understand technology.” “We’re here to discuss the security posture of our WordPress installations across federal agencies.”
Zero felt their internal alarm system activate. “How many installations are we discussing?”
“Approximately 2,847 WordPress sites across 23 agencies,” Chen replied cheerfully. “All mission-critical systems.”
“Mission-critical,” Zero repeated slowly. “Such as?”
The Cascade of Revelation
What followed was thirty minutes of bureaucratic horror that would have made Lovecraft reach for stronger adjectives.
Agent Rodriguez spoke with military precision: “CIA recruitment site. WordPress 4.6. Admin credentials: admin, CIA2019 exclamation. Exclamation point provides enhanced security.”
Zero’s coffee mug froze halfway to their lips.
The FAA representative continued in careful aviation terminology: “Air traffic coordination backup utilizes WordPress platform. Theme designation: SkyHigh Pro, forum-sourced. Developer status: missing. Graphics quality: exceptional.”
Zero set their coffee down.
Department of Energy’s academic tone followed: “Nuclear facility monitoring dashboard operates on WordPress infrastructure. Security plugin configuration: forty-seven concurrent installations. Conflict resolution protocol: intern Jimmy performs database deletion and reconstruction.”
Zero’s forehead met the desk with a quiet thud.
Agent Chen beamed with bureaucratic enthusiasm. “Excellent news! We’re implementing Zero Cool’s security recommendations across all installations!”
Zero’s voice achieved dangerous calm. “I haven’t made recommendations yet.”
“Your TechCorp digital health checkup was tremendously helpful! Standardized passwords to Government123! for consistency. Plugin updates synchronized to Friday 3 AM for efficiency.”
Zero watched twelve government representatives nod approvingly. Their sarcastic security report had become federal policy.
When Sarcasm Becomes Policy
“Let me understand,” Zero said, their voice achieving a register of calm that typically preceded either enlightenment or complete breakdown. “You read my anonymous digital health checkup gone wrong, which was clearly marked as criticism of terrible practices, and implemented it as official policy?”
“Your recommendations were very clear,” Agent Chen replied. “Standardized passwords, synchronized updates, and regular security plugin additions. We’ve actually improved efficiency by automating everything based on your guidelines.”
Zero looked at their screen where twelve government representatives beamed with the satisfaction of people who’d successfully followed instructions, unaware they’d turned federal cybersecurity into a disaster movie.
“Cipher,” Zero typed urgently in their secure chat. “Emergency. Federal government implemented my sarcastic security report as actual policy.”
“How bad?” Cipher replied.
“Nuclear facilities monitored by WordPress blogs level bad.”
“On my way.”
Zero rubbed their temples, feeling a headache building. “Government123!” is not secure because you added an exclamation point. Updating everything simultaneously is like changing all the locks in a building at the same time during a fire drill.”
Agent Rodriguez looked confused. “But the report was so detailed and professional.”
“It was professionally explaining why those practices would destroy your security,” Zero said slowly. “I was being sarcastic.”
Agent Chen blinked. “We don’t really do sarcasm in government communications.”
Zero’s coffee mug hit the desk harder than intended.
Emergency Remediation
Six hours of emergency calls later
Zero and Cipher coordinated with 23 agencies to undo the damage.
The CIA updated their passwords beyond “CIA2019!” The FAA found actual commercial software. The Department of Energy discovered that trained professionals worked better than intern Jimmy and WordPress plugins.
“The irony,” Zero messaged Cipher during a brief break, “is that explaining why these practices are terrible forced them to understand actual security principles.”
“Teaching through negative examples,” Cipher replied. “Very Socratic.”
“I prefer to think of it as learning through near-death experience.”
By evening
Federal WordPress security had improved dramatically—not because of Zero’s recommendations, but because of the urgent need to undo them. Every agency had been forced to confront their actual security practices and implement real solutions.
“This was oddly effective,” Agent Chen admitted on the final call. “Crisis-driven policy implementation. We should do this more often.”
“Please don’t,” Zero said quickly. “Really. Please never do this again.”
Midnight
As Zero closed their laptop, they wondered if accidentally causing government crisis through misunderstood sarcasm counted as chaotic good or lawful evil. They decided it probably depended on whether nuclear facilities stayed online.
Cipher sent a final message: “Next time, maybe include ‘THIS IS SARCASM’ in bold letters?”
“Next time,” Zero replied, “I’m writing my reports in interpretive dance. Harder to misunderstand.”
They went to sleep wondering if the federal government would somehow implement interpretive dance as cybersecurity policy. Given the day’s events, it seemed entirely possible.
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