I know you're gonna call bullshit. Ask any experienced brain-jockey and they'll say it's impossible. You can't hack squishware. But if you ask that same jockey if Winter Peterson could've done it and you might get some hesitation, some uncertainty. Winter's the kind of fearless motherfucker who can do the impossible. And I was with him when he did.
Nobody rides minds like Winter. He goes far beyond the usual voyeurism, thrill-seeking, and password theft that keeps most jockeys happy. Told me once he'd never even bothered with invitational mind-riding--you know, the kind where some cam-girl tells you they're going naked cliff-diving with three of her hottest friends at precisely 5 PM eastern and she'll DM her base code if you tip high enough? Invitationals are how all brain-jockies pop their cherries, but Winter's first time, if you can even believe the way he tells it, was Maximillius Fucking Brady during his title defense against Honey Hernandez. You know, the fight where he broke his leg and pulled off the victory anyway? Winter was riding his sensory-network that whole time. He felt everything, both the physical pain and the joy of triumph. I wasn't there that time, so I can't tell you it's for real. I mean, how's a virgin mind-rider going to break through that kind of security?
But I believe it. You would too, if you knew him. Shit I've seen him do, I'd believe anything. And I did see him limping a few days after that ride. Phantom pains like only the best jockeys get, only the ones who can really attune to their host. But he always said it was worth pain to feel what it was like, just for a few minutes, to be the best fighter in the world. Winter has this thing about genius, you see--sports, art, coding, music, doesn't matter--he won't bother riding a mind that doesn't shine in some way.
I was there the day Winter broke through the wall. Yeah, I know you're still skeptical, but I was there, in the same room and riding piggyback on his sense-net. Call me what you want, if I know someone can go places I can't, I'm gonna ask him for a hitch. So, when Winter told me he was planning to attend a private Grammy after-party inside the mind of Mad-Ax-Killa himself, I was all, "you gotta take me in there with you, bro!"
Hitching isn't like real riding, of course. Everything's duller and slower. Less intense. Winter feels everything Mad-Ax feels, but I only feel what Winter feels, so when Winter gets bored, I feel bored--even though Mad-Ax is high on a stimulant program and grinding on no fewer than three barely-dressed actress-slash-models. And when Winter gets bored he drifts away from the sensory network and starts sifting through Mad-Ax's inactive applications and memory files. I'm all, "Go back, go back, one of them girls smells like ripe pears and looks just like Julio's hot step-sister."