9. LEO #2
I stalk past Nicole and Chad, heading straight for the server room. The small, windowless space smells of stale air and warm electronics. The server rack, a blinking monument to Chad's ineptitude, hums ominously.
"What did Chad do to you?" I mutter to it.
It's probably a self-inflicted DDoS, a digital auto-asphyxiation.
I connect my diagnostic tools. In the server logs, a familiar pattern, but not a virus or a simple bug.
Chad must've tried to implement a new data encryption module he'd bought off a shady forum, probably thinking it would make him look smart.
Instead, it is clashing with the old, decrepit operating system. Amateur. Pathetic.
As I untangle Chad's spaghetti code, my thoughts drift back to the Volkovs. To Dante. The constant throbbing of my jaw, the ghost of his hand on my skin.
The tiny annoyances I'd inflicted on the Volkovs were just pranks. They proved I could get in, but they didn't make Dante crawl back to me. They just made him angry. And while his anger is delicious, it isn't enough, because he left me again. It isn't him needing me.
I dissect the encryption module Chad installed. This module is designed to protect data, but could also corrupt it if badly implemented. Or, even worse, it could be used to leak data in a controlled way.
I picture Dante's face in the wall, his sneer, his rage.
He wouldn't crawl back for a few missing packages or some phantom bad music. He needs a threat. A threat that only I can solve. A threat that his brute force can't fix.
Just then, I hear footsteps behind me. Chad and Nicole. Of course. They couldn't resist.
"So," Chad's voice, far too loud for the small room, pierces my concentration. "How's my champ doing? Almost there, huh? I knew you'd figure it out."
"He's amazing, isn't he?" Nicole whispers, as if I weren't listening.
I feel her standing too close, peering over my shoulder.
"It's like he just... sees the code. This is way worse than when Trent broke the old server last year with that ransomware, you know?
That was an external attack. This is internal. "
Nicole always thinks it's an attack or a virus. But it's always Chad.
"This isn't a..." I start, but I don't complete it.
Internal .
"What did you say?" I say.
"Huh? Oh," Nicole stammers. "Just that it's amazing. And that Trent's ransomware attack last year was external, but this is... internal. It seems bad."
Malakovs .
My mind, which had been searching for a solution, a lever against Dante, clicks. The pieces fall into place. Internal . Ransomware. Malakovs.
The perfect threat.
This is it. I'll use the Malakov's network. They have historic problems with the Volkovs; they have a rat infiltrated among them, if Dante didn't already shoot everyone he deemed a suspect. I'll corner Dante. I'll force him to make a choice.
And that choice will be me.
After Chad makes a ridiculous show of "rebooting" the now-fixed server and "thanking" me with a limp handshake and the promise of a stale pizza party, I pack up my laptop and Nicole approaches my cubicle with a hesitant smile. Her messy bun is, as usual, on the verge of collapsing.
"Hey, Leo," she says. "Um, I know you've been, you know, indisposed, but I was wondering... there's this new ramen place that opened downtown. I heard it's really good. Would you, uh, want to check it out sometime? As a thank you for coming in today."
I pause, hovering my hand over my laptop bag. Ramen. Tonight. My mind instantly conjures the image of Dante's face. The thought of spending an evening making small talk with Nicole, dissecting noodles, feels like a punishment, and not the good kind.
And I don't see a single utility she'd have for me. Why would she even want my company to eat ramen, anyway?
"Thanks, Nicole," I say, already picturing myself back home, lost in the Volkov's network. "But I can't tonight. Got a lot of... catching up to do. With my tropical disease. Maybe another time."
Her smile falters slightly. "Oh. Right. No worries. Just thought I'd ask." She fiddles with a pen, avoiding my gaze. "Well, get well soon. And, um, try not to get into any more 'accidents'." She gestures vaguely at my still-bruised face.
I give her a noncommittal nod and finish packing. As I walk out, I feel her eyes on my back. A flicker of annoyance, quickly dismissed. Nicole is harmless. My thoughts are back to Dante.
Back in my shitty house, the dull ache in my jaw is a comforting reminder of what I had to do.
I power up my laptop and dive back into the Volkov network.
The Malakov's systems, so impenetrable to mere mortals, begin to yield their secrets to me.
I map their vulnerabilities, find their hidden channels, and, most importantly, find the evidence of their latest dealings with the Volkov traitor.
I can get full access to the rat's previous infiltration points. The access they used to bleed the Volkovs dry of information for the Malakovs—their original goal was to weaken the Volkovs, but I could amplify that. Turn a slow bleed into a hemorrhage.
I find a backdoor into their central logistics hub—the one controlling their shipments in and out of the East Coast. Instead of just "lost documentation," I engineer small, seemingly random diversions of high-value cargo.
A percentage of their illicit goods, just enough to be a significant loss, will be redirected to ghost ports or untraceable dead drops.
The Malakovs wouldn't even know it was happening; the goods would just disappear from Volkov tracking.
This'll all look like the Malakovs are simply escalating their existing infiltration, getting bolder, getting smarter . Dante will assume it is their work, amplified by his rat, if the rat's still alive. He won't suspect a third party. Not at first.
But I'll leave my signature. A series of nested data anomalies embedded within the corrupted packets.
Nothing obvious. Nothing that would scream "hacker".
But something that, if analyzed by a mind as obsessive as Dante's (or as skilled as Sal's, under extreme duress), would eventually point to my previous work.
A specific sequence of unused bytes. A peculiar timestamp pattern.
A digital ghost print. My way of saying: It's me, mister. And only I can stop it.
And then, he would come to me.