The seconds ticked. Proxy ran interference, flooding the lab’s public helpdesk with fake electrical fault reports to keep IT busy. Patch rewrote log files in real-time, erasing the janitor’s digital footprints. Hex monitored police band radio frequencies, ready to shout a warning. Razor, the muscle, stood by the fire exit with a crowbar, though his real weapon was a signal jammer.
Sly, the youngest and fastest typist, cracked his knuckles. “Air-gapped means no net. How do we even touch it?”
“You have been watched for seven months.”
“What is this?” Razor barked, gripping his crowbar.
Ghost frantically typed. “It’s not a traceback. It’s… a mirror. They’ve cloned our entire operation. Every leak, every cracked password, every bribe.” He looked up, pale. “They’re not cops.”
Then, slowly, Vault removed his hoodie. His face was familiar—a mid-level film editor they had blackmailed two years ago. “Hello, brother,” he said to the intruder.
Ghost’s face went white.