Her POV
New York felt louder today.
I walked down Fifth Avenue, feeling the city's rhythm beneath my feet. I kept my head low under my black cap, with my hoodie zipped up and my loose pajama pants on. My sunglasses rested firmly on my nose. I blended in with the early morning crowd, just another stranger in the city.
This was not my first visit, but this time no one knew I was back, not even my team. I relied on silence to keep my presence hidden.
As I turned the corner near Madison, I heard shouting and saw people moving. A protest filled the intersection ahead, with a crowd waving signs and chanting a name I didn't recognize. I slowed down and squinted behind my shades.
Who is that? I didn't know, and I didn't care. Social media might share information, but I barely had time to breathe, let alone scroll through it. Information matters, but only when I control it.
I sighed. I couldn't avoid the crowd, and being late was not an option. My time is valuable. I held my laptop bag tighter under my arm and moved into the chaos.
"Excuse me," I said as I made my way through the crowd. A guy bumped into my shoulder hard.
"Watch it!" he shouted.
"Sorry," I said automatically, holding back my irritation. Another elbow hit my side, and I quickly muttered, "Sorry," again.
The noise was overwhelming, with faces full of outrage and passion. I wondered if they knew their faces were already stored and tagged online before they got home. I also wondered if they cared.
After some movement and dodging glares, I stepped out from behind the crowd and crossed the street. The bell above the cafe door rang softly when I entered, and the noise outside faded away.
The warm smells of cinnamon, coffee, and a hint of vanilla welcomed me like an old friend. I took off my sunglasses and looked around the cafe. The vintage walls were the same, the brass light fixtures hadn't changed, and the strange cat figurine by the register was still there.
My corner table was still empty.
I walked to the table by the window, tucked in the shadows near the brick wall. I sat down, took out my laptop, and opened it as if I did this often. In seconds, the screen lit up, and the quiet sound of my fingers typing echoed under the low jazz music playing from above.
The Laptop ran encrypted protocols in the background. It rerouted IP addresses to leave no traces. My eyes followed lines of code while my fingers moved easily on the keyboard. This was second nature for me.
Five minutes passed. I was focused on my work, half-listening and half-typing, when a familiar voice made me stop.
"Well well, look who decided to grace us with her mysterious presence!" the Luna (waitress) chirped with a grin, one hand on her hip.
I laughed, soft but real. My dimple peeked out on the right cheek, betraying me. "Hahahaha I was out of the city."
"Out of the planet, more like," she said, rolling her eyes. "Same coffee, or you wanna shock the world today?"
"You remember?" I raised an eyebrow, amused. "Same coffee, please."
"And?"
"Cookies would be much better."
She scribbled something on her little notepad, gave me a wink.
I watched her walk away, then focused back on the screen. Lines of code filled the display, with quick and precise keystrokes. A surveillance alert flashed red in the corner of the screen for a moment before fading away into the dark interface I created.
Ten minutes later, Luna came back, carrying a white mug and a small plate.
"Enjoy," she said warmly, sliding the mug of hot coffee and a neat row of cookies across the table.
I smiled. "Thank you."
I took a small sip of my coffee.
It was strong, just the way I liked it.
Outside, the city was busy and active, but inside this cafe,
I felt safe and separate from it all.
I was halfway through my coffee when the screen blinked for a moment.
It was a flicker of code behind the terminal strange and not random.
I minimized the current window and switched to my alternate desktop, a hidden layer that most operating systems wouldn't recognize. I quickly typed in a specific key sequence.
Ctrl + Shift + Λ + X + 7
The interface changed to a dark console with a matte black texture and green text. The air around me felt colder. A blinking message appeared at the center of the screen:
[INCOMING ENCRYPTED SIGNAL - PRIORITY: RED]
[DECRYPTING WITH AES-RSA 4096-BIT PROTOCOL...]
[IDENTITY VERIFIED: GHOSTN3T]
GhostNet.
The name alone made my pulse jump slightly. I hadn't heard from them in months. They only contacted when it mattered.
Another message unfurled:
GHOSTN3T: moon phase rising?
BYTEMOON: full and armed.
GHOSTN3T: signal clear?
BYTEMOON: private as sin.
I typed quickly, a slight smirk on my lips. The sound of my keyboard echoed as I leaned in, and the dim cafe lights created a shadow under my black cap. A couple nearby laughed over their pancakes, unaware of the quiet challenge I was facing.
The next message loaded slowly and was heavily encrypted.
GHOSTN3T: we've got a ghost.
BYTEMOON: target class?
GHOSTN3T: sovereign tier.
BYTEMOON: details?
GHOSTN3T: uploading visual feed…
The console glitched, and a small window opened in the top-right corner. A pixelated image appeared, gradually becoming clear. It showed a sharply dressed man in his mid-30s, with thick brows and a charismatic expression. He wore an Armani suit and a Rolex watch, and security personnel stood behind him.
It looked like some type of event.
I stared at the image for a moment and then moved it into a sandboxed layer to prevent any metadata from being traced.
GHOSTN3T: your mark.
BYTEMOON: Name?
GHOSTN3T: alpha dark.
BYTEMOON: serious operation?
GHOSTN3T: from breath to bed.
My lips parted, surprised.
They were asking for everything.
I typed, cautious:
BYTEMOON: perimeter?
GHOSTN3T: walls high. 7-firm network. mirrored IPs. quantum AI firewall. Root server: Kraków branch.
BYTEMOON: and you want me to...
GHOSTN3T: breach. map. trace. extract.
GHOSTN3T: All black threads. All red sheets. All silver ties.
BYTEMOON: including ?
GHOSTN3T: *Yes.*
BYTEMOON: spell it.
I wanted to be sure. They didn't flinch.
GHOSTN3T: His lovers, legal and illegal. His nights, lonely or not. His vices, if any. His data: biometric, behavioral, financial, emotional. each girl: name, DNA, secrets, pregnancies, abortions, marriages, deals, silence-pacts. Every bite he takes. Every lie he breathe. From bedroom whispers to boardroom deals. From airport gates to hotel locks.
BYTEMOON: this is no recon. this is skinning.
GHOSTN3T: he's not just rich. he's dangerous.
BYTEMOON: how deep?
GHOSTN3T: global syndicate, 3 proxies, 19 shell corps, 2 fake deaths, 1 crown behind curtains.
BYTEMOON: who's the client?
GHOSTN3T: shadow doesn't ask names.
I leaned back slightly, narrowing my eyes behind the black sunglasses on the edge of my laptop. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Luna looking over at me from the counter, as if she could sense the storm I was in.
She had no idea.
I looked again at the man in the image. He seemed familiar, not from the news, but from something deeper. Maybe I had seen him in leaked forums or on international crypto sites. Perhaps I had come across him in someone else's stolen files.
Or maybe my past was catching up to me.
The chat buzzed again.
GHOSTN3T: job window: 10 days.
GHOSTN3T: we pay in blood diamonds or clean crypto.
GHOSTN3T: your choice.
BYTEMOON: I'll let you know, when the time comes.
I encrypted the current logs and set them to self-destruct in 48 hours. Then I typed one final line.
BYTEMOON: operation codename?
GHOSTN3T: BLACKLOTUS.
BYTEMOON: initiated.
The terminal switched to idle mode, and the picture of the man stayed on the screen like a ghost that wouldn't go away. His eyes were frozen mid-blink, as if he was hiding something even in the photo.
I took a sip of my coffee—it was bitter, burnt, and perfect.
My laptop screen lit up with code. I wasn't typing; I was searching through corporate databases, old news forums, travel logs, hotel check-ins, and compromised CCTV feeds. I explored back doors that seemed left open intentionally.
I whispered to myself, just low enough for no one to hear:
"Let's see what you're really made of, alpha dark."
I closed my laptop lid gently, even though my heart was racing. I put the laptop into my bag and pulled the hood of my black hoodie up. I lowered my cap over my eyes. I took out a black face mask from my bag and covered the lower half of my face, then put on my sunglasses.
Anonymous again.
I stood up slowly and looked around the cafe. It felt warm inside, soft jazz played in the background, and people sipped their oat milk lattes, thinking life was predictable.
But I wasn't one of them.
I walked out quietly.
Every step I took was measured and calculated. I glanced at each reflective window and every chrome car bumper, checking for shadows that didn't belong to me. I walked two extra blocks to make a loop, just to ensure that no one was following me.
Eyes up. Shoulders square. Feet light.
The wind rustled my hoodie as I turned a corner. A drunk couple laughed behind me, and a woman chased her dog near the curb. Just another day in the city.