Aarav Kane slammed the black case onto the metal table. His fingers shook slightly—not from fear, but adrenaline. The room was silent, empty except for flickering overhead lights. The case clicked open, revealing a small device: a screen, wires, and a cryptic keypad. A digital timer flashed red: 15:00.
"Decode or die," the words were already etched into the screen.
Aarav grinned. "I hate when instructions are that literal."
He scanned the device. It wasn't just a code. It was a puzzle, a trap, and a threat rolled into one. A wrong input, and he assumed—though he didn't need confirmation—the consequences would be immediate. The Bureau had a flair for dramatic lessons, and Cipher Dawn had a flair for lethal precision. Whoever designed this had combined both.
The first layer was simple: numbers and letters flashed in a seemingly random order. He realized quickly they weren't random—they were patterns extracted from the Bureau's own surveillance logs, encrypted in a repeating Fibonacci sequence.
Aarav tapped the keys, tracing each number in his mind. Patterns, anomalies, timing… think, Kane.
Beep. Incorrect.
A spark shot from the device, scorching his palm. Aarav hissed, shaking his hand. Noted. Consequences are real.
He leaned closer, squinting at the subtle variations in the flashes. One digit consistently blinked longer than the others. Another pattern repeated every fifth symbol. Slowly, meticulously, Aarav began decoding the first layer.
"Piece of cake," he muttered sarcastically. The device buzzed violently—two minutes passed in real time, but it felt like a lifetime.
Layer two was worse: a cryptic image that appeared on the screen, shifting and morphing. At first, it looked like random noise, but Aarav noticed a faint outline—a city skyline. He recalled the envelope from Cipher Dawn, the letters scrawled in rain-soaked ink. The device wanted him to cross-reference the image with old cadet assignments, CCTV maps, and the Bureau's floor plans.
So much for a simple puzzle, he thought dryly.
Aarav pulled out his notebook, scribbling coordinates, overlaying the skyline with the Bureau's schematics. Slowly, the morphing image stabilized into a sequence: a pattern of floors, rooms, and vents. He traced it with his finger, then tapped the sequence on the keypad.
Beep. Green.
Two layers down, one to go. Fifteen minutes on the clock had dwindled to four. Aarav's pulse raced. This was no longer a test of intellect alone. It was a test of nerves, speed, and precision.
The final layer was audio. A distorted voice whispered over hidden speakers, a garbled message:
"He is watching. Every move. Every breath. Choose wisely, Kane."
Aarav froze for a second, the words sinking in. Cipher Dawn wasn't just testing him—they were taunting him. Watching him. Feeding fear through suggestion.
He exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers. Sarcasm was armor. Wit was strategy.
"Fine. You want me scared? Watch this," he muttered. He replayed the audio, isolating frequency shifts, distortions, and pauses. The hidden message became clear: a sequence of numbers, coordinates, and a final numeric code.
With less than thirty seconds remaining, Aarav punched the numbers into the keypad.
The device whirred. Sparks flew. The timer hit 00:00.
Nothing happened. Silence.
Then a compartment slid open on the side of the table. Inside was a small data drive, labeled in neat block letters: "Cipher Dawn – Level 2 Intel".
Aarav grabbed it, pocketing the drive. He knew better than to celebrate. Each success only marked him deeper in Cipher Dawn's crosshairs. Somewhere, unseen eyes noted his every move, recording, analyzing.
Soren's voice crackled over the earpiece:
"Congratulations, Kane. Not dead yet. And that's impressive. But remember—decoding isn't winning. Surviving isn't escaping. Cipher Dawn isn't waiting for mistakes—they're waiting for weakness. And every weakness… will cost you."
Aarav exhaled, smirking. Blood trickled down his temple from earlier scrapes, adrenaline pumping in every vein. "Weakness," he whispered, sarcastically, "is for amateurs. And I'm nowhere near done."
He glanced at the black case, the blinking lights, the device that could have ended him. A thrill ran through him. Cipher Dawn thought they could scare him. The Bureau thought they could teach him. Both underestimated one thing: Aarav Kane thrived in darkness, puzzles, and chaos.
And this was only Level 2.