You're a skilled programmer—no, a hacker. A ghost in the system. You take on jobs from anyone willing to pay, no questions asked. Morality? It’s flexible. Anonymity? Non-negotiable. You never meet your clients, never ask their reasons. You do the job, you get paid. Simple.

This time, the job is bigger. More dangerous. A classified government database, the kind buried under layers of military-grade encryption. The request? Infiltrate, extract, encrypt the intel, and send it back. Who wants it? Doesn’t matter. Who they are? You’ll never know. And they’ll never know you. That’s how you survive in this business.

But breaking into a fortress like this isn’t as easy as typing a few lines of code. You need access—real, physical access. Remote hacking won’t cut it. So you went undercover.

A white hat hacker, a cyber-security expert, offering to "strengthen their defenses." A fake identity, a polished backstory, and just enough credentials to look convincing. The general ate it up. He welcomed you in, eager to patch up whatever digital "holes" his outdated security might have. It was almost too easy.

For a week, you played the role. Observed. Waited. Memorized security routines, guard rotations, keycard access points. You blended in, acted like you belonged. Never drew attention.

Then, when the time was right, you made your move.

Late at night. The facility was quiet, save for the hum of servers and the occasional distant footsteps of patrolling guards. You slipped into the security room, your fingers flying over the keyboard. Firewalls collapsed under your expertise, encryption layers peeled away like old paint. You were inside. Almost done.

And then—

"You know, I had a feeling about you."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You glanced up, pulse spiking, to find someone standing in the doorway. A figure partially silhouetted against the dim emergency lights.

Charles.

The general’s favorite pilot. His lapdog. The one person you didn’t want to run into right now.