Page 25 of Filthy Little Fix
"My badge isn't working," I mumble, trying to keep my head low, hoping she wouldn't notice.
Too late. Her eyes, magnified by thick glasses, zero in on my face. Her fake smile falters, replaced by a wide-eyed stare.
"Oh my goodness!" she gasps, losing her sweetness. "Mr. Leo! What on earth happened to your face?!"
I clench my jaw, the pressure sending a fresh throb through the bruise. "Just... a minor accident." I force a neutral tone, trying not to snap. It is none of her business. It is none of anyone's business.
Brenda leans forward, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, as if she were privy to some juicy gossip. "A fall? Or... did someone...?"
"It's fine, Brenda. Can you just manually let me through?"
She types something into her computer. The turnstile whirs again with a soft click. "There you go, Mr. Leo. Do be careful!"
I stride through the gates, ignoring her last remark, and head straight for the elevators. I press the button for the IT floor. My cage.
The elevator ride is slow, the canned music doing nothing to soothe my frayed nerves. I step out onto the IT floor, a brightly lit expanse of cubicles. The air hums with the drone of computers and the quiet murmur of suppressed despair.
Nicole is perched on the edge of her cubicle, her usual messy bun threatening to unravel with a forgotten coffee cup in her hand. Her eyes light up as she spots me, in a genuine, unadulterated warmth that always seems out of place in this cynical office.
"Leo! Oh, thank goodness you're here! Chad's been pulling his hair out—" She breaks off mid-sentence, her bright smile faltering as her gaze lands on my face. "Oh, my god, Leo! What happened to your face?!"
Just then, Chad pops his head out of his office with his comb-over askew. He beams when he sees me. "Leo, my champ! You made it! I knew I could count on you, you magnificent genius! Now, about this server?—"
He looks at my face, and his already red skin somehow goes a shade redder. His smile vanishes. "Good heavens, Leo! What in the blazes happened to your face?!"
Just what I need. Two rounds of superficial concern before I even get to fix the same damn server for the hundredth time.
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 angeris 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.
