The room was dark except for the cold glow of multiple computer screens.
A masked figure sat comfortably behind a desk crowded with machines, six monitors stacked in uneven rows, their blue light reflecting off the smooth black mask that concealed the person's face.
Wires tangled like veins across the table, humming softly as the systems worked.
The only sound in the room was the rapid clatter of keys.
Hands moved across the keyboard with terrifying precision, fingers dancing at a speed that blurred into motion.
Lines of code flickered across one screen while another displayed folders, encrypted files, and hidden directories.
Then the screens changed, and a series of photographs appeared.
Flash after flash of carefully selected photos
taken at the perfect angle, the perfect moment, the perfect misinterpretation.
Each headline was sharper than the last, crafted not to tell the truth… but to ignite a fire.
The masked figure leaned back slightly, studying the work with quiet satisfaction.
A few more keys were pressed, files were arranged. Anonymous sources created.
On the final monitor, a massive contact list appeared, media outlets, gossip blogs, financial reporters, and underground news forums.
The cursor hovered over the send button.
For a moment, the room was silent.
Then… Tap.
The file launched instantly, racing through encrypted networks and hidden channels like a digital wildfire.
Across the screens, progress bars began to move.
Uploading…
Sending…
Delivered.
The masked figure watched as the messages scattered across the internet, heading straight toward journalists, tabloids, and social media platforms hungry for scandal.
A slow, knowing smile formed beneath the shadow of the mask.
Shortly, a phone rang. The voice on the other end was inaudible.
"Done." The figure said.
—------
COUNTRYSIDE
Brown's Diner
Morning light spilled through the wide glass windows of the restaurant, casting soft golden patches across the floor.
The place was filled with the quiet murmur of morning customers, the faint clatter of plates from the kitchen, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifting through the air.
Mia moved quickly between the tables. A small notepad in her hand as she attended to the early customers.
Her uniform was neat, her hair tied back, and the polite smile on her face was one she had learned to keep no matter how tiring the shift became.
She stopped beside one of the tables.
"Good morning, sir. What would you like to order?" Mia asked, pen poised above her notepad.
The man sitting there didn't answer immediately. Instead, his eyes lingered on her a little too long, a slow, unsettling smile forming on his lips.
Mia pretended not to notice.
"Sir?" she prompted again gently.
He leaned back in his chair, looking her over as though the menu in front of him was far less interesting than she was.
"You're quite pretty," he said casually.
Mia gave a polite nod, the kind meant to acknowledge a comment without encouraging it.
"Thank you, sir. What would you like to have?"
As she slightly leaned forward to point at the breakfast options, the man suddenly reached out.
His hand landed on her wrist.
Mia froze.
For a second she thought it was accidental, but his fingers tightened slightly, holding her there.
Her smile stiffened.
"Sir…" she said quietly, trying to pull her hand back.
The man chuckled, his grip lingering longer than necessary.
"You don't have to be so formal," he said, his thumb brushing against her skin as if testing her reaction.
Mia quickly pulled her hand free, stepping back.
The polite warmth on her face had faded now, replaced by something more guarded.
"Please don't touch me," she said, her voice calm but firm.
The man raised his hands slightly, though the smirk on his face remained.
"Alright, alright," he said lazily. "No need to get worked up."
"Your boss always talked about a pretty waitress, didn't know I was going to behold the goddess of a waitress today" he smiled widely revealing his crooked teeth.
Mia tightened her hold on the notepad, straightening her posture.
He stood slowly from his chair, Mia instinctively stepped back.
But his hand moved faster… his fingers closed around her waist.
Mia's face twisted in disgust without a second thought she stabbed him with the pen in her hand.
"Suits you well, Mr. Dickson" she sneered
He scurried out of the restaurant, his palm dripping with blood.
No one dared to say anything. Mia continued with her job, soon evening descended.
The street lights cast warm halos on the chilled sidewalk. Passersby clutched scarves, hunched against the biting wind.
Steam rose from the corner restaurant, carrying a sweet, hot aroma into the night.
On the outside, the place seemed peaceful.
Inside… chaos breathed.
"You're fired!"
The words echoed through the air.
Mia stood behind the counter, apron damp with spilled soup, palms red from hot plates. Her fingers curled slowly into fists.
Madam Brown stood opposite her, face flushed, eyes blazing.
"You useless girl!" she shouted.
Because I wasn't around this morning, I put you in charge of my restaurant. Thinking you'd handled it well, guess I was deceived! Instead you created a scene!" she spat.
Mr. Dickson reported to me, "you stabbed him with a pen, now he's in the hospital with a bandage wrapped around his hand" she yapped furiously.
Mia kept her voice steady. "He didn't compliment me. He was touching me."
"And who saw that?" Madam snapped. "You want to ruin my business because of your imagination?"
Heat crawled up Mia's neck.
"He grabbed me by the waist," she said…
Customers were staring now.
Above the counter, the small television mounted on the wall suddenly switched to a breaking news banner.
"Breaking News: Blackwood Conglomerate CEO Caught in Explosive Rumors."
A blurry photograph flashed across the screen before the anchor continued speaking rapidly.
Some of the customers glanced up briefly before returning their attention to the argument unfolding in the restaurant.
Madam Brown stepped forward aggressively.
"You think you're special? You're replaceable!"
Something snapped.
Her hand lifted before she even realized it.
For a brief second she almost stopped herself.
But the anger was fast
The slap echoed through the restaurant.
For one second, everything froze.
Madam Brown's head jerked to the side. Her glasses flew off. She lost her balance and fell backward onto the tiles. Gasps filled the room.
Mia's heart pounded violently in her ears.
"I'm not sorry," she said, voice trembling but firm.
"You still owe me my pay," she added.
"You dare!!" Madam shrieked from the floor.
Mia untied her apron slowly, deliberately.
Her hands were shaking. She dropped it on the counter and walked out.
No goodbye, no apology.
The cold air hit her face like reality, Her chest rose and fell unevenly.
What did I just do?
She wrapped her arms around herself and walked blindly down the sidewalk.
Then, she collided with someone.
Papers scattered across the pavement.
"Seriously?" a male voice snapped.
"I'm sorry," she muttered quickly, bending down to help.
The man crouched too, gathering the documents into a sleek black folder. His movements were sharp, impatient.
She noticed the quality of his shoes before anything else.
Not her world.
She handed him the last sheet.
"Watch where you're going," he said flatly.
He walked away without another glance.
Mia stood there for a second longer than necessary. Her chest felt tight.
She found a bench under a tree and sat down heavily.
The night felt colder now. She stared at her hands, red and still trembling. She had just lost her job.
Money for groceries was already tight.
"Why did I slap her? Because she deserved it. But what now?" She questioned.
Her phone vibrated in her bag. She froze. Then she answered.
"Hello?"
There was crying on the other end.
Her stomach dropped instantly.
"What's wrong?"
"It's Brielle…"
The voice from the end trembled
"She collapsed."
Mia shot up from the bench. "What?"