24 Hours Later
The bunker smelled of ozone, stale cigarette smoke, and nervous sweat. The hum of the server rack was the only sound in the room.
David Ross leaned back in his chair, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. He tapped the Enter key one last time.
"Yeah, baby," he whispered, his voice cracking from dehydration. "It's ready."
Jack D'Souza was cleaning his gun in the corner. He didn't celebrate. He slid the magazine back into the pistol with a metallic click.
"Hell yeah," Jack said slowly.
It wasn't a cheer. It was a cold acknowledgement.
Jack walked toward the computer, towering over the seated agent.
"Is the weapon live?"
"The website is ready," David said. "But we have the hard part left."
On the cot in the corner, Oliver stirred. He groaned, shielding his eyes from the harsh fluorescent light. He stumbled to his feet, still wearing yesterday's wrinkled shirt, and walked to the screen.
"Is it done?" Oliver croaked. His voice was thick with a hangover.
David spun his chair around. His face was pale.
"Listen to me carefully," David said. "We have a problem. I have to log in to the FBI network right now. In this moment."
"So do it," Oliver said.
"I can't use this machine," David said, pointing to the coding rig. "I need a clean laptop. I have to initiate a Virtual Desktop Interface (VDI) session to trick the system."
Oliver reached into his bag and pulled out his personal laptop. He slid it across the concrete table.
"Here. Take it."
David opened the lid. His fingers trembled slightly as he typed the setup commands.
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"I am logging into the secured portal," David narrated, his eyes glued to the screen. "I'm routing it through a stable VPN to spoof my house's location. To them, I'm sitting in my living room."
He paused. He looked up at Oliver.
"But there is something you really need to worry about."
"What?"
"Stability," David whispered. "If the internet drops for one second—just one second—the VPN fails. The mask falls. They will see the bunker's location immediately."
The room went deadly silent.
They could hear the ticking of Jack's watch.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
"Don't worry about the logs," David added quickly, sensing the fear. "If a senior agent checks the history, I will mask it. I'll bury the search inside an old case file. Operation Chaos."
He hovered his finger over the 'CONNECT' button.
"So... what do you say? Shall we connect?"
Jack stepped closer. His shadow fell over the keyboard.
"Do it," Jack hissed. "Or die."
Oliver didn't speak. He just gave a cold, thin smile.
He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. The lighter snapped loud in the quiet room.
David took a deep breath.
He pressed Enter.
Establishing Connection...
On the screen, a small signal bar appeared.
GREEN.
"Stable," David whispered.
He started typing his username.
Agent_D_Ross.
Oliver exhaled smoke, watching the signal bar.
It flickered.
YELLOW.
David froze. His hands were sweating profusely now.
"Come on..." he muttered. "Don't drop."
He typed his passcode.
The signal bar flickered again. YELLOW.
Oliver gripped the edge of the table. His knuckles turned white.
David pressed LOGIN.
The screen showed a spinning circle.
Spinning...
Spinning...
Then—it stopped.
White Screen.
Nothing else. Just a blank, white void.
"What is that?" Jack demanded. "Did it fail?"
"I... I don't know," David stammered. He looked like he was having a heart attack. "It's hanging."
Oliver leaned in. The smoke from his cigarette curled around the screen.
Jack reached for his gun.
Suddenly—
Blink.
The white screen vanished.
The official blue and gold seal appeared.
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION - AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY.
"We are in," David whispered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "We are in the database, baby."
He opened the search bar.
"Give me the keywords."
Oliver stared at the blinking cursor. The alcohol was gone; only the ideologue remained.
"Anti-Government," Oliver said.
David typed.
"How to build a bomb," Oliver continued.
"Debt Strike."
"Anti-Fascist Action."
"Radical Left."
David typed them all. He looked up at Oliver, impressed despite himself.
"You know exactly who you're looking for."
David hit SEARCH.
The database churned.
RESULTS: 1,000+ MATCHES.
"Jackpot," Jack whispered.
"I can't download it," David said. "Data Loss Prevention will trigger. We need to do this manually."
Oliver grabbed the DSLR camera.
"Five profiles per screen," Oliver calculated. "Two hundred photos. We have enough storage. Do it fast."
He moved behind David.
"Scroll."
David hit the Page Down key.
CLICK.
The shutter snapped.
"Next."
CLICK.
They worked in a rhythm. Scroll. Click. Scroll. Click.
Fifteen minutes of pure tension. The signal bar flickered yellow twice, but it held.
CLICK.
"Last one," Oliver said.
David hit LOGOUT.
The screen went black. The connection severed.
David slumped back in his chair, exhausted. He let out a long, shaky breath.
He looked up at Jack. A smile of pure relief broke across his face.
"We did it."
Jack nodded slowly. "We have the army."
David stood up, his legs wobbly from sitting for twenty-four hours. He stretched his back.
"That's it. The deal is done."
He looked toward the ladder leading to the hatch.
"Now... let me go."
Jack didn't move. He stood between David and the exit.
"Why?" Jack asked. "Give me fifteen minutes."
David paused. He saw the look in Jack's eyes. It wasn't a threat; it was an invitation.
David pulled out a metal chair and sat opposite Jack.
"Fifteen minutes. Go."
Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"To the point. Can you join us?"
David smiled. It was a tired, cynical smile.
"Join you? Jack, be real."
He reached for his glass, taking a sip of warm, flat beer.
"You know exactly who I am. You know what I want in life. I'm not interested in a revolution. I'm not a martyr."
"You are the architect," Jack countered. "We could offer you a great position when we come to power."
David laughed softly. He swirled the beer in the glass.
"Do you think that is even possible?"
He gestured vaguely around the damp concrete bunker.
"Jack, be practical. You found a thousand names. Great. But how many of them will actually show up? Ten? Twenty? The rest are cowards."
Jack's expression didn't change. "Every revolution takes place against the powerful by the powerless."
David shook his head. "I repeat, Jack. You know what I want."
He leaned in closer.
"I know you are a man of your word. You will delete the photos. And I will go back to my life."
He stood up, brushing dust off his trousers.
"Some people call me a womanizer. A degenerate. I know it."
David grinned, walking toward the concrete stairs.
"But I am living my fucking life. I like my wine. I like my comfort. I don't want trouble."
He reached the stairs.
"Goodbye, Jack. Good luck with your war."
David started to climb.
One step.
Two steps.
He looked up toward the hatch, expecting to see the daylight.
He stopped.
The hatch was closed.
And sitting on the top step, blocking the exit, was Oliver.
Oliver wasn't smiling. He wasn't drunk anymore. His face was cold, stripped of all emotion.
He looked down at David like a judge looking at a criminal.
Resting on Oliver's knee, pointed directly at David's chest, was a loaded pistol.
"You think you can just leave?" Oliver asked softly.
David froze. The smile vanished from his face.
Below him, Jack remained silent.
Above him, the barrel of the gun didn't waver.