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墨書 Inktalez
I deliberately knocked over the coffee cup on Zhang Li's desk, my fingers brushing against something unusual beneath her keyboard. The sticky sensation felt like chewing gum, but it carried a metallic chill.
The office of this finance department head was dirtier than I had anticipated, with the ashtray stuffed full of the remains of women's menthol cigarettes, and a layer of grease accumulating on the monitor's frame, resembling a moldy cake.
"Are all the newcomers this clumsy?" Zhang Li shouted as she slammed a paper towel onto the coffee stain, revealing a crescent-shaped scar where her crimson nail polish had chipped away.
I forced a smile and bent down to clean up, catching a glimpse of the stock K-line chart flickering on her computer screen—the code clearly belonged to the rival company we had brought down last month.
As Wang Tao's footsteps echoed in the corridor, I was crouched inside the ventilation duct counting seconds. This IT supervisor always wore those crocodile leather Oxford shoes, their rhythm striking the marble floor more precise than a Swiss watch.
The conversation from last night when they locked up still clung to my eardrums: "The backup server needs cleaning." "What's the rush? Let that idiot take the blame."
I curled up in the dust-filled duct until the cold air from the central air conditioning turned my sweat into icy beads. After failing for the third time to crack the administrator password using my birthday, I slammed the keyboard against the monitor.
Laughter from interns drifted in from the break room: "I heard that fool is still checking the surveillance?"
Neon lights outside the glass curtain wall stretched their shadows into distorted monsters. I gulped down my fifth cup of black coffee that night, tasting rust on my tongue—only then did I realize my lips had already been bitten open.
When Old Cat appeared on the dark web forum, I was gnawing on an expired rice ball from a convenience store. This hacker's ID featured that one-eyed Siamese cat, and a message popped up unexpectedly: "Your company's firewall is more transparent than lingerie."
He sent me a worm program compressed in a file named "Fairy Tales for Good Children." As I trembled and clicked it open, strings of proliferating code emerged from the blue light of the screen, resembling glowing shrimp in an electronic ocean.
The server room at three in the morning felt like a giant coffin. Old Cat's virus was gnawing through the third encryption protocol; amidst the roar of cooling fans, I suddenly heard the crunch of glass under polished shoes.
As my back pressed against the cabinet, Wang Tao's crocodile leather shoe tip peeked around the corner by half an inch, and the cold light from his phone screen cast a flickering ghostly shadow on the wall.
The moment I opened the log file, the rusty taste from the ventilation duct surged back into my throat. The tampered timestamps were precise to milliseconds, like a string of pearls so perfect they seemed eerie.
My Access Record shows that I had infiltrated Stormy Night, yet I distinctly remember lying in the emergency room that night, the sleeping pills still not fully metabolized in my system.
The final Operation Record flashed with a blood-red Delete Countdown as I frantically pressed the Screenshot Key, hearing the sound of my teeth chattering.
Suddenly, all the Corridor Emergency Lights lit up, and the alarm shattered the silence. I clutched the burning USB Drive and rushed toward the Fire Escape, hearing Zhang Li's sharp curses behind me.
As the safety door closed, I caught sight of her Micro Pistol hidden in her high heel, while Wang Tao pressed a Black Device against the Main Power Switch.
The musty smell of the stairwell had never felt so fresh; I knew I was climbing up the spine of truth, and from the Rooftop, the Wind Sound carried a greedy hiss.
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