5

I immediately slammed my laptop shut, but not before frantically mashing the shutdown button like a gamer trying to cheese an exploit before the devs patch it. As for the deleted private site… I don't know anymore. Maybe if I ignore it, it'll stop existing? That's how problems work, right?

The heat from my ancient relic of a laptop made my thighs itch like I had angered some vengeful IT god. No longer able to endure the sensation of slow-roasting my legs, I shoved the device under the rolling cabinet beneath my bed, where it joined the rest of my barely there belongings. Maybe if I left it there long enough, the problem would fix itself.

I tried to use my brain (assuming I actually have one) to figure out whether a private site really mattered to a big company. Logically speaking, wouldn't they just… make another one? But the more I thought about it, the more it did matter. That VIP club analogy? Yeah, private sites are like that—exclusive, elite, only for those "in the know."

And then the worst part hit me. Big companies don't just make private sites for fun. They use them to store sensitive data, maintain control over their brand, and offer exclusive access to important partners. I, a nobody, a glorified, couch-toasted rotten tomato, had somehow walked into a digital high-security vault and tripped over the self-destruct button.

I sat there, stunned, as my own stupidity lined up in front of me like a parade, each incident waving at me like enthusiastic mascots:

Incident One: the bomb thing? Fueled by hatred.

Incident Two: the ice sublimation catastrophe? Fueled by stupidity.

Incident Three: the latest and definitely not the last one? Fueled by my uncontrollable curiosity.

See the pattern? No? Me neither, because there isn't one. It's just me being dumb in increasingly creative ways.

At this point, I half-expected an email from the FBI saying dramatically, "We've stopped trying to understand you. Please turn yourself in."

I let out a deep sigh, tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling, as if divine intervention would strike and grant me the wisdom I desperately needed. Nothing happened. Of course, nothing happened.

I was so screwed.

Alright, let's think logically. I could run, but where? I wasn't exactly Jason Bourne. Changing my identity would be great if I had the money, but my wallet was already crying for a refill. Bribing someone? With what? Expired ramen packets? No, my best bet was to lie low, act normal, and pretend this never happened.

Yes. That's the plan.

I'll be fine.

I'll totally be fine.

I should probably Google 'What happens if you accidentally delete a high-profile company's private database'—

Wait. No. That's how they get you.

My fingers twitched over the keyboard before I forcefully folded my hands in my lap. No more searching. No more "just checking." I was done.

Silence....

But, like, what if they could actually track me?

That single thought sent me into a spiral. I turned back to my desktop and instinctively started looking up VPNs, encrypted messaging apps, and whether or not burning a laptop actually removes all evidence. My screen filled with so many paranoid search results that if someone checked my browser history, they'd assume I was either a criminal mastermind or a very confused conspiracy theorist.

Okay. Time to be smart about this.

Step one, don't panic. Step two, don't make it obvious. And step three, don't—

I accidentally clicked on an article titled "What to Do If You've Been Caught in a Cybercrime" and immediately slammed my head on the desk.

I'm going to jail (⁠´⁠;⁠︵⁠;⁠`⁠)

ƪ⁠(⁠‾⁠.⁠‾⁠"⁠)⁠┐

Arése Len, CEO of ALenTech, leaned forward in his leather chair, fingers steepled as his gaze remained locked on the screen before him. His brows furrowed, his normally impassive expression betraying a flicker of irritation.

This had to be a mistake.

With measured precision, he typed in the private domain address once more, carefully entering each letter as if expecting his meticulousness to change the outcome. The page still remained blank.

Unacceptable.

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he switched to an internal directory, directly accessing the company's hidden server link. Nothing. No traces, no redirects, no errors. Just… nothing. It was as if the site had never existed in the first place.

His fingers flew over the keyboard, initiating a deep search through the system's backend. He bypassed firewalls, authentication logs, and high-level security clearances meant to prevent exactly this kind of situation. Yet every attempt led him to the same answer—there was nothing to find.

The site hadn't just been tampered with. It had been erased.

Arése exhaled slowly, his grip on the mouse tightening. This wasn't an amateur hack job, nor was it the work of a rival corporation attempting to breach ALenTech's security. No, this was something worse. This was deliberate.

His phone buzzed on the desk, an incoming call from the company's cybersecurity division. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he answered.

"Tell me," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Sir, we've just confirmed... The private database is completely gone. Not corrupted. Not relocated. Just... gone. The entire structure was wiped clean."

Arése's gaze darkened. "And the cause?"

There was a hesitation on the other end.

"It appears…" The security analyst audibly swallowed. "It appears someone accessed the domain using an outdated internal link from a… second-hand laptop. The system registered an unauthorized trigger sequence. We're still analyzing, but the command was executed manually."

Arése remained still, processing the information. A second-hand laptop? His mind raced. The level of access required to erase everything in one move—it wasn't something just anyone could do. Even internal employees with the highest clearance wouldn't have been able to execute a total wipe without multiple security barriers stopping them.

This wasn't an accident. This wasn't just a data breach.

This was a warning.

Someone out there had sent a message. One that couldn't be ignored.

The back of his neck tensed. Whoever had done this had managed to dismantle an entire private sector of ALenTech without leaving a trace. If it had been a rival, they would've left a calling card, a signature, some indication of their superiority.

But this? This was precise. Silent. Almost surgical in execution.

And that meant one thing—whoever had done this didn't want recognition. They didn't want leverage. They wanted ALenTech to know something.

His fingers drummed lightly on his desk as a thought crossed his mind.

Was this… a declaration?

"Sir… what are your orders?"

Arése's jaw tightened as he shut his laptop. His voice was ice.

"Find them."