👉 Previous Decision: You chose Option A – Plant a hardware keylogger behind Julian’s desk terminal before he opens the door.
The doorknob turned. Maya, with a practiced, fluid motion, slid the tiny micro-keylogger into the terminal’s rear USB port. Her hand moved like a shadow.
Julian entered, his gaze sweeping the room. He seemed to barely register her presence.
“Still updating schedules?” he asked, a hint of dismissal in his tone.
“Almost done,” Maya replied, keeping her voice even. She logged out quickly, feigning a small yawn.
Three days later, the air in the Synapse parking structure hummed with a different kind of tension. Maya’s older brother, Leo, sat hunched over his laptop in his car. His custom-built radio-frequency scanner picked up a faint, consistent signal.
He downloaded the keylogger’s wireless dump, his fingers flying across the keys. The data unspooled on his screen, line after line of server addresses, login credentials, and file names. He froze, leaning closer.
The files weren’t administrative data entries. They were clinical charts. Specifically, phase-3 neurological drug testing protocols. The patient IDs, when cross-referenced with public records, were from Wing C. Pediatric patients. Children.
➡️ Read CHAPTER 7 to continue the story.
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