Kael Vale trusted systems more than people.
People hesitated. People second guessed themselves. People lied, sometimes deliberately and sometimes because they convinced themselves of a version of reality that was easier to live with. Systems did none of that. Systems were honest. Painfully honest. They followed rules without emotion or mercy. They executed instructions exactly as written and exposed every mistake their creators tried to ignore.
If something broke, it was never the system's fault.
It was human error, made permanent.
The room Kael worked in was buried deep inside the Pentagon, far from windows and farther still from sunlight. The air was cool and dry, filtered and recycled so many times it barely smelled like anything at all. The only sounds were the steady hum of machines and the soft tapping of keys beneath his fingers.
Six monitors surrounded him, each one displaying a different piece of the same vast structure. Logs streamed quietly down one screen. Access permissions filled another. A third showed system health and traffic flow, stable and calm on the surface.
Too calm.
Kael leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on the desk, eyes sharp despite the long hours. His badge lay beside his keyboard, forgotten. He had stopped checking the time hours ago.
"Alright," he murmured. "Let's see where you flinch."
He entered a command, slow and deliberate. The system responded instantly.
Nothing unusual.
He entered another.
Still clean.
Kael did not rush. He never rushed. The people who rushed were the ones who missed things. Instead, he adjusted the input slightly. Not enough to trigger alarms. Not enough to look malicious. Just enough to apply pressure in a place most people never thought to test.
The response lagged.
Barely. Less than a blink.
Kael froze.
"There," he whispered.
It was not a failure. Not even a warning. Just a hesitation where none should exist. A delay so small it vanished the moment you stopped looking for it. That was why it had survived for so long. That was why it scared him.
This was not a public facing system. This was not a low priority server buried under bureaucracy. What Kael was examining fed into internal Pentagon infrastructure. Routing. Authentication. Secure communication channels. The kind of systems that were assumed to be untouchable.
And he was touching it.
Not because he was reckless.
Because it was his job.
Kael worked as a vulnerability researcher—officially. In practice, he was given permission to do something most hackers only dreamed about: attack the most secure systems on the planet from the inside.
Find the cracks before someone else did.
He straightened slowly, heart steady, mind already mapping possibilities.
If he could see this, someone else eventually would too.
Kael exhaled and rolled his shoulders, tension settling into his neck. He ran the test again, this time watching a deeper layer of output. The same hesitation appeared, consistent and quiet.
A timing issue.
Not dramatic. Not obvious. Just enough.
A knock echoed softly at the open door.
"You alive in there?"
Kael turned his head. "Define alive."
Dr Miriam Cho stepped inside, holding a paper cup of coffee that had clearly been reheated more than once. Her hair was tied back in a loose knot and her glasses sat low on her nose. She looked exhausted, but alert.
"You are still here," she said. "Security is taking bets."
"I just enjoy my work," Kael replied. "I always did."
She walked closer, eyes flicking over the monitors. "That looks important."
"It is."
Her gaze sharpened. "How important?"
Kael hesitated for a fraction of a second, then turned one of the monitors toward her. He simplified the display, stripping away clutter until only cause and effect remained.
"See this response," he said. "It comes back before the system finishes checking who is asking."
Cho frowned. "That should not happen."
"It should not," Kael agreed. "But it does."
She stared at the screen longer this time. "Is this a test environment? , have they given you permission to test the systems this late?"
"No."
Her jaw tightened. "Kael."
"It is a live mirrored system," he said calmly. "Monitored. Logged. Real."
Cho set the coffee down slowly. "Are you telling me you found a way into it?"
"I am telling you I can get in," Kael said. "Briefly. Cleanly."
Silence stretched between them.
Cho lowered her voice. "Have you already done it?"
"No."
"Are you planning to?"
"Yes."
She looked at him sharply. "Do you have any idea how many people will lose their minds if you are wrong?"
"Yes," Kael said. "That is why I will not be."
She studied his face, searching for uncertainty or arrogance. She found neither.
"Show me," she said quietly.
Kael turned back to the keyboard.
This time his movements were careful and restrained. He did not flood the system or force it into failure. He guided it, coaxed it into revealing exactly how it behaved under precise conditions. He adjusted the timing of his request by fractions of a second, aligning it with the flaw he had observed.
The system paused.
Then responded.
A new access state appeared on the screen.
Cho inhaled sharply. "What did it just do?"
"It trusted me," Kael said.
He brought up a restricted internal interface. Secure routing data. Administrative controls. Information that no one without the highest clearance should ever see.
It was real.
Kael had breached the Pentagon's internal systems.
Cho whispered, "Oh my God."
Kael immediately closed the connection.
No lingering access. No exploration. No curiosity. The door shut as cleanly as it had opened.
"I am done," he said. "Now we fix it."
Cho turned to him slowly. "You just hacked the Pentagon."
"Yes," Kael said. "That is why this cannot stay open."
He did not wait for permission. He rewrote the verification process at its foundation, forcing the system to complete every check before responding to any request. No shortcuts. No assumptions. No trust without proof.
When he finished, he attacked it again.
Nothing.
Again.
Still nothing.
The hesitation was gone.
Only then did he document everything. Every step. Every condition. Every safeguard. When the emergency review panel convened, Kael explained the breach plainly, without dramatics or ego.
"I accessed it," he said. "Then I closed it. No one else can use this path now."
The room was silent.
"You breached a system no external actor has ever touched," one official said slowly.
"Yes."
"And you fixed it before anyone knew it was vulnerable."
"Yes."
When it was over, Cho walked with him toward the exit corridors.
"You know most people would have panicked," she said.
"I do not see how that helps," Kael replied.
She smiled faintly. "Go home."
Outside, rain fell steadily, turning the city into a blur of reflections and light. Kael walked with his hands in his pockets, mind replaying the flaw and the fix on instinct alone.
That was when he heard laughter.
A girl stood near the crosswalk ahead. Teenager. Hood pulled low. Phone glowing in her hand. She swayed slightly, distracted and smiling.
The pedestrian light was red.
She stepped forward anyway.
"Hey," Kael called. "Stop."
She did not hear him.
An engine roared.
Kael turned.
A truck came around the corner too fast, tires skidding slightly on wet pavement.
Too close.
"Hey," he shouted.
The girl looked up, confused.
Kael ran while whispering to himself. "This Fucking B*tch is stupid".
He grabbed her and shoved her backward with everything he had.
She fell onto the sidewalk.
Kael turned.
There was no time.
The impact was sudden and absolute.
And then there was nothing.