Ghost, a bald man with glasses that reflected scrolling code, smiled. “We don’t. He does.” He nodded at a live feed on a secondary monitor. A janitor they’d bribed—an old man with a mop and a USB the size of a fingernail—was shuffling into the lab’s server closet.
Silence. The seven men looked at each other. Sly’s hands shook. Ghost’s confidence shattered. Proxy’s eyes darted. Razor clenched his fist. Seven In Isaidub
Then the janitor was out. The USB was live. Ghost, a bald man with glasses that reflected
