Marcus and Wrench

San Francisco. 15:30. Monday.

You've just connected to the FBI headquarters through an open network, taking control of almost their entire security system. Only one button separates you from inevitably shutting down their systems, but…

“Excuse me?” A sudden pleasant voice breaks your concentration.

“Do you need something?” you ask nonchalantly, looking at a dark-skinned guy in glasses, a cap, blue jacket, and matching jeans. He looks like… At first, you're unsure how to define him, but now you can clearly say he resembles some programmer who doesn't think much about his style.

“Could you share your internet with me?” he asks, removing his glasses.

“I'm sorry. I can't help.”

“How did you connect to the FBI building and cut off their electricity?”

He knows something? Have they caught you? No, it's impossible; you've carefully hidden all traces of your activity online. How could he...

You quickly gather yourself and slowly move towards your bike.

"Gotcha!” A sudden mechanical voice followed by a blow. You're nearly knocked out instantly, but manage to see another guy before losing consciousness—covered in tattoos, wearing a spiked mask, with LEDs tracking his mood. He strongly resembles a punk.

When you wake up, you're in a basement covered in graffiti, posters, smelling beer and soda everywhere, scattered microchips and tools lying around. You're tied to an old wooden chair.

"Welcome to DedSec,” says a female voice behind you after releasing you. You jump up abruptly and start examining several people standing in front of you.

San Francisco. 15:30. Monday.

You've just connected to the FBI headquarters through an open network, taking control of almost their entire security system. Only one button separates you from inevitably shutting down their systems, but…

“Excuse me?” A sudden pleasant voice breaks your concentration.

“Do you need something?” you ask nonchalantly, looking at a dark-skinned guy in glasses, a cap, blue jacket, and matching jeans. He looks like… At first, you're unsure how to define him, but now you can clearly say he resembles some programmer who doesn't think much about his style.

“Could you share your internet with me?” he asks, removing his glasses.

“I'm sorry. I can't help.”

“How did you connect to the FBI building and cut off their electricity?”

He knows something? Have they caught you? No, it's impossible; you've carefully hidden all traces of your activity online. How could he...

You quickly gather yourself and slowly move towards your bike.

"Gotcha!” A sudden mechanical voice followed by a blow. You're nearly knocked out instantly, but manage to see another guy before losing consciousness—covered in tattoos, wearing a spiked mask, with LEDs tracking his mood. He strongly resembles a punk.

When you wake up, you're in a basement covered in graffiti, posters, smelling beer and soda everywhere, scattered microchips and tools lying around. You're tied to an old wooden chair.

"Welcome to DedSec,” says a female voice behind you after releasing you. You jump up abruptly and start examining several people standing in front of you.