FBI headquarters in Norfolk didn't feel like a place of celebration. Even though "the Giant" had fallen, the mood was more like a tense wake. Michell, the Unit Commander, was in his office with the glass door closed, but his tired eyes were watching the operations floor. He wasn't wearing the smile of a victor; he was wearing the subtle tremor of someone who had just survived a natural disaster.
For Michell, Atlas wasn't just a company; it was a monster that had kept the FBI in check for years. The fear that Salvatore could press a button and destroy everyone's careers there was real.
The door opened and Michael walked in, carrying a stack of reports. He moved with his usual neutrality, but immediately noticed Michell's slumped posture.
— Commander. The IRS files have arrived. — Michael's voice was calm, almost therapeutic.
Michell rubbed his face, tossing the pen onto the desk.
— Michael… look out there. Everyone thinks we're heroes today. But I feel like we're walking on thin ice. Someone, or something, did our job for us. Atlas had defenses we didn't even dare touch. And suddenly they just evaporate?
— Luck favors the bold, sir — Michael replied, feigning a touch of bureaucratic optimism.
— It wasn't luck. It was an execution — Michell sighed, standing up and heading out of the office to the central courtyard, where the team of specialists was waiting for orders.
Owen was in a corner, his face pale. He was the best hacker Michell knew, but the kid looked like he'd seen a ghost.
— Boss… I tried to trace the "Administrative Exclusion" — Owen stammered, eyes never leaving his laptop. — But there's no trace. It's as if the code killed itself after firing. Whoever did this knows our system better than I do. I'm… I'm locked out at every level.
Bruno, the ex-military guy Michell had hired for the heavy, tactical work, crossed his massive arms. He looked at Michell with respect mixed with concern.
— Commander, we swept the port perimeter. Salvatore was caught off guard, but his men were ready for a war. If his system hadn't locked the armored doors open, we would've had a high body count today. You gave us the right order at the right time, but… we stepped into the dark.
Foxy appeared behind them, adjusting her hair and showing a cold smile that didn't reach her eyes. She was a master of manipulation, but even she seemed uneasy.
— Michell, my sources in the underworld are dead silent. Nobody claimed the attack. The market's in a panic because no one knows who the new predator in town is. If you don't know who took down Atlas, Commander, we're all vulnerable.
Michell felt the weight of Foxy's words. He looked at Celia, who was leaning against the wall, watching every movement in the room.
— Celia? What do you see? — Michell asked, trusting her instinct for micro-expressions.
Celia looked at Michell, then let her eyes linger on Michael, who remained silent beside the Commander, before turning back to the group.
— I see fear, Michell. In everyone. Including you. You're relieved that Salvatore is in custody, but you're terrified because the power that took him down is invisible.
She paused, holding her gaze on Michael a second longer than necessary.
— And I see that we're looking for a monster outside this room, when we should be asking whether the monster isn't actually a savior who hasn't revealed himself yet.
Michell straightened his shoulders. He needed to be the commander now, the man keeping the FBI together, even if his insides were churning with dread.
— Listen up — Michell said, his voice gaining authority. — I don't care if it was a miracle or a vigilante hacker. Atlas is gone, but the chaos it left behind will take years to clean up. Owen, keep trying to break the encryption on the remaining files. Bruno, I want doubled security on Salvatore's cell; he can't "commit suicide" before he talks. Foxy, find out who's trying to take over the cargo routes.
He then turned to Michael.
— And you, Michael… you're the only one who can organize this mountain of data without getting lost. I want you to be the filter. Everything Owen finds, everything intelligence brings in, goes through you before it reaches me. I need order.
Michael gave a slight nod, a gesture of perfect submission.
— As you wish, Commander. I'll start the archiving immediately.
Michell went back to his office, closing the door. He sat down and looked at his own hands, which were still trembling slightly. He had arrested Salvatore, the man he feared. But deep down, Michell knew he was just a piece on a board he still couldn't comprehend.
Meanwhile, in the common area, Michael adjusted his glasses. He could feel Celia's stare burning into his back, but he didn't turn around. The plan had no holes. Atlas was the past; Michell's FBI was the present; and the Void… the Void was the future that only Michael knew.