"Dennis, your coffee."
"Thanks. Your skin's looking better today, Alice."
Inside the CIA Cybersecurity Office, a young man in a navy-blue shirt strolled in. He looked no older than twenty-four or twenty-five. Accepting the cup from the blonde woman, he gave a light hum, placed his briefcase on the desk, and headed for his station.
Anyone who knew Dennis also knew his story.
He was Dennis Moran—a legendary figure in the hacking world. As a teenager, he'd taken part in a series of denial-of-service attacks, crashing thousands of websites. He'd even breached U.S. Air Force and Army networks.
And all of that... when he was just seventeen.
Eventually arrested, he was charged with seven counts of Class-A felony hacking offenses. But instead of a prison cell, he'd been recruited into the CIA, where he now worked as a cybersecurity specialist.
Dennis was now one of the CIA's top cyber operatives, responsible for external attacks, defensive intercepts, and intelligence gathering. Thanks to him, the agency's firewalls had reached a whole new level.
Sipping the coffee, Dennis grimaced and glanced over. "Alice, did you put in less sugar today? Must be your man didn't satisfy you last night, so now you're punishing me."
The blonde laughed. "No, it's just your taste getting heavier. I can't keep up."
"It's just light bondage and a whip—hardly heavy." Dennis chuckled. "Any real assignments today?"
"If you can hack into Marching Ant Company's servers, I'll grant your whip fantasy," someone from another cubicle joked, causing laughter to ripple through the office.
"That's too hard. Guess I'll stay lonely."
BEEP.
The soft alarm tone cut through the chatter like a blade. The room went silent.
Dennis's face stiffened. He carefully set his coffee down and placed his hands on the keyboard. The others did the same, instantly recognizing what it meant.
"Under attack?"
Dennis muttered calmly and began setting up defenses.
It wasn't rare—attempts to breach the CIA's systems were constant. It reminded him of the time, full of youthful arrogance, when he'd tried to break into the Air Force's networks. This time, he was on the other side of the firewall.
Now, he was the final gate protecting one of the most secretive networks in the world.
As the attack intensified, a heavy silence took over the room. The clack of keyboards became the only sound. Across invisible channels, a digital war was being waged. The keyboard was the weapon. Code, the battlefield.
Dennis's expression turned grave. The incoming attack was growing in scale and ferocity.
"This isn't ordinary," he warned. "Feels like a hacker organization. They're not even hiding—they're openly bombarding us."
"Tracing IPs... one in San Francisco."
"Another—Paris, France."
"Huaxia Port Area."
"Island region."
"…And more!"
As each analyst called out, red dots appeared on the giant LCD wall screen—marks for every identified IP address.
But instead of relief, the room grew more tense.
The number of red markers had exceeded one hundred—and it was still growing.
They all knew: most were decoys.
"You guys hold the defense line—I'm going to do reverse tracking," Dennis ordered.
"Got it!" a skinny white technician kicked away from his desk, clearing it for Dennis.
Dennis leapt into the chair, fingers flying across the keyboard. The mood in the room had become ice cold. The air felt like a battlefield drenched in tension.
Linna Pell stormed into the office. The CIA director's expression froze as she saw the frantic activity and grim faces. The urgency in the room told her all she needed to know.
"What's going on?" she asked sharply.
"Someone's trying to breach our system," Alice replied, clearly anxious.
"How bad is it?"
"Handled," Dennis said just as Linna finished asking.
He hit Enter. On the big screen, the sea of red dots began to vanish.
"It was a serious wave—had to be an organization," Dennis said. "But we've held. Prepare to dispatch a field team—we might be able to trace and detain some of them. Could be cyber army members."
Linna nodded, ready to give the order.
"Wait—what?" someone yelled.
Everyone turned.
The red dots were all gone.
Then—
BEEP!
The screen flashed.
A half-black, half-white clown mask appeared.
In that moment, everyone's heart dropped.
Clown Organization.
The words echoed in every mind.
Dennis's face turned pale.
"CUT THE NETWORK!" he shouted. His voice cracked with panic.
But it was already too late.
The moment the words left his mouth, every computer screen in the CIA cybersecurity office flickered—each replaced by that eerie, grinning clown mask.
"Kill the connection! Unplug the cables—NOW!"
Panic erupted. Everyone scrambled to yank cables from machines.
The grinning mask lingered.
A mocking smile. Haunting. Taunting.
The entire CIA building seemed to freeze.
"Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?" Linna snapped. "I thought you said it was done!"
Dennis's voice trembled: "That first wave... it was just a diversion. They breached us from another channel. It wasn't the real attack."
The realization stung hard.
The last time the Clown Virus had struck, Dennis was helpless. Now, once again, he was powerless to stop it.
"I need a full analysis. I want to know what was stolen—now."
Linna's instincts screamed that this wasn't just a break-in. The Clown Organization didn't do things for fun.
"Director!" a male employee ran in, breathless. "The Clown Organization just made a tweet!"
He handed her the phone.
My heart is like this face—half pure white, half shadow. I can choose to let you see, or I can choose not to. The new circus show is about to begin.
Linna read it, hands trembling.
A new circus show? Opening act?
They were mocking her. Mocking the CIA.
They were saying: We own this stage now.
She was the Director of the CIA, and on her watch, this happened?
This was more than humiliation.
It was open provocation.
Her pride wouldn't allow it.
Glaring at the clown mask still smiling on the monitors, Linna slammed the phone against the desk and barked, "At any cost—find me this damn organization. Crack that virus. I want results immediately!"