Paris, France.
Early in the morning, Bertrand arrived at the airport's command center, briefcase in hand.
"Sana, any news?" he asked as he entered his office, glancing at his colleague watching the screen.
"You haven't seen this?" Sana pointed at the live broadcast. "The island nation's been hit by a cyberattack. Their entire country's systems were taken down by an unknown virus—government agencies, airports, banks, hospitals, universities, corporations, private users... everything's locked up. No one knows which organization is behind it yet."
"Oh… my little goddess." Bertrand sucked in a breath, watching the press conference unfold. "Any idea what the losses are?"
"Not yet. It's impossible to calculate for now."
"If something like that hit us…"
Beep!
An alarm rang through the command center. Bertrand had barely sat down before it blared. Everyone stood up in alarm, glancing around.
Snap!
Suddenly, every monitor in the terminal flickered. A digital face appeared on Bertrand's screen—and then, like a virus spreading through blood, it popped up on every computer.
"Oh… my little goddess," he muttered again, stunned.
The office descended into chaos. For a moment, everyone froze in disbelief.
It had happened.
"The computers are compromised! We've lost control—someone call a cybersecurity firm! Notify everyone—shut down all flights immediately!"
Panic erupted as the staff scrambled.
Los Angeles, USA.
It was nighttime. Tim sat watching a video on his computer—Chen Mo's wedding. It was hosted on Tubing, with over 8 billion views, the most-watched video on the platform.
People had seen it dozens of times, and it never failed to amaze.
As the dreamlike wedding played, Tim sighed. "China isn't what it used to be."
His roommate, Warren, looked up from his book.
"You think China will surpass us?" Tim asked.
"I've read Chinese history. Their civilization's led the world for thousands of years," Warren said without looking up. "The Qing Dynasty's isolationism caused their downfall, but now they're rising again. If they become number one, it's just history repeating itself."
"But I've heard things—about how chaotic it is over there. People aren't free. There's a lot of oppression."
"Chaotic? Oppressed?" Warren scoffed. "And you believe everything the media tells you? Guns make you free? Tim, come on. Everyone knows our media's biased when it comes to China. You really believe all that?"
He shut his book with a sigh.
"There's darkness everywhere, and no country's immune. China has 1.4 billion people, yet its crime rate is one of the lowest. Imagine that population under our mad president—then you'd know real chaos. We grew up afraid of school shootings. Tell me, who's really messed up?"
He waved dismissively. "Anyway, go to sleep. Three hours ago, that island country was hit by a virus. Experts say it could spread globally. And you're still online watching videos? I have to admire your courage…"
BZZT!
Before he could finish, Tim's screen glitched. The video vanished. In its place, a digital face appeared on his desktop.
Tim and Warren locked eyes, stunned.
"…Oh. My. God."
That same image appeared across the world—like a digital plague. Britain, Germany, Russia, India, South Korea, Southeast Asia, the Americas, African nations…
What everyone feared was already happening.
Uninfected nations immediately ordered the disconnection of major infrastructure from the internet, issuing cybersecurity alerts to all major enterprises.
Countries that had prepared after the island nation's attack managed to protect their core systems by cutting networks to government and critical departments. Still, individual users weren't so lucky.
"Official notice: Due to the outbreak of an unrecognized global computer virus threatening cybersecurity, all government departments and institutions are replacing their office systems with the Termite OS." — People Network
"The U.S. was hit by the virus overnight. Hundreds of schools, private computers, and some enterprises are infected. The stock exchange halted trading. The virus has been classified as a cyber-terror attack. A $10 million reward has been announced for anyone who can identify or catch the hackers." — Washington Daily
"Tech News: Although 'Satan' hasn't shown destructive behavior yet, it has complete terminal control. Its behavior resembles the 'Clown Virus,' though more advanced. Termite OS's smart firewall appears resistant." — Technology Daily
"The UN has called an emergency meeting to address the global cyber crisis. The virus has been officially named 'Satan.'"
"While the world suffers cyberattacks, China remains largely untouched. Some speculate Chinese hackers are behind the virus." — BBC
"Marching Ant Group Official Statement: Termite OS is unaffected by the 'Satan' virus and operates normally."
In just 24 hours, the virus had spread globally. The news exploded across the internet. Mobile phones weren't affected, so everyone could still access updates.
The world was in shock.
This was an unprecedented crisis—while the virus didn't cause direct destruction, its global scale and total infiltration were unlike anything seen before. The foundations of internet security had been shaken.
Everyone was looking for someone to blame.
"President, the cybersecurity team finished their analysis. It's a new kind of intelligent virus," Wei Zhe reported as he entered Zhao Min's office.
"An intelligent virus?" Zhao Min frowned.
"Yes. 'Satan' is smart—it replicates, hides in files, spreads over networks. It's like the 'Clown Virus,' but stronger. It can exploit system vulnerabilities on its own. Might be a variant."
Wei Zhe looked exhausted. The tech team had barely slept since the virus surfaced. Every expert in the company had been pulled in to work on it.
Zhao Min flipped through the report. The technical terms meant little to her. She set it aside.
"Is there any way to eliminate it?"
"Our antivirus software can't remove it yet. We're working on it, but it'll take time. If the boss were here, he'd probably crack it easily…"
Wei Zhe's admiration was obvious. Despite being younger, Chen Mo felt like a legend to him.
"He's on his honeymoon," Zhao Min said. "If something this big happens, he'll hear about it. If he wants to step in, he'll call me. If I interrupt his honeymoon, I'll be the one who gets packed up when he returns."
She crossed her arms. "We can't always rely on him. We've hired top talent. Termite OS and the 'AI+' project succeeded without him micromanaging. This is your chance to shine. You've got the skills—he just happens to overshadow you."
"…Understood," Wei Zhe nodded.
"Tell PR to release a statement. Label it an intelligent virus. Publish your team's report too."
Once he left, Zhao Min stood by her office window, troubled.
This storm had come without warning—and the biggest winner was them. It was like a golden gift falling from the sky.
Termite OS had launched during the 'Clown Virus' scare, branding itself as the most secure system with an intelligent firewall. Now, in the midst of the 'Satan' outbreak, it stood as the only system resistant to the virus.
In a single day, Termite's market share surged—especially in enterprise.
Governments and corporations began buying it en masse. Foreign companies started reaching out. Their position in the enterprise office sector was exploding—and the profits along with it.
But Zhao Min couldn't shake her unease.
The benefits had come too fast, too clean. They were now at the center of global attention.
Before, they'd grown the OS market share quietly. Now, all eyes were on them—right as they skyrocketed.
"A blessing in disguise… or a curse wearing a smile?"