The ghost at the table – Draft 03 – Chapter 24

Logan

The cell is small. The walls are close. I sit on the edge of my bunk, the cold metal frame cutting into my thighs. My fingers drum a staccato rhythm on the concrete beside me—a silent tune only I can hear. Life in Meningie seems like another universe now. The open sky, the dry air—gone. Here, steel bars slice my window view into segments, like life parsed out in unforgiving increments.

I was an IT consultant. A man who typed secrets. Secret. Top Secret. Words that were supposed to mean something. Now, those skills, that past life—it all bleeds into the grey monotony of prison routine.

“Redemption,” I mutter to the unlistening walls. Is it real? Can a guy like me, with acne scars and a history of mental anguish, find it? A blonde-haired, heavy-set ex-military man with nothing but time and a burning need to make things right?

Flipping open the law book, I scan the pages. Case law. Precedent. Habeas Corpus. Big words that hold power—the power to change, to challenge, to fight back against a system that feels as rigid as the one I fled from in the RAAF.

And cybersecurity. The dark web’s no mystery to me. It’s a battleground where I once made a stand, where Stephanie got caught in the crossfire. My fingers still remember the dance across the keyboard, tapping out codes and commands that could dismantle empires.

“Bring about change,” I whisper. The smallness of the cell fades when I lose myself in the texts. The law becomes my weapon, cybersecurity my shield. Day by day, I carve out a new purpose. The world thinks I’m down, defeated. But inside, there’s a fire kindling.

“Make a positive impact.” That’s the mantra. That’s the goal. No matter the confines, the limitations, the labels slapped on by society. They don’t define me. Not anymore.

“Logan Robinson,” I say to my reflection in the tiny, scratched mirror above the sink. “Time to turn the page.”

I bury myself deeper into the books, the light dimming outside but a spark growing brighter within.

The clang of steel doors echoes down the corridor, a daily reminder of containment. But ideas, they have no shackles. They glide between the bars, whisper through the concrete walls, and find fertile ground in the minds of those with nothing left but to listen.

“Corruption’s like termites,” I mutter, my voice low as I sit at the metal table in the common area, surrounded by a few other inmates who nod knowingly.

“Silent. Deadly,” adds a guy with a teardrop tattoo under his eye. He leans forward, elbows on the cold surface. “Eats away at everything.”

“Exactly.” I tap my temple. “But expose it, and you’ve got a fighting chance.”

“Got any plans for that, Logan?” another inmate asks, scepticism etched into his weathered face.

“Studying law,” I say, brief. “Learning the system’s ins and outs.”

“Smart,” Teardrop nods. “Knowledge is power.”

“Power we need,” I affirm, locking eyes with each man in turn. “To fight back.”

“Count me in,” says a third, his voice a gravelly commitment.

“Me too,” chimes a fourth, determination in his gaze.

We lean in closer, conspiratorial, sharing tales of wrongs done, of justice denied. The pain etched on their faces mirrors my own—different stories, same enemy.

“Chinese syndicate,” one says. His eyes are hollow from loss. “They took my brother. Left him bleeding in an alley over some petty debt.”

“Same bastards,” I confess, my voice barely above a growl. “Stephanie, a friend, got caught in their crosshairs.”

“Sorry, man,” mutters Teardrop. “For all of us.”

“Sorry doesn’t bring them back,” Gravel Voice interjects. “Action does.”

“Right,” I agree. “We gather intel, share what we know. Build a case.”

“From inside?” Scepticism again, but less this time.

“Inside, outside,” I shrug. “Doesn’t matter where you start. Just where you finish.”

“Finish strong,” Teardrop affirms, and there’s a new light in his eyes.

“Strong,” we echo, a chorus of resolve.

The conversation turns to strategy, to pooling our knowledge. Each word spoken is a brick in the foundation we’re building. A plan forms, shapeless yet solidifying with every shared experience, every vow to make things right.

“Justice,” Gravel Voice says, as if tasting the word.

“Redemption,” I counter, and the notion hangs there, heavy but hopeful.

“Let’s get to work,” Teardrop finally declares.

We rise together, a unified front against the darkness that had once consumed us individually. We know the road ahead is fraught with obstacles, but within these walls, we’ve found something unexpected: camaraderie, purpose, and perhaps even a shot at redemption.

“Change,” I whisper to myself as we disperse, each to his own corner of this caged world. The spark within me burns brighter, fuelled by the collective desire for justice that binds us now.

“Justice,” the walls seem to whisper back. And I’m ready to answer its call.

The clicking of my keyboard is a drumbeat in the quiet of the cell block. Fingers fly, codes break. Men gather ‘round, eyes fixed on screens that shouldn’t be here but are. We’re a unit now, bound by loss, by a need to hit back.

“Got something,” I mutter, lines of code translating to truth in my mind. The Chinese syndicate’s web, vast and venomous, sprawls before us.

“Show us,” Gravel Voice commands, his stature like a sentinel beside me.

I point to the digital blueprint unfurling. “Money trails. Shell companies.” Each word solidifies our purpose. “They’re laundering through games. Online casinos.”

“Kids play those games,” Teardrop whispers, fury laced in his hushed tone.

“They do.” And my heart hardens with resolve.

“Can you trace it?” someone asks, a face in the semi-dark, hope flickering in his eyes.

“Already on it.” Keys tap. Screens blink. A map of deceit comes into focus.

“Those bastards,” Gravel Voice growls.

“Justice,” I say again because it bears repeating. “That’s what we’re after.”

“Redemption,” Teardrop adds, voice stronger now.

“Damn right,” I affirm. “We document everything. Dates. Transfers. Names.”

“Then what?” Scepticism has no place here anymore, replaced by urgency, by need.

“Then we shine a light so bright they can’t hide.”

“From inside here?” It’s more a statement than a question now.

“Even from in here.” I nod. We’re few, but we’re not powerless.

“Let’s keep going.” The words are a shared mantra.

“Until it’s done,” Gravel Voice vows.

“Until it’s right,” I finish.

We work in silence, a symphony of clacks and clicks. Data amasses. Evidence mounts. The tight-knit group around me, each man a story of darkness, now a beacon. Together, we forge something potent, something fierce.

“Change is coming,” I say to them, to myself.

“Justice,” they echo back.

“Redemption,” the walls agree.

And we labour on, night bleeding into day, shadows into light.

The cell block hummed with tension. Concrete walls thick, but word travels fast. It found me. A note slipped through the bars, ink fresh, purpose clear. Stephanie and D@@Mladen knew my name now. Knew my game.

“Logan,” it read. “We’re in this together. Let’s take them down.”

My fingers traced the words. Allies on the outside. Their offer a lifeline, promise of firepower in our digital war. I crushed the paper in my hand. Hope, a dangerous thing in here. But we needed it.

“Teardrop,” I called across the cell. “Change of plans.”

“Talk to me,” he said, stepping close.

“Stephanie and D@@Mladen. They’re with us.” His eyes lit up. The news sparked something in him, in all of us.

“Outside help?” Gravel Voice grunted from his bunk.

“More than help. Ammunition.” I spread the note on the table. We huddled around like it was a map to buried treasure. In a way, it was.

“Plan?” Teardrop’s question cut to the chase.

“Expose them. Every dirty secret.” I tapped the note. “They have resources. We have evidence.”

“Risky,” someone muttered.

“Staying silent’s riskier,” I shot back. Silence, agreement.

“Let’s do it,” said Teardrop.

“Right,” I nodded. “Stephanie, D@@Mladen, you two get digging. We’ll keep compiling here.”

“Compiling what?” That was new blood, a kid who hadn’t learned when to speak.

“Everything.” My answer terse, enough to satisfy. “Bank records. Communications. Anything that ties the Syndicate to their crimes.”

“Got it.” Teardrop’s fingers flew over the keyboard, his focus sharp as ever.

“Gravel Voice, you’re on recon. Any whispers, any rumours, you bring ‘em to me.”

“Understood,” he affirmed, voice like sandpaper, ready for action.

“Kid,” I turned to the newcomer. “You watch and learn. Your turn will come.”

“Sure thing, boss,” he replied, eager or scared, maybe both.

“Good. Everyone else, you’ve got your parts. Stick to them.” I scanned the faces around me. Determined. Each one carrying scars, inside out. But united.

“Time’s not our friend here,” I reminded them. “We work smart. Fast. Clean.”

“Smart, fast, clean,” they echoed, a mantra for the mission ahead.

“Stephanie, D@@Mladen,” I whispered to myself, fingers poised above the keyboard. “Let’s shine some light on these roaches.”

“Ready?” Teardrop asked, glancing at me.

“Born ready.” And with that, we dove into the flow of data once more, allies in the shadows, forging bonds stronger than steel bars. Together, we’d tear the Syndicate apart, piece by filthy piece.

“Justice,” I murmured.

“Redemption,” the walls whispered back.

“Survival,” I added, for good measure. And the night took on a new kind of quiet, the silence before the storm.

The clock ticked. Each second a hammer to my resolve.

—

The day was here. The courthouse loomed, a giant against the Adelaide sky. A reckoning. For Stephanie. For all of us.

“Logan,” Stephanie’s voice cut through the morning chill. “You ready?”

“Been ready since day one.” I kept it short. No room for doubt. Not today.

We walked in. D@@Mladen flanked us, eyes sharp as always. She carried the weight of our collected evidence—a digital bombshell ready to explode. We’d amassed more than enough to take the Syndicate down. To blow the lid off their operations.

“Remember,” I muttered to them both, “today we expose the rot.”

“Today we cleanse,” D@@Mladen added.

“Today we validate our fight,” Stephanie said, her gaze locked on the courtroom doors.

The bailiff called the court to order. The gallery brimmed with faces. Some curious. Some scared. All about to witness the ugly truths hidden behind screens and code.

“State your case,” the magistrate commanded, an island of calm in the sea of anticipation.

Our barrister Robert stood and addressed room. A brief introduction to the matter, then Stephanie stood, her voice steady as she outlined the Syndicate’s reach. She detailed the malware, the thefts, the lives shattered. She spoke of her own losses—her children, her parents—in an anniversary dinner back in Melbourne that went horribly wrong.

I took the stand. My turn. My truth. “They thought they were untouchable,” I declared. “Hiding behind proxies and firewalls. But we found them. We pierced the darkness.”

“Show the evidence,” the magistrate ordered.

D@@Mladen stepped forward, her movements precise. She connected drives, tapped keys. Screens flickered to life around the room. Bank records scrolled past. Chats and emails laid bare. Faces of the guilty splashed across displays. Shockwaves rippled through the gallery.

“Let that sink in,” I said, words like bullets. “That’s the price of silence. Of turning away.”

“Order!” The gavel struck hard. But the truth couldn’t be unheard. Couldn’t be unseen.

“Thank you, Mr. Robinson,” the magistrate nodded. Formality in the face of chaos.

We retreated to our seats. Allies in battle. Friends in purpose. Stephanie caught my eye. A nod. A silent agreement. This was right. Necessary.

“Friendship,” I thought. “It’s what binds us. What makes us strong.”

“Survival,” echoed back from the walls of the courtroom, just as it had from my cell. But now, it meant something more. Something bigger than myself.

“Justice,” I whispered.

“Redemption,” the world whispered back.

Silence hung heavy as judgment neared. The magistrate, stern and unyielding, peered over the rim of her glasses, a sentinel against injustice. She reviewed notes, the evidence a tapestry of crimes woven with precision by D@@Mladen’s digital threads.

“Having considered all before this court,” she began, voice echoing in the hush, “my decision is clear.”

Breath held. Hearts paused.

“Guilty on all counts.” The gavel fell like thunder, final and absolute. Cheers erupted, muffled cries from the gallery. Justice, served cold and hard.

I stood there, feeling each syllable of the verdict ripple through me. Those words were more than justice—they were vindication. A society once blind now stared wide-eyed at the darkness we’d illuminated.

“Order! Order!” But the courtroom’s pulse thrummed with victory. It felt like redemption, tasted like hope. Now, onto the next stage, a judge and jury, barristers. Expenses. Provocation and harassment. Threats and our protection.

—

When it all finally was done, the magistrate’s decision was vindicated, and the Syndicate were found guilty by a jury. About everything. And such was public opinion, the government wasn’t interested in doing ‘deals’ to help the guilty get out of jail for free, or in exchange for something with miniscule cost to the Syndicate. They would have lost votes if they did. Lots of votes.

Outside, the sky stretched wide over Meningie, free and clear. People talked, whispered. They spoke of what happened, of what changed. Stories spun from my truth, from our fight.

“Did you ever think…” Stephanie’s voice trailed off, eyes searching mine.

“Never,” I admitted. But here we were, catalysts for a movement that surged far beyond the confines of this rural existence.

“Courage,” they said. “He’s got courage.” My face, scarred by acne and life, became an unlikely symbol. If I could stand against giants, maybe others could too.

“Change,” they murmured. And change came. From darkness to light, from despair to action. We’d sparked something unstoppable.

“Friendship,” I realized, “it’s our cornerstone.” In the company of allies, friends—Stephanie, D@@Mladen—we’d weathered the storm. We’d turned survival into triumph.

“Redemption,” they echoed, a new dawn for those once lost in the shadows. And as the courtroom doors closed behind us, a chapter ended.

“Justice,” I thought. And somewhere, beneath the vast Australian sky, a movement stirred, ready to rewrite the story of us all.

Friendship had bound us, tighter than any wire could. It was trust, traded in whispers and shared struggles. We’d become more than allies; we were comrades-in-arms, soldiers on a battlefield without borders.

The room was small, cramped. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a cold light over maps strewn with pins and strings, the geography of our war. The air tasted of determination.

“Remember, it’s not just about the Syndicate,” I said, catching their gazes. “It’s about those who’ve been hurt. It’s personal.”

“Always is,” Stephanie replied, her eyes fierce.

“Let’s bring the fight to them,” D@@Mladen’s voice was a growl, the sound of a woman who’d lost too much and found purpose in the wreckage.

We knew our enemies were legion, tendrils of corruption spreading unseen. But the Syndicate was just the beginning. Beyond it, countless others lurked, preying on the innocent, on the world’s newfound reliance on the digital pulse.

“We stand together,” I affirmed. “This… this is our new dawn.”

“New beginnings,” Stephanie echoed, her hand finding mine, squeezing tight.

“New fights,” D@@Mladen concluded, her nod firm.

We stood there, a trio against the tide, ready to turn the page on a chapter marred by darkness. We were united, a front against the burgeoning abyss, the protectors of countless unnamed lives.

The night outside whispered of silence and secrets, of crimes hidden in the veil of darkness. But we’d pierced that shadow before, and we would do so again.

“Tomorrow, we start fresh,” I declared, feeling the weight of responsibility and the buoyancy of hope in equal measure. “No running from what’s to come.”

“Then let’s make sure we’re ready,” Stephanie said, her voice a beacon.

“Ready,” I echoed, and D@@Mladen gave a solemn nod.

The darkness wasn’t gone, not by a long shot. But with each keystroke, each revelation, each act of defiance, we brought new light. And in that light, redemption seemed not just possible but inevitable.

“Let’s get to work,” I said, the first soldier stepping into the fray of a war that was far from over.

The screen glowed. Lines of code scrolled, endless. I leaned in, eyes narrowed. Fingers flew across the keys—dance of battle, dance of change.

“Got another one,” I muttered.

Stephanie peered over. “Where?”

“Deep web forum. They’re trading stolen IDs like baseball cards.” The disgust was a bitter taste.

“Take it down,” she said, steel in her voice.

D@@Mladen’s hands were already at work beside me. “On it.”

We worked in silence. Clocked ticking. Hearts ticking. Each second, redemption fought against the dark.

“Logan,” Stephanie’s hand on my shoulder, grounding. “You okay?”

“Fine.” A lie. Tired. We all were. But can’t stop. Won’t stop.

“Remember,” D@@Mladen’s voice cut in, “we’re the good guys.”

“Feels like we’re outnumbered,” I shot back.

“Always were,” she replied with a grin. Not beaten. Not her. Not us.

“Down it goes,” I announced as the forum blinked out of existence. One small victory. A candle in the night.

“Good job,” Stephanie’s smile was pride and promise mixed. “But more out there.”

“More out there,” I echoed. Screens don’t sleep. Neither do we.

“Guys,” D@@Mladen leaned back, stretching. “This is just the start.”

“Feels like an ending,” I said. The weight of war on my chest.

“Endings are beginnings,” Stephanie reasoned. “Just depends on where you stand.”

“Standing’s the easy part,” I quipped. “It’s the walking that’ll kill you.”

“Then we walk together,” she affirmed.

“Walk together,” I agreed. No man left behind. No darkness untouched.

“Time?” D@@Mladen glanced at her watch.

“Late,” I replied. “Or early. Depending on your take.”

“Take is we keep going,” she said.

“Keep going,” Stephanie nodded.

“Keep going,” I whispered to the room. To the world. To the shadows.

“Keep going,” the night answered back.

“Keep going” was our creed. Our map through the maze of moral murk.

Can society confront its darkness? Can it find redemption?

“Only time will tell,” I said to the dark. And we kept typing.