The ghost at the table – Draft 03 – Chapter 7

Logan

The night was still except for the hum of my rig. Screens bathed me in a cold glow. I reached out into the void, to him—D@@Mladen. My fingers danced over keys, crafting words like digital prayers.

“Your name echoes through the forums,” I typed. “I want to learn. Will you teach?”

Silence stretched. A response was a long shot. He was a ghost in the machine, a legend. My heart hammered against ribs caging it in, waiting.

Hours passed. Thought he’d ignored me. Then it came, a notification blinking like a beacon. His words on my screen. A riddle wrapped in code.

“Meet me where shadows whisper and darkness deals,” the message read. “Adelaide. Midnight. Come alone.”

Secrecy was his creed. I understood. I’ve always been drawn to the dark and the hidden. It’s why I got into this game. To peel back layers. To know.

“Understood,” I replied. My heart raced. This was it. The test. It could be a fruitless search. Could be the break I needed.

I shut down my rig. Stood up. Time to dive deeper into the rabbit hole. Adelaide awaited. D@@Mladen awaited. And I wouldn’t keep him waiting.

—

The bar’s sign flickered—a glitchy beacon in Adelaide’s underbelly. I pushed through the door, pulse drumming in my ears. Air thick with cigarette smoke and stale beer hugged me. The murmur of hushed conversations filled the gaps.

I slid onto a bar stool, ordered nothing, eyes scouting. D@@Mladen could be any bloke, anywhere. My fingers tapped on the bar, remembering keystrokes, commands. Each tap was Morse code for anticipation.

A shadow detached from the wall, moved towards me. She sized me up, eyes hidden behind reflective lenses. I straightened, aware of my bulk, the scars acne left behind.

“Logan?” Her voice was flat, no hint of expectation.

“Yeah.” One word, my entire identity wrapped in it.

“Followed instructions. Good.” They nodded once, their approval a currency I found myself craving. But what moved my world on its axis was that they weren’t wearing trousers, they were wearing a dress. A little black dress. This was no Aerosmith ‘Dude looks like a lady’ moment; this was an actual woman, long hair, curves, voice and all.

“Ready to learn,” I said, voice steady despite the adrenaline surge and the confusion.

“Risks. High.” Her warning was terse, as if she’d seen too many crumble.

“Understood.”

“Commitment is key.” She didn’t smile, but there was an edge of respect there. “Still in?”

“Always.”

“Let’s begin.” Her turn back into the shadows was an invitation. I followed.

The shadows clung to her like a second skin, dark attire merging with the dim ambiance. She stopped, a mere arm’s length away, pulling off the glasses. D@@Mladen, not at all what I’d pictured. The revelation struck quick. A woman. Why did it surprise me? It shouldn’t have.

“Expecting someone else?” Her eyebrow arched, a challenge in the curve.

“Doesn’t matter.” I dismissed the stereotype as soon as it formed. “Skills aren’t gendered.”

“Smart man.” Approval flickered across her face.

She led the way to a secluded booth, carved out of sight. We sank into cracked leather seats, the table between us strewn with the ghosts of countless clandestine deals.

“Basics first,” she began. The tone was no-nonsense. “Hacking isn’t about breaking in. It’s about understanding systems better than their creators.”

“Ethical hacking?” I tested the term, rolling it around like a new password.

“Exactly.” She leaned forward, conspiratorial. “Use your skills for good. Otherwise, the fallout…”

“Could be bad,” I finished. I knew about consequences. The military didn’t forgive easily.

“Bad is an understatement.” A smirk played on her lips. “But if you’re sharp, careful, you can navigate the minefield.”

“Teach me.” I was all in, ready to soak up every byte of wisdom she offered.

The screen glowed. Code cascaded down, a digital waterfall of knowledge. D@@Mladen beside me – the oracle in this cyber-temple. Her words were precise, commands cutting through the hum of machines like a scalpel. I hung on every syllable.

“Subnets and proxies,” she instructed. “Hide your tracks.”

“Like covering footprints?” I asked.

“Exactly.” She nodded, pleased. “Cover them well, or they’ll lead the hunters straight to you.”

“Got it.” My fingers flew across the keyboard, faster than thought. The lessons from the RAAF paid off—typing as if bullets depended on it.

“Good pace,” she commented. “Now, think defence.”

“Firewalls?”

“More than that. Think layers. Onions have layers. Security should too.”

“Layers hide the core,” I mused aloud. The concept took root, simple yet profound. She watched me, her gaze sharp, assessing.

“Time for a test,” she declared suddenly. “Scenario one.”

I leaned in. My heartbeat synced with the cursor’s blink. A scenario materialized on the screen – a mock network, begging to be unravelled. I analysed, strategized.

“Identify the vulnerabilities,” she said.

“Here and here,” I pointed. “Weak passwords. Outdated encryption.”

“Good. Now exploit them.”

My hands danced. Commands entered. Access gained. A rush of victory surged through me. The challenge spiked my blood.

“Another one.” She upped the ante without pause. The next scenario was denser, a jungle of code.

“Think critically.” Her voice was a beacon. “Where’s the entry point?”

“Hidden behind this service,” I murmured, eyes scanning lines, dissecting them.

“Then go.”

I plunged into the thicket of data. Each step deliberate. Each move calculated. She observed, silent now, her mentorship a shadow cast over my efforts.

“Nice manoeuvre,” she finally spoke, as I bypassed a virtual tripwire.

“Learned from the best,” I shot back, half-joke, half-truth.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she retorted, but her smirk betrayed pride. “Focus.”

“Got it.” I refocused, pushing out distractions. The bar, the city, the world – all faded. Only the puzzle remained. And I solved it, piece by piece.

“Excellent.” D@@Mladen’s voice cut through the triumph. “You’re ready for more.”

“Bring it on.” My confidence swelled. Ready to dive deeper, to push limits. She had lit a fire within me, and it burned with the fierce need to master the art she wielded so effortlessly.

The screen flickered. My pulse hammered. Each scenario a new beast, every line of code a battle. I was ready.

“Use what you’ve learned,” D@@Mladen’s voice was steel wrapped in velvet. “Show me.”

Her challenges were like shards of glass, sharp and demanding precision. I met each one head-on. A SQL injection here, a brute-force attack there. My fingers flew across the keyboard, commands flowing like second nature. I was proving myself, one keystroke at a time.

“Deeper,” she urged. “See beyond the surface.”

I burrowed into the digital depths. Systems revealed their secrets to me, vulnerabilities exposed under my relentless gaze. I was no longer the outsider. I belonged in this underground world, amidst the ebb and flow of data.

“Watch,” she said, pulling up a new program. “Advanced techniques.”

I leaned in. The lines on the screen spoke of power, of control. She navigated through layers of security with a surgeon’s precision. Every move was calculated, every action deliberate.

“Your turn.” Her challenge was simple. “Be invisible.”

Invisibility. The holy grail of hacking. I emulated her actions, mimicking the finesse I had just witnessed. My avatar slipped through firewalls, undetected. I left no trace, as if I were never there.

“Discretion,” she reminded, eyes locked on the screen. “Always.”

“Understood.” I acknowledged the weight of her words.

We danced through cyberspace, partners in a silent ballet. With each lesson, she equipped me with sharper tools, each one a double-edged sword. Caution became my mantra.

“Remember, Logan,” she broke the silence. “One wrong move can unravel everything.”

“Noted.” I swallowed the gravity of our game. It wasn’t just about skill—it was survival. In the unforgiving outback of the digital realm, friendship was my lifeline. D@@Mladen was more than a mentor; she was my ally in a landscape where allies were scarce.

“Good.” She nodded, satisfied. “Keep going.”

And so I did. Onward through the coded wilderness, with D@@Mladen by my side, guiding me towards mastery, towards an unknown future where my skills could mean the difference between dominance and downfall.

 “Thank you,” I said, the words almost catching in my throat. The glow of the monitors bathed us in a sterile light, but the moment felt anything but cold. “For everything.”

She glanced up from her screen, eyes piercing through the dimness. “Don’t thank me yet.” Her voice was as sharp as her coding skills.

“Still, what you’ve shown me—it’s more than just hacking. It’s like… a new way to see the world.” I leaned back in my chair, aware of how much I meant it. The digital landscape had transformed under her tutelage, from a wilderness into a domain where I could finally exert some semblance of control.

“Seeing is just the beginning. Understanding is power.” She tapped a rhythm on the keyboard, a cryptic melody only she could follow. “But with power comes responsibility.”

“Responsibility?” I echoed, feeling the weight of her gaze.

“Your skills can do good, or they can wreak havoc.” Her fingers stilled, and she turned to face me fully. “It’s your choice, Logan. But remember, choices have consequences.”

I nodded, taking in every word. “I won’t let you down.”

“Good.” A ghost of a smile appeared on her face. “Because I’ll be here. Watching, helping when I can. But the journey is yours.”

“Understood,” I replied, knowing full well the path ahead was fraught with shadows and pitfalls.

“Stay sharp, Logan,” D@@Mladen said, standing. “Survival isn’t about being the strongest or the smartest. It’s about being the most adaptable.”

“Adaptable,” I repeated, committing the concept to memory.

“Exactly. Now go,” she urged, gesturing towards the exit of the underground bar that had become our classroom. “Use what you’ve learned. Make a difference.”

As I stood and headed for the door, I felt the weight of her expectations on my shoulders—a burden I was now willing to bear. The night air hit me with a chill as I stepped outside, but inside, a fire was kindled. I was ready. Ready to navigate the complex web of cyberspace, armed with knowledge and a newfound sense of purpose.

I walked beside her, matching her stride. Purpose surged within me like a coursing river. D@@Mladen had lit a beacon in the fog of my aimlessness. I wasn’t just some country IT consultant with a military past and a head full of code—I was her protégé.

“Logan,” she said, breaking our shared silence. Her voice was steady, yet it carried an undercurrent of urgency.

“Yeah?” I kept my eyes ahead, watching the neon signs flicker in the night.

“Remember—always question why you’re doing something.” We stopped at the mouth of an alley, and she turned to face me. The light from a nearby streetlamp cast shadows across her face, making her look even more enigmatic.

“Dig deeper than the surface,” she continued. “Consider the ripples your actions create.”

“Ripples,” I muttered. The metaphor settled in my stomach. Actions, consequences—they were all part of the same pond.

“Exactly.” She nodded once, sharp and precise. “The ‘why’ behind your actions—it’s what separates the ethical from the reckless.”

“Ethical hacker,” I repeated. It wasn’t just about breaching firewalls and navigating backdoors; it was about philosophy, a code of conduct.

“Good.” D@@Mladen smiled, a rare display that hinted at warmth beneath her usually impassive exterior. “You have the talent, Logan. But talent without direction is dangerous.”

I felt her words etch themselves into my mind. Talent. Direction. Danger. They danced around each other, weaving a complex tapestry of choice and morality.

“Thanks,” I said, my voice gruff with sincerity. “For everything.”

“Thank me by making smart choices. By remembering that every keystroke can build or break.” She stepped back, creating distance between us—a physical reminder that the next steps were mine to take alone.

“Build or break,” I echoed, turning her final advice over in my thoughts. The weight of it was heavy but not unbearable. I was ready.

“See you online, D@@Mladen,” I said, offering a nod of respect before turning down the alley.

“Stay sharp, Logan,” she called after me.

Her words lingered as I walked away, every step taking me deeper into the night. In the darkness of rural Australia, a world away from the city’s glow, I knew the importance of what I carried with me. Friendship, knowledge, a mentor’s trust—the tools for survival. And I would use them well.

The night air bit at my skin as I left the bar. The underground world slipped away, and I emerged back into reality. A reality I was now equipped to change.

I walked. My steps were steady. Purposeful. D@@Mladen’s words echoed in my head. Talent. Direction. Danger. They weren’t just words; they were a lifeline.

“Build or break,” I whispered to myself.

My hands curled into fists. Build. I would build. That was the promise I made to her. To myself. Adelaide’s cityscape loomed in the distance, but it felt like a different universe. All those networks, systems, lives intersecting through invisible threads. And I had the power to touch them.

A power that needed control. Restraint. My fingers relaxed. I remembered the feel of the keyboard under them. The rush of breaking barriers. The silence before a system yielded its secrets. But now, there was more than the thrill. There was purpose.

“Use your skills for good.” Her voice was a mantra.

The road stretched out before me. Empty. It was late, or maybe it was early. Time blurred. My mind raced faster than the clock. Plans formed. Ideas sparked.

I thought of Meningie. Quiet. Remote. The place I called home. A stark contrast to the bustle of the city. Here, in the open space, you learn fast—friends matter. They’re your network. Your firewall.

D@@Mladen was part of my network now. An ally. Someone who believed in me. Showed me what I could be. What I should be.

I’d been alone. Isolated by the military’s cold logic. By the doctor’s disbelief. Depression—a word they wouldn’t acknowledge. But it gnawed at me all the same.

“Stay sharp.”

Her farewell sliced through the memories. I shook my head. Clearing it. No time for past ghosts. Only the road ahead.

A gust of wind stirred the dust around my boots. It danced in the moonlight. A chaotic little whirlwind. Like the thoughts in my mind. But among the chaos, a path was clear.

I reached my car. The worn-out sedan that seemed to absorb the darkness around it. Insignificant to any passer-by. But to me, it was the start of the journey back. Back to where I could make a difference.

The engine rumbled to life. A familiar vibration. I rolled down the window, let the cool air rush in. It smelled like eucalyptus. Like freedom.

“Make a difference,” I said aloud. The words felt solid. Real.

The road unfolded. I drove with the windows down. The sounds of the night filled the cabin. Crickets. Leaves rustling. The occasional call of a night bird. It was peaceful. A stark contrast to the electronic battlefield I was returning to.

But I was ready. With every mile, I moved further from D@@Mladen’s shadow and closer to my own destiny. Her teachings were my compass. Her challenges, my map.

I would hack for good. Expose lies. Protect the innocent. Maybe even tear down a corrupt system or two.

“Make it count,” I muttered.

The first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon when I finally pulled into Meningie. A new day. A new beginning.

“Let’s do this,” I said to no one and everyone.

I was Logan Robinson. Hacker. Protector. Friend. And I was ready for whatever came next.