"Can you trace where the attack is coming from?" Marx asked, settling into an empty chair beside the man wearing thick glasses.
"Yes, Boss. The attack is originating from the southern part of the Usturian Capital," the man replied.
Marx nodded thoughtfully. Without another word, he leaned forward, opened his laptop, and began typing. His fingers danced across the keyboard with incredible speed, drawing the awestruck attention of those around him.
Even the man with thick glasses couldn't hide his astonishment when a familiar profile ID appeared on the screen: XX. He blinked and leaned closer to confirm. It was undeniably the same profile name that had been a legend on the dark web. His eyes widened as he looked at Marx.
So it was him all along, the man thought. No wonder XX had disappeared for two years—his boss had vanished for the same amount of time.
