The air in the fifth subterranean level of the New York Federal Reserve Bank's security room was heavy with the scent of ozone and the warm breath of humming electronic equipment. Erin sat at the central console, surrounded by three screens forming a digital wall around her. Since the activation of the "Digital Fortress Protocol," she had been working in this isolated space for sixteen hours straight.
"Found anything?" Mark pushed open the heavy bulletproof door, carrying two cups of coffee.
Erin accepted the coffee without taking her eyes off the central screen. "This isn't an ordinary hack," she said, pulling up a section of code and enlarging it on the main display. "Look at this execution path. It bypasses all standard security protocols without leaving a single trace."
"What does that mean?" Mark leaned closer to the screen.
"It means," Erin's voice tightened, "the attacker knows every vulnerability, every backdoor in the system, as if they have the architect's original blueprints." She paused, "Or rather, the attacker is one of the architects."
Mark's face drained of color. "You're saying this is an inside job?"
Erin didn't answer directly. Instead, she pulled up another segment of code. "Three years ago, I participated in a classified project called 'Atlas.' We designed an emergency response system to reorganize global trading networks during extreme financial crises." She pointed at the screen, "The core algorithms in these attack codes are almost identical to the self-replicating protocols from the Atlas project."
"That's impossible! All the code from that project was locked in the core vault, requiring three-person authorization for access."
Erin's fingers flew across the keyboard. "What's worse, the attacker has modified the code. The original design was meant to stabilize systems during a crisis, but this version..." her voice dropped, "it's systematically manufacturing financial chaos, triggering chain reactions in algorithmic trading systems."
She opened a communications interface showing real-time conditions at major exchanges worldwide. Red alerts flashed on the icons of every trading center.
"Global markets are about to experience their first 24-hour complete meltdown in history."
The Chicago Mercantile Exchange trading floor echoed with desperate shouts. Robert Chen stood at his terminal, witnessing the historic collapse. Red numbers spread across trading screens like bleeding wounds, mercilessly expanding.
"Circuit breaker activated! All trading halted!" The announcement repeated through the hall's speaker system, but nobody left their positions. Robert knew this wasn't an ordinary market correction—it was the collapse of the entire financial system.
"Chen! Look outside!" A colleague at the neighboring trading desk slapped his shoulder.
Robert turned toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the scene on the street made his throat tighten. Hundreds of protesters surged toward the exchange building, wielding improvised weapons and wooden clubs. Several police cars had been overturned, flames illuminating the evening street.
"Who are those people?" Robert asked, his voice nearly drowned by the chaos in the hall.
"Unemployed factory workers, bankrupt small investors, debt-ridden students," his colleague offered a cold smile. "In short, all the people we've been ignoring for years."
Security personnel began sealing all entrances. The hall's broadcast system suddenly switched to the emergency channel: "Attention all personnel, the building has entered emergency lockdown. Please follow security staff instructions to proceed to secure areas. Repeat, the building has—"
Before the announcement finished, a loud explosion shook the entire structure. Through the window, Robert saw a burning object hurled at the building's front lobby. The sound of shattering glass followed immediately.
"They're breaking in!" someone shouted.
Robert's phone vibrated. He saw an emergency notification from headquarters: "Global financial system under unknown cyber attack. Federal Reserve has activated emergency protocols. All staff remain calm and await further instructions."
Another explosion, closer this time. Through the smoke, Robert saw protesters breach the first security line. Police fired rubber bullets and tear gas into the crowd, but there were too many protesters.
"We need to get out of here," Robert told his colleague. "Through the employee passage."
Just as they reached the emergency exit, the lights in the hall suddenly went out. Backup generators kicked in, casting weak red emergency lighting across the floor. Traders cried out in alarm.
"The power grid is being affected too," Robert said quietly, activating his phone's flashlight.
They descended through the emergency stairwell, hearing the increasingly loud sounds of breaking glass and angry crowds. Through a small window, Robert saw the street had become a battlefield. Police riot shields formed a curved defensive line against the furious mob.
His phone vibrated again with another message. This one was different—encrypted and sent directly to him: "ATLAS HAS FALLEN. PREPARE FOR PHOENIX."
Robert stared at the screen, a terrible thought forming in his mind. This wasn't just a market crash or cyber attack, but some kind of planned systematic dismantling. More concerning still: why was this message sent to him?
The vibrations from the ground grew stronger, and concrete dust began falling from the ceiling. Robert knew this was only the beginning of the storm.
In the chaos, he made his decision. Using his security clearance, he accessed a terminal near the emergency exit. The building's security system showed protesters had breached the main lobby. Police were retreating to inner defensive positions.
"What are you doing?" his colleague demanded, panic rising in his voice. "We need to get out now!"
"One second," Robert said, fingers flying across the keyboard. He was downloading specific market data—movements that had occurred seconds before the system crashed. If his suspicions were correct, this information would be vital.
The building shook again as something heavy crashed against the structure. The alarm system wailed, and automated announcements directed personnel toward secondary exits.
"Time's up," his colleague said, grabbing his arm. "The northeast exit is still clear."
Robert nodded, pocketing his encrypted data drive. As they hurried down the corridor, he glanced at the security monitors lining the wall. The trading floor they'd just abandoned was now filling with smoke, figures moving through the haze.
Through the exit door, they emerged into an alley behind the exchange building. The sounds of conflict were all around them—sirens, shouting, occasional explosions. Chicago's financial district, normally pristine and orderly, had descended into chaos in less than an hour.
"What happens now?" his colleague asked, voice barely audible over the noise.
Robert looked at his phone once more, reading the cryptic message again: "ATLAS HAS FALLEN. PREPARE FOR PHOENIX."
"Now," he said grimly, "we find out what Phoenix is."