The city of Stockholm seemed to have finally calmed down as midnight settled roughly over the sky. The distant, lonely chatter amongst the night-shift workers echoed loudly after rebounding off the tall buildings and trees. Eerie shadows stretched dreadfully across walls and pavements while stray dogs erupted into sudden fits of barking somewhere in the distance.
Just like any other midnight in the city.
The office felt damp and stale in the humid air. Wind mixed with dust and vapor slipped cornerly through the tiny openings around the glass windows, lifting the pages of books left open across the desk.
A cigar was lit in the other corner of the dimly lit room. A petite, pale young woman huffed lightly as her hand swept the lighter back into place. Her blue eyes briefly glimmered in the temporary flame, relaxed and comfortable behind her white square frames.
"Want one?" she whispered to the only other occupant in the room.
Matthew immediately looked away, realizing Isla had caught him staring. He was in his mid-forties, with darker glasses and a receding hairline.
Being deeply conservative, he found the sight of an edgy female hacker smoking cigars strangely irritating and let out a quiet sigh of disapproval.
Still, he was smart enough not to meddle with a woman who looked considerably more dangerous than him.
Isla took another puff, releasing a thick cloud of smoke before placing the cigar back onto the ashtray.
"It's already midnight," Isla muttered dejectedly, her eyes lingering on the glowing monitor in front of her.
"It's not like anything's actually gonna happen."
"Yeah." Matthew jerked his head back in annoyance. "You'd think a degree from MIT and four years of coding experience would land you something better than this."
Isla smirked faintly before sighing again.
"If only the money wasn't this good…"
Money.
It always boiled down to money in the end.
Money that could rot respectable professions from the inside out. That could change loyalties overnight.
Money that could force two highly valued coders to bury their self-respect and work for shady men whose names were spoken carefully in the underworld.
Outside, another dog barked loudly into the silence.
"How's Lydia doing?" Isla asked quietly, changing the subject.
Matthew's expression darkened behind the reflection of the computer screen.
"She's still there," Matthew said quietly, his eyes fixed on the monitor. "Some days it just feels like she's asleep and might wake up any second."
His hand jerked against the table in frustration.
"Everybody keeps telling me to accept it and move on. Mom's already on my back about Maisie Brown and—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
His eyes locked onto the monitor. Isla followed his line of sight.
Something was very wrong.
The screen flashed violently with withdrawal notifications.
125.24 € deducted.
123.24 € deducted.
"Someone's trying to gain access," Matthew realized as Isla refreshed the page.
124.26 € pending.
"Hold on," Matthew breathed, his eyes widening at the next notification.
We're having trouble displaying some account information.
Isla immediately logged out of the software.
Classic phishing behavior.
Her posture straightened instantly as she gestured for Matthew to kill the Wi-Fi.
But Matthew hesitated.
Instead, under Isla's accusing stare, he reopened the login page.
The website took unusually long to load.
And when it finally appeared, the email field was already filled in, even though autofill had been disabled months ago.
A strange silence settled over the room.
Matthew typed the password.
Incorrect password.
Again.
Incorrect password.
By the third attempt, panic finally hit him, along with the adrenaline.
The screen lit up once again.
New device registered for online banking.
If this was not you, contact the bank immediately.
Timestamp: 12:14 AM.
"Okay, that's enough." Isla shoved Matthew aside and immediately enabled every security measure she could reach before switching off the internet connection.
Another banking tab opened by itself.
Then another.
And another.
One became two. Two became six. Tabs multiplied right in front of them as they desperately tried to close them.
Someone was actively inside the software.
The pages moved too quickly for a human being to navigate naturally.
Security settings.
Payees.
Limits.
Statements.
Each page opened and closed almost instantly.
Whoever was inside was searching for something specific.
"Shut the Wi-Fi!" Isla snapped.
Matthew immediately obeyed this time.
But it did nothing. The pages kept moving.
A new notification appeared in the corner of the screen.
Security settings updated successfully.
She hadn't touched anything.
Then another message appeared.
Two-factor authentication preferences changed.
"No. No, no, no—"
She tried shutting the browser completely.
Instead, Task Manager opened on its own.
.
Three unfamiliar processes appeared for less than a second before renaming themselves.
credentialhost.exe
rtm-sync
broker64
"Fake credentials," Matthew muttered. "Get their IP address."
He grabbed his phone and manually dialed the bank's fraud line while Isla physically disconnected the ethernet adapter and disabled every remaining network interface she could find.
"They've entered with multiple addresses," Isla breathed, eyes darting rapidly across the logs. "They're switching every few seconds."
The fraud operator answered.
"Jesus Christ," Matthew whispered.
"What?"
"They're bouncing the session."
Not amateur VPN masking.
The operator's voice crackled through the speakerphone now.
"Can you confirm if you still control the device?"
Matthew answered immediately.
"No. Assume full compromise."
The operator's tone changed at once.
Isla was already moving again, trying to isolate the process tree before the machine lost privileged access completely.
Then the phone signal vanished.
Matthew slowly looked at the screen.
Then at Isla.
"SIM swap."
The balance was updated again.
One transfer pending.
£9,800.
Destination account:
M. K*
Matthew immediately tried freezing everything, but another verified session appeared before the first restriction could even process.
Different device ID.
"Told you," Isla muttered while staring at the active-session list that kept appearing and disappearing down the side panel.
Matthew muted the fraud operator for a moment.
"How much is in savings?"
"Combined?"
"Yes."
"About seventy-six."
"Okay. If they've got device authority and the SIM, they'll prioritize internal transfers first."
Isla barely heard him.
Her eyes remained fixed on the session logs.
Every few seconds, a newly authenticated device appeared and vanished before she could terminate it.
The pending transfer suddenly disappeared.
For half a second, Isla thought they'd stopped it.
Then three smaller transfers appeared underneath.
£2,000
£1,800
£1,950
All pending.
.
Matthew exhaled sharply through his nose.
"They're adapting to the threshold limit."
The operator heard that.
"Sir… what threshold?"
"Your automated fraud trigger. Large transfer velocity."
A horrible silence.
"They have admin," Isla muttered, sharply
"You sure?"
The command prompt closed by itself.
On-screen, the banking notifications accelerated violently now.
New payee confirmed.
Transfer scheduled.
Security verification successful.
Every single one is timestamped seconds apart.
The fraud operator returned, voice noticeably tighter this time.
"We are attempting an account lockdown, but authenticated verification is overriding the hold."
Matthew laughed. It was too late for that.
The current account emptied first.
Then the savings.
Money moved internally before flowing outward through fragmented chains designed to resemble ordinary consumer behavior — smaller amounts, staggered timing, varied destinations.
The balance dropped again.
£31,204.
£24,991.
£18,440.
Isla finally slammed the laptop shut.
The room went silent except for the fraud operator speaking faintly through the muffled speakerphone.
Matthew slowly reopened the lid.
The session resumed instantly.
Still active.
"That machine's burned," he said quietly.
Isla nodded numbly.
The attacker already possessed persistence, authentication priority, telecom control, and session continuity. Everything after that was just administration.
The final transfers happened slowly.
The last amount left in the checking account was £12.43.
Then £0.43.
Then zero.
They stared at the screen incredulously, as if there was still some way to reverse it all.
Outside, the night had turned just as quiet as it had been twenty minutes ago.
Matthew finally turned toward his partner, who still looked pale beneath the dim office light.
"Vixen?"
Isla suddenly laughed the moment she slammed the laptop shut.
A sharp, almost disbelieving laugh.
"No doubt," Isla muttered, the grin still lingering faintly on her face. "Only she would have the guts to do something like this."
Matthew kept staring at her.
"Going after Lynx's account?" Isla laughed again, devilishly this time. "That bitch is gonna end up in a dead alleyway within a month."
And despite the absolute faith he, along with the rest of the underworld, had in Vixen's abilities, Matthew still found himself nodding slowly.
Because this time, Vixen had really tried to bite more than she could chew.