THE SYNDICATE
THE SYNDICATE
New York City
The air inside Roux Coffee Shop carried a bitter tang of roasted beans, cut with the faint metallic whine of an overworked espresso machine. Carl sat alone in the far corner, his back against the wall, laptop angled so no one could peer over his shoulder. Steam rose from his espresso—black, no sugar, just as he liked it—curling into the faint morning light spilling through rain-speckled windows.
Outside, Manhattan roared its daily chaos. Yellow taxis lurched through clogged intersections, horns bleating like frustrated animals. A bike courier whizzed past, nearly clipping a pedestrian who cursed after him. Life moved at its usual frantic pace. But Carl had long stopped marveling at the city’s rhythm. He wasn’t here for scenery anymore.
By day, he was a cybersecurity analyst for the FBI. His badge carried weight. His colleagues saw him as another cog in the federal machine. But beneath the polished exterior lived a second life: Carl, the digital vigilante. A silent force probing the dark corners of networks, peeling back the layers of corruption hidden in plain sight.
Tonight’s test case? Roux Coffee Shop itself.
He slipped into his Tor browser, masking his IP with a cascade of false identities stretching across continents. A few keystrokes and firewalls peeled back like wet paper. He expected sloppy code and weak encryption. Instead, he found resistance—harder than a café should ever require. Intrigued, he dug deeper.
And there it was. A concealed tunnel of code leading into a maze of servers. His pulse picked up. No café needed this kind of horsepower. It was too clean. Too deliberate.
Scrolling through the data, the truth bled onto the screen. Roux wasn’t just selling overpriced macchiatos. Hidden beneath its floors was an industrial-scale bitcoin mining farm, raking in millions under the noses of unsuspecting patrons.
Carl’s chest tightened with adrenaline. He knew he shouldn’t interfere. His bureau training screamed at him to follow chain of command. But Carl was done playing by the rules.
He encrypted the evidence, shot it anonymously to the NYPD cyber unit, and closed his laptop.
Minutes later, sirens split the morning air.
Two squad cars screeched to a halt, lights strobing against the café windows. Customers froze, mid-sip. Officers poured in, barking orders. The owner—a heavyset Russian man with a sharp widow’s peak and cold eyes—emerged from the back, demanding to know what was happening. His protest was short-lived. Within minutes he was cuffed and dragged outside.
Carl caught a glimpse as officers pried open a locked basement door. Rows of humming towers blinked to life, wires snaking like arteries across the floor, fans spinning with mechanical rage. The hidden heart of the operation.
Carl slipped out quietly, espresso cup abandoned on the table. No one noticed his faint smile as he vanished into the Manhattan crowd. Another crime, silently undone.
But even victories cast shadows.
The Next Morning
Carl woke late, sunlight stabbing through the half-closed blinds of his apartment. He rubbed the grit of exhaustion from his eyes, showered in haste, and hailed a yellow cab. The ride downtown was uneventful, yet he felt a gnawing unease, as if every glance in the rearview mirror lingered too long.
The Federal Building rose before him, a steel-and-glass monolith clawing at the clouds. An American flag snapped in the wind; its fabric strained by invisible forces. Carl paid the driver, slipped his badge from his pocket, and strode inside.
Security was perfunctory—metal detectors humming, armed guards barely glancing as Carl flashed his ID like a medal. Inside, the building smelled of paper, stale coffee, and disinfectant. A place of order. A place of secrets.
“Good morning, Carl,” said Debra, the receptionist, with her usual polite warmth.
Carl offered a half-smile, his mind already elsewhere. He made his way to his desk, booted up his workstation, and began sifting through lines of code, malware alerts, and encrypted reports. Another routine day in the machine.
Until the message appeared.
A flicker on his monitor. A private chat windows.
No sender. No trace.
They are watching you.
Carl’s heart skipped. He typed quickly.
Who?
A pause. Then:
The Syndicate.
The name hit him like a whisper from a nightmare. He had seen it before—buried references in corrupted files, dismissed as myth among analysts. A ghost organization. Untouchable. Omnipresent.
Before he could type another word, a file transferred itself onto his system. Encrypted. Intricate. Dangerous.
Carl hesitated, fingers hovering above the keys. Then he decrypted it.
The screen bled secrets. Photographs of senators and CEOs. Offshore bank statements. Secret phone numbers. Entire dossiers on men and women in power, their faces lit by the pale glow of his monitor.
And then came the final section. Assassins.
Black-and-white photos of men with unmarked faces. Scarred knuckles. Cold eyes. Some images blurred, as though the camera itself had flinched. Each name was an alias. Each alias tied to death.
Carl ejected his USB drive, hands trembling. He slipped it into his pocket as sweat prickled his back.
He stared at the screen long after it went dark.
This wasn’t just corruption. It was a shadow government.
And by opening that file, Carl had just painted a target on his own back.
THE SYNDICATE
II
Five years ago
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Carl completed his Bachelor of Science degree in Computer Science at the top of his class at the MIT and was the Valedictorian for the class of 2019. He was a genius to others when it came to computers others a god when it came to hacking, testing penetration and software testing. His unique ability to write complex code was unmatched to anyone in the whole University. Not only was able to master the coding skills but also the online hacker space.
He had acquired a huge notoriety as the campus’s most promising hacker, winning high stake hackathon tournaments, also working in the University as an Ethical hacker. Huge blue-chip companies like Google, Facebook and Amazon all wanted to recruit him. He was ecstatic that his talents had given much popularity and liking.
Carl always had the most acute social anxiety and also a bit of OCD. He could always see patterns that no one else saw. It came naturally to him like a baby’s first words. He always struggled with articulating his words, some of his “friends” always joked around and told him he had some form of autism, of which it was kind of true.
He was always silent. Hunching over his laptop rendering website deployments and creating his own AI tools. He was a skilled programmer and his ability to write raw, flawless code was just part of his arsenal. The other students always gave him complex assignments that he would finish in hours using sites like Lovable and ChatGBT he’s logic and problem-solving skills made him quite a prodigy.
On this day, The stadium was alive with a strange electricity—half joy, half nervous anticipation. The morning sun fell like gold across the rows of chairs lined in military precision on the freshly cut grass. The graduates wore smartly dressed gowns that looked immaculate with a blue silk ribbon across their chests. They were all proud of themselves, some laughed hysterically at their inside jokes reminiscing the good old times of the University fraternity while others were stiff and nervous.
Families crowded the stands, their cheers and chatter filling the air. Mothers dabbed their eyes with crumpled tissues, fathers stood tall with pride stiffening their shoulders, and younger siblings held handmade signs, eager to wave them at the right moment. Confetti and roses were all seen dangling over their bodies as they all celebrated the important day.
The band lead the crowd into the University anthem, drums would beat and trumpets blown into a sweet symphony as the graduated walked one by one to the podium to receive their degrees, diplomas and PHD’s. Carl was seated at the fore front of it all admiring the music and the beautifully decorated wall. He couldn’t believe it after long nights of study and toil he was graduating with a Bachelor of Science in Computer Science, top of his class.
He rose swiftly when it was time to give his speech. He was eloquent and precise making sure he was audible and well heard. He talked about how the lectureres were kind, the students were genial and the staff benevolent. He emphasized that this was only the beginning for them and the journey had just begun. He spoke about all the sleepless nights, the sheer hard work and all its rewards. Finally, he wrapped up the speech congratulating his fellow students and showing gratitude towards the faculty.
Cheers and applaud rented the air as the graduated jeered him on.
The afternoon sun hung low retreating to sleep and slumber. Carl’s parents were extremely proud of him. When they got home, they had learnt that the mail man passed through delivering some mail. Carl was excited for he already knew that these were coming from the most prestigious of jobs, that he applied to.
He skimmed through all the mails, all of them acceptance letters to work for the biggest jobs in the world as: data scientist, software engineer and cloud developer. But one stood out a cyber security analyst at an unknown company he tried to google it no results were found upon the search.
He decided to write an email to them and see the response he was excited that now he that he had a job. Little does he know this would be the beginning of a new chapter in his life.
THE SYNDICATE
III
Inside the CIA headquarters, the air was chill and cold. Computers and hard drives beat and hummed in succession. Agents were busy doing their routine paperwork but not Carl, after the anonymous whistle blower who identified himself as the CandyMan revealed all the secrets of the so-called syndicate.
Carl was indeed petrified but he had to put on a show so that his fellow colleagues would not be suspicious. He did the usual tasks, web testing penetration, debugging data and his least favorite going through databases to ensure everything runned smoothly.
He put his encrypted USB drive into his laptop slowly and downloaded the secret data provided by the incognito hacker, a snippet of what it was to become. The CandyMan he had heard of him, a notorious hacker who taunted his victims by giving them web cookies as a form of phishing and stealing data.
Once the victim accepted the web cookies, he was then able to get the user’s IP address and backtrack the lines of code into their password repository that stored all their data. That was why he was called the CandyMan.
Carl had heard of this black hat hacker for quite sometime making waves in the media exposing government officials’ money laundering schemes, business of war: illegal sale of weapons by the United States to aid in wars in the Middle East and corruption. He was the kind of hacker to ask for ransomware back in the day all for a hefty price, a smalltown legend.
But now it seemed as if he went into radio silence only to resurface contacting Carl.
>> Let us meet at Romano’s coffee shop at 0000hrs
>>All will be revealed
He stared at the messages for what seemed like a good minute. The hacker ended the chat from reddit like pop up page and closed the cryptic browser. Carl was confused.
What possible information could the CandyMan have?
Was this all a ruse?
Why would he contact me?
His thoughts spinned in his head like a carousel and almost made him nauseous. He closed his laptop and removed his glasses instantly contemplating on whether his engagement would be an act of treason against the United States government. He loosened his shoulders and packed his belongings.
Moments later, he arrived at his apartment completely tired and languid. The subway ride was unnervingly annoying to him and was glad he was at his small minimalistic apartment. He took a hot shower as he got ready to meet the infamous hacker at the coffee shop.
The night was cold and chill, the trees shed their amber leaves as it was Autumn. The wind swept the leaves as they danced on the side walk. The full moon gleamed from a distance luminating his every step. He walked into the coffee shop and sat right at the corner, wearing a black hoodie and blue denim jeans.
He then got a text from an unknown number.
>> Will be there in the next fifteen minutes
Time passed and a short white middle-aged man wearing a baseball cap and a denim blue jacket appeared in front of him, his head hung low like a crane. Fearful to be watched.
“I picked this place as there were no surveillance cameras” said the Candyman who Carl later learnt that his name was Bill Wachowski. A Russian hacker who came into the United States when he was just five years old, he had an American accent and had a thick scent of vodka under his breathe.
Bill joined Carl at the booth, a waiter passed them by to get their orders. Carl ordered an espresso while Bill declined the offer.
“Did you receive the data?” asked Bill.
His eyes looked hollow and his skin filled with pallor, as if he had not slept for days. He rubbed them over and over again.
“Yes, I did” said Carl childly.
“I come from a group known as the Watchdogs an online hackerspace that aims at exposing the governments’ dirty laundry, corruption and illegal profits from war,” said Bill.
Silence crept in like a slithering snake.
“These few individuals in power are known as the syndicate. An evil organization that comprises of the elite and untouched running the world profiting from famine and war” he added.
“Why me?” asked Carl.
“Because you are closest to the birds’ nest and to kill the birds you would need to destroy its nest,” said Bill.
“I know what you do Carl, you are a computer analyst working for both the FBI and CIA with an extreme understanding of writing genius code, these skills are what the Watchdogs need and with your help we will exterminate all the syndicate has had to offer,” said Bill with a stern look on his face.
“I also know your past time activities as a vigilante hacker,” said Bill
Carl remained stiff by the revelation.
“So, the question is Carl. How deep do you want to go into the rabbit hole?” asked Bill
He then handed him a piece of paper with some QR code.
“Scan this and join us and with your help we will take back what is ours” he said banging the coffee table dramatically, the other customers twisting their necks to see what had caused the commotion.
With his final words he left unspoken without hesitation. Carl felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. The anonymous hacker sent a riveting chill down his spine.
What will he do?
Has his whole life been leading to this event?
Will he betray his country or save it from the deep claws of the syndicate?
THE SYNDICATE
IV
Five years ago
Carl’s eyes hovered over the acceptance letter from none other than the FBI, a carefully crafted letter that had a USB flash drive embedded inside the envelope. He held it on the palm of his hand with disbelief then inserted it into his computer.
A screen popped up on his screen and a video played.
Congratulations! Through our vigorous and intensified selection process you have been chosen to join the FBI(Quantico) as an elite force of cyber security analysts. Your training will commence immediately. A series of physical, emotional and psychological tasks will be handed on to you. You are not to disclose to anyone this information including your loved ones.
He was gaiety and his excitement quickly turned to resentment; you are not to disclose to anyone this information including your loved ones. The words hit as hard as steel on an anvil. His heart dropped and small precipitation was seen on his head. His parents were his closest attempt to having friends and keeping such a secret weighed on his shoulders.
The sun shone lurid as it rose from the horizon, its beautifully crafted beams crept into Carl’s small room like a slithering snake. It was summer and school was out. Laughter and joy lingered in the air but not for Carl, inside the letter were some hand written questions that he was expected to submit on the coronation day. This was his first test said the letter.
They were a complex mixture of algorithms and high mathematical concepts that Carl never in his five years of studying Computer Science came across. He learnt of a new machine learning programming language known as Dogma which he had to learn as quickly as possible and submit in a fort night.
The task was imperative to his success. He lied to his parents saying that he was working on his new start up project. They brushed it off quite quickly. He later told them he had been accepted at NYU. They were extremely ecstatic.
Now all he had to do was come up with an exit strategy.
Three weeks later
The carefully manicured lawn of the Quantico training ground in West Virginia was meticulously cut. Flowers of dandelion, rosses and lilies bloomed in great furze. Huge trees implanted on the concrete ground stood tall like a foraging giant. The air was chill on this very morning, precipitation and due filled the leaves and the grass as it glistened from a distance.
Cadets were seen jogging in their military attire chanting old military ballads. Their strides filled with precision and scrutiny. There on the entrance of the building stood an African American woman decently dressed in a purple suit. Her hair carefully crafted into a brooch.
She had a stern look on her face that made the recruits feel uncomfortable. Right in the middle of the crowd was Carl eagerly waiting for the briefing from his new “employer”. He was nervous and his hands were trembling, he put his shaking hands inside his pocket hoodie to show no weakness, but his façade betrayed him.
Behind her were two heavily armed officers that towered over them like sentient watchdogs.
“Good morning, cadets! My name is sergeant Mayweather and I am here to take you through the briefing. As you all know this is Quantico, for the next three months you will be tested physically, psychologically, mentally and emotionally. You are not just cyber security nerds. You will…by the end of this training course be fully equipped to join the CIA and the FBI as white hat hackers and agents in the field” said Mayweather with a boom to her voice.
“Right now, your families have been informed that you were accepted into an Ivy League University as a cover up” added the iron lady.
“This is not a drill, you will be fighting to compete the few slots available, failure to comply will lead to direct termination of your residence here in Quantico and you will be shipped back to your homes,” said the sergeant.
“You will learn how to protect yourself, how to fire a gun, basic physical defense tactics and martial arts. By the end of the training program, you will be equipped with the skills to go out into the real world and carry out missions. Have I made myself clear?” she said as silence lingered in the air.
“I said! Have I made myself clear!” she shouted with great velour.
“Yes ma’am!” the recruits said in unison, only to let out a soft hum.
Carl was frightened by the sheer tone of her voice. He fidgeted his carry-on bag and suitcase perversely. An agent passed through the crowd confiscating all gadgets: phones, laptops, mp3 players any electronic device they could get their hands on. He reluctantly gave away his phone and put it in the small bucket.
The sun hung high as they entered the federal building. Inside was huge foyer with a reception desk in the middle. Here, they were issued ID cards, badges and room keys. They were put in pairs for the co-living spaces right outside the building behind the cafeteria.
Carl’s room mate was an American from Pakistan origin who was also gifted as him in computers. They instantly clicked. They were later given a tour of the entire building which was smartly decorated with a minimalist twist. There were no bright colors just bland grey and white silhouettes from the chairs to the wall everything looked perfectly in place like a scene from a movie.
They made there way into the dormitory. The women were on a separate building adjacent to the men separated by an electric fence. He entered his small double bed room and found Khalid already there playing with a baseball.
“So, you are my new roommate” he said laconically
“Yeah” Carl replied.
“Pleasure to meet you” he said reaching out his hand, Carl shaking it firmly.
The two talked about hacker legends like Terry A. Davis, the greatest hacker of all time and his revolutionary TempleOS. They reveled at his mastery of code and syntax. They exchanged notes on various Automated API’s that were currently trending in the market and how to manipulate them.
After what seemed to be a long discussion. They were swooped back into reality. They were going to become cybersecurity agents not only that but qualified agents of the FBI and CIA. This all seemed surreal to Carl and they had not reached the tip of the ice berg.
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