THE ALOGORITHM OF POWER, MOP AND DAGGER

Chapter One — The Janitor (B)

Bradley’s hand trembled around the phone. The numbers poured like water, fluid and merciless, reshaping themselves in endless sequences.

No app could run like this. No malware he’d ever studied behaved this way. This wasn’t just code. It was alive. The message blinked again. USER CONFIRMED.

He swallowed hard, eyes darting toward the cameras mounted in the corners of the lobby. Red dots blinked, recording everything. Did the system just… see him? Did someone on the inside know what he’d done?

He shut the panel, fast, shoving the device back where he found it. His breath came sharp, ragged. Just a janitor. That’s what he was. Nothing more. If he reported it, they’d laugh, or worse, fire him.

But the phone still pulsed in his palm, vibrating softly, like it had synced to his heartbeat. He couldn’t turn away. The elevator dinged again. Bradley nearly dropped the phone.

A man stepped out, Victor Kane, board member, titan of Montrose Industries. His suit was immaculate, silver hair brushed to perfection, his smile as sharp as a scalpel. He wasn’t supposed to be here this late. Executives rarely lingered past ten.

Victor’s eyes slid over the spotless lobby, then landed on Bradley. “You there. Frank, is it?”

Bradley pocketed his phone, masking his nerves. “Yes, sir.”

Victor adjusted his cufflinks as he crossed the marble. “Good. You people keep the place from smelling like rot. Important work.” His tone carried no respect, only the kind of casual disdain reserved for those considered furniture.

Bradley forced a nod. “Thank you, sir.”

Victor paused. His gaze sharpened, pinning Bradley in place. For a moment, Bradley swore the man could see through him, straight to the glowing phone in his pocket.

Then, with a thin smile, Victor moved past and disappeared into the night. The revolving doors hissed shut.

Bradley exhaled, chest tight. His hands shook as he returned to the waxer. He tried to focus, to anchor himself in routine. But the phone buzzed again. He pulled it out under the cover of his body.

LEVEL ONE SEQUENCE INITIATED.

Another stream of code exploded across the screen. Lines nested into patterns, repeating loops. His old instincts sparked, recognition.

Whoever wrote this had built a lattice of encryptions, recursive systems feeding on themselves. Bradley whispered, almost involuntarily: “It’s… beautiful.”

The waxer forgotten, he leaned against the wall, fingers flying across the phone. He couldn’t stop himself. He was in.

He traced the loops, cracked a minor layer, tested a backdoor. His mind slipped into the old rhythm, the thrill of puzzle-solving, the high of mastery.

For the first time in years, he wasn’t a ghost, a nobody. He was Bradley Harrington, prodigy. The screen shifted. SEQUENCE COMPLETE. WELCOME, BRADLEY.

His blood iced. The system knew his real name. Not Frank. Bradley, He backed against the wall, mouth dry. How? He hadn’t logged in, hadn’t typed anything. The code… had recognized him.

Footsteps echoed down the marble corridor. Bradley quickly killed the screen, shoving the phone deep into his pocket.

A janitor’s cart rattled into view. Mrs. Delgado, night shift cleaner from the 14th floor, gave him a tired smile. “Machine break again?”

Bradley forced a laugh. “Yeah. Old junk.”

She shook her head, muttering in Spanish about cheap equipment, then wheeled her cart into the restrooms. The moment she vanished, Bradley pulled out the phone again.

The glow had stopped. Just a black screen. Like nothing happened, He wanted to breathe relief, but unease gnawed at him. The code hadn’t just reached out, it had chosen him.

The elevator chimed once more. This time, it was Ella. Again, Her eyes swept the lobby, landing on him. She frowned, not unkindly, but puzzled, as though sensing something had shifted in the air.

“You’re here late,” she said.

Bradley straightened, phone hidden behind his back. “Always late.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “You look… different.”

He swallowed. “Just tired, ma’am.”

Ella lingered, like she wanted to say something more. Then her phone rang. She turned away, voice sharp, words too fast to catch.

But as she stepped into the night, her gaze flicked back to him once, fleeting and unreadable. When the doors closed again, Bradley stood alone. Alone with the code humming in his veins.

The mop bucket gleamed. The waxer sat silent. And in his pocket, the device pulsed once more, just once, like a heartbeat.

LEVEL TWO AVAILABLE.

Bradley stared, mouth dry. He knew, if he pressed forward, there would be no turning back. But the choice was already made.