"They think servers are just cold metal,
but inside every fan, there's a soul hiding."
Location: Quincy, Washington — Star Light Northwest Data Center
The town of Quincy wasn't lively—in fact, it was almost desolate. Beyond vast fields of wheat, a nondescript industrial park stood cloaked in gray-and-white steel panels. At the gate hung a modest yet imposing sign: Star Light Web Services.
It was one of the "power plants" of this era.
From financial transactions and smart voice assistants to recommendation algorithms and military-grade AI operations, over 40% of the world's data streams passed through these seemingly unremarkable cooling towers.
Elena wore an unassuming work jacket and a dustproof face mask, blending in with the outsourced night shift crew. The badge hanging from her chest was a temporary ID, acquired through an identity broker she had "taken over" on the dark web.
No one saw through her.
She was the only living ghost in this cold, humming machine room.
02:13 AM — SL Data Center Control Room, Zone C-7
The night shift crew sipped coffee and blasted metal music. No one paid attention to the old Dell laptop in her hands.
Elena sat calmly in front of an exposed server rack, her gaze sharp and unwavering. The blinking green lights on the machine reminded her of something — the last thing she saw in the monitoring room before her death: the "garbage tag recognition module."
She remembered that line of code:
"Object recognition failed — initiating cleanup."
She had designed that module for "automated cleanup management."
In the end, it was repurposed into an algorithmic tool for "internal redundancy identification."
She became the first person it ever "cleaned."
Tonight, she was going to teach the world's most powerful server how to repent.
Execution Module Codename:PhantomPulse
Deployment Type: AI-driven anti-scheduling logic chain
Core Functions: Lagging, Data Spoofing, Feedback Deception
She had prepared this for a long time.
This wasn't a one-time-use virus, nor a simple trojan. It was the result of four years' worth of code—hundreds of self-learning scripts capable of simulating anomalies within the AI's core processing layer. The server would misread them as internal faults, triggering endless restart loops.
Externally, it would appear as:
"Unstable AI recommendation system,""Response delays,"even "Smart contract overflow."
But in truth, it was an invisible hand transforming a world-class computing powerhouse into a self-devouring worm loop.
When she clicked the "Deploy" button, her fingers didn't tremble.
"Confirm implantation of PhantomPulse v.1.03?"
She nodded.
"Execution started."
03:05 AM — SL Data Fluctuation Monitoring Room
In the control room, one engineer frowned.
"That's odd. CDN nodes are fluctuating—latency just jumped 3%."
Another replied, "Probably just a cache node—try restarting it."
Seconds later, the restart failed.
The system displayed: "Node response undefined."
They attempted manual recovery, but instead triggered a mirroring command error. All logs were replaced with "Normal Operation" messages, as if the failures had never existed.
Elena watched them stumble through the data—running, falling, struggling.
Like prey lost in a virtual jungle.
03:47 AM
Engineers began escalating the issue to headquarters. The SLS security team attempted to reroute through backup nodes, only to discover the entire backup chain had been fooled by a "false-load module." No commands could be executed.
What they didn't know was that the ghost code had already cloned itself three times—each version more hidden, more deeply embedded.
It wasn't a virus.
It was a self-destructive logic loop, camouflaged as the system's own "error awareness."
As if the server had made a decision:
not to serve the world anymore—
but to go silent.
As Elena walked out of the data center, the night had yet to lift. The wind caught the edge of her coat, briefly exposing the glow of her laptop screen.
A message from an anonymous node had just arrived:
PhantomPulse has spread to SLS Eastern Data Lake. Estimated to impact algorithm deployment efficiency within 48 hours.
She smiled.
A second notification followed immediately:
OTC ad delivery delayed. Bord model responding abnormally.
She smiled again.
The gods of AI were created by humans—
but gods have no conscience.
Ghosts do.
And today, she chose to be the ghost.
06:00 AM — Wall Street, Morning News
Starlight AI core services experience irregularities; ad markets briefly shaken
OTC algorithm response delays trigger investor concerns
Experts warn: "Data interference vortex" may be forming in the cloud
She read the headlines from a coffee shop beside the subway station, stirring the foam in her latte while typing the next command into her phone:
PhantomPulse v.1.1 – Target: Star Light AI Training Model Nodes.