Michael’s fingers flew across the datapad, effortlessly crossing digital barriers and passing firewalls unscathed. He knew the system like an old friend — its quirks, its dangers, and its secrets.

All except one.

It was the only reason he kept coming back, night after night, risking discovery and arrest.

He paused, admiring and contemplating the artifact before him. It was beautifully coded, like digital poetry, yet so complex and cryptic that it was nigh impossible to discern what it could do.

It had been tagged by its creator, a sort of calling card. “PANDORA.”

Michael was familiar with Greek mythology, and knew Pandora’s story. He was not a superstitious man. He was a cautious, borderline paranoid man. Hackers didn’t survive to reach his level of skill without developing some sort of paranoid neuroses…

He sighed, as curiosity ate away at his reservations.

He typed a single command, then hesitated a moment before hitting the “execute” key.

His interface glitched, and the room began to shake…