Firdaus replayed the footage one more time.
The figure exiting his office. The partial turn into the hallway light. The side profile, the narrow jawline, the glasses.
The more he stared, the more certain he became.
He opened the internal staff database and filtered based on access level and shifts. Dozens of names popped up, but he narrowed the list down methodically—by building access, late working hours, and location proximity to his office.
Three names.
Two were unlikely.
One stood out: Gareth Mullins — performance data analyst. Responsible for post-match data entry and tactical summaries. Trusted, quiet, and often on-site after hours. Firdaus recalled seeing him occasionally as late as 11 PM, walking past with his laptop hugged to his chest.
Firdaus stared at Gareth's ID photo. The resemblance was too strong to dismiss. Glasses. Narrow frame. Clean-shaven. Efficient but unremarkable—until now.
The system chimed softly.
[No direct system interaction logged under Gareth Mullins credentials. Cloaked access suspected.]
Firdaus exhaled. Quietly. Coldly. He didn't allow emotion to rise—only focus. He had a direction now.
The next morning, training resumed under a cloudless sky. Firdaus arrived earlier than usual and positioned himself at the edge of the pitch. The air was brisk. Boots echoed on turf as the squad assembled.
Warmups started. Rondos. Sprinting gates. Positional drills.
Firdaus stood by the cones, his posture straight, unmoving. He didn't speak at first. His focus drifted beyond the players.
To the staff.
Gareth was there.
Standing near the analytics terminal, logging passes and intensity stats, occasionally glancing toward the players. A tablet in hand. Earphones around his neck. Calm. Focused.
Firdaus said nothing. But the system was watching.
[Digital Surveillance Layer Active | Passive Data Scan Initiated]
He had set the system to monitor Gareth's vicinity for signal fluctuations, unauthorized device pairing, or attempts to access restricted networks.
Everything appeared normal.
But Firdaus trusted patterns—not appearances.
As the drill progressed, Firdaus called out more vocally than usual.
"Robinson—press tighter on the half-turn."
"McGuinness, lead the back line—reset the line."
Players responded well. Intensity rose. But his mind stayed elsewhere.
Riza noticed.
"You good?" he asked quietly as they crossed paths.
Firdaus just nodded. His eyes briefly met Gareth's. No reaction. No recognition.
Later in the session, Firdaus made a deliberate choice to observe Gareth more closely. He noticed how Gareth avoided eye contact when walking past him, how his fingers trembled slightly as he tapped on the tablet screen.
The patterns were there.
Mid-afternoon, Firdaus typed a message and sent it through the internal system.
To: Gareth Mullins
Subject: Quick Check-In
Message: Drop by my office. 3:45 PM. – Firdaus
Exactly at 3:45, Gareth knocked.
"Come in," Firdaus called without turning.
Gareth stepped in, holding a notepad, wearing a reserved expression.
Firdaus gestured toward the chair opposite him.
"Sit."
Gareth adjusted his lanyard and sat, posture upright.
"I wanted to check something from the Leeds post-match logs," Firdaus began, tone level. "You worked late that night, right?"
Gareth nodded. "Yeah, stayed until around 2:00 AM. Zone 14 metrics were slow to compile. Data server was lagging."
"You didn't see anyone near my office?"
Gareth blinked. "No... Should I have?"
"You didn't need anything? Printer access? Internal Wi-Fi diagnostic?"
"No, sir. Just used the analyst hub."
Firdaus leaned back slightly.
"Security showed some activity nearby."
Gareth paused. "I might've stepped into the break room. Got coffee. I didn't log it—figured it wasn't necessary."
Firdaus tilted his head. "No cameras in the break room. You go there often late?"
Gareth shrugged. "Sometimes. Quiet hours are better for syncing matchday captures."
Firdaus studied him. Calm voice. But his shoulders were tenser now. His foot tapped once—then stopped.
"Alright," Firdaus said. "That's all for now."
Gareth stood. "Let me know if anything's off in the data sets."
The door clicked shut behind him.
The system lit up.
[Body Language Analysis: Elevated Pulse, Deflective Eye Contact, Sudden Shoulder Shift – Estimated Truth Deviation: 72%]
Firdaus didn't move. But he knew.
That evening, the system pinged again as Firdaus reviewed session metrics.
[Micro Interference Detected | Repeated Signal Spike | Source: 5–8 meters | Pattern Matching Prior Events]
He froze.
The scan revealed low-frequency static bursts—a likely result of unauthorized short-range scanning tools or discreet Wi-Fi sniffers.
Someone was trying to breach again.
This time, he would lay the trap.
He opened a fake file—a decoy interface mimicking the system's tactical overlay. He titled it plainly: Match Dynamics: AI Core Sim.
It was nonsense. Just stylized graphs and diagrams, crafted to look advanced.
He left it open.
And left the office.
But not far.
He waited around the corner, outside the CCTV view, monitoring through a second channel.
The minutes crawled.
A door creaked faintly.
Someone had entered.
Nearly an hour passed.
Firdaus returned quietly. Door unlocked. Lights dimmed.
The decoy was open.
Cursor slightly shifted.
He reached for the mouse, covering it with a thin sensor cloth.
"System," he whispered.
[Fingerprint Detected | Surface Analysis Complete | ID Match: Gareth Mullins]
Firdaus stood still.
His hands clenched slowly at his sides.
He had the proof.
No more doubts.
No more maybes.
It was Gareth.
And tomorrow...
He would act.
Because trust wasn't just broken.
It was weaponized.
To be continued...
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