John had spent the last twelve hours buried under a mountain of reports, negotiations, and the relentless ticking of the clock. His office, a glass-walled fortress in the heart of the city, pulsed with deadlines and decisions, every moment demanding his attention. Emails flooded in like waves crashing against the shore—each one another problem, another fire to put out. His boss expected results and shouted at him. His team relied on him.
The height of frustration a human mind can bear had been crossed.
But John was not just a worker. He was a husband. A father.
By the time he finally pushed away from his desk, exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. The drive home was a blur of red taillights and the distant hum of the radio, his thoughts tangled in spreadsheets and missed calls.
Then, home.
Before stepping inside, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to leave the weight of the outside world at the doorstep. He closed his eyes and held onto the memory—the first time he had kissed his baby's feet, tiny and perfect, soft against his lips. That was real. That was what mattered.
The front door creaked open, revealing the soft glow of the living room lamp. The scent of something warm drifted from the kitchen—his wife had cooked. The weight in his chest loosened, just a little. He set his bag down and loosened his tie, but his face still carried the lines of the day's battles. After all, he was a man.
Jane looked up from the couch, her book momentarily forgotten as her eyes met his. She didn't ask how his day was. She didn't need to. Without a word, she rose, walked over, and wrapped her arms around him. He exhaled against her shoulder, the tension unraveling. No lectures about work-life balance. No empty reassurances. Just the silent understanding of a partner who knew—who always knew—when words weren't enough.
"Come eat," she murmured. "Then we can sit, and you don't have to think about anything for a while."
John nodded, pressing a tired kiss to her forehead. The day had been long. The stress would return tomorrow. But here, in the quiet of their home, in the warmth of her presence, the world could wait.
Yet, something gnawed at him.
A feeling of missing time.
Most parents these days congratulated themselves when their children became successful and praised. Fools. Selfish mongrels who thought good parenting was measured by the trophies their children earned while they slaved away at desks, selling the responsibility of raising their own flesh and blood. A child was not an investment. A child was to be loved. To be cherished. If not, why bring one into this world at all?
John would not be that kind of father.
He stepped quietly into July's room, the soft glow of a nightlight casting gentle shadows on the walls. She was asleep, her tiny fingers cutely bubbly, a half-finished drawing beside her on the bed. He smiled, carefully taking and looking at the picture—scribblings at best but.
He tucked her in properly, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"You drew something beautiful today," he whispered. "Tomorrow, I'll draw something for you."
Then he slipped out, already planning. A day off. A picnic. Just the three of them. No work. No phone. Just presence.
Tomorrow would come. The office would still be there.
But tonight, he was here.
And that made all the difference.
----
The art of not dying on the job.
Jason leaned against the front desk of the training room, arms crossed, watching the interns shuffle in. They were fresh, eager, and deeply unaware of just how quickly enthusiasm could turn into regret.
Arnon sat backward on a chair, spinning a pen between his fingers, while Diego leaned against the whiteboard, sipping coffee like he hadn't slept in a decade.
Jason clapped his hands together. "Alright, listen up. Congratulations, you three are the lucky replacements while we head off to deal with an incident at Horizon Black. Your job is simple: keep everything here running, don't touch anything you don't understand, and for the love of God, don't make things worse."
One of the interns—tall, glasses, looked like he could code an entire firewall in his sleep—raised a hand. "Worse how?"
Diego finally looked up from his coffee. "By clicking things."
The interns exchanged glances.
Jason sighed and turned to the whiteboard.
Rule One: If You Didn't Deploy It, Don't Touch It.
"This is critical," he said, underlining it. "Most of what's running here is stable. Our security systems have been refined, tested, and—believe it or not—designed to handle most common cyber threats. If something looks weird, report it. Don't try to be a hero."
Arnon smirked. "Heroes get blamed when the system crashes."
A different intern, a woman with a focused stare and a posture way too formal for the job, raised a hand. "What if we do need to adjust something? Like a false alarm or a flagged file?"
Jason pointed at her. "Good question. That brings us to—" He turned back to the board.
Rule Two: Validate Everything.
He circled it.
"If an alert goes off, you don't just assume it's real or fake. You cross-check. You verify logs. You get a second opinion. If the system says something is infected, you confirm before wiping it. If the system doesn't flag something, but your gut says it looks off, you escalate."
Diego put down his coffee. "Because if you misdiagnose it? You either nuke a harmless process or let an actual breach slip through."
The glasses intern nodded slowly, clearly reconsidering his life choices.
Arnon tapped the desk. "Which brings us to the most important one." He stood and wrote it on the board in bold letters:
Rule Three: If It's Above Your Pay Grade, Call Someone.
"This is not a solo mission," Arnon said, turning to them. "If you hit something weird—unrecognized code, an unpatched exploit, something that doesn't behave the way it should—you report it. Fast."
Jason crossed his arms. "I cannot stress this enough: there is no shame in escalating. The only shame is in covering up a mistake because you didn't want to ask for help."
The last intern, a quiet guy in the back, finally spoke. "So, what's the worst-case scenario if we don't follow these rules?"
Diego let out a slow, dramatic sigh. "Oh, you know. System-wide compromise. Data leaks. Entire infrastructures locking up. Millions lost. Probably a few very angry calls from HQ." He shrugged. "And someone gets fired. Probably you."
Jason checked his watch. "Alright, that covers the basics. Now we'll run through some simulated attack scenarios. Phishing attempts, malware containment, log analysis. Standard stuff."
Arnon grinned. "And after that, we'll see how many of you still think IT security is 'just a desk job.'"
Diego smirked. "Welcome to the fun part."
---
Dealing with the Recent Virus
As Jason moved toward the setup for the first training simulation, he paused. "One more thing. If anything starts looking even remotely like what we dealt with last month—the registry changes, the fake admin accounts, the log wipes—you call Sarah. Immediately."
Diego nodded. "That virus didn't just hit the main network. It got clever, buried itself in backup records, and we only caught it because we were lucky. If you see anything out of sync—timestamps, credentials, system changes—don't assume it's a glitch."
Arnon gestured toward the nearest terminal. "Check the shadow logs. If a process claims to have run at 3 AM but there's no corresponding activity in the deep logs? Something's rewriting records. And if you see that, we're past the 'send an email' phase. You call Sarah."
The glasses intern looked nervous. "How often do things like that happen?"
Jason gave a dry smile. "they did once which is already Less than we'd like."
Arnon shrugged. "It's IT security. If you're doing the job right, people never notice the disasters you prevented. If you're doing it wrong… well, let's just say, you don't get to do it for long."
Diego smirked. "Now, let's see if you can survive your first simulated breach. Don't worry—it won't be too realistic."
Arnon grinned. "Unless we get bored."