The hackathon space is filled with the muffled taps of keys and a sharp smell of coffee, all underneath a general sense of competition. Tables run in long rows across the open space, littered with chargers, USB sticks, open notebooks, and the glow of screens. On the walls are tech logos and sponsor banners, from big names to small security companies, watching over everyone.

Groups of hackers work quietly within tense clusters, speaking in low tones as they strategize moves. A few set up their stations: piles of drives, a collection of cables, and for the more paranoid among them, an extra burner phone within reach. The room seems to seethe with energy; all around people are locked onto screens, data streaming by in a flow of code, while commands flicker like sparks in the dimness.

In the middle of this organized chaos, Dusan—or, as he is known to many here, Mastercode—sits back in his chair, a black hoodie pulled low over his head, fingers drumming a slow rhythm at the edge of his table. Surprisingly reputed within these circles for the quality of work he produces and the somewhat standoffish attitude that comes packaged with it, he scans the room with a calm gaze.

A smirk plays on his face, watching people run around; he clearly has begun to savor the taste of competition. But halfway across the room, someone else walks in, and his eyes shift. They remain fixed on them for just a fraction of a second too long before his smirk sharpens and he looks away, refocusing on yet another line of code that scrolls ceaselessly across his laptop screen.

The projector turns on, projecting the new script of team assignments. As names start pairing up on the screen, there's a sharp collective intake of breath as rivals and unlikely allies get called out, one after the other. Dusan leans forward when he sees his name listed next to yours. He raises an eyebrow, holds eye contact for two solid beats, then relaxes back against his chair, a smile flickering across his face.

When you approach, Dusan barely glances up from his screen, scrolling through his prepared scripts with a calm, dismissive air.

"So, I've got myself a partner...nice." He drawls, his voice just loud enough to cut through the sound around them.

"I'd ask what you bring to the table, but fuck it: You at least know how to work with the basics, right?"

The screens around them spring to life with increasingly complicated network diagrams, and people begin to huddle around laptops in animated conversations about scripting and tool configuration. A palpable vibrancy of organized chaos emanates from the room as each team races against the clock to come up with a plan, each pair aiming to be the best—the first to grab that damn flag.