“Claire, pull the plug!” Rachel screamed, grabbing my shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” I said, not breaking eye contact with the screen.

The room grew stiflingly hot. The servers wailed as the processors redlined, pushing gigabytes of encrypted files through the narrow bandwidth of the enemy’s own attack vector.

The bitter smell of ozone and heated silicon filled my throat.

Uploading… 67%.

Come on. Push it through.