Chapter 2 · No Privacy, No Mercy

I didn't clean up the bloody mess. I didn't even try to deal with the ruined lock.

Instead, I called property management, and my voice was surprisingly calm.

"Someone vandalized my door with some kind of filth and jammed the lock. I need you to send someone to handle it. Also, check the hallway security cameras."

The building manager arrived in minutes, his face turning pale at the sight.

"Ms. Carter, this... this is despicable! We'll check the footage immediately!"

I just nodded. I went downstairs, bought a heavy-duty new lock, and called a locksmith to forcibly remove the old one and install it.

The afternoon was quiet. My phone didn't ring.

Finally, just as I was about to leave work, the manager called, but his voice sounded strained.

"Ms. Carter, we checked... but the person was wearing a hoodie and a face mask. We couldn't see a face."

"Which floor did they come from?" I asked.

"The 17th floor," he replied.

I hung up the phone.

So, the drone belonged to someone on the 17th floor.

Later, a package I had ordered was delivered.

It was a smart video doorbell with motion detection and cloud storage.

It took me less than half an hour to install it myself.

With that done, I ordered takeout, sat on my couch, and watched the live feed from my front door on a burner phone while I ate.

They would be back.

I waited for two nights. Nothing happened, however.

The drone didn't appear, either.

It was almost as if they had given up.

On the third night, I was reading a book when my phone buzzed.

A notification from the doorbell app.

[Motion detected at your front door.]

I instantly tapped the notification to see the live feed.

A figure in a black hoodie was skulking in the hallway, creeping toward my apartment.

He was carrying a small bucket.

Just as I had thought, he got to my door, began to unscrew the lid, and lifted the bucket to throw its contents.

I pressed the microphone icon on the app.

"Don't even think about it."

My voice, coming from the doorbell's tiny speaker, wasn't loud, but in the dead-quiet hallway, it sounded like a gunshot.

The figure froze, sloshing some of the liquid out of his bucket.

He looked up in pure terror, his eyes wide as he spotted the new doorbell.

"I'm recording this," I continued calmly. "Turn around, take the stairs, and I'll pretend this never happened."

He hesitated, clearly trying to process what was happening.

"You have three seconds," I said, my heart pounding. "Three... two..."

Before I could even get to "one," he dropped the bucket and bolted for the stairwell.

I watched his form disappear from the screen, and then I saved the video clip.

In the recording, during that split second he looked up, his mask slipped just enough to reveal the lower half of his face.

It was a young face, twisted with a menacing rage.

I didn't post the video in the residents' group chat.

That would just teach them to be more careful.

What I needed was a knockout blow, irrefutable proof.

The next day, my internet slowed to a crawl. Videos buffered endlessly, and websites took ages to load.

I called my service provider, and they confirmed the line was fine. The issue, they said, was abnormal usage. A bunch of unauthorized devices were connected to my network.

I logged into my router's admin page.

Sure enough, the list of connected devices was filled with names I didn't recognize. And then I saw it.

One device was named "LK-Drone-Controller."

LK?

It finally hit me. The 17th floor only had one unit, 1701.

The last time I was at the management office, I happened to glance at the owner registry for 1701.

The owner's name was Richard Lane.

His son was Kevin Lane.

LK stood for Lane, Kevin. It was definitely the guy in 1701.

They had been stealing my Wi-Fi this whole time. Using my own network to control the drone that had been spying on me.

No wonder they always knew my exact schedule.

A fire ignited in my chest.

I didn't change the password.

I hopped on my computer and started looking into how to track devices on my Wi-Fi, trace IP addresses, and learn the basics of network forensics.

After a full day of research, I found a way.

Using specialized software, I could capture the data packets being sent from any device on my network.

The data itself was encrypted, but I could see the destination server.

The "LK-Drone-Controller" was constantly pinging a cloud server owned by a major drone manufacturer.

I even managed to find the server's IP address.

I grabbed screenshots of all the details, including the device name, MAC address, and server IP.

Only when I had a complete file of evidence did I log back into my router, permanently block the "LK-Drone-Controller," and change my Wi-Fi password.

The next morning, I was barely out of bed when someone started pounding on my door like they were trying to break it down.

I checked the video doorbell.

It was a middle-aged woman, whose face twisted in fury.

Her name was Megan Lane. She lived in 1701, and she was Kevin's mom.

"Open this door! Open it right now! What did you do to our internet, you bitch?" she screamed, hammering on the door with her fists.

I hit the talk button. My voice was sweet as honey.

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about? I have no idea."

"Don't play dumb with me! My son said it was you! Our internet was working fine yesterday, and now it's completely down! What kind of sick game are you playing?"

She actually admitted it.

I couldn't help but smile.

"Oh? And how exactly have you been getting your internet?"

Megan fell silent.

"You... what are you talking about? We have our own internet plan!" she stammered, her voice losing its confidence.

"Is that right? That's funny, because I was just checking my router and found an unauthorized device called 'LK-Drone-Controller' piggybacking off my network.

"I had already filed a police report and given them the device's MAC address and all the server logs. They said illegally accessing someone's private network is a serious offense."

There was a sharp gasp from behind the door, followed by a heavy silence.

Seconds later, she went off like a wounded animal.

"You're lying! You bitch, how dare you frame my son!"

She began kicking my door wildly and shouting every slur and swear word imaginable.

I didn't engage. I just ended the call and walked calmly to my kitchen to make a fresh cup of coffee.

Listening to her impotent rage outside my door, I took a sip. For the first time in a long time, the coffee tasted incredible.

Chapter 2

I didn't clean up the bloody mess. I didn't even try to deal with the ruined lock.

Instead, I called property management, and my voice was surprisingly calm.

"Someone vandalized my door with some kind of filth and jammed the lock. I need you to send someone to handle it. Also, check the hallway security cameras."

The building manager arrived in minutes, his face turning pale at the sight.

"Ms. Carter, this... this is despicable! We'll check the footage immediately!"

I just nodded. I went downstairs, bought a heavy-duty new lock, and called a locksmith to forcibly remove the old one and install it.

The afternoon was quiet. My phone didn't ring.

Finally, just as I was about to leave work, the manager called, but his voice sounded strained.

"Ms. Carter, we checked... but the person was wearing a hoodie and a face mask. We couldn't see a face."

"Which floor did they come from?" I asked.

"The 17th floor," he replied.

I hung up the phone.

So, the drone belonged to someone on the 17th floor.

Later, a package I had ordered was delivered.

It was a smart video doorbell with motion detection and cloud storage.

It took me less than half an hour to install it myself.

With that done, I ordered takeout, sat on my couch, and watched the live feed from my front door on a burner phone while I ate.

They would be back.

I waited for two nights. Nothing happened, however.

The drone didn't appear, either.

It was almost as if they had given up.

On the third night, I was reading a book when my phone buzzed.

A notification from the doorbell app.

[Motion detected at your front door.]

I instantly tapped the notification to see the live feed.

A figure in a black hoodie was skulking in the hallway, creeping toward my apartment.

He was carrying a small bucket.

Just as I had thought, he got to my door, began to unscrew the lid, and lifted the bucket to throw its contents.

I pressed the microphone icon on the app.

"Don't even think about it."

My voice, coming from the doorbell's tiny speaker, wasn't loud, but in the dead-quiet hallway, it sounded like a gunshot.

The figure froze, sloshing some of the liquid out of his bucket.

He looked up in pure terror, his eyes wide as he spotted the new doorbell.

"I'm recording this," I continued calmly. "Turn around, take the stairs, and I'll pretend this never happened."

He hesitated, clearly trying to process what was happening.

"You have three seconds," I said, my heart pounding. "Three... two..."

Before I could even get to "one," he dropped the bucket and bolted for the stairwell.

I watched his form disappear from the screen, and then I saved the video clip.

In the recording, during that split second he looked up, his mask slipped just enough to reveal the lower half of his face.

It was a young face, twisted with a menacing rage.

I didn't post the video in the residents' group chat.

That would just teach them to be more careful.

What I needed was a knockout blow, irrefutable proof.

The next day, my internet slowed to a crawl. Videos buffered endlessly, and websites took ages to load.

I called my service provider, and they confirmed the line was fine. The issue, they said, was abnormal usage. A bunch of unauthorized devices were connected to my network.

I logged into my router's admin page.

Sure enough, the list of connected devices was filled with names I didn't recognize. And then I saw it.

One device was named "LK-Drone-Controller."

LK?

It finally hit me. The 17th floor only had one unit, 1701.

The last time I was at the management office, I happened to glance at the owner registry for 1701.

The owner's name was Richard Lane.

His son was Kevin Lane.

LK stood for Lane, Kevin. It was definitely the guy in 1701.

They had been stealing my Wi-Fi this whole time. Using my own network to control the drone that had been spying on me.

No wonder they always knew my exact schedule.

A fire ignited in my chest.

I didn't change the password.

I hopped on my computer and started looking into how to track devices on my Wi-Fi, trace IP addresses, and learn the basics of network forensics.

After a full day of research, I found a way.

Using specialized software, I could capture the data packets being sent from any device on my network.

The data itself was encrypted, but I could see the destination server.

The "LK-Drone-Controller" was constantly pinging a cloud server owned by a major drone manufacturer.

I even managed to find the server's IP address.

I grabbed screenshots of all the details, including the device name, MAC address, and server IP.

Only when I had a complete file of evidence did I log back into my router, permanently block the "LK-Drone-Controller," and change my Wi-Fi password.

The next morning, I was barely out of bed when someone started pounding on my door like they were trying to break it down.

I checked the video doorbell.

It was a middle-aged woman, whose face twisted in fury.

Her name was Megan Lane. She lived in 1701, and she was Kevin's mom.

"Open this door! Open it right now! What did you do to our internet, you bitch?" she screamed, hammering on the door with her fists.

I hit the talk button. My voice was sweet as honey.

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about? I have no idea."

"Don't play dumb with me! My son said it was you! Our internet was working fine yesterday, and now it's completely down! What kind of sick game are you playing?"

She actually admitted it.

I couldn't help but smile.

"Oh? And how exactly have you been getting your internet?"

Megan fell silent.

"You... what are you talking about? We have our own internet plan!" she stammered, her voice losing its confidence.

"Is that right? That's funny, because I was just checking my router and found an unauthorized device called 'LK-Drone-Controller' piggybacking off my network.

"I had already filed a police report and given them the device's MAC address and all the server logs. They said illegally accessing someone's private network is a serious offense."

There was a sharp gasp from behind the door, followed by a heavy silence.

Seconds later, she went off like a wounded animal.

"You're lying! You bitch, how dare you frame my son!"

She began kicking my door wildly and shouting every slur and swear word imaginable.

I didn't engage. I just ended the call and walked calmly to my kitchen to make a fresh cup of coffee.

Listening to her impotent rage outside my door, I took a sip. For the first time in a long time, the coffee tasted incredible.