54: Chapter 54 Data Warfare and "Hacking" Counterattack

Tuesday morning, Alex was jolted awake by a tingling sensation from his Spider-Sense—not a physical threat, but a digital warning. It felt like cold code flowing down his spine, waking him up instantly.

Hank's call came in almost simultaneously: "Our monitoring system detected three attempts to intrude into the studio's network last night. They were all blocked by the firewall, but the methods were very professional—not ordinary hackers, but commercial espionage level."

Alex sat up and pulled up the system interface. The live streaming data from last night was still soaring, but the growth rate of his popularity showed an abnormal fluctuation curve—usually, the growth after content release should be a smooth upward trend, but now there were a few abrupt drops.

"They are using bot accounts to report my content, triggering the platform's automatic traffic limiting," Alex judged. "At the same time, they are trying to hack into my backend to tamper with the data. A pincer attack."

【Redeem: Basic Hacking Defense (Beginner)】

【Cost: 200,000 Points】

【Current: 1,130,330 Points】

【Effect: Master basic cybersecurity knowledge, identify common attack methods, possess basic defensive capabilities】

Information flowed into his brain: SQL injection, cross-site scripting, DDoS attack principles, basic knowledge of digital forensics. Although not enough to reach top-tier hacker level, it was enough for him to understand the security report provided by Hank's team.

The report showed that the attack sources came from server jump points in three different countries, but the final tracing pointed to a data company in Arlington, Virginia—and Northrop Corporation's headquarters was in Arlington.

"Do you want to counter-attack?" Hank asked. "We have several former intelligence agency team members who can perform reverse penetration."

Alex thought for a moment: "No, a direct counter-attack will lead to an endless cyberwar. We need to use a smarter way—make them expose themselves."

He quickly formulated a plan:

1. Set up a "honeypot"—create a seemingly important folder on the server, labeled "Legislative Lobbying Fund Flow Analysis," and put some seemingly confidential but actually carefully forged documents inside. Wait for the other party to steal them.

2. Live stream the attack breakdown—in today's live stream, publicly explain the cyberattack suffered last night, show some non-sensitive logs, and educate fans on how to identify network threats.

3. Data backup alliance—contact organizations like ProPublica, Consumer Reports, etc., and back up key data to their servers simultaneously to form a distributed chain of evidence.

"Also," Alex added, "help me book a tech reporter from the Los Angeles Times. I want to do an exclusive interview, with the theme 'How Creators Can Protect Themselves from Cyberattacks in the Digital Age'."

At nine o'clock in the morning, Fox News' morning news indeed began its counter-attack.

On the screen, a man claiming to be a "former FAA safety consultant" was being interviewed: "Some social media creators, in order to grab attention, deliberately misinterpret public data. For example, the recently circulated 'Aviation Litigation Success Rate Decline' chart ignores key context—the total number of aviation accidents in the same period has also dropped significantly, so the number of lawsuits naturally decreased..."

Alex watched while eating breakfast, his expression calm. He had long anticipated this kind of rebuttal.

Marcus called, his voice anxious: "The Fox News clip is already spreading on social media! Do we need to issue a statement to refute it?"

"No rush," Alex said. "Let them spread it for a while. The higher the heat, the greater the attention when we counter-attack."

He pulled up the system and used his content trend prediction ability to feel the wind. Sure enough, the Fox News clip was spreading in conservative circles, but neutral and progressive media were starting to have doubts—this was exactly the "controversy diffusion period" he wanted.

At twelve o'clock noon, Alex's second live stream began.

Today he didn't play the guitar; instead, he sat in front of the computer, with the screen split in two: on the left was the Fox News clip, and on the right was the raw FAA data he had organized.

"Good morning," he said to the camera, "Today we are going to have a simple data lesson—how not to be deceived by misleading rhetoric."

The number of viewers for the live stream exceeded one hundred thousand as soon as it started.

Alex first played the Fox News interview clip in its entirety, then broke it down sentence by sentence:

"'Total number of aviation accidents dropped'—this is a fact. But please look at this chart." He pulled up dynamic data, "The decline in the total number of accidents is mainly due to engine technology improvements and air traffic control upgrades. But the proportion of accidents related to material fatigue has risen from 12% to 18% over the past decade. What does this mean?"

He paused, letting the audience think.

"It means that when we solved other problems, material fatigue became a more prominent safety hazard. And at the same time, the legal accountability success rate for this hazard has dropped from 34% to 19%. One rise and one fall, and the problem emerges."

Comments began to scroll:

"So that's it!"

"That Fox expert is straw-manning."

"Thanks for the explanation!"

Alex continued: "What's more critical is—if the bill about to be voted on passes, the litigation success rate is expected to drop below 5%. What does this mean? It means that even if airlines or manufacturers have obvious liability, it will be very difficult for victims' families to get justice."

He pulled up a simulated case: "Suppose your family member passed away in a plane crash, and the investigation shows it was a material defect. But the manufacturer says 'it meets industry standards.' You sue, but the law has set up various obstacles: you need to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars in expert witness fees, the lawsuit might drag on for five or ten years, and if the bill passes, the manufacturer might be directly exempted from liability."

The number of people in the live stream reached two hundred and fifty thousand.

At this moment, Alex made a bold move.

"I know, some people are watching this live stream." He looked directly into the camera, his voice steady, "Those who tried to hack into my system last night, those who are pushing this bill in Washington, those who made my parents silent because they tried to tell the truth."

He pulled up a new screen—it was a screenshot of a document provided by the Night Watcher, processed, with specific names and sensitive information hidden, but it could be seen that it was a fragment of an internal memo:

"Suggest accelerating the S.1742 bill process to avoid potential litigation risks that may increase in the near future."

"Some historical data needs to be re-archived to ensure consistency."

"I am not accusing anyone," Alex said, "I am only showing documents. I am only asking questions: Why should a law concerning public safety be accelerated? Why does historical data need to be 're-archived'? Why, when I started asking these questions, did someone want to shut me up?"

The live stream room exploded. The comments scrolled too fast to see clearly.

Hank reminded him in his earpiece: "Alex, the live stream traffic is abnormal. There might be a DDoS attack attempt."

"Start the backup line," Alex said calmly. "Also, it's time to release the access logs of the 'honeypot'."

He switched to another screen, which showed processed server logs—showing that a specific IP address tried to access that forged folder last night.

"Look, this is the threat of the digital age," Alex said. "They not only want to refute you on TV, but also want to 'create evidence' in your computer. If I didn't have a professional security team last night, there might already be a forged file of 'I admit to fabricating data' circulating on the internet today."

In the last ten minutes of the live stream, Alex announced three things:

1. He will back up all data and files to five independent media outlets and two non-profit watchdog organizations.

2. He has hired a former FAA investigator as a consultant to ensure the accuracy of all content.

3. On Thursday morning, he will make a public statement at the aviation safety hearing at Los Angeles City Hall.

"This is my promise," Alex said, "I will not disappear, I will not be silent, and I will not back down because of threats. Because in this era, backing down means letting those who operate in the shadows win."

When the live stream ended, the peak number of viewers was three hundred and seventy thousand. The recorded video exceeded two million views in the next two hours.

---

At two o'clock in the afternoon, the effect of the counter-attack began to appear.

The Los Angeles Times technology section headline: "Musician Alex Su Exposes Cyberattack, Digital Creators Face New Threats."

The Washington Post political column quoted his livestream: "Why does a bill need to be 'fast-tracked'?"

ProPublica published an in-depth report: "The Battle for Aviation Safety Data: When the Public's Right to Know Collides with Commercial Interests."

More importantly, three senators' offices contacted Marcus, stating they were "willing to re-examine the bill's provisions."

But the threats were also escalating.

Night Watcher sent an urgent warning:

"Northrop's legal department is drafting a defamation lawsuit, expected to be filed tomorrow. They won't win, but the litigation process will consume your time and resources."

"Winston's office successfully pressured the FAA, and some historical data pages are now 'under temporary maintenance.' Your screenshots may soon become 'unverifiable allegations.'"

"Be careful tonight. They might attempt physical means."

Alex looked at the message, his Spider-Sense emitting a continuous, moderate warning. Physical threats, legal threats, data threats—all-around pressure, a classic power strangulation.

"Hank, we're changing our accommodation tonight," Alex said. "Also, how is the legal team coming along?"

"I've contacted the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) and the Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF). They are both willing to provide support because this concerns freedom of speech and the public's right to know," Hank replied. "But the defamation lawsuit will still be troublesome—even if we win in the end, the process could drag on for a year."

Alex thought for a moment: "Then let them sue. We can file a countersuit—abuse of judicial process, malicious litigation. And... I want to livestream the litigation process as well."

"Turn the legal battle into content?" Marcus asked, surprised.

"Why not?" Alex said. "Since they want to use the law to exhaust me, I'll let everyone see how a big corporation uses legal weapons against a young person. This is the best kind of realist story."

That evening, Alex moved to another safe house arranged by Universal Music. This time, it was a villa with an independent security system, located on the hillside of Beverly Hills, where the neighbors were all celebrities and executives, ensuring a naturally high level of security.

After getting settled, he began preparing his statement for Thursday's hearing.

But the stinging sensation of his Spider-Sense never fully faded. It didn't feel like immediate danger, but rather like... something critical had been overlooked.

He pulled up the system and reviewed all the data again. Suddenly, a detail caught his attention.

The "temporary maintenance" notice in the FAA database was posted at 10:00 AM today—one hour after the Fox News interview and two hours before his livestream. The timing was too coincidental.

"Hank," Alex said. "Help me check, at 10:00 AM today, what other pages on the FAA website were also 'under maintenance'?"

Half an hour later, Hank brought back the results: "Besides the aviation accident database, there were also 'Airworthiness Directive Release Records,' 'Manufacturer Compliance Report Archives,' and the 'Whistleblower Protection Program Page.'"

The Whistleblower Protection Program.

Alex understood in an instant.

"They aren't just cleaning up data," he whispered. "They're cleaning up records of people from the past who might have stood up. If my parents reported to the FAA back then, those records might be getting 'archived' right now—or deleted."

The stinging of his Spider-Sense reached its peak at that moment—not for the danger in front of him, but for the danger from the past, for the truths that had already been buried.

"We need a backup of those records," Alex said. "Before they disappear forever."

"How? That's a government database."

Alex thought of Night Watcher. He sent an encrypted message: "The FAA whistleblower records—do you have a way to get a backup? Before they are permanently deleted."

Five minutes later, the reply came: "Risk is extremely high. But if successful, it could be key evidence. Give me three hours."

During the wait, Alex continued working. He opened his music software and began preparing the third song for Taylor's audition—not "We Are Young" or "Neon Pulse" as planned, but a brand new piece that had just taken shape in his mind.

The song was tentatively titled "Silent Files."

The melody was low and somber, the rhythm like a heart monitor, and the lyrics were about "deleted emails, archived truths, redacted signatures." It wasn't a pop song that would become a massive hit, but it was suitable for showing his creative depth during the audition—if Taylor's team truly valued the "authenticity" of the work as rumored.

At 11:00 PM, Night Watcher sent an encrypted link.

"Download only, do not open online. The file is encrypted; the password is your birthday plus your mother's birthday."

"Warning: These files may not be legally admissible as evidence—the source is unknown. But they are enough for you to know the truth."

Alex downloaded the files on an offline computer and entered the password. There were seventeen PDFs in the compressed folder, spanning from 2005 to 2010.

He opened the first one—November 3, 2009, a draft of a whistleblower letter from his father's work email, addressed to the FAA Whistleblower Office. The content was about "abnormal discrepancies" in the NT-7 material test data, suggesting a "comprehensive review."

The letter was never sent. The draft was saved on the night of November 3, 2009, at 11:00 PM.

And on November 7, 2009, his parents were photographed with Winston at the St. Louis airport.

Alex continued to flip through them. Subsequent files showed: email correspondence between his father and an FAA investigator in December 2009; a copy of the formal test report submitted in January 2010, marked with "Recommend project suspension"; and in March 2010, FAA internal meeting minutes mentioning "Northrop Corporation's clarification on NT-7 material"...

The last file was the most suffocating: April 11, 2010—the day before the plane crash, the FAA Whistleblower Office received an anonymous letter stating, "If the Su couple meets with an accident, please investigate Northrop and Winston's office."

At the bottom of the letter, there was a handwritten note: "Archived. No further action."

Alex closed the files, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

He knew the truth now. Or rather, he knew enough fragments.

His parents had discovered the problem, prepared to blow the whistle, were warned, and ultimately died in an "accident" the day before they could report it. And someone in the regulatory agency had received the warning, but chose to "archive" it.

Now, ten years later, the same system wanted to pass a bill to ensure such truths could never be pursued.

His phone vibrated. Lena sent a message:

"The medical school database shows that the three researchers who participated in the NT-7 biological tests back then all resigned between 2010 and 2012. Two of them went abroad, and one changed careers and no longer does scientific research."

"My father says this is very unusual in academia—unless they saw something they didn't want to see."

Alex replied: "Thank you. Keep these records safe."

He walked to the window and looked at the brilliant night view of Los Angeles. This city was full of dreams and opportunities, but also full of buried truths and silent files.

But this time, the silence would be broken.

At Thursday's hearing, he would tell part of the truth—not all of it, that would be too dangerous. But enough to attract attention, enough to make more people ask questions.

The stinging of his Spider-Sense finally began to subside. Not because the danger had passed, but because he finally saw the full picture of the battlefield.

A data war, a legal war, a war of public opinion, and the most fundamental one—the war between truth and forgetting.

And his weapons were not just music and videos.

There were also those buried files, those silent witnesses, and the most powerful force of this era—the public's gaze.