I'm Miles, but most people call me Link.
June 6, 2025
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You know what's fascinating about gaming? It's not the flashy graphics or the silky-smooth gameplay. It's the invisible battles beneath the surface.
Growing up in Manchester, I spent countless hours immersed in worlds built from pixels and code, where split-second decisions meant victory or defeat. But the real magic was happening behind the screen, hidden in circuits, servers, and intricate layers of logic I just couldn't ignore.
I'm Miles, but most people call me Link.
But before I tell you about the "why" behind that nickname, let me backtrack and share how a Manchester kid ended up on the frontline of cybersecurity.
At 13, my bedroom looked more like an engineering lab than a teenager’s hangout - cables everywhere, motherboards scattered across the floor, and cooling systems humming like a swarm of bees. My friends didn’t come over to play games; they came for custom rigs built to outperform anything off-the-shelf.
Then the cheaters arrived.
When people started exploiting vulnerabilities to cheat on my platforms, I should've felt angry. Instead, I felt something surprising: curiosity. Every exploit revealed another layer of the digital world, an intricate puzzle demanding to be solved.
I wanted to stop the cheaters. But I also wanted to understand them, predict their moves, and stay two steps ahead.
This shift from gamer to problem solver was the moment cybersecurity found me.
My passion for cybersecurity intensified as I shifted from fighting game cheats to building Capture the Flag (CTF) competitions - events where hackers and defenders test their skills in simulated real-world scenarios. Most people focus purely on offense, breaking into systems to grab digital flags. But I wanted more. Why couldn't cybersecurity be as engaging, unpredictable, and strategic as gaming itself?
So, I built dynamic environments. Think about multiplayer games where every action changes the entire map. Now imagine that, but with cybersecurity threats. Breach a firewall here, and suddenly defensive measures tighten everywhere else.
This wasn't just training or competition. It was immersive reality.
Security teams from universities, corporations, and government agencies flocked to participate. Suddenly, I was redefining cybersecurity practice with my simulations.
Life has a funny way of testing your abilities at just the right (or perhaps wrong) moment. During one high-profile CTF event with global participants, real threat actors launched an orchestrated attack against my infrastructure. There I was, in front of thousands, facing a coordinated assault that could've collapsed the whole competition. Yet somehow, I felt calm.
I needed to outmaneuver the attackers mid-move. So, I isolated the intruders at blistering speed, funneled them into virtual traps, and patched the system live, all while keeping the event going. The headlines called it genius. To me, it was just another puzzle solved.
After that, people started to take notice. Among them was Ghost, the shadowy leader of the Immortal Cyber Team - an elite network of specialists brought in for high-stakes cyber defense missions.
When Ghost reached out, it wasn't flashy or complicated. It was an invitation with coordinates to a hidden facility near London and a simple note:
"We're building something no one has ever done before. If you're ready to connect the impossible, meet us."
Walking into that facility felt surreal. There stood Ghost, Pulse, Hex, Spectre, and Pandora - cybersecurity legends whom I'd followed, admired, and studied. I could feel the weight of expectation and possibility in the air. But the real challenge was yet to come.
Inside the Immortals’ facility, I saw something both powerful and flawed. Their tools were brilliant but isolated. What they needed was unity, a kind of nervous system to transform individual brilliance into collective strength. And somehow, they believed I could build it.
So I got to work. Ghost's intel streams were overwhelming and nonstop. Pulse's detection tools constantly sent alerts and needed tighter precision. Hex’s forensic systems required smooth, automatic threat isolation. Spectre pushed offensive testing beyond its limits. Pandora’s strategic data was buried under layers of complexity. Bit by bit, I brought their systems together, building integrations that felt intuitive and natural.
And while I built, they tested everything. Ghost overloaded the data feeds. Pulse swarmed me with anomalies, many of them false, to push the filtering system. Hex planted traps that had to be caught and contained immediately. Spectre launched nonstop simulated attacks, searching for weaknesses. Pandora fed in complex use cases to test how well everything held together.
When it was complete, the Immortal Control Center came to life. The system adapted, informed, and empowered the entire team. I knew it was something special. Not just because it worked, but because it redefined how the Immortals worked together.
When Ghost finally named me "Link," it felt strangely right. The name was recognition of what I had built and who I had become. My entire approach, from those early days hacking gaming rigs to integrating complex cybersecurity systems, had always been about creating connections. Systems talking to each other, tools empowering people, people working seamlessly together, that was my strength.
Link was who I was; it was my purpose. And that realization changed everything.
Today, my role is more critical than ever. Cyber threats evolve daily, but most organizations remain trapped in fragmented defenses. My mission with the Immortal Cyber Team is clear: continuously evolve our Control Center, connect systems seamlessly, and empower the team to anticipate threats rather than simply reacting.
Take, for instance, a global logistics firm hit by ransomware last winter. Within hours, our unified system not only detected the breach but deployed agents automatically, contained the attack, and brought systems back online swiftly.The response was fast, coordinated, and precise. It was proof of integration working exactly as intended.
What makes cybersecurity truly effective isn't isolated tools; it’s integration. When Ghost identifies hidden threats, that information immediately empowers Pulse’s detection. Hex’s forensic responses become proactive rather than reactive. Spectre’s simulationstest and enhance defenses, informing real-time adjustments. Pandora's strategic oversight unifies these insights, ensuring leaders understand the broader risks.
I even enjoy turning the tables on attackers. With realistic decoys, we’ve baited intruders, trapping them in controlled environments and collecting valuable intelligence. Imagine burglars thinking they've struck gold, only to realize they're trapped in a maze with no exit. That's the kind of proactive defense I love.
Looking back at that curious teenager from Manchester, building gaming rigs from spare parts, it's incredible how far curiosity has taken me. Yet one thing has never changed: my belief in connection. Cybersecurity isn't a checklist or set of disconnected measures. It's an ecosystem, constantly changing, evolving, and responding in real time.
My vision going forward is simple yet ambitious. I see a cybersecurity world that isn't fragmented or reactive, but seamlessly connected and resilient by design. Systems should communicate effortlessly, data should empower decisions instantly, and teams should move together, unified by a common strategy.
So that's me. Link, the cybersecurity engineer whose mission is connecting what others see as impossible. And honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way.
