The scenario
0700 hours. The shrill blare of the alarm clock slices through the early morning stillness, jolting me awake. It was time to leave the comfort of my bed and face the unknown challenges of the day ahead. A chill lingers in the air as I shuffle to the kitchen, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee is my only solace in this groggy haze. With my mug in hand, I sink into my chair and fire up my tablet, scrolling through a sea of headlines.
The world’s pulse is quieter than I’d expect. Somewhat too quiet.
A few reports of a major data breach caught my eye. Details were murky, and the threads of cyber forensics barely unraveled. Even X, that constant storm of chaos and chatter, lay dormant. My instincts were instantly prickled. Is this just another day or the deceptive calm before the storm?
I can’t afford to linger on hypotheticals. My commute beckons, and the office awaits. With a final sip of coffee, I grab my gear and step into the brisk morning, ready for whatever the day might throw my way.
Just as the office loomed into view, my pager’s faint but insistent buzz jolted me from my thoughts. I glanced down at the small, unassuming device strapped to my hip. The screen blinked with a terse, cryptic message: ‘P1—Elvis has left the building.‘
For most people, this might seem like a joke or meaningless nonsense. But this kind of cryptic shorthand was the norm within our company—a necessity rather than a quirk. The pager system operated over public infrastructure, a digital wild west of eavesdroppers and lurking adversaries. Our security officer had insisted on a code-based communication protocol, ensuring that even if someone intercepted our messages, they’d be left scratching their heads.
It was a brilliant precaution, albeit a frustrating one. Decoding these messages on the fly added a layer of tension to already high-pressure situations. Still, I couldn’t deny the logic behind it. In a world where the adversary could be anywhere—watching, listening, waiting—there was no such thing as being too careful.
I clenched the pager in my hand, mind racing. A P1 alert meant top priority, and ‘Elvis has left the building‘ was one of the most alarming codes. It signaled an immediate and critical incident—something had gone horribly wrong somewhere. My pulse quickened as I reached for my phone to initiate the protocols we’d rehearsed countless times.
The pager’s sharp vibration startled me, its urgency slicing through the hum of the car engine. I glanced down at the glowing screen, where a new message had appeared: ‘P1—0900 ccc.‘ My heart skipped a beat as the meaning registered. A P1 alert wasn’t just a call to action but a demand for precision and speed. The code was clear: a Critical Emergency Response Team conference call, scheduled for 0900 sharp.
0845. A surge of adrenaline hit me as I mentally mapped my next steps. Fifteen minutes wasn’t much, but I only needed five to execute the essentials: park the car, secure a quiet office space, and boot up my laptop. It wasn’t just about being on time but about being ready, focused, and fully briefed before the call began. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, weaving through traffic with calculated precision. There was no room for error—not with a P1 on the line. The stakes were high, the clock relentless. I couldn’t afford to lose focus, even for a moment.
Pulling into the parking lot, I scanned for the nearest spot, every second ticking like a countdown in my head. As the car jolted to a stop, I grabbed my laptop bag and moved with practiced efficiency. The next few minutes would determine whether I arrived calm and composed or caught off guard in the eye of a storm. This was the nature of the work: no warnings, no preparation time, just the constant pressure to be one step ahead. I thrived on it. As I dashed toward the office, the thrill of the unknown spurred me forward. The adversary never rested, and neither could I.
The laptop whirred to life, and my inbox flooded onto the screen—50 unread messages. My breath caught for a moment. Fifty. That was five times the usual overnight volume. It wasn’t just an anomaly; it was a red flag waving furiously in the digital wind. Scanning through the barrage of subject lines, my eyes locked onto one in particular: ‘URGENT: P1 Conference Call INC#5239.‘ The gravity of the situation crystallized in an instant. With no time to waste, I clicked the link and connected to the bridge.
I wasn’t alone. The familiar chime of participants joining the call filled my ears as I entered the virtual war room. The tension in their voices was palpable, each word a fragment of the unfolding chaos. Details trickled in, fragmented and urgent, as the early birds on the call pieced together the initial contours of the crisis. Simultaneously, my fingers flew across the keyboard, opening the CERT website in another tab. This was standard protocol—verify, cross-reference, prepare. The page loaded, and there it was: Incident Case #5239. The stark black-and-red banner at the top declared it a Level 1 Critical Threat. My pulse quickened as I absorbed the initial report, and every line was a puzzle piece hinting at the scope of the breach.
Key terms leaped off the screen: ‘zero-day exploit,’ ‘lateral movement,’ and ‘unconfirmed exfiltration pathways.‘ It was worse than I’d imagined. This wasn’t a routine breach but a potential firestorm that could ripple far beyond its origins. The voices on the call grew more insistent, details becoming sharper. Each update painted a grimmer picture. But that’s why we were here—to make sense of the chaos, to seize control before the adversary could. A familiar resolve settled in as I toggled between the conference call and the incident report. The clock was ticking, and the stakes climbed higher every second. This was no ordinary morning—a battle unfolding in real-time, and we were the thin line between order and disaster.
I dove into the details of the security incident, my screen a dizzying mosaic of logs, reports, and alerts. The air seemed to thrum with tension as I scrutinized the actions already taken by the SOC L1 and L2 analysts. Their notes were meticulous—timestamps, escalation markers, and an annotated trail of their findings. But every detail demanded my full attention, and every line was a potential key to understanding why they were convinced this was a true positive alert. The initial indicators were anomalous traffic patterns, unexpected privilege escalations, and a breadcrumb trail of activity that aligned disturbingly well with known adversarial techniques. Yet, the devil was always in the details, and those details were buried in an avalanche of raw data.
With practiced urgency, I switched to the artifacts they had collected. Log dumps, packet captures, forensic images—evidence of the adversary’s presence lay scattered across these digital fragments. The sheer volume was staggering, each artifact whispering its version of events. Time wasn’t on my side, but I couldn’t afford to miss even a single clue. The adversary’s motives, methods, and targets were hidden here, waiting to be unraveled. The clock on my screen ticked relentlessly toward 0900, the conference call deadline looming ever closer. There was too much information to interpret in time, and every second without clarity added weight to the tension gripping my chest. Still, I pressed on, prioritizing the most critical pieces, cross-referencing timelines, and looking for any thread that might give us the upper hand when the call began. This was the high-wire act of incident response: a race against time to decode chaos before the adversary could exploit it further. My mind sharpened under the pressure, and every fiber of my mind was focused on the task at hand. By the time the clock struck 0859, I was ready to join the call, armed with what I hoped was enough insight to steer the team toward containment.
0900. The conference call began, a solemn symphony of connecting tones punctuated by terse greetings. The heavyweights had arrived—the CISO, SOC Manager, and CERT Manager—each a key player in the unfolding drama. The gravity of their presence wasn’t lost on anyone; this wasn’t just another routine call.
The SOC Manager wasted no time, launching into a crisp, high-level overview of the security incident. His voice carried a sense of urgency tempered by the professionalism born of countless high-stakes crises. As he spoke, a mosaic of events began to take shape in my mind, each detail slotting into place like pieces of a complex puzzle. This wasn’t just an incident—it was a calculated assault, and the attackers knew exactly what they were doing.
“We’ve identified the triggering use cases and correlated indicators,” the SOC Manager explained, his tone razor-sharp. “Based on the evidence, this is a Data Leakage Incident. The playbook is clear, and time is critical.” The mention of the Data Leakage playbook sent a ripple of tension through the virtual room. Everyone on the call understood the implications. Data leakage wasn’t just a breach; it was the potential exposure of sensitive, mission-critical information—a nightmare scenario for any organization. And this wasn’t hypothetical. It was happening now.
My mind raced as I absorbed the information, aligning it with what I’d already reviewed. The indicators weren’t just warning signs but a blueprint of the adversary’s strategy. Unauthorized exfiltration attempts had triggered multiple alarms, and the pattern suggested a sophisticated operation. If the attackers succeeded, the consequences would be catastrophic for the company’s reputation and operational integrity.
The CERT Manager spoke next, his tone calm but resolute. “We need to act immediately. The Data Leakage playbook is designed for speed and precision. Everyone knows their roles—let’s execute.”
My heart pounded as I readied myself for the next phase. This was when preparation met reality, where the difference between a contained incident and a full-blown disaster would be determined. The adversary had made their move. Now, it was our turn to respond—and failure wasn’t an option.
The SOC Manager finished delivering the high-level overview, and the floodgates opened. Questions poured in, each probing for clarity, strategy, and reassurance amid uncertainty. When my turn came, I cut straight to the point, my voice steady but urgent:
“???”
The answer came quickly, but it wasn’t what I wanted to hear: “No, we are not certain at this moment. We’ve instructed the Threat Hunting team to search for additional IoCs that might connect to this incident.” The weight of the response hung heavy in the air. Uncertainty was the adversary’s greatest ally, and we were in a race to outpace their movements. The pressure was palpable, a silent but constant force driving every decision.
I leaned into the urgency, proposing a course of action without hesitation. “We need a two-fold approach: initiate containment immediately to halt the data leakage, and start a deep analysis of the logs to determine exactly what information might have leaked.” The CERT Manager didn’t miss a beat. “Agreed. Let’s move on both fronts simultaneously. We must limit the damage and gather intel as quickly as possible.” The SOC Manager nodded and took control. “Let’s close this call and mobilize. I’ll reschedule the next update for 1030. That gives us exactly 60 minutes to execute containment protocols and gather initial feedback from all response teams.”
The call disconnected, and the silence that followed was deafening. The clock was now our most relentless adversary. Sixty minutes. It wasn’t much time, but it was all we had.
I immediately began drafting containment actions, coordinating with the Incident Response team to ensure every second was spent effectively. Emails flew, commands were executed, and a flurry of activity spread across the organization like a well-orchestrated symphony of urgency.
Meanwhile, the Threat Hunting team delved into the logs, their efforts laser-focused on uncovering the extent of the breach. Each moment without answers felt like an eternity, the unknown amplifying the stakes. The clock ticked down, and every second was a reminder of the high-stakes battle unfolding in real-time. By 1030, the first wave of answers would arrive—and with it, the next steps in this fight to outwit the adversary and reclaim control. Failure wasn’t an option, and the window to act vanished quickly.
Beyond the core incident team, the ripples of urgency spread rapidly. Notifications went out to critical infrastructure teams across the organization—Server Operations, Workplace Support, and Network Engineering. These teams weren’t directly involved yet, but they were placed on hot standby, ready to drop everything immediately should the incident response team need their expertise or immediate action.
The swift and decisive decision ensured no competing priorities would interfere with the response effort. Simultaneously, the Change Advisory Board made a crucial move: all planned changes were frozen indefinitely. This was standard procedure during a P1 incident—a safeguard to prevent new configurations or updates from exacerbating an already volatile situation.
I received the confirmation directly from one of its leads. I didn’t waste a second. Switching back to the incident log, I rapidly documented these critical updates:
- Notification Status: Server, Workplace Support, and Network teams placed on hot standby.
- Change Advisory Board: All changes frozen, effective immediately.
The log wasn’t just a formality—it was the single source of truth, a living, breathing document that captured every action, decision, and development. If the situation spiraled further, this record would be the backbone of the post-incident analysis, proof of our decisions and their timing.
The tension was rising, and the clock was ticking. These updates, though procedural, were another piece in the intricate puzzle of containment and response. Every team now stood at the ready, and every system was locked in a holding pattern. The battlefield was set, and we were primed to act. The adversary had initiated this game of high-stakes chess. Now it was our turn to make the next move—and every action, no matter how small, brought us closer to checkmate.
The pager vibrated again, its insistent buzz slicing through the tense air. My stomach sank as I read the new alert: “P2—jibberish.” The cryptic code barely softened the blow. A second security incident—this one ransomware-related. The weight of it hit immediately. Another incident meant more chaos, moving parts, and the looming risk of being overwhelmed. Though initial evidence suggested this was unrelated to the P1 Data Leakage Incident, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something darker was unfolding. A quick call with the CERT Manager confirmed my thoughts. The decision was made: P2 would be merged into P1. We couldn’t afford to treat them as separate crises if there was even a shred of overlap.
Time was slipping away. The next conference call was only 30 minutes out, and my mind raced to integrate this new layer into our already complex response. Then, just as I began aligning the teams, my phone buzzed again. It was the Threat Hunting team leader. “We’ve found several IoCs,” he reported his voice steady but carrying an edge of urgency. “But one of them… it’s significant. It ties directly to the P2 ransomware incident.” The news hit like a thunderclap. This wasn’t just a second incident—it was a linked attack. The adversary was executing a coordinated strike to exploit us on multiple fronts.
Within moments, the CERT Manager called: the 1030 conference was expedited to 1000. The urgency had shifted into overdrive. The new IoCs needed immediate attention, the connections between P1 and P2 had to be analyzed, and containment measures had to be reevaluated in light of this disturbing twist. The stakes had just escalated to a whole new level. This wasn’t a battle anymore—a war being waged across multiple fronts. The adversary was playing a dangerous game, and now the clock wasn’t just ticking; it was roaring.
I took a deep breath, documenting the IoCs in the incident log and notifying the teams. There were now only 20 minutes left to organize the findings, prepare new strategies, and prepare for the 1000 briefing. The adversary thought they could overwhelm us, but they had underestimated one thing: our ability to adapt under pressure. The fight was far from over—and we were ready to strike back.
1000. The CERT Manager opened the conference call with an almost tangible urgency. His sharp and deliberate voice cut through the static as he delivered the latest bombshell: a second security incident was confirmed. Heads in the virtual room nodded, grim expressions etched on faces illuminated by screens. We all knew what it meant: this was not an isolated event but something bigger.
Just as I was processing the implications, my pager vibrated again. The sudden buzz sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through me. My eyes flicked to the screen, but before I could fully absorb the message—”P1—jibberish^2“—a familiar cacophony of vibrations echoed across the call. It wasn’t just me. The SOC Manager’s pager buzzed. The CERT Manager’s pager buzzed.
The virtual room fell silent momentarily, save for the eerie hum of devices sounding off in unison. The message was clear: another escalation. The adversary wasn’t backing down—they were pushing harder. A weight settled in my chest. This was no ordinary day, shaping into a relentless, wearisome gauntlet. The signs were all there. With each new alert, the adversary’s strategy became clearer: they weren’t just attacking us but testing us, seeking to overload our capacity to respond.
The CERT Manager took a deep breath and broke the silence calmly but resolutely. “We’ve just crossed the line from targeted incidents to a coordinated campaign. Based on this escalation and the latest intelligence, I’m making the call: switch to the Major Ransomware Outbreak playbook.” The decision’s weight hit everyone like a shockwave. The Major Ransomware Outbreak playbook wasn’t just a tactical guide but a declaration of the highest state of emergency. This was now an all-hands-on-deck crisis, with every protocol and resource mobilized to counter the attack.
The call moved at breakneck speed. Assignments were reshuffled, containment actions doubled, and every team was pulled into the fight. Meanwhile, I updated the incident log with the new escalation and the executive decision to shift playbooks. Time was no longer just a resource; it was a weapon, and we had to wield it carefully. The stakes had never been higher. Somewhere out there, the adversary thought they were in control, orchestrating chaos to bring us to our knees. But they’d underestimated us. This wasn’t the first time we’d faced overwhelming odds, and it wouldn’t be the last. The battle was far from over, and as the clock ticked toward 1005, I steeled myself for what was to come. This war wasn’t theirs to win—not yet.
1005. The Major Ransomware Outbreak playbook was activated, and its first critical directive loomed large: stop the ransomware in its tracks. The priority was clear—prevent the malicious code from encrypting more data. The only way to achieve that was drastic but effective: disconnect most sections of the network. The plan was surgical but severe. Servers, endpoints, and entire departments would be cut off from the corporate backbone, their connections severed, to halt the spread of the digital wildfire. It was a measure of last resort that would temporarily paralyze operations but save us from losing everything.
Thankfully, the security department’s network was completely segregated from the primary infrastructure. It was an island, immune to the raging chaos unfolding elsewhere. So far, no IoCs have surfaced within our systems. This was the only good news in an otherwise grim situation—a small buffer that allowed us to continue fighting without fear of the ransomware encroaching on our core operations.
The playbook’s second major action was just as critical: engage C-level management, Legal, and HR. This wasn’t just a technical battle but a fight with far-reaching implications for reputation, compliance, and even workforce morale. Key decision-makers needed to be briefed and their approval secured for the unprecedented actions we were about to take.
Fortunately, I wouldn’t have to be on that call. That task fell to the CERT Manager, who would explain the escalating crisis to the organization’s top brass. As for me, my role would expand in his absence. By our mutual agreement—a gentlemen’s pact forged through countless incidents—I would temporarily act as CERT Manager while he navigated the high-stakes conversation with C-Level leadership. We had a simple but effective system: He would debrief me immediately after the call. I would receive every decision, nuance, and question raised in that call. This seamless handoff allowed us to control the incident while juggling competing priorities.
But I couldn’t shake the thought of what he’d face during that call. There wouldn’t be much good news to share. The ransomware was still active, the containment phase hadn’t been reached, and the scope of the damage remained uncertain. The C-Level team would demand answers, solutions, and assurances—all of which were in painfully short supply.
As I monitored the network disconnections and prepared for my expanded role, I couldn’t afford to dwell on the weight of the situation. Time was the adversary’s ally, and we had to wrest it back. With the CERT Manager in one room and me holding the fort in another, we fought a battle on multiple fronts. And as the ransomware raged on, the stakes climbed higher with every second.
The cybersecurity job interview process
Incorporating scenario-based discussions during job interviews can refine and elevate the hiring process for CERT members, SOC analysts, or other security team members. This can yield valuable insights into candidates’ critical thinking, situational awareness, and ability to act under pressure—indispensable skills in SOC and CERT roles.
Presenting a real-world or hypothetical security incident (such as the above scenario) can delve into various aspects of the candidate’s analytical abilities and technical knowledge. For instance, posing questions such as, “What key question would you direct to the SOC manager in this situation?” or “What do you perceive as the protagonist’s primary responsibilities in this scenario?” can provide a window into their attention to detail and ability to contextualize roles within the security landscape.
To further evaluate the depth of their security expertise, you can shift the focus to operational frameworks, such as playbooks and incident response protocols. Questions like, “What are the essential questions or considerations that must be included in a playbook for this type of scenario?” or “Can you outline a generic security incident escalation matrix and its key components?” will help assess their understanding of structured response mechanisms and their capacity to design or improve these critical tools.
The focus of these interview questions is not solely on the candidate’s specific answers, although certain responses may reveal a lack of foundational cybersecurity knowledge that could disqualify a candidate. Instead, the primary objective is to assess the candidate’s thought processes, problem-solving methodologies, and ability to articulate well-reasoned justifications for their decisions.
This approach allows you to evaluate how candidates analyze complex situations, prioritize tasks, and adapt their strategies under pressure—key traits for success in high-stakes roles such as those in SOC or CERT teams. Observing how they construct their responses provides valuable insight into their critical thinking capabilities, risk assessment proficiency, and alignment with the organization’s operational mindset.
While technical skills can often be developed, the ability to think logically, defend decisions with sound reasoning, and demonstrate situational awareness is a distinguishing factor that sets exceptional candidates apart. These attributes are crucial for navigating cybersecurity operations’ dynamic and often unpredictable challenges.
When implementing this technique as part of the interview process, it is essential to consider both the timing and the expertise required for effective execution. This approach is most appropriately employed during the second round of interviews rather than the initial stage. By the second round, candidates will likely feel more comfortable and have a clearer understanding of the interview process, allowing them to showcase their capabilities better without being unduly hindered by first-round nervousness.
Ensuring that the assessment is conducted by a qualified subject matter expert (SME) in cybersecurity is equally essential. While HR professionals play a critical role in managing the recruitment process, evaluating the technical and strategic nuances of a candidate’s responses requires the expertise of someone with hands-on experience in the field. A cybersecurity SME will know to gauge the quality of the candidate’s thought processes, technical insights, and justifications accurately, ensuring a fair and thorough evaluation.
By applying this technique strategically and involving the right expertise, you can better understand the candidate’s potential to excel in real-world cybersecurity challenges while maintaining a structured and candidate-friendly recruitment process.
Disclaimer
The article is based on a similar question I once received during a job interview: ‘How would you design an incident response plan for a major ransomware outbreak?‘ The scenario is NOT related to any company or business with which I had a direct or indirect work relationship. Any link is purely a random and accidental coincidence.
Leave a Reply