The ventilation grate creaked as Spectre pried it open, revealing the underbelly of the Sung-Jin Cartel's tower—a nest of humming servers, their blue lights pulsing like a slow, mechanical heartbeat.
Dex's Rocket Fist arm twitched. "So. We just… waltz in and grab the glowy thing?"
Pink Wolf— who's name was apparently Aiko Irl, he reminded himself—peered over his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. "Oh sure. Because obviously the Korean mafia stores their secrets in a 'take one, leave one' box."
Spectre silenced them with a glare. "Turret patterns. Every six seconds. We move fast."
[ALERT: MOTION SENSORS DETECTED]
And then, because nothing in Dex's life could ever be simple—the lights went out.
A holographic projection flickered to life in the center of the room: Valentina, lounging on a throne of glitching code.
"Oops," she sighed, swirling a virtual martini. "Did I forget to mention? The real vault's upstairs. This is just the decoy."
Dex's fingers twitched near his jammed Rocket Fist as Valentina's hologram loomed over them, her smile sharper than Pink Wolf's claws.
"Aren't the Sung-Jin your family's rivals?" he challenged. "If you're so powerful, why send us to do your dirty work?" He jerked his chin at the projection. "And since you're projecting your pretty face here, I'm guessing you don't fear them—just too lazy to come yourself."
Valentina's laugh was honey laced with cyanide. "Oh, Dex." She leaned forward, her pixelated fingers brushing his cheek—a static shock zapped his skin. "You're right. But also wrong."
Her gaze slid to Spectre, icy and knowing. "I could storm this tower. But why waste my bullets… when I can waste yours?"
A glitch distorted her form for half a second, revealing a split screen of the real Valentina lounging in a Luciano penthouse, sipping wine.
"Tick-tock, ratoncitos," (Mice) she purred. "The cartel's AI core isn't just tech—it's alive. And hungry."
POOF. She vanished.
[ALERT: VAULT DOORS ACTIVATING IN 5 MINUTES]
Pink Wolf kicked a server. "Fantastic. We're expendable."
Spectre was already moving. "We're smart," she corrected. "And alive. Now move."
"She said the thing we really need to steal is upstairs though, but im sure the jungs people are alot and roaming this tower. How are we possibly going to fight them all. Im only level five and my new useful skill only has two uses left.
The air in the service corridor was thick with the sterile chill of industrial air conditioning, carrying the faint metallic tang of server coolant. Dex pressed his back against the wall, his shoulder blades digging into the unyielding concrete as he peered around the corner. Below them, through the grated flooring, he could see the lobby's marble expanse where two Sung-Jin enforcers stood sentry by the elevator. Their tailored suits couldn't hide the telltale bulges of concealed weapons, nor the way their eyes constantly scanned the room—professionals, not just hired muscle.
Pink Wolf's breath was warm against his ear as she leaned in, her voice a blade of quiet steel. "They've got pulse scanners on their belts. Motion sensors every five meters. This isn't a break-in. It's a suicide run."
Dex's newly upgraded HUD (Slightly upgraded at level 5) flickered as it attempted to map the guards' patrol patterns, but the Sung-Jin jamming tech reduced his display to staticky approximations. He swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the two remaining charges in his Rocket Fist. "Valentina didn't even tell us which floor this damn core is on. For all we know, we're about to storm their cafeteria."
Across from them, Spectre's fingers danced across a holoscreen she'd pulled from the wall panel, her cybernetic eye cycling through encryption protocols. "Basement levels are server farms. Floors 20-40 are R&D. Penthouse is executive offices." Her gaze cut to Dex, cold and calculating. "You're taking sublevel 3."
"Why do I get the radioactive basement?" Dex hissed, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Three reasons," Spectre said, her voice devoid of sympathy. "One: Your arm's EMP shielding might survive their dampeners. Two: The rats down there already know you." A beat. "Three: If you die, it's quiet."
Pink Wolf muffled a snort as Dex's expression soured 'I got EMP shield?'.
Before he could retort, Spectre's fingers froze mid-air. "Distraction in three."
Pink Wolf didn't hesitate. With a pivot that sent her hair whipping through the air, she drove her elbow into the fire alarm panel.
The effect was instantaneous.
Klaxons shrieked like wounded animals. Sprinklers erupted in a deluge that turned the polished lobby into a shallow pond. The guards lurched into motion, shouting into their comms as emergency lights bathed everything in pulsing crimson.
Dex didn't see Spectre move—one second she was there, the next her optical camo had dissolved her into the chaos.
"Go!" Pink Wolf shoved him toward the service stairs. "And try not to get shot!"
Dex's boots hit the first step just as his Rocket Fist emitted a worrying whine—the charge indicator blinking [2/3 REMAINING].
Then fate, as it always did, kicked him in the face.
His ankle caught on a loose cable. The world tilted. With a muffled curse, he crashed through a maintenance closet door, landing in a heap of mops and industrial cleaner as the door swung shut behind him.
Silence.
Then—the creak of leather.
Dex looked up into the barrel of a Sung-Jin plasma pistol, wielded by a guard whose expression hovered between amusement and annoyance.
"Huh," the man said, thumbing the safety off. "Seen you on a few wanted posters."
[COMBAT INITIATED: DEX vs. SUNG-JIN ELITE GUARD (LVL 28)]