No rain tonight at least, Lucy thought. She whispered into her comms. "Thirty seconds till breach."

She turned to the electronic lock, her fingers gliding over its surface with uncanny precision. From her bag of tech tricks, she selected the right tool—a sleek device humming softly in her hand.

The lock's manufacturer was no mystery; their recon had provided the model, and she’d quickly found the specs. It wouldn't stand a chance.

A pair of muffled pops echoed in her earpiece—the sixth and seventh of the night. Two more marks on her soul.

"Twenty seconds," she murmured.

This was their third data farm tonight. Three rapid surgical strikes. They'd spent a day planning them.

Situated on the city's edge. The data farm lay within a corporate zone patrolled by private security. The surrounding trees made the Emerald City's nickname feel apt. Shadows stretching beneath their canopies.

"Fifteen seconds."

Earlier she'd disabled the cameras. Planting tiny devices in junction boxes down the road. The wired connections were silenced; no calls for help would get through. Wireless cells and more was blocked by another tech wonder buzzing away.

Her hands moved swiftly now. The heavy lock's casing was open revealing a solid block of silicon—no wires to cut these days.

No matter. Her micro-probes didn't need wires. Her bag was a collection of surprises. Part off-the-shelf modified. Part custom builds. She'd been busy this past month.

"Five seconds."

A faint footstep behind her. Lioncourt. If she heard him it was intentional—a subtle assurance he was ready.

"Two seconds."

Seven new stains on her conscience. How many more tonight?

"Breach," she whispered as the door clicked open. Lioncourt slipped past her in a blur.

*

She'd once thought Lioncourt was a beast—a spree killer without strategy or design. Lucy wasn't sure if knowing he was a brilliant operational planner was any better.

They moved swiftly through the facility. Lucy held her silenced handgun at the ready. Her bag of tricks heavy on her shoulder. She tried not to think.

Lioncourt vanished ahead. Melting into shadows in a way that would have made Ceri proud.

She set to work on her first target: a junction box that controlled internal cameras and alarms.

They'd scrounged up old blueprints from a subcontractor's archives—the place's original builders. More intel thanks to Peril's hacking no doubt.

Their objectives were educated guesses. But they were confident.

MNA wasn't a black ops outfit. Security guards yes. But mainly a high-end data and electronics company—computers hardware, comms, the inside guts of so many devices.

Lucy dismantled the junction box with precise movements. Wires and circuits spilled out like entrails. No time to linger; she was on the clock.

Through a door she entered the server farm. Cold air hit her like a wave.

A technician stood before her.

He hadn't noticed her. He was engrossed. Silicon parts spread out as he methodically tested components. Oblivious.

She didn't hesitate. They'd covered this in planning. Every possible encounter. Anticipated.

They had five minutes total to grab what they needed. Aiming to be gone in four. If they took six or more they were probably dead.

The technician never knew what hit him. He died with hardly a sound.

Don't think. Stick to the plan. Don’t replay it in her head. Time for that later.

She moved deeper into the maze of servers heading to a row she'd memorized.

A soft whisper came over the comms. "C'était lui ou nous, mademoiselle."

She cursed under her breath. A psychotic sociopath was trying to comfort her.

Reaching the designated server she jammed in two security-disabling devices. Seconds later she began extracting plates of silicon. No time for data transfers. No hacking encryption—they were taking the hardware itself.

This was a deep-backup facility. Research. Blueprints. Her bag filled quickly. Twenty plates. Exabytes of commercial data.

Another call crackled in her ear. "Security team. As Scenario B. North. Get to exit." All business. No flair now.

Scenario B North. More of Lioncourt's meticulous planning. She sealed her bag and started back the way she'd come. Her breath puffed white in the cold air.

Hitting three data farms in an hour was genius but the second and third hits always risked running into heightened security. Scenario B meant a security team had just landed on the north side—the landing pad. Ten men by Lioncourt's estimation.

He didn't think much of MNA's security. ‘Mooks’, he'd called them.

Their breach point was on the south. Opposite the landing pad—anticipating the most likely response.

She reached the door they'd entered. No time to pause.

A distant clang of metal echoed behind her. Not her concern. Not her role. In the shadows you did your job and completed the mission.

She slipped through the hole they'd cut in the disabled fence moving into the treeline. The woods welcomed her. Lethanda would be proud. Though Lethanda wouldn't have left a guildmate behind.

A two-minute trek. They'd mapped the path with a drone yesterday. Her internal compass marked every tree every turn. The cybermod leading perfectly, as if it was a footpath.

She hadn't abandoned Lioncourt to the security team she told herself. She'd left them to face a relentless killer. He'd be fine.This was their fourth job together in the past month. Her tenth since fully stepping into the shadows. Each job reinforced her view: he was a monster. A killer without mercy. When Lioncourt was on the team. Bodies dropped.

She reached the waiting bike. A skill from a recent learnsoft. No mighty feline mount but the synthetic-fueled machine between her legs was becoming a new love. The rumble. The roar.

Lioncourt's bike stood nearby—a powerful electric model. French-made of course. He chose it for silence.

She checked the comms. No messages.

Rendezvous Point C it was. She'd wait five minutes. If he didn't show, she'd assume he was dead.

Unlikely, she thought. It would take another monster to kill him. MNA had sent mere men.

*

The warehouse district was a maze of shadow and rust. A place where the city's refuse collected like driftwood against a pier. Burning barrels dotted the corners. Casting flickering light on the hunched figures. Homeless seeking warmth against the biting cold.

Lucy stood beside her powerful racing bike. The machine's sleek lines a stark contrast to the decay around her. A silenced pistol rested casually in her hand. Its matte black surface absorbing the meagre light. She waited. Eyes scanning the darkness with calm detachment.

A group of gangers sauntered down the street. Their movements loose but eyes sharp. They looked ready to spill blood. But the night was young; easier prey would come later. Drunk and careless.

They spotted her—solitary figure, expensive bike. A bag slung over the rear. A tempting target. But the open pistol in her hand and the steady unflinching gaze she returned made them think twice. After a tense moment they moved on. Fading into the labyrinth of alleys.

Less than a year ago she would've been the one looking away. Maybe even running. Lucy recalled an alley much like this the acrid taste of vomit in her mouth as she grappled with the reality of pulling the trigger on a convicted murderer. Her first bounty. Back then the weight of the gun had felt immense.

Tonight she'd killed a technician—someone just doing his job. Eliminated. Because the mission demanded it. Because he might have compromised them. Not even a certainty. Just a possibility.

The expert electronic security learnsoft Lucy had uploaded hadn't been just tech schematics and code. It was a complete package designed for a black ops tech specialist operating in the shadows. Mental conditioning. Psychological resilience. All bundled into the data that now resided in her mind.

She almost shuddered at the implications. Somewhere out there was a corporation so vast. So paranoid. They mass-produced operatives with her training package. People equipped with cutting-edge cyber learning tech—tech that cost a fortune—and they had the resources to develop sophisticated learnsofts to mould their minds as well as their tech skills.

How many others were out there? Seamlessly programmed to perform tasks like her? Trained to act without hesitation. Without doubt.

She'd read the curriculum manifest before the upload. But hadn't grasped the depth of it. The notion that a learnsoft could alter her psyche seemed absurd at the time.

Stress Inoculation Training, Cognitive Restructuring Preparation—it all sounded clinical. Distant. She’d grown used to gaining skills effortlessly. They felt like hitting a talent tree button as Lethanda. Levelling up without the grind. Instant knowledge and skills. Like how to ride a high-end sports bike.

She hadn't considered how psychophysiological training embedded in the data might affect her. Lucy grimaced. The fact that word was even in her vocabulary now was a sign of the depth of her error.

Techniques like tactical breathing and biofeedback training had seemed like bonuses. Resilience programs focusing on emotional regulation and mental toughness sounded useful. Even practical.

But did learning a skill change who you were at your core? She grappled with the thought. Stress and emotional regulation training didn't pull the trigger. But did it make it easier?

Compartmentalisation was another aspect she'd underestimated. Lucy should have read further. She’d in retrospect even expected that her Learning AI might be able to skip aspects of that due to her previous exposure.

The learnsoft had taken it far beyond what her Marine basic training had covered. Conditioning to accept and justify ethically questionable actions—it was there in the fine print: Designed to enhance performance in morally ambiguous environments.

A mistake. A big one. Lucy admitted that now. She should've read more closely. Questioned more deeply.

But she had made choices. Intentional ones. After her encounter with Mr. Grimes - fear management training had seemed essential. The description of the learnsoft having embedded in it survival, evasion, resistance, and escape training programs which emphasised control over the ‘fear cascade’ had even sounded ideal. Lucy had remembered being terrified when captured. Why not have some training to be more mentally tough, she’d thought, perhaps too naively.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

But. Could simply learning these things change who she was? Lucy was starting to strongly suspect yes. Absolutely yes. Her emotional transformation. Her ability to effortlessly pull that trigger.

At four minutes and forty-five seconds past the rendezvous time Lioncourt's bike glided around the corner. The electric hum barely audible. He pulled up beside her with effortless grace. His movements smooth and composed.

Lucy cursed. He'd probably been waiting nearby. Timing his entrance for effect.

"Bonsoir, mademoiselle," he greeted with a charming smile. "A lovely evening for a ride, non?"

"Cutting it close," she replied, her tone neutral.

He shrugged elegantly. "Fashionably late, as they say." His accent was thicker tonight. Each word dipped in French flair.

She noticed the slight tear in his armoured jacket. The fresh scratches where bullets had glanced off. Two impacts over his chest—he should be feeling those.

"You got hit," she observed.

He glanced down casually. " Ah, rien de grave. Nothing serious. Merely scratches. The MNA security - they lack finesse."

Lucy recalled how much her bullet hit had hurt even with armour. The bruising. The aches. Yet he showed no sign of discomfort. She wondered how much of him was still flesh and blood.

He eyed the bag on her bike. "A present for me? Il ne fallait pas," he said. Eyes gleaming.

She handed it over. "As requested."

He accepted it with exaggerated gratitude. "Vous êtes trop aimable. Your efficiency is most impressive." He gave a slight bow. "You are becoming quite the professional."

"Just doing the job," she replied.

He leaned in conspiratorially. "A quick and adept pupil—you make me proud. Chaque bon élève mérite des éloges de temps en temps, jeune fille."

Lucy sensed he saw himself as a mentor. A guiding hand. Crafting a narrative where he was the wise teacher and she the eager student.

But all she could think about were the bodies he'd likely left behind tonight. Security guards doing their jobs. People with families waiting at home. Lives ended without a second thought.

Her mind threatened to spiral. But she clamped down on the thoughts. Focused on her breathing. Maintaining her facade.

Lioncourt seemed utterly at ease. His demeanour light. "The sky is clear tonight," he mused, glancing upward. "A rare beauty in this part of town."

Lucy forced a nod. "I suppose."

He turned back to her. "So will you still be taking Peril out dancing this weekend? Est-ce que mes deux tourterelles de ma vie vont sortir jouer aujourd'hui?"

She managed to force a small smile. "That's the plan."

His eyes lit up. "Excellent! Perhaps I could join you both? It has been too long since we've shared an evening of music and laughter."

"We'd love that," Lucy said, surprising herself with the realisation that it was also true.

Lucy looked at him—this charming dangerous man. He wasn't an enemy. He'd saved her life. Been unfailingly kind to her and Peril. If anything, he was lonely.

She recognized the complexity. He was a friend—a lethal, enigmatic friend—but a friend nonetheless. And he cared in his own way.

"Très bien!" he exclaimed. "It will be a night to remember."

*

The roar of celebrating guilds shook the massive mead hall. The sound rolling like thunder beneath the vaulted ceilings. Golden light from grand chandeliers bathed the room reflecting off polished wooden tables laden with feast and finery.

The air was thick with the aroma of spiced meats. Honeyed breads. The rich scent of mulled mead. Lethanda smiled to herself feeling the warmth of the room seep into her very bones. Choosing this place for the server-wide RP event was truly inspired.

The mead hall was usually a perilous end-game zone teeming with half-giant Norsemen and creatures of epic legend. Earlier a coalition of guilds had swept through. Clearing out the usual inhabitants with practiced ease.

Rangers who had maxed out in their Ranger's Sanctuary abilities had woven protective spells to prevent any respawns. Effectively turning the hall into a safe-zone. Lethanda admired the clever use of game mechanics to craft this temporary haven.

A soft laugh drew her attention. A warm body cuddled into her side—Ceri eyes bright with mirth as she listened to Kurgrim recount his latest adventure.

"So there we were," Kurgrim boomed his Dwarven accent thick and hearty. "Face-to-face with a dragon who had a liking for riddles. Instead of fighting - Piopei here starts a game of wits! A riddle guessing game - What’s in my pocket?!"

Piopei grinned mischievously. "And who knew dragons had such a terrible sense of humour when they lost?"

The table erupted in laughter. Ceri wiped a tear from her eye. "I can't believe that actually worked!"

Arcanis smirked. "Unconventional tactics for an unconventional team."

Lethanda chuckled feeling the camaraderie envelop her like a warm cloak. was what she cherished—the shared stories the laughter the sense of belonging.

It was a stark contrast to her other life the one cloaked in shadows and silence. No friendships there. No celebrations. Just cold professionalism and the solitary walk home.

She glanced around the table at Arcanis, Piopei, Ceri and Kurgrim. Here there was joy. A tiny part of her had hoped that in her mercenary world there might be an underground circle or bar where operatives exchanged tales and compared notes. But there was nothing of the kind. A romantic view perhaps of what mercenary work would entail. When a job was done they vanished like ghosts.

Her gaze drifted over the grand hall. The celebration was in full swing. Tables groaned under the weight of feasting platters—food consumables and feast plates usually reserved to buff entire raid groups were scattered like confetti.

The guild, Likeminded, was now the top guild of the server. They had invited the other top five guilds in the race to complete the final raid of the game. It was a generous gesture. Bringing competitors together in camaraderie.

"To rivals and friends!" Bourgh, the Guildmaster of Likeminded called out from atop a sturdy table. His warrior avatar gleamed in full class-set epic gear. The armour etched with intricate runes. He raised his goblet high. "Without you pushing us, we might never have conquered the Twelfth Underworld Gate!"

A cheer erupted from the crowd of over a hundred players. Lethanda lifted her own tankard. The sweet scent of cider filling her senses as she took a hearty swig. The crisp taste was invigorating.

"We pushed them hard," Arcanis remarked, leaning back in his chair.

"Speak for yourself," Piopei retorted. "Some of us had to carry the team."

Kurgrim laughed. "If by 'carry' you mean running away while we did the heavy lifting - then sure."

Ceri snuggled closer to Lethanda. Her hand finding Lethanda's beneath the table. Their relationship had been an open secret among the guild for months now. Accepted without fuss or fanfare. It was comforting. A silent affirmation in a world where acceptance wasn't always guaranteed.

"Lost in thought?" Ceri whispered.

Lethanda smiled softly. "Just soaking it all in."

"Careful you might drown," Ceri teased. She had found herself constantly grounding the deeply introspective ranger time and again. It had become a bit of a bit of a in-joke between them.

Lethanda's thoughts drifted almost immediately again. Her focus on exploration had taken her away from day-to-day guild matters. But she wasn't an outsider. She attended every RP event she could. Participated in end-game raids.

Still. The looming reality was that she'd explored nearly everything the game had to offer. Every hidden corner. Every secret quest. Hati, her forever-loyal companion had fought by her side through epic solo battles. But now there were no new horizons left.

"The content's running thin isn't it?" Ceri said, reading her mind.

Lethanda sighed. "Feels that way. Even my reputations are maxed or close to it."

"Well the devs promised a new dungeon in three months," Piopei chimed in overhearing. "And rumours of a new expansion next year."

"A year is a long time to wait," Lethanda replied.

Arcanis leaned forward. "Maybe it's time to take on new challenges. A warrior Alt perhaps? We could always do with another good guild tank."

Kurgrim shook his head. "You know Lethanda prefers the thrill of discovery over the clash of swords."

"True enough," Lethanda conceded.

Ceri nudged her gently. "Try the banana loaf. It's amazing."

Lethanda took a slice. The aroma of baked bananas and spices wafting up. She bit into it. The flavours rich and comforting. "This is incredible."

"See? Small joys," Ceri said with a wink.

The hall buzzed with energy. Players loudly sharing stories of their conquests and mishaps. Lethanda watched as Bourgh raised his goblet once more.

"Tonight, we celebrate not just victory but unity!" he declared. "Our realm stands strong the best in all of Gates of Baraadon!"

Another thunderous cheer filled the room. Not entirely in-character Lethanda noted, but it was a rousing speech nonetheless.

"Care to sneak away?" Ceri whispered.

Lethanda raised an eyebrow. "Missing the party already?"

"Just thought we could find somewhere quieter to talk."

"Lead the way," Lethanda agreed.

They slipped out of the mead hall the cool night air a gentle contrast to the warmth inside. Stars glittered overhead and the distant sound of a waterfall added a soothing backdrop.

"Much better," Ceri sighed leaning against a tree.

Lethanda joined her. "You wanted to talk?"

Ceri hesitated. "I've… something important I want you to know first, before anyone else.”

"I'm here for you Ceri, you can tell me anything," Lethanda replied softly.

Ceri started tentatively. "Well, there’s no easy way to say this… I’m leaving the game Lethanda. I’m not renewing my sub. I’m sorry. It’s due to IRL issues. I don’t want to discuss those.” Her tone had turned resolute. “But I’m quitting the game. Completely. I thought you, of all people, deserved to be the very first to know.”

*

The night sky stretched above Lethanda. A tapestry woven with threads of silver and indigo. Stars shimmered like scattered diamonds. Their light casting a gentle glow over the rolling hills and whispering forests of the realm. The cool breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and distant rain caressing her skin like a lover's touch.

She closed her eyes for a moment letting the tranquillity wash over her grounding herself in the sensations. The soft rustle of leaves. The distant hoot of an owl. The warmth of Ceri's presence beside her.

But beneath the serene facade turmoil brewed. She opened her eyes stealing a glance at Ceri. The gnome stood quietly her usually vibrant eyes reflecting a subdued light. Lethanda's heart tightened a knot forming in her stomach. Words eluded her tangled and heavy on her tongue.

Finally she managed to choke out, "How long?"

Ceri's gaze met hers a mixture of sorrow and resignation. "My sub ends in three days' time," she replied softly.

Lethanda felt a surge of panic rise within her threatening to overwhelm the fragile calm she'd tried to maintain. Her training kicked in—a desperate attempt to steady herself. Focus on the breath. Inhale exhale. Find an anchor point. The rough texture of the bark beneath her fingertips the cool metal of her bow slung across her back.

But the irony wasn't lost on her—grounding herself in a virtual world seeking solace in sensations coded and pixelated. A bitter laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it.

She turned to face Ceri fully struggling to keep her voice even. "You don't want me to discuss real-life things. I get that," she began. "But it makes it really hard to talk about... this."

Ceri nodded slowly. "I know," she admitted. "But it is what it is."

A flash of frustration flared in Lethanda's chest. How could she just accept this? Drop a bombshell and then erect walls that prevented any real discussion? Her mind raced. Was it money?

She'd come into more money than she knew what to do with recently—more than she ever thought possible. Ten black ops jobs in a month had left her coffers overflowing. No wonder Lioncourt drove a Ferrari. Her own high-end racing bike had been covered by a single paycheck. She could easily pay for Ceri's subscription.

Is this how Peril feels when she looks at me? Lethanda wondered. The helplessness of watching someone struggle. Knowing you could fix it with a flick of your wrist. A swipe of a card.

Her voice barely above a whisper she said, "I'm drowning here Ceri. I don't know what to say."

She couldn't meet Ceri's eyes. If she did she feared she'd shatter completely.

Ceri reached out squeezing her hand gently. "I know," she said. "I'm so sorry. But it's been amazing." A small smile touched her lips. "You've been amazing. The guild has been too."

"I've thought about the timing of this a lot over the past month," Ceri continued. "I thought it best to tell everyone just a few days before. To make it a quick break. Let people move on."

"It hurts. It really hurts," Lethanda confessed her voice trembling. "Did I do something wrong?"

Ceri's eyes softened. "No. No Lethanda. If I could do this another way I would. If I didn't have to leave I wouldn't. Please understand—this is about me. Not you. Not the game. Not the guild."

Lethanda opened her mouth. Questions about Ceri's real-life hovering on the tip of her tongue. But she bit them back. Ceri didn't want that.

"It's okay to be upset," Ceri said softly, offering a sympathetic smile. "I am too."

The dam broke. Tears welled up spilling down Lethanda's cheeks. The silent crying gave way to sobs that wracked her body. Each one tearing through her like a storm. She sank to her knees. Arms wrapping around the small gnome as she clung to her.

Ceri held her, patting her back gently. "Shh… it's alright," she murmured.

The world around them faded—the distant laughter from the mead hall. The rustling of nocturnal creatures the soft glow of the moon. All that remained was the raw ache in Lethanda's chest and the warmth of Ceri's embrace.

Minutes passed or perhaps hours; time felt meaningless. Eventually Lethanda's sobs subsided into quiet sniffles. She pulled back wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered, emotionally spent.

"Don't be," Ceri replied. "Feelings aren't something to apologize for."

Lethanda took a shaky breath. "I just... I don't know how to let go."

Ceri smiled sadly. "You don't have to. We'll always have the memories. The adventures. The laughs the... everything."