A tension, like a coiled spring ready to snap, charged the CID operations room. Alphonse stood before a holographic map of Ivara Prime, his expression sharp and uncharacteristically serious. The glowing display highlighted several key locations, but one, in particular, pulsed in ominous red—a private docking bay connected to Minister Eren Voss.

“All right,” Alphonse began, his voice cutting through the quiet murmurs. “Here’s the situation: Minister Voss isn’t just obstructing our efforts—he’s actively aiding the Consortium. We’ve confirmed that he’s been funneling intel and facilitating resource transfers. The evidence ties him directly to the Prescott attacks.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. Jackie, Kovacs, and the other team members exchanged uneasy glances.

“We can’t afford to tip our hand just yet,” Alphonse continued. “If Voss realizes we’re onto him, he’ll disappear into the wind. That’s why we’re running this in two stages. First, we stage a fake mission targeting his office—a feint designed to draw out any moles in the government watching our movements. Meanwhile, the actual target is Voss himself. We’ll intercept him tonight on his way to one of his regular haunts: the Meridian Club.”

The hologram shifted, displaying a sleek hovercar route cutting through the city’s upper levels.

Alphonse outlined the operation with precision. The feint team would hit Voss’s office, creating just enough chaos to keep attention away from the true objective. Simultaneously, the strike team would position themselves along the minister’s route, setting up an ambush near the secluded entrance to the Meridian Club.

Jackie leaned against the table, her arms crossed. “And how do we know Voss will actually show? He’s got to know he’s under scrutiny.”

Alphonse smirked. “That’s the beauty of it. He thinks he’s untouchable. Our surveillance has confirmed that he hasn’t deviated from his routine, even after the Consortium attack on us. Either he’s incredibly arrogant, or he believes his connections will protect him.”

“And if he’s armed?” one agent asked.

“He won’t be,” Alphonse said confidently. “Voss isn’t a soldier. He’s a facilitator. He relies on others to do the dirty work. Our focus is extraction, not elimination. We need him alive and talking.”

After the briefing, Jackie caught up with Kovacs in the workshop, where he was fine-tuning his mech in preparation for the next phase of the competition. His hands moved deftly over the console, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.

“You okay?” Jackie asked, leaning against the workbench.

Kovacs hesitated before answering. “This whole thing—it’s just… bigger than I expected. I came here to design mechs, not get caught up in corporate conspiracies and political intrigue.”

Jackie gave him a sympathetic look. “Welcome to the big leagues. But you’re holding your own.”

“Am I?” Kovacs asked, his frustration evident. “Every time I think I’m making progress, something else drops into my lap. Now they’re saying I need to provide my own pilot for the next phase. As if this wasn’t stressful enough.”

Jackie grinned. “I’ll handle that part. You just focus on building the thing. Deal?”

Kovacs managed a weak smile. “Deal.”

***

The feint team moved with calculated precision, entering Voss’s government office under the cover of night. Disabling the building’s security systems, they uploaded false files and triggered low-level alerts designed to make it appear as though they were extracting critical intelligence. Surveillance drones patrolling the area quickly picked up the activity, relaying it to the government’s security forces.

“Stage one is live,” Alphonse’s voice crackled over the comms. “Let’s see who takes the bait.”

From a secure location, Alphonse and Lorne monitored the chatter across government networks. Within minutes, alerts began pinging on their screens, showing that someone had flagged the activity and shared it with an unauthorized channel.

“We’ve got a mole,” Lorne confirmed, her fingers flying over the console. “Tracking the signal now.”

“Let’s hope Voss hasn’t been tipped off yet,” Alphonse muttered. “Team Two, move into position.”

On the other side of the city, Jackie sat in the back of a nondescript hover van, her rifle resting across her lap. She glanced at the others in the strike team, their faces tense but focused. The ambush point was a narrow access road leading to the private entrance of the Meridian Club—a place known for its discretion and exclusivity.

Kovacs’s voice came through her earpiece. “You sure about this?”

“Stay focused on your mech,” Jackie replied. “We’ve got this.”

“Just… don’t get yourself killed,” Kovacs muttered.

Jackie smirked. “Not planning to.”

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Moments later, the target’s hovercar approached, its sleek black body gliding silently through the air. The team tensed as it slowed near the club entrance. Alphonse’s voice came through the comms: “Go.”

In a coordinated burst of motion, the strike team moved. EMP charges disabled the hovercar’s systems, forcing it to a halt. Jackie and another agent flanked the vehicle, their weapons trained on the passenger compartment.

“Step out of the vehicle, Minister Voss,” Alphonse ordered, his voice amplified through the van’s speakers.

The hovercar’s doors hissed open, and Voss emerged, his hands raised in mock compliance. His sharp features were set in an expression of disdain rather than fear.

“This is highly inappropriate,” Voss said smoothly, his voice calm despite the situation. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

“Yeah,” Alphonse replied coldly. “A traitor.”

Voss’s composure wavered for a fraction of a second before returning. “You’ve made a mistake. I’m no traitor. I serve Ivara Prime’s interests faithfully.”

“Save it,” Jackie snapped. “We’ve got the logs, the payments, the encrypted messages. You’re coming with us.”

As the strike team secured Voss and prepared for extraction, the tension in the air became suffocating. The distant roar of engines echoed through the streets, and beams of headlights pierced the night like searchlights, growing brighter with each passing second. Jackie’s pulse quickened as the convoy approached, a line of sleek, unmarked vehicles gliding through the ruined cityscape like predators closing in on their prey.

“We’ve got company,” one of the agents warned, his voice sharp with urgency.

“Looks like his backup arrived,” Jackie muttered, her voice low but laced with frustration. She flicked the safety off her rifle, eyes scanning the scene. The squad instinctively tightened their defensive formation around Voss, who stood with a smug expression despite the restraints binding his hands.

“Alphonse, we’re going to need that exit route,” she said into the comm.

“Working on it,” Alphonse replied, his tone clipped and professional. “Hold your position.”

The convoy screeched to a halt about fifty meters out, its occupants clearly sizing up the CID team. Jackie’s stomach knotted as the vehicle doors opened in unison, releasing a dozen armed figures clad in tactical gear. The figures moved with precision, fanning out and taking cover behind the vehicles, their weapons trained on the CID operatives.

“These aren’t just goons,” the team leader muttered into the comm. “They’re Consortium. Heavily armed. Combat trained.”

Jackie swallowed hard, her knuckles white as she gripped her rifle. The Consortium operatives moved with unnerving discipline, their black armor and visored helmets giving them a faceless, almost robotic appearance. Her mind raced, cataloging options, most of which ended poorly.

“They’re locking us down,” another agent hissed. “We don’t have the firepower to hold them off for long.”

Alphonse’s voice cut through the growing tension. “Hold the line. Reinforcements are en route. ETA six minutes.”

“Six minutes,” Jackie repeated under her breath, her heart hammering. It felt like an eternity. Her gaze flicked to Voss, who stood calm and collected amidst the chaos, his smirk deepening as their eyes met.

“Still think you’ve won?” he asked, his voice low but dripping with malice.

Jackie bit back a sharp retort, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she turned her focus to the incoming threat. One of the operatives stepped forward, shouting a warning through a voice modulator that distorted his words.

“Release the prisoner, and we’ll let you leave alive.”

“Like hell,” Jackie murmured, her finger hovering over the trigger. Her eyes darted to the squad leader, who shook his head subtly, a silent command to hold fire.

“Stall them,” Alphonse urged over the comm. “Whatever you do, keep them talking.”

Jackie took a steadying breath and stepped forward slightly, her voice calm despite the turmoil raging inside her. “Not going to happen. You want him? You’ll have to come through us.”

The operative’s head tilted slightly, as if considering her words, before he raised a hand in a sharp gesture. In unison, the Consortium operatives shifted their stances, weapons braced, ready to attack.

The first shot rang out, shattering the fragile standoff. A sharp burst of energy cracked through the air, forcing Jackie to dive for cover behind a crumbling wall. The rest of the squad followed suit, returning fire with disciplined bursts that lit up the darkened street.

The firefight erupted into chaos, tracer rounds streaking through the air as both sides traded volleys. Jackie crouched low, firing in controlled bursts while shouting orders to her teammates. Dust and debris filled the air as stray shots tore chunks from nearby buildings, and the acrid scent of burning materials stung her nose.

One of the operatives flanked left, trying to gain a better angle. Jackie spotted him out of the corner of her eye and pivoted, firing a clean shot that struck him in the chest. He crumpled to the ground with a grunt, but she had no time to celebrate the small victory.

“We’re pinned!” one of the agents shouted, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of gunfire.

“Reinforcements?” Jackie demanded into the comm, her voice tinged with desperation.

“Two minutes out,” Alphonse replied. “Hold on.”

Jackie pressed her back against the wall, her breathing ragged. The Consortium operatives were advancing, their superior numbers and tactics slowly overwhelming the team. Voss watched the chaos unfold with a detached amusement, as if he were merely a spectator to a show.

“You’re outmatched,” he said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “Give up now, and I might even put in a good word for you.”

“Shut up,” Jackie snapped, firing another burst at the advancing operatives. Her hands ached from the relentless recoil, but she refused to relent.

Then, from the distance, the sound of engines roared to life—a sharp, mechanical whine that signaled hope. The reinforcements had arrived. A pair of sleek drop-ships swept in low, their searchlights cutting through the gloom. Heavy-caliber cannons opened fire, forcing the Consortium operatives to scatter.

The tide turned in an instant. Jackie’s team seized the opportunity, pressing the attack as the drop-ships deployed additional CID operatives who joined the fray. The Consortium fighters, realizing the odds had shifted, began to retreat, covering their withdrawal with suppressive fire.

As the dust settled and the last of the operatives vanished into the night, Jackie lowered her weapon, her muscles trembling from the exertion. She turned to Voss, who looked less smug now but no less defiant.

“Looks like we’ve won this round,” she said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

Voss said nothing, but the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes spoke volumes.

***

“Shut up,” she growled, her focus shifting to the advancing operatives. The situation was spiraling, but she wasn’t about to let them lose their target—not now.

Back at the workshop, Kovacs sat in restless silence, his mind divided between his mech and the mission. The stakes were growing higher with each passing moment, and the line between his work and the CID’s operations was becoming increasingly blurred.

He clenched his fists, staring at the incomplete prototype before him. If he was going to survive this competition—and everything tied to it—he would need to build something more than a war machine.