The glass doors slid shut behind me, and it felt like the entire hallway exhaled, heavy and sharp.
Conversations? Gone. The faint buzz of whispers had curdled into deliberate silence. People I passed didn’t just avoid eye contact—they moved like they were dodging shrapnel, shoulders hunched, heads down, pretending they hadn’t seen me.
I walked. Steady steps. Coffee still in hand.
The guards were impossible to ignore. Three now, marching the length of the hallway with that predator’s rhythm. Black armor gleamed under the sterile lights, augmented limbs humming faintly with kinetic charge. One peeled off, stopping dead center in the corridor.
A glowing red optic swept across the floor, slicing through the tension like a scalpel.
It passed over me.
My heart thudded, the sound too loud in my ears. I clenched the coffee cup tighter, letting the heat anchor me as I kept walking. Don’t look back. Don’t stop.
The polished floors reflected everything: the guards’ sharp silhouettes, the sterile glow overhead, the ghostly shimmer of AR displays flickering on the walls. The whole building felt alive, like it was watching, waiting for someone to make a wrong move.
A distant ping of an elevator cut through the quiet. I adjusted my grip on the mug, the ceramic warm against my palm, and turned toward the R&D wing. Jacobs had made himself perfectly clear—if I didn’t get to Vayne, I was already dead.
By the time I reached my desk, the air felt like it had thickened. Colleagues were staring—not outright, but quick, darting glances. Their gazes skimmed over me like I was the latest headline in some sordid CorpoSec scandal.
I dropped into my chair, forcing myself to act like I hadn’t noticed.
My terminal blinked to life, the hollow chirp of the AR interface promising another day of slow death by data entry. Before I could start, a ping shattered the illusion of normalcy.
The first notification floated onto the screen, its border glowing an ominous red:
ACCESS REVOKED:
Your clearance to [Neural Systems Core] has been revoked. Contact your supervisor for assistance.
I frowned, my stomach tightening. Then another:
COMPLIANCE ALERT:
A compliance report has been filed against Employee #478249. Review pending.
And the third:
URGENT NOTIFICATION:
Please report to Compliance Office C-12 immediately.
The blood drained from my face. Jacobs wasn’t wasting time—he was already hanging me out to dry.
I leaned forward, fingers hovering over the keyboard as my mind raced. I needed answers. Fast.
But with my access revoked, the terminal was locked tighter than a vault. I tried the standard override, but the system spit back an error:
ACCESS DENIED: USER CLEARANCE INSUFFICIENT
Plan B it was.
I scanned the room, my gaze landing on Klein’s desk a few rows over. The terminal was lit up, its AR interface still active. Klein was nowhere in sight—probably off avoiding work as usual.
I grabbed my mug and walked over, keeping my movements casual. Klein’s login credentials flashed briefly on the screen as I approached. Perfect.
Leaning down, I pretended to set my mug on the edge of the desk while slipping my work ID from my pocket. With a quick swipe across his terminal, the system beeped, syncing my ID to his active session.
“Sorry, Klein,” I muttered under my breath, hurrying back to my own desk before anyone could notice.
Once back, I synced the stolen credentials to my terminal. The system hesitated—just long enough to make me sweat—then blinked to life, granting me temporary clearance.
I started pulling files, working fast. Jacobs had buried the Neural Insight Integration project deep, but fragments of it still clung to the system like echoes. I bypassed standard directories and dove straight into the backend, sifting through encrypted logs and audit trails.
Lines of code streamed past:
Root/User/Neural-Insight/Prototype:
Sys.Log 045# / Fragmentary Neural Retrieval Initialized
--- BINARY SYNC ERROR DETECTED ---
The errors led me to an archived directory: DNI_X-2. The name screamed top secret even without the encryption.
I opened the files, and jagged fragments of data flooded the screen. Scrambled audio logs crackled in my earpiece:
“Neural extraction incomplete… residual echoes observed… cognitive bleed… containment threshold unstable…”
I sifted deeper, scanning lines of dense, almost unreadable technical jargon:
“Dreamstate Interface Tethering.”
“Synaptic Echo Harvesting.”
“Long-term cognitive disassembly protocols—oversight unnecessary.”
One file stood out: a log entry from Jacobs himself.
LOG: JACOBS
Memory clusters show promise for high-yield data extraction. Operational risks acceptable.
Potential for… long-term cognitive disassembly. Oversight unnecessary.
My stomach churned. Long-term cognitive disassembly? Jacobs had been playing with tech that could rip someone’s mind apart.
The screen flickered. A red warning flashed, bold and impossible to ignore:
ACCESS VIOLATION: UNAUTHORIZED LOGIN DETECTED
Then the interface shifted. The files vanished, replaced by a Compliance Violation page, its pulsing red borders radiating menace.
SESSION TERMINATED. SECURITY PROTOCOLS ACTIVATED.
PLEASE REMAIN AT YOUR WORKSTATION FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Panic clawed at my throat. Everything I’d just uncovered was gone, wiped clean from the system. All that remained was the cold realization that Jacobs had put me in the crosshairs—and that someone was coming.
Fast.
The terminal’s lockout warning was still flashing in my peripheral when Martina appeared, her smug grin already in place.
“You’ve been busy,” she said, her tone syrupy with mock concern.
I didn’t answer. My pulse was already hammering in my ears, and the last thing I needed was her adding more fuel to the fire.
“Oh, don’t play dumb.” She leaned in closer, her grin sharpening into something almost predatory. “You don’t think I noticed you snooping around? Compliance is my department, after all. It’s kind of my thing.”
I exhaled slowly, trying to keep my tone level. “Great. Then maybe you can explain why my access just got revoked.”
Her grin widened, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Oh, I could. But I think you already know.” She tilted her head, lowering her voice like we were conspiring. “Jacobs is panicking. He’s already talking to CorpoSec. You’ve got, what… maybe fifteen minutes before they come for you?”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I kept my face neutral. She was enjoying this too much, and I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction.
“Don’t look so grim, sweetie.” She set her mug on my desk and straightened, her nails drumming out a slow rhythm on the polished surface. “You’ve got options. Pin it all on Jacobs—make him the fall guy—or…”
“Or what?” I asked, my voice sharp.
“Or go down with him.” She picked up her mug again, her grin twisting into something cruel. “Your call.”
She strolled away without waiting for a response.
I ducked into a side corridor near the maintenance section.
Voices carried from around the corner—guards. I pressed myself against the wall, listening.
“Order just came through,” one said, his tone clipped. “We’re bringing #478249 in for questioning.”
“You think it’s related to Echelon One?”
“Does it matter? If it’s coming from upstairs, we don’t ask questions.”
The conversation ended with the stomp of boots. My insides tightened, but I forced my breathing to stay quiet.
I slipped further into the corridor and pulled out my holo-comm, my fingers trembling as I dialed Dr. Vayne’s private line. The call connected with a burst of static, her voice calm but edged with impatience.
“What do you want?”
“Jacobs is throwing me under the bus,” I said, barely keeping my voice steady. “I need something on Neural Insight. Anything. Something I can use.”
Her silence stretched, and I could almost hear the gears turning on the other end.
“You’re playing with fire,” she said finally. “Do you even know what that project really was?”
“I’m starting to get the picture,” I said. “Just give me something. Please.”
She sighed, a soft hiss through the comm. “Fine. But not over this line. Meet me in Sub-Level 4, Section 9. Ten minutes.”
I froze. “Sub-Level 4? That’s past the CorpoSec checkpoint!”
“It’s your choice,” she said flatly, cutting the line before I could argue.
Desperation propelled me into the maintenance tunnels. The ducts were cramped, the metal edges pressing against my shoulders as I crawled through. Sweat dripped down my face, and every sound felt magnified in the claustrophobic silence.
I was close so I figured I’d make my way above Jacobs’ office before finding my way down to R&D. Peering into his office, I could see the faint light of his holo-terminal filtering up through the vent.
“Don’t give me that!” he snapped. His voice was sharp, panicked. “I’m cleaning it up. Just buy me more time!”
I adjusted my position, peering through the slats of the vent. Below, Jacobs paced the room, his movements jerky and frantic. His desk was a battlefield of shredded paper, discarded data chips, and glowing AR files blinking in and out of existence.
“I told you it’s under control,” he hissed, leaning over his terminal. “You think Echelon One scares me? I’ve got—”
The office door slammed open.
Jacobs spun around, his eyes wide. The figure in the doorway was almost too large for the space, cloaked in shadows and augmented steel.
The respirator mask covered most of his face, sharp angles melding into his neck and jaw. His orange visor glowed faintly, like molten lava, scrolling streams of data that were too small and too fast to follow.
Jacobs froze, his voice catching in his throat. “K-Kovach?”
The name hit like a gunshot, even up here in the vent. I should leave, but I can’t afford to make noise.
The machine stepped forward, each heavy footfall rattling the desk. His augmented arm shifted slightly, the faint hum of servos breaking the silence.
“Jacobs,” Kovach said, his voice distorted through the mask, metallic and cold. “You’ve been busy.”
Jacobs stammered, retreating a step. “I—I can explain—”
“Save it.” Kovach’s tone was sharp, absolute. He reached into his coat, pulling a sleek data chip. With a fluid motion, he slotted it into the terminal. “I’ve already got everything I need.”
From my vantage point in the vent, my breath caught. The heat from the cramped metal space clung to my skin, but I didn’t dare move. I didn’t even blink.
Kovach’s visor swept the room, glowing faintly as it scanned. It stopped directly below me, pausing for a fraction too long.
Can that thing see heat?
I held my breathe, attempting to keep perfectly still.
Then to my surprise, he mechanically snapped his head back to Jacobs.
Jacobs stumbled back, hands half-raised like he was trying to fend off a predator. “I-I can fix this! Just give me more time. You don’t need to—”
Kovach didn’t respond. His orange visor pulsed faintly, glowing brighter as data scrolled across it. The faint hum of his augmented arm filled the room, steady, menacing, like a countdown.
“I didn’t mean for it to get this far,” Jacobs pleaded, his voice cracking. “It wasn’t supposed to… It was a mistake! I just need—”
“Save it.” Kovach’s voice was a distorted rasp, metallic and cold as he stepped forward, his boots hitting the floor with weight. “You think I care about your mistakes?”
Jacobs flinched as Kovach leaned closer, his augmented hand resting on the desk. The metal fingers sent a vibrating thrum through the glass surface.
“I-I can clean it up! Just give me a chance!” Jacobs’ words came out fast and desperate, tumbling over each other. His gaze darted between Kovach’s mask and the glowing edge of the augmented arm, the fear in his eyes like an animal caught in a trap.
Kovach tilted his head slightly, his visor gleaming. “You’ve already had your chance.”
“I… I have leverage! Data—projects! Stuff Echelon One would kill for!” Jacobs blurted out, his voice shrill now. He reached for a data chip on his desk, but Kovach’s arm shot out, slamming down next to it. The desk groaned under the impact.
“Stop talking.” Kovach’s tone dropped, low and rumbling, like a threat wrapped in static. “Make it easy on yourself. Or don’t.”
Jacobs froze, his hand trembling over a scattered pile of data chips. “I—I didn’t mean for it to get this far! I swear! I was just trying to—”
Kovach moved like a storm breaking loose. His augmented hand shot out, grabbing Jacobs by the collar and lifting him clean off the floor. Papers and chips scattered as Jacobs’ shoes left the ground, his legs flailing helplessly.
“You talk too much,” Kovach said, his voice dripping with disdain.
Jacobs wheezed, clawing at the steel grip locked around his neck. “P-please… I can fix it! I have data! Prototypes! I can help—”
Kovach tilted his head slightly, almost bored. “You mean this?” He extended his free arm, and a thin, black cable slithered out from his wrist. It snaked toward the terminal, plugging itself into the nearest port.
The monitors flickered, streams of data cascading across the AR displays faster than I could track. Kovach’s visor pulsed brighter as the files were being transferred.
“No. You can’t,” Kovach said finally.
The data feed cut abruptly, the monitors going dark. The cable retracted with a mechanical whir, disappearing back into his arm. Kovach turned his full attention to Jacobs now, the orange glow of his visor bathing him in its artificial light.
“You had your chance,” Kovach said, his tone flat and final.
Jacobs’ voice broke, high and panicked. “I can do more! You don’t need to—”
Kovach didn’t wait for him to finish. His grip tightened, the sound of servos whining faintly before a nauseating crack echoed into the ventilation shaft. Jacobs’ body went limp, his head lolling unnaturally as Kovach let him drop like a broken toy.
I felt bile rise in my throat.
Kovach crouched briefly over Jacobs’ body, his augmented hand rifling through the scattered papers and data chips. He picked one up, holding it to the light before slipping it into his coat. Then he straightened and turned his head looking right at me.
And then, he spoke.
“#478249,” Kovach said, his tone impossibly calm. “Why haven’t you run yet?”
My blood turned to ice. He knew.
For a second, I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Then instinct took over, and I scrambled backward, my knees scraping against the metal of the shaft as I tried to gain distance.
The vent echoed with every frantic movement, the sound painfully loud. Behind me, Kovach’s voice called out again, louder this time.
“Run faster.”
I didn’t look back. My palms slipped against the smooth metal as I crawled, pushing myself forward with every ounce of strength I had. The vent curved sharply, the narrow space making it hard to maneuver. My breath came in short, panicked bursts.
Get to Vayne. That was the only thought in my head.
Behind me, metal groaned and screamed, followed by a sharp, mechanical thunk.
Kovach was tearing through the vent.
I didn’t look back. My hands scraped against the smooth surface as I pushed forward, knees slamming into the narrow shaft. Another rip of steel echoed behind me, closer this time, the vibrations crawling up my spine.
Sub-Level 4. Just over fifty floors down. Through vents.
My breath hitched. This wasn’t survival—it was suicide. But it was the only shot I had.
Keep moving. Faster.
The sound of crumpling metal chased me like a predator, and I shoved the thought of falling—of him catching me—out of my head.