SSS-Rank Corporate Predator System

The sewer grate was a heavy, rusted circle of iron, a manhole cover to a very literal, and deeply unpleasant, hell.

It took the combined strength of Leo and his two silent, stone-faced escorts to pry it open.

They emerged into a dark, narrow alley, the rain a sudden, violent, and surprisingly welcome shock after the stagnant, foul air of the tunnels below.

"Okay, so, just for the record," Leo's voice whispered over their private, short-range comms, his tone a high-pitched, frantic buzz that was almost lost in the howl of the wind. "I would like to state that I am officially retiring from the sewer-crawling portion of my career."

"It's not for me."

"I'm more of a 'stay indoors and complain about the Wi-Fi' kind of revolutionary."

"I think I'll be putting that on my resume."

The two climbers didn't say a word.

They were already moving, their dark forms melting into the deeper shadows at the base of the Cross Corp tower.

The tower was a monster, a black cliff of glass and steel that seemed to disappear into the angry, churning clouds above.

Leo craned his neck, looking up, up, up into the darkness.

The communications spire was a thin, needle-like antenna at the very pinnacle of the building, a tiny, fragile-looking thing that was currently being whipped back and forth by the gale-force winds.

And it was his target.

"Right," he thought, a wave of pure, unadulterated, and deeply rational terror washing over him.

"The part where I climb a giant lightning rod."

"In the middle of a lightning storm."

"This plan has no flaws."

"It is a perfect plan."

"A perfect plan for a perfect idiot."

He took a shaky breath and followed his two silent, and probably completely insane, bodyguards.

Meanwhile, Team Gamma was a pair of ghosts in the storm.

Miles and Clara moved through the deserted, rain-lashed streets, their feet silent on the wet pavement.

They were a whisper in the noise, two shadows moving toward the back of the monstrous tower.

Their entry point was not a door.

It was a maintenance hub for the tower's subterranean levels, a small, unassuming structure of reinforced concrete that housed the building's primary power conduits and server access ports.

It was the back door to the digital kingdom.

And it was supposed to be unguarded.

"The diversion is working," Clara's voice murmured in his ear, a calm, steady presence in the chaos. "All internal security is focused on the lobby."

"The sub-levels are showing minimal personnel."

"The path is clear."

He could see it himself, through the eyes of his clone.

The tower was a hive, and Kael's team had just kicked the nest.

The red dots representing the security forces were all swarming toward the ground floor, a frantic, chaotic response to the direct assault.

The lower levels were a ghost town.

"It's too quiet," Miles thought, the cold knot of dread in his stomach tightening.

"I hate it when it's quiet."

"Quiet is where the bad things live."

They reached the reinforced door of the maintenance hub.

It was a slab of thick, brutalist steel, with a single, glowing electronic lock panel.

"Leo, you're up," Clara said into her comms.

"On it," Leo's voice replied, a little breathless from the climb that was about to happen. "Just give me a second to… you know… contemplate the series of poor life choices that led me to this exact moment."

"Okay, I'm good."

"Sending the first bypass code now."

The electronic lock panel on the door flickered, a cascade of green code scrolling across its small screen.

There was a soft, satisfying click.

"We're in," Miles whispered, his hand on the door.

He was about to push it open, to take the first, irreversible step into the lion's den.

And then, the world went wrong.

A new sound, a sound that was not on any of their schematics, echoed through the alley.

It was a low, heavy, and deeply final-sounding thud.

It came from inside the maintenance hub.

Miles froze, his hand hovering an inch from the door.

He looked at Clara, his eyes wide with a sudden, dawning horror.

Another thud.

And another.

A series of them, like giant, steel teeth clamping shut.

The electronic lock on the door in front of them, which had been glowing a soft, welcoming green, suddenly flashed a bright, angry red.

The word "ACCESS DENIED" appeared on the screen.

And then, a voice crackled over the internal speakers of the hub, a voice that was not a part of their plan, a voice that was not on their team.

It was a voice that was smug.

It was a voice that was hateful.

It was a voice that was filled with the triumphant, petty glee of a boy who had just gotten his revenge.

It was the voice of Julian Cross.

"Looking for this, Vane?" Julian's voice taunted, the sound distorted and tinny, but the malice perfectly clear.

"I knew you were too much of a coward for a direct approach."

"I knew you'd try to sneak in through the basement."

"It's what rats do, after all."

A final, deafening, and deeply final-sounding clang echoed from inside the hub.

"The basement," Julian's voice declared, a sneer of pure, victorious hatred in his tone, "is officially closed."

He paused, letting the weight of his victory sink in.

"Have fun outside."

The speaker clicked off.

Silence.

The plan was in ruins.

They were cut off.

Their perfect, synchronized, three-pronged attack had just had one of its prongs unceremoniously, and very completely, snapped off.

Miles stared at the red, glowing lock, at the symbol of his own failure.

He had underestimated him.

He had been so focused on the king that he had forgotten about the spoiled, vengeful little prince.

He had walked right into a second trap.

And now, he and Clara were trapped outside in the storm, exposed, vulnerable, and completely, utterly cut off from the battle that was raging inside.

The first part of their plan had failed.

And the hardest, most impossible part was just about to begin.