The carbine barrels remained fixed. Each red dot from a laser sight painted a precise circle on Vahri’s chest and head. Pava’s small frame trembled against Kiron’s grip, her eyes wide, locked on Vahri. The marrow separator whirred beside them, a steady high-pitched whine. Surrender. The word tasted like ash. Her primary objective: Pava’s life. Her secondary: dismantling Kiron. The math was stark. One medic against a dozen mercenaries, with Pava pinned beneath an iron barrel. There was only one probability vector that ended with Pava breathing. Vahri’s fingers loosened around the surgical laser. The device clattered to the floor, a tiny spark dying on its tip. She raised her hands slowly, palms open, a gesture of disarmament. Kiron’s lips curved into a predatory smile. Before he could speak, a colossal shriek ripped through the reinforced durasteel of the VIP car’s roof. A sound like a leviathan tearing through a starship hull. The entire ceiling buckled inward with a deafening groan, then exploded upwards in a shower of white-hot sparks and shredded metal. A violent gale erupted, whipping Vahri’s hair across her face, stinging her eyes with debris. Through the new, gaping breach, a blunt wedge slammed into view. An armored assault skiff, painted in Zannet’s obsidian-and-brass livery, buried its front mag-clamps deep into the ceiling frame, wedged half-in, half-out of the speeding transit car. Its twin turbines roared, straining against the friction of the train’s rapidly disintegrating roof. Mezzo kicked through the skiff's ruptured belly hatch, swinging down one-handed while flashing yellowed teeth. “Thought you could have all the fun, Vahri? Zannet said no!” He swung his legs, then dropped onto the precarious wreckage, his landing cushioned by a pile of sparking wires. Zannet dropped straight through the split hull. He cleared the sheared framework without a tether, boots slamming into the deck plates with a hard, flat crack. His three-piece suit was powdered with fiberglass dust, his dark eyes fixed entirely ahead. He bypassed the firing line, brushing past raised muzzles and shouts as if they were wet laundry hung across an alley. His gaze, laser-focused, bypassed Vahri, bypassed Pava, and locked onto Kiron with a chilling intensity Vahri had never witnessed. “You,” Zannet snarled, his voice a low, guttural rumble that vibrated through the metal floor. “You think this is a *game*?” Kiron, startled by the sudden, unprecedented assault, reflexively tightened his grip on Pava. “Zannet! What in the —” Zannet didn’t wait for him to finish. He covered the distance in two blurring strides, a predator closing on its prey. The guards, disoriented by the hull breach, fumbled their weapon selectors as Zannet closed the distance. He didn’t use a weapon. He didn’t bother with tactical disarmament. He simply tackled the rival CEO with the raw, brutal force of a charging rhinoc. Kiron, slender and agile, was unprepared for such unhinged violence. The pistol clattered away as Zannet drove him hard into the separator drum, rattling the titanium casing. Kiron tried to retaliate, a quick jab aimed at Zannet’s midsection, but Zannet deflected it with an elbow, then drove his fist into Kiron’s jaw. The sound was sickeningly wet. Kiron reeled, blood spattering across the separator's polished enamel shell. Zannet didn’t let up. He was a whirlwind of precision strikes, each blow fueled by a rage so potent it felt like a physical force in the rattling car. “The comms,” Zannet growled, punctuating each word with another brutal strike. “You thought *that* was appropriate? Broadcasting… *implications*?” He slammed Kiron’s head against the wall, a deep thud resonating through the car. “That was a breach. A blatant violation of public image protocols. A declaration of… *ownership*.” Vahri stared, utterly bewildered. Public image protocols? Was Zannet’s unhinged violence merely his extreme interpretation of a breach-of-contract clause? Was this his way of enforcing professional boundaries, albeit with excessive force? His face, usually a mask of weary indifference, was contorted with a fury that seemed disproportionate to a simple broadcast. She watched him pummel Kiron, not even glancing at the armed guards who were now slowly, cautiously, trying to surround him. “Hey, boss!” Mezzo hollered over the howl of the skiff's dying thrusters. “Careful! This train’s getting *really* wobbly! Like, structural integrity is a suggestion at this point!” Indeed, the entire VIP car began to lurch violently from side to side. The remaining ceiling panels groaned, threatening to give way completely. Sparks rained down from exposed wiring. The brakes seized, throwing syndicate security off balance. The tracks beneath them screamed, metal grinding against metal in a terrifying cacophony. The heavy skiff, still jammed through the ceiling, acted as a counterweight that peeled the chassis apart rivet by rivet. Zannet sank one short hook into Kiron’s jaw, dropping the rival executive limp against the dented casing with split skin leaking over his cheek. He didn’t even acknowledge the armed guards who were now pointing their carbines at him. Instead, he simply straightened his suit, a small bead of Kiron’s blood on his cuff, and turned to Vahri. His emerald eyes, still blazing, met hers. “Problem solved,” Zannet stated, as if Kiron’s brutalized form was merely a minor inconvenience. Then he glanced toward the remaining guards and jerked his chin at Vahri. “Sweep the trash.” The car pitched sharply, sending Vahri stumbling. The mag-lev train was clearly derailing, the screams of tortured metal intensifying. The lights flickered, casting long, dancing shadows. Pava, now free from Kiron’s grip, cried out as a sudden jolt sent a cascade of sparking wires down from the ceiling. Vahri evaluated the line of staggered guards, then checked Kiron’s limp torso. He was bleeding, but alive. The extraction data, crucial to understanding Pava’s unique genetics and finding a cure for whatever Kiron’s syndicate intended to do with her, was undoubtedly on his person or linked to his personal bio-key. If he died here, on this rapidly disintegrating train, that data would be lost forever, incinerated in the coming wreck. But if she saved him, he would be handed over to the Ghatz Adjudication Bureau, tried in a tribunal, and likely incarcerated. An inconvenient, living enemy. Her mind raced, calculating the odds, the cost. Save the data, or ensure Kiron faced justice? The train shrieked, threatening to tear itself apart.

Unwarranted Jealousy