“Let’s see if the lazy prodigy works faster when her brother’s blood is draining into a vial.” Viktor's transmission snapped shut. The line went dead. Kazimir stood rooted, his jaw working, a muscle twitching beneath his eye. Olesia felt the shift in the air, the cold fury radiating off him like heat from a dying star. “Plans?” she demanded, not waiting for him to recover. “A tactical assault? Perimeter lockdown? What’s the protocol for a hostage situation with a ticking bioweapon?” Kazimir turned, his gaze searing, possessive. “My security teams are already mobilizing. Dmitri will coordinate an extraction. We don’t go in blind.” “We don’t have time for caution,” Olesia shot back, the words biting. “Viktor is talking about draining Yurek’s blood. That’s not a threat to wait out. That’s a countdown. Every second he spends thinking we’re debating tactics is a second Yurek bleeds.” She didn’t wait for his reply. Her eyes scanned the archives, the heavy reinforced door, the display showing the Glass Bastion’s internal schematics. A plan, desperate and raw, sparked in her mind. “Where’s the closest motor pool?” Kazimir scoffed. “You think you’re driving? This isn’t some back-alley joyride, Varga. This is a coordinated recovery operation.” “It’s my brother,” Olesia stated, her voice low, dangerous. “And you heard Viktor. He thinks I’m lazy. Let’s disabuse him of that notion.” She moved, a blur of motion, ignoring Dmitri’s startled exclamation and Kazimir’s sharp command. She knew the Bastion’s layout from the schematics she’d briefly seen. The subterranean fleet garage, ‘Sub-Level Delta,’ was two floors down. She tore through the sterile corridors, the metallic tang of fear and adrenaline sharp in her throat. Kazimir, to her astonishment, followed, his long strides easily keeping pace. Dmitri, ever the shadow, was right behind him, a comm pressed to his ear, relaying commands. “The ‘Raven’ interceptors,” Dmitri reported, his voice tight. “They’re armored to withstand light ordinance, max velocity 280 kph. Standard loadout: dual autocannons, EMP pulse array, shielded comms.” They burst into the vast, cavernous hangar. A dozen sleek, matte-black machines gleamed under the harsh overhead lights. Olesia sprinted for the nearest craft, a hulking wedge with angular armor lines, its access panel flashing red. “Biometric lock,” Kazimir said, stepping in front of her. “And keyed only to personnel with Level-4 authorization. You won’t get in.” Olesia didn’t break stride. “Watch me.” Her gaze fixed on the lock, her mind already dissecting its encrypted handshake, visualizing the data streams. She pulled a hairpin from her disheveled hair, its flimsy metal a stark contrast to the reinforced steel. She probed the port, a ghost of her former prodigy self emerging, fingers deft and steady. A faint whirring sound, then the lock clicked, green light illuminating. Kazimir stared, his eyes narrowed, a strange mix of disbelief and something akin to awe. He hadn't just lost command; he hadn't even realized how little he’d had in the first place. Olesia yanked open the heavy hatch and vaulted into the pilot’s seat. The cockpit was a maze of screens and toggles. She bypassed the ignition switch, her fingers flying across auxiliary panels, rerouting power, overriding safety protocols. The engines roared to life, a deep, guttural growl that vibrated through the floor. “Shotgun,” Kazimir declared, sliding into the co-pilot’s seat with practiced ease. His face was a mask of cold resolve, but his grip on the armrest was white-knuckled. “Dmitri, track the targets. Route a live feed to our cabin comms.” “Affirmative,” Dmitri’s voice crackled through the speakers. “Viktor's column is moving through the Veridian Industrial District. They’re making for the Old Rail Yards.” Olesia slammed the accelerator. The Raven shot forward, scraping against the wall as she wrestled it through the bay’s narrow exit. Voskgrad’s neon-drenched streets blurred past, a kaleidoscope of rain-slicked concrete and towering data-spires. Kazimir, usually calm, was tense beside her, his gaze fixed on the projected map on the main screen. “Three rigs,” he gritted out. “Armored van, two flankers. They’re moving fast.” “Not fast enough,” Olesia muttered, pushing the interceptor to its limits. She saw the convoy on the horizon, a cluster of dark shapes against the industrial smog. She had an idea, reckless and daring. “Give me access to the Raven’s network intrusion suite,” she commanded. “I need a link to their comms and telemetry.” Kazimir didn’t hesitate. He toggled a series of switches, a complex array of tools appearing on her secondary screen. “Don’t crash us, Varga.” “Relax,” she said, her pulse thumping against her ribs. “I’m not crashing us. I’m crashing *them*.” She dove into the enemy network, a digital phantom. The remote security protocols were robust, but nothing she couldn’t unravel. She located the steering hydraulics, the drive trains. A malicious smile touched her lips. She hit ‘execute.’ On the main screen, the lead escort suddenly swerved, its wheels locking, sending it careening into a concrete barrier in a screech of tortured metal. The transport behind it, unable to stop, slammed into the wreckage, crumpling like paper. The trailing car veered wildly, flipping onto its side with an ear-splitting shriek, sliding into a power conduit that exploded in a shower of sparks. Olesia brought the Raven to a shuddering halt fifty meters from the chaos. Figures scrambled from the smoking wreckage, guns drawn, disoriented. This was her chance. She threw open her door, a pistol already in her hand, stolen from the Raven’s armory. “Stay inside!” Kazimir roared, but she was already out, moving like a wraith through the smoke and debris. His own door burst open, and he followed, a sleek, obsidian pistol appearing in his hand as if by magic. Gunfire erupted, the air thick with the smell of ozone and burnt oil. Olesia moved low, using the crumpled cars as cover. A burly goon with a scarred face spotted her, his eyes wide with surprise. He pulled something from his belt—a small, cylindrical object. Thermite. Dread, cold and absolute, seized Kazimir. He froze, the scent of burning chemicals from the last gala flooding his senses, his mind trapped in a fiery loop. “Kazimir!” Olesia screamed. She saw the grenade arc through the air, heading straight for him. Without a thought, she lunged, shoving him behind a twisted chassis, her body arching over his. The grenade detonated against the barrier inches from her arm, a blinding white-hot flash. A searing pain flared on her forearm, but she barely registered it. Her pistol barked, a single, center-mass shot. The thermite-wielding goon crumpled, a hole blooming between his eyes. The remaining syndicate enforcers, shocked by the sudden turn of events, hesitated. Kazimir, shaken but roused from his paralysis by Olesia’s protective shield, fired back with brutal efficiency, his shots finding their marks with chilling accuracy. They found Yurek in the crumpled transport, bound and gagged, but alive. His eyes were wide with terror, but he managed a weak smile when he saw Olesia. His skin, however, was no longer merely pale. A faint, ethereal blue glow emanated from beneath his clothes, pulsating gently, and Olesia noticed something else: the faint, glowing blue veins she’d seen before were now more defined, more numerous, tracing intricate patterns across his exposed skin. The light was brighter, steadier. Dmitri arrived minutes later, a small team of Bastion operatives fanning out to secure the scene. He took one look at Yurek, his face draining of color. He pulled out a hand-scanner, its green light sweeping over Yurek’s body. “The mutation…” Dmitri whispered, his voice hoarse, his gaze fixed on the device. His eyes, usually unreadable, were wide with horror. “It’s completing. He’s no longer just a carrier. The genetic markers… they’ve stabilized into a fully active bioweapon. A detonation sequence is initiated. He’s a live weapon, Ozerov. He will detonate in twenty-four hours.”

Blood and Blueprints