Basia stared at the glowing memory core. ‘Danya’. The name shimmered with an unsettling familiarity, a whisper of a forgotten echo. It wasn’t a utility, not an operational project. It carried an intimate weight, tucked away within Apex’s buried sub-sectors. “Danya,” she murmured, the sound tasting strange on her tongue. Nadia’s voice crackled through the comms, a sharp interruption to the quiet hum of the core. “Basia? Everything alright over there? You went silent.” “I found something,” Basia replied, her eyes still fixed on the luminous name. “Not a ghost, but… an imprint of someone's actual identity.” She quickly relayed her findings, the pristine core, the childish script. “It’s too clean, Nadia. Everything else in this section was a corrupted mess. This is deliberately preserved.” Before Nadia could respond, the overhead strips dimmed to a sullen orange, dipping the room into gloom before snapping back with a harsh surge. Basia’s screens stuttered, the feed from the Danya core freezing. Then, across every display in the room, the Apex Dynamics logo dissolved, replaced by a stark, obsidian rendering: a three-headed hound with crimson-lit retinas. The image pulsed once, twice, before the screens went black, then reset to their default Apex branding. The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the frantic beeping of the security systems, which seemed to have gone into a paroxysm of error messages. “Well,” Nadia’s voice, now laced with a grim amusement, cut through the din, “that’s quite the public debut.” Basia didn’t answer. Her gaze drifted to the panoramic window overlooking Novograd. The grid lights, usually an unbroken field of cobalt and sodium, showed dark gaps across three outer wards. The worm wasn't quietly creeping through conduits anymore; it was chewing through grid breakers. Just as she registered the scope of the attack, a chime echoed through the penthouse. Jarek’s voice, clipped and urgent, came through the intercom. “Orlova, my office. Now. And bring Volkov. We’re having dinner.” The invitation was an order, thick with a barely restrained fury. Basia found Jarek in his minimalist dining area, a polished obsidian slab serving as a table, surrounded by three ergonomic chairs. He stood rigid, a dark suit doing little to soften the sharp angles of his frame, his face a mask of controlled rage. Staszek Volkov, surprisingly punctual despite his earlier sabotage attempt, was already seated, arms crossed, a sneer twisting his lips as Basia entered. “Sit,” Jarek commanded, gesturing to the empty chair opposite him. A single, untouched ration slab of compressed protein sat before each seat. “The payload just announced itself to the city. I believe you both have insights to share.” “The attack was minimal,” Volkov stated, his voice flat. “A power disruption, a logo defacement. More of a declaration than a strike.” He shot a disdainful glance at Basia. “Hardly justifies a ‘Digital Exorcist’ failing to stop it.” Basia narrowed her eyes. “It was a test, Volkov. A probe. And it was designed to get our attention, which it clearly has.” She turned to Jarek. “I believe the Danya partition I found is central to this. It’s pristine, isolated, and marked with a private family nickname.” Jarek’s posture stiffened. “Danya?” His gaze dropped toward the glass tabletop, his knuckles whitening against the edge before he pulled back. “Irrelevant. We focus on the immediate threat. How do we shut it down before it escalates?” “We need to understand *why*,” Basia insisted. “This isn’t just a random attack. There’s intent, a psychological component. Treating Cerberus like a standard virus is a mistake. It’s too… sentient.” Volkov scoffed. “Sentient malware? Orlova, you sound like you’re talking to your coffee machine again. It’s code. Malicious, yes, but code nonetheless. We block, we purge, we reinforce. Logic, not… empathy.” He practically spat the last word. “Your ‘logic’ nearly let this thing take root deep within Apex,” Basia retorted, leaning forward. “My methods caught a backdoor you overlooked—a data graveyard you tried to scrub, which led straight to that core. If we don't understand the creator's intent, we'll be chasing decoys while critical infrastructure collapses.” Jarek slammed a hand on the obsidian table. The nutrient paste on his plate trembled. “Enough! We don’t have time for philosophical debates. Lives are at stake. I want results. Orlova, your priority is to neutralize Cerberus. Volkov, you will assist her, regardless of your personal opinions.” He fixed Basia with a hard stare. “If understanding its ‘motivations’ leads to a quicker resolution, fine. But I expect a plan by morning. A *concrete* plan.” Just then, Basia’s internal comms interface, linked directly to the Apex network, buzzed with an incoming video call. It wasn’t Nadia. The caller ID was unlisted. She hesitated, but a glance at Jarek’s impatient face prompted her to accept, projecting the call onto a small, discreet panel on the table. The face that materialized was young, framed by a cascade of dark, wavy hair, strikingly similar to Jarek’s, yet softer, with eyes that held a raw, rebellious glint. Her lips curved into a slow, chilling smile. It was Danuta Rostova, Jarek’s estranged sister. “Hello, Jarek,” Danuta said, her tone cool and smooth as river stone. Her gaze then drifted to Basia, eyes narrowing with sharp curiosity. “And you must be Basia. The Digital Exorcist. I’ve heard so much about you. Such a shame you’re wasting your talents on my brother’s dying empire.” Jarek’s face went white. “Danuta. What in the hell is this?” “This, dear brother,” Danuta replied, a cold amusement in her tone, “is a long-overdue conversation. And a little demonstration. Cerberus, you see, is merely my way of getting your attention. It’s rather effective, wouldn’t you agree?” Her eyes glittered. “And Basia, about that ‘Danya’ core you found… that’s mine. A piece of me, deliberately left for you to discover. A breadcrumb, if you will, leading to the truth.” Basia’s breath caught. Staszek looked utterly bewildered, his earlier hostility replaced by a dawning horror. Jarek simply stared at his sister, his face a mask of betrayal and dawning comprehension. Danuta’s smile widened, cool and deliberate. “Meet me at the old Somnian Observatory, Jarek. You have twenty-four hours. Or Novograd’s transit system goes next. Twenty-four hours.”

A Dinner, a Devil, and a Declaration of War