The air in the top-floor suite thinned with a low sigh, the pressure drop a physical squeeze on Basia’s eardrums. The amber auxiliary bars cast long, jittery shadows across the minimalist furniture, turning the space into a claustrophobic cage. A sharp crack sounded from the comm panel above her terminal, then Jarek’s voice, raspy with strain, cut through the controlled silence.
“Basia? Are you there? The observatory… it was a decoy. The rogue worm locked me out.” His voice was closer than she expected, coming through the secure comm lines within the tower itself. “I’m on the floor beneath you. The high-speed car just died. Fire stairs are sealed.”
“I gathered as much, Rostova,” Basia shot back, fingers flying across her board, trying to bypass the lockdown. “I'm trapped here too. Air pressure is dropping. We have maybe twenty minutes before hypoxia sets in.” She didn't dwell on the sealed vault closing in on her.
“Uncomfortable?” Jarek’s scoff was weak, a brief spark of his usual arrogance. “It’ll be lethal. Give me a way in.”
“I’m trying to give us a way *out*,” Basia muttered, probing an unresponsive port. “The whole tower is dark. The payload isn't just scrambling files anymore, Jarek. It’s weaponizing your architecture.”
“I know,” he said, rough tension in his voice. “It’s turning the building against us. The sub-level hardline racks are our only shot. There’s a utility conduit behind the staging bay on your floor. It runs perpendicular to the primary ducts. It connects to my level.”
Basia slammed her palm on the edge of the desk. “A utility conduit? Jarek, that's industrial infrastructure. Automated perimeter drones, thermal sensors, and high-voltage baffles designed to shred intruders!”
“And you’re a Digital Exorcist, aren’t you?” His voice tightened. “Clear the route. I’m heading for the bay.”
She swore under her breath, sharp Russian syllables rattling off her tongue. Her screen lit up with diagnostics, tracing the Apex Tower’s mechanical guts. “Fine, Rostova. Get to the staging door. I’ll clear the path. Don’t touch anything that sparks.”
Minutes later, steel clanged through the floorboards. Basia routed into the internal sensor feed. Jarek’s thermal signature flared as a red marker through a dark corridor. She tripped the breakers on three perimeter lasers, the beams vanishing seconds before he charged through.
“I’m at the vertical hatch,” Jarek gasped. “Hydraulic latch is dead. The manual release is fused.”
“Stand back,” Basia commanded, injecting a voltage spike directly into the sub-circuit. Sparks showered the duct wall as the lock cracked open, revealing a dark vertical tube. “It’s unsealed. How do you plan to climb? It’s twenty meters straight up.”
“I’m resourceful, Orlova,” he grunted, the scrape of boots on rungs echoing over the line. “Rungs along the steel frame. Slow, but solid.”
For several minutes, Basia guided him past automated traps, disabling proximity sensors and cycling relays right before his boots hit each landing. The air thinned further, tasting of bitter ozone. A violent kick rattled the vent cover in the staging corner; Jarek kicked the grate free, suit sleeve ripped at the seam, collar smudged with black grease.
“You look like you wrestled a shredder,” Basia said, dry humor breaking through the strain. “Come on. We need the central elevator core. It’s the fastest route down.”
They cut across the darkened suite. The blast doors to the foyer had dropped, an impenetrable slab of tungsten-reinforced steel. Jarek stared at the seam, fists tight at his sides.
“Inspection chute right beside the hoistway,” Basia said, gesturing toward an unpainted hatch in the baseboard. “Drops straight onto the primary elevator roof. We’ll have to rappel.”
Jarek nodded once. “Better than suffocating.” He dragged a braided steel line from a safety locker, anchoring the carabiner around an exposed steel column before kicking the coil into the vertical drop. “Ladies first?” he asked, a ghost of a smirk.
“Charming, Rostova,” Basia said, gripping the line with gloved hands. She kicked off the lip and slid into the hollow pit, boots finding friction along the concrete ribs of the shaft.
She landed flat-footed on the elevator roof, metal ringing under her soles. Jarek dropped beside her an instant later. He inspected the junction box on the hoist frame. “No current. The breach severed the main feeds.”
Metal shrieked against metal three levels below. Counterweights snapped their cables with the crack of rifle shots. “Jarek, the mechanical arrestors blew on car two! It’s taking out the guide rails!”
The carriage dropped out from under their feet. A sickening zero-gravity slide pulled Basia’s boots off the roof plating. Wind roared up the hoistway, tearing her balance away as she slid toward the unguarded lip of the car.
Jarek caught her ribs in a hard clamp, hauling her flush against his chest while his free arm hooked into an overhead strut. His fingers bit into her ribs, anchoring them both as the car screamed downward on sheared friction pads.
“Hold the crossbar!” Jarek yelled over the grinding cables, hunching over her to take the brunt of the shuddering frame. The descent was sheer blur, steel sparks trailing above them like flares.
Hydraulic crash cylinders caught the chassis with an ear-splitting bang. The jolt slammed Basia onto her knees on the buckled roof. Burnt mineral oil and vaporized rubber fouled the air. Jarek peeled his fingers from the support beam, wiping away a smear of red trickling from his temple.
“You didn't drop me,” Basia breathed, checking her palms. Her balance remained precarious, but the immediate plunge had stopped. He didn’t answer right away, his breathing ragged in the dark.
Jarek unclipped a latch on the enclosure wall. “Sub-level one. The air-gapped terminal is through that blast conduit.” He pointed toward a narrow steel doorway.
They forced the hatch open into the cool, silent sub-basement. Halogen strips lit a path between rows of chilled coolant pipes until they arrived at the reinforced vault. Basia keyed her emergency cipher into the wall keypad, releasing the magnetic pins.
As the door swung open, they froze. Sitting at an isolated terminal washed in amber diagnostic screens sat Staszek Volkov, fingers clattering against mechanical switches.
“Took you long enough,” Staszek said, voice flat. He swiveled on the stool, dark circles ringed beneath his eyes. “I was locking down a backup. Sheltering it. The board planned to scrub Danya's architecture entirely—not to kill the infection, but to destroy the record of your father’s cover-up. Leverage to oust you permanently, Jarek.” He looked from Jarek to Basia. “My job is the firm. Yours is him. Right now, they aren't the same thing.”