The frigid air, sharp with the tang of ozone and crushed greenery, swirled around Saskia. Shards of durasteel and fractured crystal glittered on the moist soil, reflecting the harsh emergency lights that flared to life across the conservatory. Anika Volland dangled precariously on her harness, her expensive jumpsuit torn at the shoulder, a crimson scratch marring her cheek. Behind her, a hulking figure in dark combat gear, a heavily modified Rylos-pattern energy rifle clutched in his gauntleted hand, descended with practiced ease. Corvo.
His visor slid up, revealing eyes like chips of flint. He landed softly, ignoring the scattered glass. “Took you long enough, Volland,” he rasped, his voice a low growl that carried over the groan of straining metal. His rifle, a black maw of coiled power, was leveled at Bram’s chest before his boots even touched the ground. Bram, still seated on the damp floor, the data-slate clutched in his hand, seemed to shrink, his gaze fixed on the weapon.
“A dramatic entrance demands a dramatic pause, Corvo,” Anika retorted, unhooking her harness with a click of expensive buckles. She straightened, smoothing her ruined attire, her eyes alight with a frantic glee. “Look at them, so perfect, so pathetic. The mute scion and his pet stray.” She pulled a comm-unit from her belt, its lens glowing a faint cerulean. “Smile for the camera, Meike. This will be an instant classic.”
Saskia pushed herself up, her muscles screaming from the sudden drop in air pressure. “Meike isn’t here anymore, Volland,” she said, her voice flat, devoid of its usual manufactured cheer. The words felt like gritty ash in her mouth. “You broke her.”
Anika scoffed, stepping closer. Her heavy, floral perfume mixed sickly with the metallic tang of the sheared roof. “And what a waste. You were almost convincing, cleaner. Almost. But you reek of the gutter. Always will.” She raised her hand, her rings glinting, and slapped Saskia across the face. The impact stung, a sharp crack in the tense silence. Saskia’s head snapped sideways, her cheek already blooming with red.
Anika laughed, a high, thin sound. “That’s it. Now cower, like the rest of your kind.” She turned the comm-unit, angling it to capture Saskia’s defeated posture, Corvo’s rifle aimed at Bram, and her own triumphant smirk. “Here, world, witness the collapse of House Vossen. The mad maid, driven to frenzy, takes out the mute heir. A tragic accident, really. So much easier than a hostile takeover.”
Saskia slowly turned her head back, her eyes, usually wide and innocent, now narrowed to predatory slits. A slow, chilling smile stretched her lips, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp. It wasn’t the cheerful, empty smile she wore for guests, or the knowing, tactical grin she used to disarm. This was something else entirely. Raw. Dark. Horrifyingly genuine. It started as a low rumble in her chest, a guttural sound that intensified, rising into a rich, terrifying laugh. It wasn’t manic, or hysterical. It was the sound of a beast recognizing its prey, of a trap springing shut.
Anika’s victorious smile faltered. The sound echoed off the high glass walls, bouncing back at them. The comm-unit, still recording, shook slightly in her trembling hand. The air, already thin, seemed to grow heavy, charged with something unseen. Anika’s gaze darted around the botanical vault, catching on the emergency vents, now hissing faintly. The usual clean, filtered air was gone, replaced by a strangely sweet, acrid scent. Air hitched behind her ribs. The laugh. Saskia’s eyes. This wasn't a maid. This wasn't even a cleaner. This was a cage, and she was locked inside with something that had shed its skin.
“You think you’re so clever, Volland,” Saskia purred, her voice still laced with that unnerving mirth. “Venting the arbor. Splintering the ceiling. Messy, but effective for a quick assassination.” She took a step towards Anika, then another, a slow, deliberate movement that made Corvo shift his rifle, raw unease crossing his hardened face. “But you didn’t just break the glass. You broke the seal. And I didn’t just lock the doors from the outside, did I?”
Anika took a stumbling step backward, her eyes wide with dawning comprehension. “What… what have you done?”
Saskia’s smile widened further, a terrifying rictus. “This isn’t just a greenhouse, Volland. It’s a Vossen bio-lab. For accelerated growth. You didn’t just open a window to the smog. You vented the localized oxygen scrubbers. And then, I pumped the room full of highly combustible, aerosolized botanical fertilizer. Your little rappelling entrance just introduced a spark. Or maybe,” Saskia’s gaze darted toward Corvo’s rifle, “a muzzle flash.”
Corvo’s face drained of color. He looked from Saskia to the vents, then to the exposed wiring hanging from the mangled ceiling, a thousand possibilities of ignition clicking into place. He swung the rifle, not at Bram, but at Saskia, a primal fear seizing him. “You’re insane!”
From a hidden alcove in the Vossen command center, Fenja, her face grim, watched the security feed. Her finger hovered over a worn, red button labeled ‘Greenhouse Purge: Ignition Override’. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, shifted between Saskia’s terrifying smile and Corvo’s panicked movements. Kobus was almost here. Bram was almost safe. This was the only way to clear the path. Her thumb pressed down.
A deep, resonant *thrum* vibrated through the tiled floor. A series of rapid *clacks* echoed from unseen igniters built into the irrigation system. Then, with a concussive *WHOOMP* that rattled the remaining glass and drove searing heat through the air, the fertilizer ignited. A controlled explosion, designed to clear the air of pests, not to kill. Not yet.
The force of the blast slammed Corvo and Anika off their feet, throwing them backward into the thick, thorny bushes that lined the walls. Saskia, anticipating the surge, had braced herself against a thick-stemmed plant, shielding Bram with her body. The air filled with a metallic tang, the smell of scorched earth, and something sickeningly sweet.
Corvo groaned, shaking his head. His rifle had flown from his grasp, landing several feet away amidst a tangle of creeping vines. He pushed himself up, his helmet cracked, his eyes burning with fury and fear. He saw Saskia, already moving, a small, ceramic pruning knife – kept razor-sharp for delicate orchid work – gripped tightly in her hand.
“You bitch!” he roared, scrambling for his lost weapon. He never made it. Saskia moved with the fluidity of water, blurring across the debris-strewn floor. She reached him before he could even properly stand, driving the ceramic blade up, precise and brutal, through the soft flesh of his throat. A wet gurgle escaped Corvo’s lips, his eyes wide, fixed on Saskia’s cold, triumphant face as he clawed uselessly at the hilt protruding from his neck.
Anika, disoriented and screaming, scrambled backward through the scorched earth and splintered flora. Her face was streaked with soot and blood, her comm-unit lost. Her desperate gaze fixated on the gaping hole in the ceiling, on the impossible drop outside. She stumbled over a broken pot, her foot slipping on a slick of fertilizer and blood. Her hands flailed, catching nothing. With a choked cry, she pitched sideways, her body careening towards the sheared edge of the conservatory wall. Her fingers, scrabbling for purchase, found only the smooth, cold durasteel frame of the opening. Her momentum carried her over the edge. She dangled, one hand clamped onto the frame, the other flailing wildly, her body swinging precariously over the thousand-foot drop into the churning, smog-choked abyss below. Her scream, raw and desperate, tore through the air. “Meike! Save me!”