Shattered glass skittered across asphalt under siren wails while Minna, strapped securely into her plated buggy, offered a gurgling approval. My daughter, three years old and utterly fearless, pointed a tiny, armored fist at the glinting apex of the Veridian Spire, thirty stories above us. “Birdie!” she chirped, mistaking the corporate logo for a pigeon. “Not a birdie, Minna,” I corrected, my voice a low rumble against the comms crackle. “That’s our target’s nest. Liro, status check.” My fourteen-year-old brother’s voice, a nervous whine, filled my ear. “Nura, you are absolutely sure this is a Class-Alpha infiltration? The manifest just says ‘High-Priority Termination: Executive Banquet’.” “Executive Banquet termination means the same thing in any language, Liro,” I retorted, adjusting the grip on my grappling claw. “It means the client wants this Hiran Gavel individual permanently removed from the dining experience. And ‘High-Priority’ implies a swift, decisive elimination. Think of it as a pre-emptive strike against future indigestion.” “Right. Indigestion,” Liro muttered, probably already patching into the building’s atmospheric controls. “Okay, Nura, air ducts on the north face are clear. HVAC system’s a direct shot to the penthouse office. I’ve rerouted the local drone patrols too, just in case.” “Good. No unwanted witnesses,” I said, extending the grappling claw. It latched onto the grimy concrete of the adjacent building with a satisfying thud. The ascent took seconds, the Krepis District sprawling beneath us like a fractured circuit board. Minna giggled as we shot upward, the treads of her reinforced buggy humming against the glass facade. At the summit sat a skylight thick with grime and wired glass. I didn’t bother with the intricate laser-cutters Liro had undoubtedly pre-rigged. A swift kick, empowered by years of delivering knuckles to kneecaps in back alleys, turned the reinforced pane into a shower of crystalline rain. The alarm system, briefly shocked into silence, gave a half-hearted chirp before Liro cut its vocal cords. “You’re in, Nura!” Liro’s voice crackled, a mix of awe and exasperation. “Just… try not to make too much noise. The client specifically requested a ‘discreet’ approach.” “Discreet is subjective,” I muttered, dropping silently into the opulent, dust-moted penthouse office. Minna’s wheels hit the parquet with a soft *thump* beside me. Recycled air conditioning carried the sour stink of stale cologne and burnt circuits. My target, Hiran Gavel, was precisely where Liro’s schematics indicated. He sat hunched over a holographic display, fingers drumming a frantic rhythm on a polished desk. Grease shone across his pale cheeks, his stare twitching toward the ceiling. He looked up, startled by the sudden downpour of glass. He dropped his chin. “Wha—who are you? How did you get in here?!” I stepped forward, Minna’s stroller rolling silently beside me. “Nura Kaddem. Apex Predator. Driver. You ordered the Scorched Earth wrap.” I extended the foil cylinder, still radiating heat, as if it were a ceremonial dagger. “Special instructions: Rapid Completion.” He glanced from the silver foil to Minna, then to my tactical harness. “The *wrap*? You broke through my fortified skylight, with an infant, for lunch? I submitted that request twenty minutes ago! I thought the listing was a joke!” “Our service is never a joke, Mr. Gavel,” I stated flatly. “The buyer specified total wipeout of the spread. That means ingestion.” “Ingestion?” He choked, rolling his swivel chair backward. “I… I’m allergic to capsaicin! I just wanted to see if the notorious ‘Apex Predator’ would actually deliver a lunch order!” “Irrelevant,” I said, cracking my knuckles. “Terms of Service clearly state no refunds for scheduled orders.” I never read the terms myself, but it sounded authoritative. [Epicurean Concierge: Attention, Courier Kaddem. The client’s dietary preferences are irrelevant to the successful completion of a High-Priority Banquet Termination. Proceed with the mandatory consumption protocol. Presentation points pending.] “See?” I said, gesturing vaguely at the air. “The System agrees. Now, are we going to do this the easy way, or the ‘I pry open your jaw and funnel it in’ way?” Hiran Gavel looked like he was about to void his expensive suit. “Wait, wait! I’ll eat it! I’ll eat the whole thing!” Minna, sensing the tension, patted my leg. “Nom nom?” “Yes, Minna. Nom nom,” I confirmed, peeling back the foil from the torpedo of stuffed masa. Pepper fumes clouded the desk, making Gavel cough. I held it out. Gavel, trembling, took a tentative bite. Tears sprang onto his eyelashes. “It’s so hot! Oh, the humanity!” [Epicurean Concierge: Warning. Courier Kaddem, the target’s consumption pace is suboptimal. The integrity of the banquet experience is at risk. Encourage more vigorous engagement.] “Vigorous engagement, Mr. Gavel,” I urged, taking a firmer grip on his collar. “Swallow. Now.” He managed another tearful bite. Liro’s voice, a horrified whisper, came through my comms. “Nura, he’s going to have a heart attack! This isn’t… this isn’t what they meant by ‘banquet termination’!” “It’s exactly what they meant, Liro,” I insisted, pushing the burrito further towards Gavel’s mouth. “Total clearing of the plate. No scraps left behind.” Minna clapped her hands, enjoying the spectacle. Gavel, defeated, began chewing in wet, frenzied heaves. His face turned a shade of puce usually reserved for overripe fruit. He finished it in a series of gasps and guttural sounds. [Epicurean Concierge: High-Priority Banquet Termination: Completed. Executive Hiran Gavel’s ‘Scorched Earth Burrito’ consumed. Performance: Acceptable. Presentation Points: Deducted by 75% for Barbaric Napkin Placement and Excessive Intimidation Tactics. However, successful termination merits bonus points for ‘Unyielding Adherence to Protocol’.] [Epicurean Concierge: Total Points Awarded: 1,850,000. New Domestic Upgrade Unlocked: The [Titanium Sippy Cup]. Description: An indestructible vessel, keeps beverages at optimal temperature for 72 hours, automatically self-cleaning, impervious to plasma fire and small-arms munitions. Perfect for discerning toddlers.] I blinked at the readout. One point eight five million credits. For one wrap. This was going to be easier than I thought. A fortified penthouse in Acheron Heights with a good school for Minna and Liro suddenly felt within reach. This gig was paying serious assassination money. “Thank you for your business, Mr. Gavel,” I said, retrieving the crumpled foil. He just lay slumped in his chair, whimpering. “Remember us for your next high-priority… dining needs.” [Epicurean Concierge: Attention, Courier Kaddem. Your next assignment requires mandatory initiation at a designated Dispatch Hub. Proceed to the ‘Garnet Spoon Guildhall’ within 24 hours to receive your next contract.] A Dispatch Hub. I’d heard the rumors. Bunkered restaurants where drivers brawled for routes. It sounded like another clear path to prove my efficiency, and perhaps collect a few more lucrative drop-offs.

The Burrito Ultimatum