Cadet Jaren hit the floor with a choked gasp, his body twitching. His fingers, white-knuckled, still clasped the glowing data-drive. A scarlet smear stained the polished composite floor around his head, spreading slowly. Ying, a low growl rumbling in its chest, padded forward, its sharp gaze fixed on the fallen youth. Kira Feng was already kneeling beside him, her initial shock giving way to practiced urgency. She ripped a strip from her flight suit, pressing it against the gash on Jaren’s temple. “Speak, cadet! What happened? Who did this?” she demanded, her voice tight with a drill sergeant’s intensity. Jaren’s eyes fluttered, unfocused. His lips parted, a rasping sound escaping. “The… the Director…” he managed, a wet cough shaking his frame. Blood flecked his chin. His grip on the data-drive slackened, his eyes glazing over as his body went limp. He was gone. Kira swore, a bitter exhalation. She carefully pried the data-drive from his cooling fingers. Its obsidian shell hummed with a faint blue light, displaying a single, encrypted file icon. She looked up at Baili Chen, her expression grim. “He was Vance’s aide. And he just said ‘the Director.’ This can’t be good.” Baili’s eyes, as cold and ancient as interstellar void, were already on the data-drive. His lips curled. “A mere pawn. Useful, perhaps.” He extended a hand, palm open. “Give it here.” Kira hesitated only for a fraction of a second before placing the drive in his hand. “It’s heavily encrypted. Even my console will struggle, and if it flags our location… ” “Inconsequential,” Baili cut her off. He strode to Kira’s makeshift console, a battered rig salvaged from a supply drone. He didn’t bother with the interface. Instead, he simply slammed his open palm onto the casing's fiber-optic conduit, his fingers splaying across the braided cables. Kira flinched back, startled by the sheer audacity. “What are you doing? You’ll short it out!” Baili ignored her. A surge of his internal Qi, raw and untamed, pulsed from his hand, not into the console’s power conduit, but directly into the data-lines. He wasn’t trying to hack it; he was *brute-forcing* it, assaulting the digital information with a force utterly alien to its design. The console shrieked, a high-pitched whine that resonated not just in the air, but directly into their neural implants, a sound of pure digital agony. Small sparks erupted from the unit’s vents. The blue light of the data-drive, still nestled in Baili’s other hand, intensified, then wavered violently. Kira watched, horrified, as lines of code, previously unreadable, began to scroll across the cracked screen at an impossible speed. The encryption shattered, not decrypted, but *ripped apart*. “The Starfall Tournament,” Baili intoned, reading the rapidly unfolding data. “A grand spectacle for the galaxy. The perfect cover.” His eyes narrowed further. “Project Mind-Blight. A neural frequency broadcast. To subjugate entire populations. Through the Omni-Core.” He paused, a sneer twisting his features. “This ‘Director’ dares to call this power? A pathetic imitation.” Kira’s face paled. “Mind-Blight… They’re going to weaponize the Star Network against *everyone*? During the tournament?” The implications were staggering, horrifying. “They need operational codes,” Baili stated, his gaze fixed on the struggling display. “High-level access. Director Jarlax’s personal vault.” He pushed more Qi into the casing. The shriek from the machine rose to an unbearable pitch, metal groaning, circuits popping. Kira clapped her hands over her ears, wincing as the sound scraped against her very consciousness. Ying flattened itself to the floor, a low, unnerved whine escaping its throat. The monitor flashed wildly, displaying scrambled data, then a string of highly sensitive access codes. Baili ripped his hand away, the console smoking and sparking, its internal AI likely vaporized. [ACCESS GRANTED: DIRECTOR JARLAX – OMNI-CORE ADMINISTRATIVE VAULT – CODE: 7XQ9L-RZP4K-T8W1S] The Omni-Core’s message appeared in glowing red, shimmering across their neural feeds. Baili glanced at it, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. He had what he needed. But the victory was short-lived. Suddenly, with a pneumatic hiss, a heavy blast door slammed down at one end of the maintenance corridor, sealing off their escape. Moments later, another door hissed shut behind them, plunging the narrow space into an unnerving silence. The emergency lights, usually a soft amber, shifted to a stark, warning red. The air in the confined space grew heavy, a sickly sweet scent beginning to permeate the metallic tang of the ventilation shaft. Ying let out a sharp bark, its hackles bristling, pointing its snout towards a series of fine nozzles embedded in the ceiling. A faint, almost imperceptible mist began to seep from them, catching the red light like motes of dust. Kira went rigid. She had smelled that odor before, during advanced chemical warfare simulations. “Neuro-toxin! Corrosive! It’ll eat through us in minutes!” she choked out, already tearing at the seals on a nearby emergency hazmat kit. Then, red text flared in their minds, burning across their vision: [QUARANTINE ACTIVE. PURGING CONTAGION]

Digital Torture