Gunfire crackled through pulverized drywall as Dr. Niran's squad swarmed into the reinforced chamber. Kriton slumped against the bulkhead, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could not reconcile the mouse who used to water his desk ferns with the woman now crouching over Chatri. "Secure the targets!" a squad leader barked through a matte-black respirator. Oraya didn't look up from Chatri. Her fingers pressed into Chatri's carotid artery. A tiny shudder ran along her knuckles, followed by a guttural hum vibrating through her teeth. Kriton had heard that sound only once before: when copper wiring tangled around a miniature juniper. Oraya wrenched the remaining veil mesh away. Silk threads snapped, scattering plastic beads across the tile. Her stare stayed fixed on the floorboards, cheeks mottled pink, yet her shoulders locked rigid under the rumpled blouse. “You… you can’t possibly…” Kriton began, his voice cracking. He still couldn't put the pieces together. The gentle Oraya he knew wouldn't hurt a fly. These were heavily armored killers bearing Dr. Niran's corporate crest. Oraya ignored him and stood, avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room. Crimson targeting lasers crawled across her oversized cardigan. She blew out a tiny puff of air, shoulders hunching at the sheer prospect of small talk. She reached into her skirt pocket and withdrew a dense sheaf of vellum documents. Kriton recognized the embossed gold margins: the deed bonds from his dissolved corporate holding firm. Heavy, rag-pressed cotton sheets with foil-stamped edges. The lead soldier stepped forward with raised composite plating. Oraya slid half an inch left. As his boots skidded on loose drywall, her wrist snapped. An origami-creased deed slip whistled across the gap. The foil edge drove between the hinge plates of his elbow brace, severing the tendon with a wet thwack. The man bellowed, his assault rifle clattering against the concrete. “Don’t touch my friend,” Oraya mumbled, her voice barely a whisper, yet it cut through the din of the panic room with chilling clarity. The remaining gunners paused. Oraya flicked two more folded folios. The rigid bond stock slashed through ballistic fabric, lodging behind two kneecaps. Both men crashed down with hoarse screams as joint fluid seeped onto the linoleum. Kriton slumped against the cabinet. She was dismantling an elite strike unit with the liquidation paperwork from his bankrupt retail conglomerate. Her elbows tapped nerve bundles; wrists torqued ceramic armor off its hinges. Fibulas snapped like dry kindling. Within twelve seconds, all twelve heavily armored figures lay twisted across the tile in tangled groans. Oraya stood among the wreckage, clutching a final pristine page of Thamrong Enterprises stock, her forehead entirely dry. Kriton’s mind, reeling from the display, suddenly latched onto a new, terrifying, yet exhilarating thought. *This* was his chance. With *her* power, *his* business acumen… they could be unstoppable. "Oraya!" Kriton scrambled upright, stepping over an unconscious rifleman. "Darling! I see the strategy now! With your... methods, and my visionary leadership, we can seize the entire municipal council! We can take over the Spire together! Think of our margins!" He babbled on, fueled by a sudden, desperate surge of avarice and misplaced affection. He pictured them, seated at the head of a massive conglomerate, his vision, her… *unique* problem-solving skills. The perfect synergy. Oraya shrank back slightly, flinching at his loud volume. She stepped between the groaning casualties, her gaze locked strictly on his collarbone. She reached into the pocket of her oversized scrubs. Kriton braced himself for a kiss, perhaps a declaration of renewed devotion. Instead, she produced a roll of heavy surgical strapping tape. Before he could pitch another joint venture, she wrapped four tight layers around his jaw and skull, sealing his lips beneath industrial zinc oxide. He struggled, making muffled noises of protest, but she held him firmly, her grip unwavering. She even patted his head once, a gesture so dismissive it infuriated him, yet he couldn't speak. Just as Oraya turned back to Chatri, a cold, smooth voice echoed through the emergency comms system, overriding the static. Dr. Niran. “Well played, Oraya. You always were… thorough. But I wonder, how thorough are you with structural engineering? My team has rigged the Vermilion Spire. Every primary load-bearing beam, every vertical support. An entire city block, Oraya. Thousands of lives. All gone in a flash. Sign over the Vorapat master seal, or watch your precious Spire crumble.”

Face-Slapping with Stock Certificates