Nerea adjusted the small comms-link behind her ear, the thin wire almost invisible against her skin. The rooster, perched on Bixente’s shoulder, let out a soft ‘*bok-bok*’ of encouragement. They stood in a service stairwell, forty floors below the elusive Level 99, the air smelling faintly of ozone and forgotten cleaning supplies. The plan was simple: breach the 40th-floor security hub, map its internal network, and find a clearer path to the top. Simplicity was Nerea’s preferred method, often because it left more room for improvisation.
“Remember the protocol, Bixente,” Nerea whispered, checking the holographic overlay projected from her wrist unit onto her palm. It displayed a simplified blueprint of the floor above. “Infiltration. Information. Extraction. No unnecessary… *enhancements*.”
Bixente, his broad shoulders straining the seams of a hastily acquired Valcasta maintenance uniform, stroked General Pecks. “Understood, Nerea. Just gatherin’ the info, like a good badger sniffin’ out truffles. No need for the ‘Scythe of Somport’ today.” His hand instinctively brushed the long, gleam of an alloy pronged fork handle hidden beneath his oversized tunic.
Nerea sighed, a familiar, fond exasperation. “Just… try not to make anyone scream unless it’s absolutely necessary for our survival, okay?”
“No promises there, Nerea. Some folks just got a screamin’ kind of face.”
Ignoring her sidekick, Nerea tapped her wrist comm, and a section of the steel door leading to the 40th-floor walkway shimmered with a heat signature, highlighting a recessed panel. Her fingers, nimble and precise, danced over the keypad. A soft *hiss* confirmed the lock’s disengagement. They slipped into a plush, fluorescent-lit passage, silent as mountain mist. The hallway was lined with sleek, dark wood panels interrupted by occasional digital art installations that cycled through abstract, shimmering patterns.
Further down the hall, a guard in a crisp, charcoal uniform stood by a heavy durasteel door marked 'NETWORK OPERATIONS – RESTRICTED ACCESS.' He wasn’t alone. At his feet, a small, fluffy cyber-corgi with chrome-plated paws and bright, LED eyes whined softly, nudging its nose against the guard’s boot. Its tail, a whirring, articulated stub, wagged with robotic enthusiasm.
Nerea’s focus, previously razor-sharp on the guard’s patrol patterns, immediately dissolved. She grinned, leaning forward with sudden, bubbling interest. “Oh my goodness,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, though it might as well have been a shout in the otherwise silent passage. “Bixente. Look. *Look* at its little chrome paws! And its tail! Is it wagging? It’s wagging! It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in a corporate fortress!”
Her feet, seemingly of their own accord, began to move. One step, then another, a light, almost skipping motion towards the adorable, unsuspecting mechanical canine. The comms-link in her ear buzzed with Bixente’s panicked hiss. “Nerea! The mission! Remember the protocol! No cute distractions!”
But Nerea was already halfway there, a wide, beatific smile on her face. “Who’s a good boy? Is it you? Yes, it’s you!” she cooed, crouching down, her hand outstretched. The cyber-corgi, sensing an admirer, let out a series of happy, electronic barks, its LED eyes blinking rapidly. The guard, startled, spun around, his hand flying to the stun baton at his hip.
Meanwhile, in the dimly lit security monitoring room on Level 12, Idoia Valcasta watched the live feed with a chilling smile. Her manicured finger tapped a button on her comms panel. “Well, well, the little mountain mouse has wandered into the cheese trap,” she purred, her voice dripping with venomous satisfaction. “She’s on the 40th floor, near Network Operations. Dispatch Alpha Squad. Non-lethal force authorized. I want her *humiliated*.”
Back on the 40th floor, the guard had his stun baton raised, his brows knit tight. “Ma’am, you’re not authorized to be here. Step away from the unit.”
The chrome canine nudged Nerea’s hand with its cold nose. “A collar tag? Sparky?” Nerea giggled, scratching behind its tiny, articulated ear. “That’s such a perfect name for a good boy like you!”
Just then, the heavy durasteel doors at both ends of the hall *whooshed* open, revealing six figures in tactical gear, their faces hidden behind dark visors. Alpha Squad. They moved with predatory efficiency, stun rifles raised, converging on Nerea and the bewildered guard.
“Oh, *poop*,” Nerea muttered, finally looking up from the mechanical pup. “That doesn’t look friendly.”
“Didn’t I tell ya, Nerea?” Bixente’s voice rumbled from behind her, laced with a mix of exasperation and grim readiness. He launched himself forward, the three-pronged tool flashing as it cleared the confines of his tunic. The tines, honed to a razor edge, glittered under the harsh fluorescent lights. “Some folks just got a screamin’ kind of face!”
The first two members of Alpha Squad barely registered the blur of motion. Bixente swept low, catching the shin of one with the blunt iron crossbar, sending him sprawling with a yelp of pain. The other received a swift, unexpected punch to the helmet, his visor cracking. The rooster, with a furious squawk, launched himself from Bixente’s shoulder. His sharp talons found purchase on the optical implants of a third guard, ripping them clean out with a shower of sparks and a guttural scream.
Chaos erupted. Stun blasts ricocheted off the polished walls. Bixente, now fully engaged, spun his tool like a seasoned farmer clearing overgrown brambles, its reinforced shaft whistling through the air. One guard’s stun rifle was neatly impaled on a tine, another found himself disarmed with a flick of the wrist. General Pecks, a feathered terror, pecked ferociously at anything glowing or shiny, causing more panicked shouts.
Amidst the pandemonium, Nerea didn't miss a beat. Her initial distraction evaporated, replaced by a laser-like focus. “Good job, Bixente! Keep ‘em busy!” she yelled, already pivoting towards the heavy durasteel door of the Network Operations hub. The original guard, forgotten in the melee, stared open-mouthed, his stun baton still uselessly raised.
Her wrist screen projected an interface directly onto the door’s biometric scanner. Her fingers flew, a blur of motion over the virtual keyboard. Lines of code scrolled, green text against a black background, as she bypassed the primary lock, then the secondary encryption, her cheerful hum surprisingly steady. The sounds of clashing alloy and squawking fury faded into background noise as she tunnelled into the system.
A sharp *click* echoed through the suddenly quieted hall – Bixente had managed to incapacitate the remaining squad members, leaving them groaning on the floor. General Pecks strutted triumphantly over a shattered optical implant.
“Door’s open!” Nerea announced cheerfully, pulling it wide. “And look what I found!”
Her smartwatch displayed a small, innocuous log file, buried deep within the door’s access history. It wasn’t a security vulnerability, but a record of a recent, very specific unlock. `ACCESS GRANTED: VALCASTA SPIRE - LEVEL 99 ELEVATOR KEY (BIOMETRIC).` `USER: IDOIA VALCASTA.`
Nerea’s smile faltered, just for a moment, replaced by a thoughtful frown. Level 99. The master terminal. And Idoia had the *only* key. This wasn’t just a climb anymore. This was a direct confrontation.
“Well,” she murmured, patting the robotic pup, who had wisely retreated behind the original guard. “Looks like someone has a secret elevator pass.”