The mechanical thuds of the mag-locks sealing the ballroom doors vibrated through the floor, a low, guttural growl that made the champagne flutes on the nearby tables shiver. Panic rippled through the Gala. I saw the flash in Urriaga’s eyes, the dismissive wave of Sarratea’s hand. They weren’t locking people *out*; they were locking us *in*. And Nerea, that infuriatingly simple farm animal, had somehow detected it. My carefully constructed plans, once again, teetered on the brink of collapse.
But this time, I had a counter-move. This time, her rustic charm wouldn't save her.
I pivoted, my silk gown swirling around my ankles as I moved with practiced grace, a predator navigating its hunting grounds. The VIP lounge, an antechamber of hushed conversations and exclusive deals, offered precisely the controlled environment I needed. Nerea was already there, her back to me, examining a display of vintage holographic projectors, completely oblivious. Or so I hoped. Her watch had indeed pinged earlier, a faint, almost imperceptible chime that only *my* modified ear-cuff, tuned to Valcasta’s proprietary frequencies, could detect. She had found something, something important enough to make the conspirators act.
“Nerea,” I purred, my voice a delicate instrument of calculated condescension. She turned, her smile unwavering, a glass of something frothy in her hand. “Idoia! The *pintxos* here are divine, have you tried the caramelized onion and foie gras croquettes?”
I allowed a thin, brittle smile to grace my lips. “Charming as ever, Nerea. But I believe we have more pressing matters than regional delicacies.” I gestured to a secluded booth lined with plush crimson fabric, shielded by frosted glass panels. “A private discussion, if you please. Heir to heir.”
Her bright eyes scanned the room, then lingered on the security cameras positioned in the corners. A spark of something – not fear, but a peculiar calculation – crossed her face before she nodded, still beaming. “Of course, cousin! Lead the way. I’m quite parched from all this excitement.”
Inside the recess, the ambient music softened to a barely-there murmur. The air, already thick with the scent of expensive perfume and old money, seemed to grow heavy. I reached into my clutch, my fingers closing around the sleek, obsidian compact mirror. It wasn’t for adjusting my lipstick. Its true purpose was far more disruptive. “You know, Nerea,” I began, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “this entire arrangement is rather… inconvenient, wouldn’t you agree? For both of us.”
She tilted her head, her expression one of genuine curiosity. “Inconvenient? Oh, I suppose it is a bit of a rush, isn’t it? I’m still trying to figure out where the good goat cheese is stored in this place.”
“Indeed,” I replied, my thumb gliding over the compact’s discreet activation stud. A faint, almost inaudible hum filled the tiny space. “But perhaps we can simplify things. Prevent all this… unpleasantness.” I extended the compact, its reflective surface momentarily blinding, aimed directly at her chest. A micro-EMP burst, precisely calibrated to fry personal electronics within a three-meter radius, shot forth.
Nerea blinked, her smile faltering for the first time. Her smartwatch, a clunky, functional thing that looked utterly out of place with her gown, went dark. The screen on her handheld terminal, which she had been nonchalantly tapping with her thumb, stuttered once, then died. Her jaw parted, genuine confusion finally breaking through her cheerful facade. “My watch! And my terminal! What did you do?”
“A small precaution,” I said, relishing the moment. “Now, without your… farm toys, we can have a truly honest conversation.” I pulled out a data-slate and a digital stylus, pre-loaded with a simple one-page document. “This is a simple relinquishment of claim. You sign, you walk away with a comfortable stipend, and I secure my rightful place. No Dead Man’s Switch, no corporate wipeout. Everyone wins.”
Her gaze dropped to the data-slate, then back to me. The cheer was gone, replaced by a stillness I hadn’t seen before, a hard edge to her usually soft features. “You knew about the Dead Man’s Switch?” she asked, her voice quiet, stripped of its usual melodic lilt.
“Naturally,” I scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “It was a contingency against the Solstice faction. My grandfather was paranoid, even in his final days. A theatrical flourish, nothing more. But now, with your… unexpected arrival, it’s become a nuisance.”
Before I could press the point, the double doors of the VIP lounge, mirroring the ballroom’s main exits, shuddered and then *clanged* shut with an unnerving finality. The frosted glass panels of our recess shimmered, then went dark, indicating a full lockdown. My carefully orchestrated coup had just been interrupted. Again.
Footsteps, heavy and numerous, echoed from the other side of the glass. The low hum of mag-locks gave way to the metallic *clack-clack* of assault rifles being readied. I cursed under my breath. Urriaga, Sarratea, Arruabarrena… they were moving faster than I’d anticipated. They were locking *me* in, too.
Three figures emerged from the gloom, their faces obscured by tactical masks, rifles held steady at their shoulders. Black combat suits, Valcasta Security’s elite PMC division, ‘The Iron Gauntlet.’ These weren’t ordinary guards. They were highly trained, ruthless. And they were here for both of us.
“Urriaga’s impatience is truly… inconvenient,” I muttered, my plans dissolving into chaos. I turned to Nerea, cold alarm piercing my arrogance. “This wasn’t part of the plan. They’re after both of us.”
Nerea didn’t respond. Her eyes were no longer wide with surprise. They were sharp, focused, like a predator spotting prey. Her hand, which had been idly resting on the edge of the cushioned bench, moved with a blur. One of the Iron Gauntlet fighters, a burly man with a distinctive cybernetic arm, lunged towards our nook, his rifle rising. He was fast, trained to incapacitate.
Nerea was faster. Her champagne glass, still in her other hand, whipped through the air, shattering against his helmet with a concussive *CRACK*. Before he could even register the impact, she was on him. She didn’t dodge or parry. She met him head-on, her movements economical, brutal. A twist of her wrist, a shocking *snap* that echoed in the confined space, and his rifle clattered to the floor, his arm hanging at an unnatural angle. A choked cry escaped his lips, muffled by the mask.
The second guard, momentarily stunned, raised his weapon. Nerea was already there. She used the first guard’s body as a springboard, launching herself into the air. Her foot connected with the second guard’s jaw in a sickening *thud*. He collapsed, his head hitting the floor with a wet smack, unconscious before he even hit the ground. His rifle skittered away, stopping at my feet.
The third guard, clearly the leader, recovered instantly. He moved with cold precision, his rifle aimed for a kill shot. I gasped, a useless sound. Nerea, however, didn’t flinch. She grabbed me, yanked me forward, and shoved me hard against the frosted glass, using my body as a shield. The shooter's round went wide, embedding itself in the padded wall with a furious *thwick*.
Her grip on my arm was like a vice, surprisingly strong. My cheek pressed against the cool glass, ribs aching with each frantic pulse. “Stay down, Idoia,” she barked, her voice low and gravelly, utterly devoid of its usual lightness. Her eyes, inches from mine, burned with an intensity that made the chill of the glass feel like a distant memory. This wasn’t the airhead farm girl. This was something else entirely.
“What… what are you doing?” I stammered, my carefully cultivated composure shattering around me. “You… you just saved me.”
Nerea didn’t spare me a glance. She was already assessing the remaining soldier, her stance coiled, ready to spring. “Of course I did, you idiot,” she hissed, pulling a small, thin blade from a hidden sheath on her thigh. It glinted under the dim emergency lights. “You have the biometric key for the 99th floor. I can’t let those vultures wipe the Valcasta empire and take everything. And I *definitely* can’t let them kill you before I get it.”
My mind reeled. The Solstice faction. The acceleration protocols. My grandfather’s paranoia. The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity. “The Dead Man’s Switch… they’re activating it early, aren’t they? They want to erase everything.”
“Worse,” Nerea grunted, ducking beneath a sweeping rifle butt. She kicked his knee, making him buckle, then delivered a brutal elbow strike to his temple. He went down, a heavy thud, his rifle skittering across the polished floor. She straightened, breathing heavily, but her eyes never lost their fierce focus.
She reached into her gown’s hidden pocket, retrieving a small, flat device. Not her terminal, not her watch. This was something else, something I hadn’t seen. She tapped its surface. A low *BEEP* sounded, then another. Her smartwatch, lying dark on the seat cushion, snapped back to life. The screen glowed, bright and urgent.
Her eyes narrowed as she read the display. A cold, dread-filled certainty settled in my stomach. The air in the opulent lounge, now littered with unconscious guards and shattered glass, grew impossibly still.
“Well, this is just great,” Nerea muttered, her voice laced with grim amusement, the last vestiges of her airhead persona completely gone. She held up her wrist, and the glowing numbers on the watch face were stark, undeniable, and utterly terrifying.
`00:12:00:00`
Twelve hours. Not fourteen days. Twelve hours until the entire Valcasta empire vanished into the digital void.