“Eat, or I will force-feed you.” Jezra’s smirk faltered. The sludge pulsed with an unsettling bio-luminescence. “Force-feed me? What, are you going to strap me into a high-chair, Vex? Is this the part where you mash it into a spoon and make airplane noises?” She nudged the plate with a fingertip, pushing the glowing green further away. “Look, I’m a high-performance athlete. My body runs on high-octane synth-fuel and questionable street-vendor rations, not… whatever that is.” Ozan’s gaze didn’t waver, fixed solely on Jezra. He ignored Zekal, who still stood like a statue, laser-dots painted on his chest. “The nutritional profile of your ‘synth-fuel’ is catastrophic. Your current condition is suboptimal for cellular proliferation. Consume the greens.” “Or what?” Jezra challenged, an eyebrow raised. “You’ll sick your metal buddies on me? Come on, Vex. You need me to be happy, remember? Happy incubators make happy… well, you know.” She gestured vaguely at her midsection. “The alternative involves a calibrated nutrient drip directly into your subclavian vein,” Ozan stated, his tone flat. “The process is entirely automated and will bypass your digestive system, but I assure you, it is less comfortable than mastication.” Jezra’s face twitched. A tube directly into her neck? That was a hard pass. She snatched a spoon from the plate, the metal clinking. “Fine, fine, you win. But if I spontaneously combust, it’s on your conscience.” She scooped a dollop of the viscous green and forced it down, shuddering. It tasted like concentrated swamp water mixed with regret. Ozan watched her swallow, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he turned, finally acknowledging Zekal. “You. Street-runner. What is your designation?” Zekal, released from the turrets’ lock, lowered his hands. “Zekal. And my designation is ‘temporary problem-solver’ for your current… situation.” He glanced at Jezra, a silent question in his eyes. “He’s my new consultant,” Jezra interjected, taking another defiant bite. “Expert in… network architecture. Right, Zekal?” Zekal’s lips thinned. “Something like that.” “Your services will not be required,” Ozan said, dismissing him with a flick of his wrist. “Jezra requires rest and a controlled environment. You are a disruption.” “Oh, I think he’ll be *very* required,” Jezra countered, wiping her mouth. “He’s got a talent for finding the cracks in your immaculate systems, don’t you, Zekal? We’re going to map out this entire fortress, find that trust fund lock. For… security purposes. To make sure no one else tries to ‘disrupt’ my payout.” Ozan studied them both, his eyes like two chips of ice. “Very well. But any deviation from the designated zones, or attempt to compromise internal systems, will result in immediate termination. For both of you.” He paused. “I am scheduled for a blood-filtration cycle. It will take two standard hours. Do not engage the turrets.” He then turned and exited through a hidden panel in the wall, the hiss of its closing door echoing the silence. “Two hours,” Jezra whispered, looking at Zekal, her voice low. “That’s our window. You got anything that can bypass VexCorp’s biometric encryption?” Zekal pulled a slim data-slate from his vest, its surface covered in a tangle of glowing circuit lines. “Nothing off-the-shelf. VexCorp uses a quantum-entangled encryption grid, updates every nanosecond. But I’m good at finding the backdoors. We need to map their internal network, identify the core server for the financial systems. Then we find the exploit.” “Great,” Jezra said, already moving. “You handle the tech, I’ll handle the… distraction.” She scanned the opulent room. “Where do we start?” They spent the next ninety minutes in a frantic dance. Zekal’s fingers flew across his data-slate, siphoning data streams, identifying access points, his brow furrowed in concentration. Jezra, meanwhile, scrambled up decorative plinths, vaulted holographic displays, and slapped adhesive scramblers over hidden camera lenses. The penthouse, designed for a dying CEO, held more vulnerabilities than she’d expected. She found maintenance conduits, sensor blind spots, even a rarely-used waste disposal chute that might offer an exit, if she could bypass its plasma incinerators. Just as Zekal was pinpointing the main financial server, a low, grinding thrum vibrated through the Stratos-Spire. The panoramic view outside the windows – the glittering expanse of Mekara below, the ink-black void of space above – flickered, the external shield array momentarily shimmering before going dark. “What was that?” Jezra asked, dropping from a ventilation shaft. Zekal’s data-slate flashed red. “External shield integrity: compromised. CEO override codes detected. Sabina Vex.” Before he could finish, a distant *CRUMP* rattled the spire. Alarms blared, a piercing, insistent shriek. Four figures, clad in obsidian-black tactical suits, their faces obscured by polarized visors, breached the primary hull in a shower of sparks and pressurized air. They drifted through the sudden breach, propelled by silent thrusters, thermal explosives already primed in their hands. Sabina's strike team. “Well, look who decided to crash the party,” Jezra muttered, her eyes narrowing. “Mama Vex sends her regards, I guess.” She shoved Zekal towards a console. “Get to work, Zekal! I’ll keep them busy!” The point operative, a hulking figure with a broad-spectrum energy rifle, locked onto Jezra. A thermal charge whizzed past her head, exploding against a marble pillar, scorching the surface and sending shrapnel whistling by. Jezra flung herself into a dive, rolling behind a plush synth-leather sofa, using its surprisingly dense material as cover. “Nice try, shiny boy!” she yelled, peering over the top. “But I’ve dodged worse from drunk hover-cab drivers!” The assassin fired again, tearing through the sofa. Jezra sprang up, scrambling onto a wall-mounted display, her fingers finding purchase on the fine filigree. She ricocheted off a zero-G training dummy, twisted mid-air, and landed on an overhead gantry, just as another blast blew a hole where she’d stood a second before. “You’re slow!” Jezra taunted, grinning, despite the icy fear that coiled in her gut. “I bet I can get to that comms console over there before you can even reload!” She pointed to a terminal across the vast chamber. “Twenty-to-one credits says you can’t hit me before I touch it!” The shooter hesitated, a fractional pause in his attack, tempted by the challenge. That was all Jezra needed. She launched herself across the gaping space, a human projectile, arcing towards the console. But before she could reach it, a new presence exploded into the room. A flash of silver, a metallic *thunk*, and the point operative's head sheared clean from his neck, tumbling in the zero-G as blood bloomed in the depressurizing air. Ozan Vex stood there, his cybernetic arm extended, a brutal, serrated blade dripping with viscera. His face was pale, strained, but his eyes burned with a primal ferocity. “You are not to be touched,” Ozan rasped, his voice raw, his body swaying slightly. The blood-filtration cycle was clearly incomplete, but his protective instincts had overridden his physical limitations. The remaining two recovered quickly. One raised his rifle, but Ozan closed the distance, disarming the man and breaking his neck with a wet snap. The other tried to deploy a stun-net, but Ozan’s blade cleaved through mesh and ribcage alike. Just as Ozan dropped the third infiltrator, damaged viewport seals finally gave way. The primary hull groaned, then blew out. The Stratos-Spire’s oxygen whipped into the open sky, dragging loose fixtures and the severed bodies out toward the neon abyss. “Atmospheric breach!” Zekal yelled, still hunched over his data-slate. “Main sector decompression!” Ozan didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Jezra by the arm, his grip like steel, and dragged her towards a thick, reinforced bulkhead. Zekal, seeing the venting atmosphere, scrambled after them. With a guttural roar, Ozan slammed a palm onto a retinal scanner beside the door. The bulkhead hissed open, revealing a small, austere room, designed for survival. He shoved Jezra and Zekal inside, then pressed a glowing crimson panel. The heavy door groaned shut, sealing them off from the rapidly decompressing penthouse. The air-pressure inside the panic room stabilized, a stark contrast to the swirling chaos outside. Jezra stared at the solid wall, her chest heaving. “Well, that was a lovely Mother’s Day surprise.” Suddenly, a holographic projection flickered to life on the panic room’s main monitor. A woman’s face, sharp and regal, with eyes that held the cold glitter of a predator, appeared. Sabina Vex. She smiled, a chilling, devoid-of-warmth expression. “Ozan, my dear boy. Always so dramatic.” Her gaze shifted, fixing on Jezra. “If the incubator won’t suffocate, I’ll just have to burn the spire down.”

Mother's Day