The roar of the Vettor bomber fleet was no longer a distant threat; it was a physical presence, vibrating through the Sump-Ward's decaying foundations. The sky was an iron lid, pressed down by the colossal hulls of the armada. Rivo did not waste a glance upward. “No more blast doors,” Rivo said, his voice cutting through the rising din. “The city’s central command server. It’s in the Vettor Conglomerate’s main tower. We need to revoke their authority before those bombs drop.” Ciana, her face pale but resolute, nodded. “The Aegis Spire. Elevators will be locked down. They’ll expect us to try and force our way in. The top floors are a fortress, Rivo.” “Then we go up the outside,” Rivo stated, already moving. “Basto, get to my comm. Stay on a direct link. I’m going to need you to be faster than you’ve ever been.” Basto stammered over the speaker. “Faster than… what are you planning?” “Legal gymnastics. The kind that makes their fire-direction arrays vomit code,” Rivo said, gesturing toward Ciana’s waiting hover-skiff. “Let’s move.” Ciana expertly threaded her narrow skiff through the collapsing sections of the Sump-Ward, past crumbling bulkheads and exploding pipes, the air thick with soot and the acrid tang of ozone. The journey from the Sump-Ward’s flooded depths to the upper city’s gleaming towers was a jarring ascent, from the city’s cancerous root to its glittering, predatory crown. The Aegis Spire pierced the bruised sky, a needle of polished chromesteel and smoked glass, so tall its apex was often lost in the city’s perpetual smog blanket. Even from a distance, Rivo could see the armed patrols circling its lower sections, a nest of predatory drones. Direct entry was impossible. “Window-washing rigs,” Rivo muttered, eyes scanning the immense facade. “There.” Ciana slowed the skiff, holding it steady against the buffeting winds that tore between the skyscrapers. A series of slender, automated scaffolding tracks clung to the Aegis Spire’s exterior, designed for maintenance, not infiltration. They were currently parked halfway up the colossal structure, like dormant mechanical spiders. “They’re locked,” Ciana said, her voice tight over the skiff’s comms. “Hardwired to the building’s power grid. We’d need a bypass key, or to hotwire the central console.” “Or,” Rivo said, pulling a compact data-jack from his belt, “we make them ours.” He gripped the edge of the open skiff hatch. “Ciana, get me close. As close as you dare.” Ciana’s skill was undeniable. She nudged the skiff against the sheer face of the Aegis Spire, the metal groaning in protest as they scraped past a lower maintenance catwalk. Rivo lunged, his fingers finding purchase on the frigid iron of the staging's railing. He pulled himself aboard, the wind threatening to rip him away, the vast expanse of Gresca a dizzying, distant sprawl below his boots. [MISSION: CLAIM EXTERIOR WINDOW-WASHING RIGS (0/5)] He jammed the data-jack into a diagnostics port on the rig’s circuit console. The Chokepoint System hummed, a familiar warmth spreading through him even in the biting wind. [DEED ACQUIRED: AERIAL MAINTENANCE PLATFORM, SECTOR AEGIS-12, UNIT BETA-7. EMINENT DOMAIN AUTHORIZED.] With a jolt, the lift whirred to life. Rivo quickly brought it to Ciana’s skiff, allowing her to board. He repeated the sequence across four more cages, leaping the sheer drop each time, locking in deeds, and hauling Ciana aboard. Soon, a ladder of five scaffolding units, now bound to his deed ledger, climbed the glittering face of the Aegis Spire like an administrative siege engine. The wind howled around them, a furious, unseen entity that tried to tear them from their perch. Glass shards, whipped from higher levels, stung their exposed skin. The air grew colder, thinner. Rivo could see the bomber fleet, now a dark, churning cloud directly over the Sump-Ward, tiny specks of light already detaching from their underbellies. Time was running out. Then, a new shadow cut the gloom: a heavily armored syndicate cutter, its forward-mounted pulse cannons already cycling to life. Its insignia, a snarling griffin, marked it as belonging to the Vorlag Syndicate, sworn rivals of the Vettors, yet clearly deployed to eliminate any disruption to the Vettor’s Urban Renewal Protocol. A high-pitched telemetry lock shrieked through Rivo’s comm. “Basto!” Rivo shouted over the gale, pressing the receiver into his ear. “Now! They're acquiring lock!” “I see it!” Basto’s voice crackled through, strained and urgent. “Vorlag Syndicate… illegal airspace incursion… unauthorized weapon deployment… I’m filing every injunction I can find! Grid-wide, sector-specific, historical precedent…!” The tracking tone wavered, intensified, died for a clean second, and then blared back to life. The cutter's pilot, visible through the tinted canopy, sneered down at them. “He’s on manual override!” Ciana shouted, leveling her wrist disruptor. “This charge won't pierce that plating!” The pulse cannons flared, charging for a shot. Rivo could feel the heat on his face. He knew Basto was buying them seconds, not minutes. But seconds were all he needed. [SECONDARY OBJECTIVE COMPLETE. INVULNERABILITY PROTOCOL INITIATED (DURATION: 00:03:00).] The familiar hum settled, dense and rigid, but it would not protect the lifts beneath their boots, nor shield Ciana. He had to get inside. He looked up, past the 100th floor, to the 150th, where a vast expanse of unmarred glass shimmered, marking the penthouse levels. “Ciana, aim for that window, 150th floor, dead center!” Rivo commanded. “Full thrust! Now!” Ciana understood instantly, throwing the throttle forward. The lead rig surged upward, accelerating with a bone-jarring lurch. The cutter's acoustic tone flattened into a continuous tone. A blinding green energy bolt lanced out, striking the rig just behind Rivo. The framework bucked violently, alloy screeching, but the System’s ward deflected the blast into scattered sparks. The invulnerability was holding, but the rig was damaged. Rivo didn’t hesitate. With another surge of the rig, he was level with the 150th floor. He launched himself off the frame, flung forward on the updraft toward the glass. He hit the reinforced pane with his shoulder, a sickening crunch echoing in his ears. The glass spiderwebbed, then fractured, then shattered inward, sending a glittering rain of razor-sharp shards into the opulent space beyond. Rivo tumbled through the gaping hole, landing hard on the polished onyx floor of what was clearly the penthouse lobby. Pain flared through his ribs, a deep gash opened on his arm from a shard, and his head reeled from the impact. He pushed himself up, spitting a mouthful of blood, his vision swimming. The space held vaulted ceilings, sweeping city views through tinted panes, and lacquered gilt frames across the panels. And surrounding him, a ring of grim-faced, heavily armed men and women in the distinctive black and silver armor of the Vettor Conglomerate’s elite Praetorian guard. Their pulse rifles were raised, all aimed directly at Rivo Zann, the bloodied, ragged scavenger who had just crashed their most secure sanctuary.

Air Rights