The squad captain, a woman with a brass ocular socket welded to her cheekbone, stepped forward. "On your knees, scavenger. You're trespassing in a restricted zone of the Vettor Spire. State your purpose, or be liquidated." Her squad advanced, a tight, disciplined formation, their weapons steady. Rivo, still bleeding from his arm and ribs, wiped a fresh smear of blood from his lip with the back of his hand. He grinned, a feral, pain-laced expression. "My purpose? I'm here to evict you." He lunged, not at the captain, but at the nearest enforcer. His body, hardened by years of Sump-Ward brawls, was a weapon. He smashed his elbow into the soldier's helmet, twisting the man's arm and yanking the pulse rifle free. He didn't know how to use it, but it made a satisfying, heavy thud against the next guard's visor, buying him a precious second. "Rivo! To your left! Vent shaft 4-gamma!" Ciana's voice, crackling with static, burst from his comm-bead. She must have still been on the window-washing rig, observing, directing. "That duct leads to the utility trench above the mainframe array! It's an old service path!" Rivo didn't hesitate. He dropped the pulse rifle, a useless lump of tech in his hands, and sprinted, weaving through the startled guards. A laser bolt scorched the air inches from his ear. He threw himself at the wall, a sheer surface of polished granite. The vent shaft, a barely visible seam, was higher than he anticipated. He scrabbled for purchase, his fingers tearing at the smooth stone. Rifle pulses stitched scorch marks into the drywall around him. He needed an edge. "[Eminent Domain Authorized: Upper-Left Corner of Vent Shaft 4-gamma Access Panel. Deed ID: SVT-2099-03-A]." The System's voice was a cold comfort. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer briefly outlined a small, recessed panel. Rivo slammed his hand against it, the force of his impact cracking the granite. The cold prickle of registered title settled beneath his nails. With the micro-deed claimed, the System's power asserted itself. The flush hatch buckled inward with a metallic shriek, peeling open just wide enough for his ribs. Rivo shoved himself through, ignoring the fresh scrapes. He heard furious curses below as he squeezed into the dust-choked ductwork. He crawled, relying on Ciana's frantic, whispered directions. "Left at the junction! Then three pipes down, the blue-lined sleeve! That feeds into the vault's maintenance floor! Look for a bypass plate masked as a cable cover!" The air grew colder, hummed with a deep, pervasive thrum of machinery. Rivo could feel the tremor of the massive data banks below. He found the blue-lined sleeve, his torn tunic snagging on rusted rivets. He emerged into a narrow, dimly lit service tunnel, overlooking a vast, chilled chamber. Below him, racks of humming processor banks stretched into the gloom. He dropped silently, landing with a soft thud on the reinforced floor. The pressure plate Ciana mentioned was there, a dark, unassuming square set into the polished durasteel. He took a single, bloody step towards it. A voice, calm and deep, echoed through the chamber. "Quite resourceful, Zann. Even for a sewer rat." Rivo spun. Standing between him and the server array, flanked by two more Praetorians, was a man in an impeccably tailored, dark-grey suit. He had Ciana's sharp eyes, but his expression held a weary, predatory intelligence. Vettor Conglomerate's managing director, the eldest sibling she meant to ruin. "You've caused us considerable inconvenience," the director said, taking in Rivo's torn rags. "The 'Urban Renewal Protocol' is now fully engaged. The bomber fleet is already over the Sump-Ward. Even if you reached that console, you wouldn't be able to stop it. Too many redundancies. But I'm a pragmatic man. There's a way out for you." The director closed the distance, smoothing his silk lapels. "Ten billion credits, Zann. In a secure off-world account, untraceable. Total immunity from all current and future charges, a clean record. A penthouse in the Azure Spires, untouched by the Sump-Ward's decay. Your entire family, if you have one, moved to an orbital resort. Walk away. Now. Let us clean up your little mess, and live like a king. More than you could ever dream of, even with your chokepoint scheme." The offer hung in the cold, humming air. Ten billion. More money than Rivo had ever seen, more than any man from the Sump-Ward could even imagine. A life of unimaginable luxury, freedom from the constant struggle. Every starved impulse in his gut prodded him to seize the payoff. He could disappear, safe, rich, untouchable. But then he remembered the faces of the Sump-Ward, the people he knew, the children starving in the rain, the choke-tax levied on every breath of recycled oxygen. And he remembered his own vow: to bankrupt them, to buy *their* spire, to evict *them* onto the streets. To accept this offer would be to become just another cog in their machine, another successful scavenger absorbed into the very tyranny he fought. Rivo spat on the polished floor. "Keep your dirty credits, Vettor. I'm taking your whole damn building." He barreled past the stunned director, ignoring the two bodyguards leveling carbines. His bloodied hand slammed down on the pressure plate, his foot stepping onto the exact tiles Ciana had described. "[Transfer Complete: Absolute Ownership of Control Node: VET-PRIME-CEN-001. All Subsidiary Authorizations Revoked. Full Access Granted]." A blinding flash of emerald light erupted from the floor tiles, momentarily overloading the chamber's lighting. The hum of the servers shifted, a deep, resonant tone replacing the mechanical drone. On a massive holographic display dominating the far wall, a real-time map of Gresca flickered. Hundreds of tiny red dots, the Vettor bomber fleet, were directly over the Sump-Ward. The first impacts shuddered through the Spire. A dull, distant thud, then another, louder. The bombs were dropping. Rivo, his entire body screaming with pain and exertion, stood before the command terminal. The screen glowed, displaying the devastating sequence. His bloody finger hovered over the flashing 'ABORT URBAN RENEWAL PROTOCOL' button. Behind him, the conglomerate heir stood rigid, watching his family's central deed slip irrevocably away.

The Server Room