“The foolish boy always had a weakness for you, Olesia,” Racz sneered, his smile widening, a terrifying vision of pure evil. “A simple neural frequency scrambler. Now, he’s just a decorative husk. And you, my dear… you’re next.” Olesia met his gaze, a carefully constructed tremor running through her frame. Her wedding gown, meant to signify surrender, suddenly felt like a heavy shroud. Her palms, slick with a fear that was only partially feigned, brushed against the hidden panel stitched into the gown’s voluminous skirt. Her thumb found the cool, ridged surface of the miniature EMP trigger. “Next for what, Valdemar?” she whispered, her voice cracking just enough. “Another wedding? Or perhaps you’ll finally just discard me like all your other broken toys?” Her eyes darted to Henrik, utterly still, his breathing shallow. The sight was a fresh wound, a blade twisting in her gut. This was no longer about escape. This was about retribution. “A new toy, I think,” Racz mused, stepping closer. His shadow fell over her, reeking of expensive cologne and old ambition. His cold fingers moved toward her chin. “One that knows her place.” His touch ignited a spark of pure, unadulterated fury within Olesia. The feigned fragility vanished, replaced by a cold resolve that hardened her expression. Her thumb pressed down on the trigger. Hard. A sickening groan ripped through the air as the opulent lights of the VIP lounge sputtered, then died. Not just the lounge, but the entire gala. The soaring ceiling of the Serpent’s Kiss, moments ago a glittering firmament, dissolved into an inky void. Outside, a collective gasp rose from the crowd, followed by the clatter of dropped champagne flutes and the rising tide of murmurs. The elegant hum of the building’s systems vanished, replaced by the chilling silence of inert machinery. Racz cried out, his hand recoiling from Olesia’s face, not in pain, but in stunned disbelief. “What in the hells—” His words were cut short by a violent, guttural gasp from the velvet chaise. Henrik’s body convulsed, a painful, spasming lurch as dormant nerve pathways flared back to life. His head snapped upright, his eyes, moments ago blank and distant, now blazing with an infernal, focused rage that pierced the sudden darkness. The frequency remote, now useless, clattered from Racz’s hand onto the plush carpet. “He’s… he’s moving!” Racz stammered, his bravado cracking. He fumbled in the darkness, groping for his comm-link, but the EMP had rendered it silent. Two hulking figures materialized from the gloom, Racz’s personal elite guards, their forms barely discernible against the deeper black of the walls. Henrik was already on his feet, a blur of motion in the near total obscurity. The raw, untamed power of his returning motor control was terrifying to witness. His movements were not fluid, but brutal, each action propelled by a barely contained force. He intercepted the first guard with a sickening crack, his fist connecting with the man’s jaw before the guard could even raise his weapon. The impact sent the man sprawling, a limp sack of bones against the wall. “Olesia! The safe!” Henrik’s voice was a ragged whisper, strained and hoarse, a sound Olesia hadn’t heard since his neural degradation began. It was a command, a desperate plea, and a shield all at once. He spun, his body an impenetrable barrier between her and the second guard, who was now lunging with a vibro-blade. Henrik parried the strike with his forearm, the blade scraping against his expensive suit, then drove his knee into the guard’s solar plexus. The man folded, gasping, before Henrik finished him with a swift, decisive blow to the temple. Olesia didn’t hesitate. She knew exactly which safe Racz would use. Along the far wall, behind a hidden panel disguised as abstract art, she located the sleek, black biometric vault. Her fingers scrabbled at the small clasp of her intricate pearl-encrusted lipstick tube. With a twist, the casing opened, revealing not a cosmetic, but a vial of concentrated acid, shimmering faintly in the ambient emergency lighting now sputtering to life outside the lounge. She smeared a thin layer of the corrosive liquid onto the biometric scanner. A faint sizzle and a wisp of acrid smoke rose from the panel as the acid ate through the organic recognition polymers. The scanner hissed, then shorted out with a shower of sparks. The heavy vault door clicked open, revealing a sparse interior. Inside, a single data chip glowed with a soft, internal light. The permanent antidote. Olesia snatched it, her heart thundering a triumphant rhythm. “Got it!” she yelled, turning back to Henrik. He was already at the door, having disabled the reinforced locks with a precision that belied his recent paralysis. The emergency lights of the gala flickered back on, weak and intermittent, casting long, distorted shadows. The sounds of chaos had shifted to a more organized panic as security forces tried to regain control. “Roof!” Henrik bellowed, his voice still raw, grabbing her hand. His grip was fiercely possessive, anchoring her. They burst through the door, sprinting past stunned and disoriented gala attendees. The grand staircase was a dizzying ascent, their footsteps echoing amidst the confusion. They raced upwards, past bewildered guests, past frantic staff, until they found the service elevator that led to the private helipad. The steel door hissed open onto a wind-whipped rooftop, the chill air biting at Olesia’s exposed shoulders. The rotating blades of their extraction chopper, a sleek black phantom, were already churning, a thrumming promise of escape. Madam Birgitta, stern and unyielding, stood by the open bay, her gaze fixed on the approaching figures. A small, almost imperceptible nod of approval crossed her lips. Just as they reached the edge of the helipad, a guttural roar tore through the wind. “You won’t escape me!” Valdemar Racz, his face a mask of contorted fury, burst onto the roof access door, a compact energy pistol clutched in his hand. He raised the weapon, his aim unsteady but fixed. The weapon spat a searing blue bolt of light directly at Olesia’s back. “Olesia!” Henrik roared, a sound of pure agony and defiance. He shoved her forward with all his remaining strength, throwing his own body into the bolt’s trajectory. The blue light struck him squarely in the chest, just above his heart. He gasped, a pained, rattling exhalation, pupils dilating in shock. The force of the impact sent him stumbling. A dark, crimson stain bloomed rapidly across his expensive shirt. His legs buckled. He collapsed onto the cold concrete, a horrifying gurgle rising in his throat. His body spasmed once, violently, then stilled, his eyes rolling back into his head, vacant and lifeless as the rapidly spreading pool of blood darkened around him. He had reached zero. His six months were over.

Blackout