Merritt Vancroft slammed his 'Celeste Gin' glass onto the polished synth-marble table. The crystalline chime reverberated through his private Apex Spire suite, cutting through the silence like a scalpel. Lena Quintus’s collapse wasn't a random market fluctuation; it was a targeted obliteration. His mind raced, cataloging enemies, potential saboteurs. The Dregs boy, Olis, flashed through his thoughts. Impossible. A grease monkey didn't orchestrate multi-tiered financial takeovers. Yet, Olis had stood his ground, a primal defiance in his eyes, after the Tamsin debacle. He’d even frozen Chardel assets. Olis, with help. Someone from the gutters, perhaps, who knew how to weaponize the system’s underbelly. A chilling certainty settled over Merritt. Olis was not alone. And his accomplice was a loose end that needed to be severed. Permanently.
“Locate the girl,” Merritt barked into his comm-link, his voice tight with controlled fury. “The accountant, Jia Linso. The one the Chairman used to tout as a 'Dregs success story'. Bring me everything she’s ever touched. And then… sanitize her operation.”
Hours later, a frantic ping sliced through the oppressive quiet of Olis’s basement office. His wrist-comm vibrated with an emergency broadcast from the Dregs: *Unsanctioned Civil Disturbance: Sector 7, Grid Epsilon. Vancroft Public Order Compliance deploying non-lethal deterrents.* Sector 7 was Jia’s territory. Olis didn't need to hear more. Merritt was making his move. Adrenaline burned down his forearms. He ripped off his Vancroft utility jacket, the beige fabric a symbol of his current, detested subservience.
He burst from the Zenith Tower’s service exit, a grimy maintenance hover-van idling by the loading docks. A quick snip of two wires, a hot-wire sequence he could do in his sleep, and the vehicle sputtered to life. The descent was a dizzying blur, the pristine air of the upper tiers quickly giving way to the perpetual haze of the mid-levels, then the acrid, familiar tang of the Dregs. Sirens wailed ahead, a discordant symphony of corporate oppression. He navigated the narrow, cluttered alleyways, the van’s undercarriage scraping against discarded refuse.
He rounded a corner into a chaotic scene. Three heavy-duty Vancroft tactical gunships, their reinforced hulls gleaming, had boxed in the small, unassuming building that housed Jia’s office. Flames licked at the windows of the second floor, black smoke billowing into the already smoggy sky. Squad officers, clad in charcoal-grey riot gear and brandishing sonic disruptors, were systematically smashing through the ground-floor entrance, their movements measured and deliberate. They weren’t looking for arrests; they were erasing a footprint.
Olis veered the hover-van sharply, slamming it into the side of the lead gunship. Metal shrieked. The patrol craft spun, its repulsorlift failing, before crashing against a dilapidated power conduit, sparking wildly. Before the other guards could react, Olis was out, a heavy-duty hydraulic wrench gripped in his hand. He ducked under a stun baton swing, then drove the wrench down with bone-jarring force into the exposed optical sensor of a helmeted trooper. The visor cracked, the man collapsing.
Another trooper leveled a disruptor at him, but Olis was already moving, sliding under a parked cargo crate, then surfacing at the rear of the second craft. With a series of practiced, brutal blows, he shattered the primary exhaust manifold, the craft sputtering, its engines dying with a series of wet thumps. The last transport’s pilot, unnerved, tried to reverse, but Olis had already severed the rear repulsor wiring. The vehicle tilted precariously, trapping its occupants.
“Jia!” Olis roared, ignoring the chaos around him, his gaze fixed on the burning building. He lunged for the front door, kicking through the splintered frame the shock team had left behind. Smoke choked him instantly, burning his lungs. The interior was a maelstrom of destruction—servers toppled, monitors shattered, files ablaze. “Jia! Where are you?!”
A weak cough came from beneath a collapsed section of shelving near what used to be her main terminal. Olis ripped away the debris, ignoring the searing heat. Jia, her face smudged with soot, her eyes watering, struggled to push herself up. Her arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, blood staining her work jacket.
“Merritt… he knew,” she rasped, her voice hoarse, but her eyes held a flicker of defiance. “They were looking for… the Apex Index protocols.”
Olis hoisted her over his shoulder, a primal strength surging through him. “We’re getting out.” He crashed through the back exit, emerging into a narrow alleyway just as Vancroft Public Order reinforcements arrived, sirens screaming. They weren’t here for the fire; they were here for him. He saw it in the cold glint of their visors.
He laid Jia gently in the back of his disabled hover-van, then turned to face the advancing line of enforcers. A live feed projected onto the largest building facade, showing Olis standing amidst the burning ruins, surrounded by crippled Vancroft vehicles. A pre-recorded message from the Vancroft Consortium began to play, its corporate drone voice resonating through the Dregs.
*“Citizens of Caldaris, we regret to report a severe act of civil unrest in Sector 7. Olis Kanto, an individual with known ties to Dregs radical elements, has incited a riot, resulting in significant property damage and endangering Vancroft personnel. His Apex Index has been immediately downgraded to Null-Tier status. Effective immediately, Olis Kanto is hereby legally barred from all Vancroft Consortium properties and operations. Any association with him will result in severe penalties.”*
[ALERT: Apex Index Compromised. Status: NULL-TIER. Access to Vancroft Consortium properties revoked.]
[WARNING: Target is now legally untouchable within Consortium jurisdiction. Direct action carries extreme penalties.]
The warning flashed against his retinas, sharpening his focus into cold precision. Merritt hadn't just attacked Jia; he’d cut Olis off, cornered him. He glanced at Jia, semiconscious but still breathing. Merritt’s mistake was thinking this would stop him. It only made him more dangerous.
Hours later, the acrid smell of burnt synth-plastic still lingered in the air of the Dregs medical clinic. Jia was being treated, her injuries significant but not life-threatening. Olis, his clothes torn and soot-stained, sat on a discarded crate outside, watching the perpetual flicker of the Dregs’ skyline. A sleek, black shuttle, utterly out of place, descended into the alleyway. The ramp lowered, and Tamsin Chardel, her designer gown now rumpled, her usually pristine hair slightly disheveled, stepped out.
Her eyes, once haughty, now held a desperate glint. Her Apex Index had clearly plummeted even further, leaving her visibly shaken, stripped of her usual composure. “Olis,” she began, her voice tight, “I know you did this. To Quintus, to my family…” She gestured vaguely at the clinic. “And now to yourself. But I have something you need. Merritt’s private clearance codes. His off-shore holdings, his shell corporations… all of it. I overheard him talking to his advisors after the Quintus incident, bragging about how secure his ‘dark funds’ were. I know how to get them. Get my estate back. And I’ll give you everything.”
Olis pushed himself off the crate, his expression unreadable. “You want to bargain, Chardel? For something you only have because you were listening in on your master’s conversations? You still think you have leverage?” He pulled out his phone, the Leverage app glowing with a malevolent green light. He knew Tamsin’s personal devices were still connected to her family’s compromised network, a network he now controlled. Merritt’s codes were a prize, but not one he’d negotiate for with a snob who thought she could still play the high-society game.
[TARGET ACQUISITION: Tamsin Chardel. Identified vulnerabilities: unsecured personal comms, compromised network clearance.]
“What are you doing?” Tamsin asked, a sudden fear blossoming in her eyes as the faint glow of Olis’s screen reflected in them. She fumbled for her own comm-link, but it was already too late.
[LIQUIDATION AUTHORITY ENGAGED: Forcibly extracting encrypted data from linked personal devices. Asset class: Information. Source: Chardel, Tamsin.]
[DATA EXTRACTION COMPLETE: Merritt Vancroft’s private access protocols secured. Chardel, Tamsin: All associated device access revoked. Further interaction capacity: NULL.]
Tamsin gasped, her phone buzzing in her hand, then going dark. She stared at Olis, her face paling. “You… you took it. You took everything.” Her voice was a broken whisper. Olis merely gave her a cold, empty stare. She had offered a weapon, and he had simply reached out and taken it, leaving her with nothing but the dust of her fallen pride. Her face crumbled, the last vestiges of her high-society facade shattering. The Dregs, a place she despised, had claimed her, utterly. Olis turned away, the acquired data already flowing into the Leverage system, a new target already forming in his mind. Merritt had cornered him. Now, Olis had his claws in Merritt's throat.