Zibena didn’t flinch. She simply tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips. “Drazhan, how do you feel about a woman who knows exactly what she wants?” Drazhan Venz, ever practical, simply raised an eyebrow. “Depends on whether what she wants is to get us both dismembered by a private army, or something more… structurally sound.” His hand hovered near the sidearm tucked into his jacket, its matte polymer grip catching the city glow through cracked glass. Beyond the door, Loria’s voice turned shrill. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be! Just hand over the registry drive, and we can discuss your… *future* employment options. Perhaps a nice, dark corner of a sweatshop somewhere?” Snickering erupted from the armed squad. Zibena pulled out a burner phone, its cheap plastic casing a stark contrast to her diamond-encrusted watch. She tapped rapidly, her fingers a blur. “Oh, Loria, always so dramatic. And so predictable. Do you really think I’d allow myself to be cornered by a company that’s barely solvent?” “What are you talking about?” Loria’s voice faltered slightly, a note of uncertainty creeping in. “Just secured a rather aggressive buyout of Ironclad Solutions’ debt portfolio,” Zibena announced, still tapping. “They’re technically mine now. And given their current valuation, it was a steal.” She held the phone to her ear, listening for a beat. “Ah, yes. The new management is quite amenable. Apparently, they really don’t like being paid in exposure and vague promises of future glory.” A sudden, confused murmuring rippled through the alley. The rhythmic thudding stopped. Loria began to shriek, “What are you doing? They’re *my* men! Torgal paid them! You can’t just—” “Oh, but I can,” Zibena purred, lowering the phone. Her voice was barely above a murmur, yet it seemed to carry through the sudden silence. “And I just did. New orders, gentlemen: your previous client has defaulted. Your new client requires… a change of focus. Start with the one in the hideous scarlet gown. She’s been rather rude.” A moment of stunned silence, then the distinct *click-clack* of weapons being re-aimed. Loria gasped as boots scrambled away from the threshold. A sergeant bellowed, “Move it, lady! You ain’t on the payroll no more!” “You absolute maniac,” Drazhan muttered, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You just bought a private security firm on a burner phone to turn them on their client.” “It’s called efficiency, Drazhan,” Zibena corrected, tucking the phone away. “And a little bit of creative accounting. Now, about that hover-bike…” Before Drazhan could answer, an incandescent magenta flare lit the pavement. A deafening roar, like a synth-dragon taking flight, vibrated through the floor. The motel’s single window exploded inward, showering them in glittering shards as the monstrously armored limousine Zibena had purchased—nicknamed ‘The Pink Menace’ by Brix—screeched to a halt by the frame, its triple rotary repeaters whirring to life. “Madam Zibena! Sir Drazhan!” Brix’s frantic voice, amplified by the limo’s external comms, vibrated with a mix of terror and glee. “Brix to the rescue! I’ve taken the scenic route! Apologies for the delay, I had to ensure the custom ‘Loria’s Lament’ sound system was fully calibrated!” Through the shattered frame, the hired squad, sprinting after a shrieking Loria, froze at the sight of the hovering pink behemoth. Loria, her elaborate hairstyle coming undone, stumbled on her ridiculously high heels, dropping a collection of designer luggage bags onto the street. Without a second thought, Brix revved the limo’s engines. “Oh, excellent!” Zibena clapped her hands, eyes sparkling. “He remembered the luggage detail! Get in, Drazhan!” The Pink Menace surged forward, its massive, armored wheels crushing Loria’s couture luggage into glittering confetti. A dry crunch echoed in the alley, followed by Loria’s shrill howl as crushed calfskin and gilded buckles flattened against the tarmac. Deserted by her escorts, she kicked off broken heels and sprinted barefoot into the muck, scarlet silk whipping around her ankles. Zibena and Drazhan scrambled into the plush interior of the limo, the door hissing shut behind them. Brix, looking disheveled but triumphant, spun the vehicle into a wild U-turn. “Right! Zenith Spire, full speed ahead! I’ve taken the liberty of activating the urban evasion protocols!” “Urban evasion?” Drazhan questioned, buckling himself into the reinforced seat as the limo shot forward, leaving the chaos of ‘The Nocturne’s Rest’ behind. “Yes! Mostly involves honking loudly and ignoring traffic laws!” Brix chirped, swerving around a towering data-freighter. “Oh, look! Company!” Above them, a swarm of Venz Corp drones, sleek and black as polished void-steel, detached from the upper reaches of a skyscraper, their red optical sensors locking onto the Pink Menace. Laser fire lanced down, scoring the limo’s reinforced chassis. “Drazhan, activate the rear plasma turret,” Zibena instructed, her tone calm despite the barrage. “Brix, I want a 360-degree sweep with the sonic disruptors. Let’s make them wish they’d stayed in their charging stations.” Drazhan pulled a tactical yoke from the ceiling and aligned the reticle. “With pleasure, my chaotic darling.” A hydraulic whine shuddered through the chassis as thermal bursts tore into the swarm, dropping melted circuit boards onto the asphalt below. “Darling? We’re still sticking with that, are we?” Zibena teased, activating her own console to engage the sonic disruptors. A high-frequency hum emanated from the limo, causing the remaining drones to wobble violently before plummeting earthward. “You know, for a man who claimed to hate public displays, you’re rather fond of grand gestures.” “Only when they involve blowing things up with you,” Drazhan retorted, turning to meet her gaze, his expression softening. “It’s surprisingly… therapeutic.” They sped through the pre-dawn Veltaris, the cityscape a blur of receding neon and looming chrome. The Zenith Spire, now visible, pierced the paling sky like a diamond needle. As they raced towards its base, the first faint blush of dawn began to paint the horizon, a soft, ethereal glow against the retreating darkness. Brix skidded the limo to a halt directly in front of the Spire’s grand entrance, ignoring the blaring alarms. “We made it! Just in time for the sunrise!” Zibena grabbed the bound audit volume and checked its embossed seals. “Stay here, Brix. Drazhan, let’s go invalidate a proxy.” They burst into the Zenith Spire’s Corporate Authority office, a sterile, white space that hummed with a low, institutional drone. A lone clerk, a middle-aged woman with unnervingly still eyes, sat behind a translucent desk, already powered on and awaiting the day’s first transactions. “We need to register this immediately,” Zibena stated, sliding the hardbound dossier across the glass. “It’s time-sensitive.” The clerk picked up the documents, her fingers unnaturally precise as she examined the notarized seals. The first rays of the true sun streamed through the Spire’s panoramic windows, bathing the office in golden light. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched the clerk’s lips as she closed the book. “Understood, Ms. Kravon. The information has been processed, and Mr. Venz’s proxy vote has been legally invalidated as of this moment.” She pushed the paperwork back across the desk to Zibena. “However, I have also been instructed to inform you that due to an emergency corporate lockdown triggered by Mr. Torgal Venz himself, the Sovereign Summit… has been moved to today.”

The Petty Siege