STATIC RUN-6
THE ARCHIVE RAID
Forty-eight hours later, they stood outside JinTech’s Central Data Vault in the Middle Spiral.
The building rose twelve stories—sleek glass and steel that reflected the neon glow of surrounding corporate towers. Security checkpoints at every entrance. Cameras tracking every angle. Armed guards in JinTech uniforms patrolling the perimeter with military precision.
It was a fortress designed to keep people out.
Which made it exactly the kind of place the crew specialized in breaking into.
Ripley stood in the shadow of an adjacent building, rain soaking through her jacket. Her cybernetic hand flexed unconsciously. Servos whined softly.
“Comms check,” she said quietly.
“Declan here.” His voice was clear and confident. “These gonks won’t know what hit them.”
“Nyx here.” A pause. “I’m jacked in. I can see everything. Cameras, security feeds, access logs. You’re all clear for now.”
“Briggs here.” The rumble of his voice was steady. Calm. “In position at the service entrance. Ready when you are.”
Ripley took a breath. “Remember the plan. Declan gets us in. Nyx keeps security blind. Briggs holds the line. I grab the files. We’re in and out in twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes,” Declan repeated. “Plenty of time for me to charm some gonk security guards and ruin JinTech’s entire day.”
“Stay focused,” Ripley said.
“I’m always focused darling. It’s part of my charm.”
Despite everything, Ripley almost smiled.
“Nyx, what’s our window?”
“Guard rotation happens in ninety seconds. After that, you’ve got a three-minute gap before the next patrol. Declan, that’s your opening.”
“Preem.” Declan’s voice shifted—less playful, more professional. “Going in.”
DECLAN’S CON
Declan adjusted his tie and walked toward the front entrance like he owned the building.
He wore an expensive suit—tailored, perfectly pressed, the kind that screamed corporate executive. His hair was styled. His shoes were polished. In one hand he carried a leather briefcase. In the other, a tablet displaying forged credentials that Nyx had spent six hours perfecting.
He looked exactly like someone who belonged here.
Two guards stood at the entrance—both human, both armed, both wearing the kind of bored expression that came from standing in one place for eight hours.
Declan approached with confident strides.
“Evening, gentlemen.” His smile was warm. Disarming. “Marcus Chen, Strategic Operations. I’m here for the quarterly audit review.”
The first guard—older, with gray at his temples—glanced at Declan’s tablet. “We weren’t notified about any audit tonight.”
“Of course you weren’t.” Declan’s tone suggested this was perfectly normal. “Internal audits are unannounced. That’s the whole point. If people know we’re coming, they have time to hide things.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think someone upstairs is worried about data leaks. Hence the midnight visit.”
The second guard—younger, less experienced—frowned. “I should call this in.”
“Absolutely. Please do.” Declan handed over his tablet. “My credentials are all there. Authorization codes. Department clearance. Feel free to verify everything.”
The older guard took the tablet and scanned the credentials. Declan waited patiently, his expression calm and unbothered.
In his ear, Nyx’s voice whispered. “Credentials are holding. Their system is reading you as legitimate. Just keep them talking.”
The guard looked up. “These check out, but—”
“But you’re doing your job,” Declan finished smoothly. “Which I respect. Security protocols exist for a reason. However, I’m on a very tight schedule. The audit needs to be completed before morning shift, and I still have three departments to review.” He glanced at his watch. “If I’m delayed here, I’ll have to note it in my report. Along with the names of the personnel who caused the delay.”
The threat was subtle. Polite. But unmistakable.
The older guard hesitated.
“Look,” Declan said, his tone softening. “I know this is irregular. But I promise you, everything is legitimate. I’m just here to review some files and get out of your hair. You can even escort me if it makes you feel better.”
The guards exchanged glances.
Then the older one sighed and handed back the tablet. “Fine. But you stay on the approved floors. No wandering.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Declan’s smile widened. “Thank you, gentlemen. You’re making my night significantly easier.”
He walked through the entrance, briefcase in hand, every inch the corporate executive.
In his ear, Nyx laughed quietly. “You’re terrifyingly good at that, choom.”
“It’s a preem gift,” Declan murmured.
INSIDE THE VAULT
Ripley moved through the service corridors like a shadow.
Nyx had mapped the entire building—every hallway, every camera, every blind spot. The route to the data vault was clear in Ripley’s mind. Third floor. East wing. Restricted access.
She reached the stairwell and climbed quickly, her boots silent on metal steps.
“Briggs, I’m approaching your position,” she said quietly.
“Copy. I’ve got eyes on the vault entrance. No movement. You’re clear.”
Ripley emerged on the third floor and found Briggs waiting in the shadows near the vault door. He looked like a wall—massive, immovable, chrome glinting in the dim emergency lighting.
“Ready?” she asked.
He nodded once. “I’ve got your back choom.”
Ripley approached the vault door. It was reinforced steel with a biometric scanner and keypad. The kind of security that would take hours to bypass manually.
Good thing they had Nyx.
“I’m at the door,” Ripley said.
“Give me ten seconds.” Nyx’s voice was focused. Intense. “Overriding the lock now.”
Ripley waited. Her cybernetic hand rested on the door handle. Behind her, Briggs positioned himself with clear sightlines down both corridors.
The lock clicked.
Green light.
“You’re in,” Nyx said. “But move fast. I can only loop the internal cameras for fifteen minutes before someone notices the gap in the feed.”
Ripley pulled the door open and stepped inside.
The data vault was exactly what she expected—rows of server racks humming with power, cables snaking across the floor, monitors displaying endless streams of data. The air was cold. Clinical. The smell of electronics and recycled air.
She moved to the nearest terminal and jacked in her portable deck.
“Searching for Blackwing files now,” she murmured.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard. Directories opened. Files scrolled past. Everything was encrypted, but Nyx had already cracked most of JinTech’s security protocols.
“I’m seeing research files,” Ripley said. “Test subject logs. Medical reports. Budget allocations.”
“Download everything,” Nyx said. “We’ll sort through it later.”
Ripley initiated the transfer. Progress bar crawled across her screen. Five percent. Ten percent.
“How long?” Briggs asked from the doorway.
“Eight minutes.”
“Make it faster.”
Ripley’s jaw tightened. “I’m going as fast as this gonk system allows.”
Fifteen percent. Twenty percent.
Her eyes scanned the file names as they downloaded. Clinical designations. Subject numbers. Dates spanning three years.
Then she saw it.
BLACKWING PROTOCOL — PHASE 3 TRIALS
Her breath caught.
“I found it,” she whispered.
“The Blackwing files?” Nyx’s voice sharpened.
“Yeah. Downloading now.”
Thirty percent. Forty percent.
Ripley opened one of the files. Text filled her screen—dense medical terminology, genetic sequencing data, neural mapping diagrams. She didn’t understand half of it, but the implications were clear.
This wasn’t cyberware.
This wasn’t AI.
This was something else entirely.
Fifty percent. Sixty percent.
“Rip.” Briggs’s voice was low. Urgent. “We’ve got movement. Two guards. East corridor.”
“How long?”
“Ninety seconds.”
“I need more time.”
“You don’t have it.”
Seventy percent.
Ripley’s hands moved faster. She pulled up another file—this one labeled SUBJECT ROSTER.
Names scrolled past. Dozens of them. Some marked as TERMINATED. Others as IN PROGRESS.
And then she saw it.
SUBJECT 07 — NAKAMURA, DEX
Her heart stopped.
“Dex is in the files,” she breathed.
“What?” Nyx’s voice cracked. “What does it say?”
Ripley opened the file. Medical data flooded her screen. Genetic markers. Neural integration percentages. Transformation stages.
STATUS: STAGE 3 — NEURAL INTEGRATION 87% COMPLETE
“Oh drek,” Ripley whispered.
Eighty percent.
“Rip, those guards are getting closer,” Briggs said. “Thirty seconds.”
“Almost done.”
Ninety percent.
She stared at Dex’s file. At the clinical notes describing his “optimization” and “adaptation success.” At the cold, detached language that reduced him to data points and percentages.
They weren’t just holding him.
They were changing him.
One hundred percent.
“Download complete,” Nyx said. “Get out of there.”
Ripley yanked the cable from the terminal and turned toward the door—
—and that’s when the alarm screamed to life.
THE FAILSAFE
Red lights flooded the vault. A klaxon wailed. Steel shutters began descending over the doorway.
“What the drek?” Nyx’s voice was panicked. “That’s not supposed to—there’s a failsafe I didn’t see—”
Ripley ran.
She dove through the doorway just as the shutter slammed down behind her, missing her by inches.
Briggs grabbed her arm and pulled her upright. “Move!”
They ran down the corridor. Behind them, the sound of boots. Shouting. Security response mobilizing faster than they’d anticipated.
“Nyx, we need an exit!” Ripley gasped.
“Working on it! The failsafe locked down half the building—I’m trying to find you a route—”
Gunfire erupted behind them.
Briggs shoved Ripley around a corner and returned fire with his heavy pistol. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space. Muzzle flash lit the corridor like lightning.
“Declan, we’re gonked!” Ripley shouted into her com. “Go! Go! Go!”
“Little busy!” Declan’s voice was strained. “Guards at the front entrance just got very interested in me!”
More gunfire. Briggs fired three controlled shots, then ducked back as return fire chewed through the wall.
“There’s too many,” he said calmly. “We need another way out.”
“Nyx—”
“I’m trying! The system’s fighting me—there’s counter-intrusion software I’ve never seen before—”
A door at the end of the corridor burst open. Four guards in tactical gear poured through, weapons raised.
Briggs stepped in front of Ripley. “Stay behind me.”
He fired. One guard went down. Then another. But the remaining two had cover now, and more were coming.
“Briggs—” Ripley started.
“I’ve got this.”
He advanced down the corridor, his massive frame absorbing the space, his pistol barking with mechanical precision. He was terrifying. Unstoppable.
And then Ripley saw the turret.
It dropped from the ceiling twenty feet ahead—automated, sensor-guided, the kind of security measure that didn’t hesitate or miss.
“Briggs, above you!” She shouted
He looked up.
The turret fired.
A single shot.
Clean.
Precise.
It caught Briggs in the left side, just below his ribs.
He staggered.
Didn’t fall.
Didn’t stop.
He raised his pistol and put three rounds into the turret’s sensor array. Sparks flew. The turret went dark.
Then he turned back to Ripley, and she saw the blood.
Dark. Spreading. Soaking through his jacket.
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Someone needs to roll a critical 1. :D