Hurried steps and clashing security uniforms echoed through the neon-lit corridors of NexaTech's inner sanctum. Plasma rifles hummed with deadly readiness in the hands of armored soldiers, their synchronized formation tearing through hallways like a tactical machine.
The alarms shrieked. Zain didn't slow—his strides sharper than human, too fast for the cameras.One foot skimming the edge of a security railing as he twisted mid-air with ease. His mouth curved into a grin that was part madness, part thrill-junkie.
"Hahaha!" he barked a laugh over the chaos behind him.
{ANTI-GLITCH PROTOCOL DEPLOYMENT: 02:32}
Zain pushed harder.
Red alerts stung the walls. Alarms screamed their helpless fury. The system wanted order—Zain gave it hell.
One more hallway. One more turn.
He lunged at the end of the corridor—
CRASH.
Reinforced glass shattered under his weight, shards spiraling into the night.
The cold slapped him mid-air as he dropped
through open space, breath torn from his lungs.
Sirens screamed above. Below, nothing but the city lights and a brutal descent.
Behind him, the soldiers skidded to a stop at the jagged edge. One aimed. Fired.
A net projectile hissed through the air.
Snap.
It snagged Zain's left leg, but the fall had already committed to gravity. The net jerked him off-balance, spinning his body sideways like a ragdoll before—
THUD.
He slammed through a curved glass dome below, fragments raining around him as he crashed shoulder-first into a plush velvet couch.
Groaning, he rose up, tilting his neck fast as it cracked in relief.
"Dumb security agents."
He blinked. Took in the room. Velvet carpeting. Gold accents. A hovering chandelier of crystal tech casting soft light. A kinetic waterfall on the far wall whispered serenity.
Luxury suite. Definitely elite.
His gaze swept 360 degrees before settling on a pink-and-gold aesthetic that screamed wealth. Then—the city skyline.
Peaceful. Beautiful.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cold wind hit his face. It whooshed through the shattered skylight glass, teasing the hem of his gear.
{Anti-Glitch protocol Deployment: 40 seconds}
"Guess it's time." He stretched his joints wide towards the city view.
Clash.
Zain opened one eye.
A pink vase shattered on the ground beside him.
But something else caught his attention. A presence.
Soft footsteps on marble.
He turned.
And there she was.
Tall. Chocolate and wet-skinned. Curves draped in a barely-secured towel. Her black hair dripped from the bath, her body glowing in the low ambient light.
Eyes locked in a shocking gaze.
But it wasn't her appearance that made Zain freeze.
It was the way she looked at him.
She didn't feel like prey the way the other soldiers did to him.
The system also isn't classifying her as a threat. It didn't request him to kill.
Yet—Her gaze changed from shock to a kill-switch.
She lunged without panic and hesitation, her hand reached sideways, gripping a tech spear mounted beside her vanity wall.
With one twist, she activated it. The blade snapped alive, glowing with a radiant plasma beam.
"Whoa, easy there, strange man. I come in—"
She struck.
He ducked.
The spear carved the air above him, humming as it passed.
He rolled, shoulder screaming from impact, but he didn't stop. Landed low.
"You always welcome guests with a plasma spear?"
"Only the ones bleeding on my rug, looking like a crime lord."
{ANTI GLITCH PROTOCOL DEPLOYMENT:15 SECONDS}
She lunged again.
Zain sidestepped, catching the haft of the weapon with his bare hand, pushing it away.
Her eyes shone in surprise. No normal human could resist her strike like that.
Up close, he caught her scent—cinnamon, jasmine, something expensive. Her eyes didn't flinch. Her body moved like a trained killer.
Precise. Not just a rich girl.
"You're not normal," she said.
"Neither are you," Zain shot back, a little grin appearing on his cheek as he walked around the room, gazing at drawings and portraits.
A disrespect that hit her hard.
The spear crackled with energy once more as she headed left, then spun right at him with a kick, catching him off guard. He backed into the kinetic waterfall, water soaked him raw.
His muscles lunged into display as he rose to his feet. His clothing hugged tight, transparent.
She halted mid-swing. Captivated.
Zain grinned and purposely exhaled, his muscles contracted the more, causing tension.
"You're fast. I'll play with you later on."
{Initializing Safety Protocol… Zane Everhart— Syncing...}
She didn't reply. Instead, she struck with the spear's butt, slamming it into his ribs. He tripped backward over the cushion and landed headfirst to the other side.
Maintaining her stance for a surprise attack, silence defined the space. Only the soft hum of music continued and the seeping wind from her fractured roof glass view.
With a swift move, her direction changed but Zane's body lay like a lifeless doll.
"What?!" she exclaimed, guard down.
________________
Knock! Knock!
"Lady Rika, are you indoors?" A voice resonated.
Before another knock could hit, the door split open.
Three security agents stood in front of her. Two were armed, the one who knocked wasn't.
"Good evening Miss Rika, you look stunning as always."
"Thank you—how can I help you?"
"There's been a casualty of an escaped subject at the tower, injured by the leg, young and aggressive. Have you by any means… seen him?"
Short silence… her gaze was intense on them.
"Yes, I saw one," she revealed, opening the door slightly enough for them to see her ruined roof glass.
They gazed in but didn't dare advance in. At the very least, Miss Rika being half-naked in a towel is actually Naked.
"He clashed at my roof— I couldn't possibly catch an intruder on a towel, I suppose?" Her body straightened, flawless thigh peeped out of her towel.
"We understand you ma'am. Please report immediately if any suspicious activity is noticed. Your safety is of high value."
"I will, thank you."
The door slammed against their face. Her hearing heightened to notice retreating steps.
Rika's gaze fell on Zane, restrained by strong security-class locks. Stylishly she made for wine, filled an expensive goblet, its content dancing to the bottle's pour.
He stirred. Eyes opened slowly.
{System: Welcome back, Player One.}
"Where....where am I?"
Rika grabbed a nightdress among her neat collections, revealing—but better than a towel, including her specialized spear.
"Alright, let's skip the introductions," she said. "Who sent you?"
"Sent? Who are you?"
Her eyes darkened.
The spear pulsed. She aimed it at his throat.
"I'm Rika Barone."
Zain blinked.
"Wait—Barone? Like—"
"Yes. That Barone."
His brain flickered. The daughter of a NexaTech Overseer. Billionaire? Raised inside the game. Rumor was, her father had loaded her account with more funds than some factions. She's one of the top rising new players.
He straightened.
"Look, ma'am. I think I'm in the wrong place. I was under questioning a few seconds ago and now I'm here."
"You broke into my space."
"What? I can barely outrun anyone."
For the first time, a flicker of amusement crossed her face. Brief. Dangerous.
"Let me go, Miss."
"You're not going anywhere."
"Why?"
"Because I haven't decided if I'm turning you in yet."
"So you won't turn me in?"
"I didn't say so." Her feet slammed against the polished wall inches from his face, the wine stirred.
They locked eyes at each other.
Tension crackled between them. And not just from the weapon.
It was an attraction or maybe intrigue.
Zane sighed.
Rika retreated, paced slowly, letting her shadow stretch across his restrained form.
"You're interesting. Clumsy... reckless… but interesting," she said, sipping her wine without breaking eye contact. "But you're also a threat. Maybe not to me but to people who care about control."
Zane flinched as the restraints pulsed.
"Let me go," he said, low.
She knelt, wine glass dangling lazily from her fingers.
"You want freedom?"
He nodded.
She tilted her head.
"Then listen carefully. I'm going to give you three rules. Break one, and I'll hand you back to the same system that seeks you."
Her voice dropped like a blade.
"And they won't ask questions next time. They'll just...delete you."
He swallowed—hard, as if a strange feeling had just unlocked in him.
She rose to her full height, eyes gleaming with iron resolve. In her hand, the long spear shimmered then collapsed inward, shrinking with a soft metallic hiss until it fit neatly within her palm, no longer than a sword's hilt.
Rule One: You stay invisible. If your name hits any grid, sensor, or surveillance drone under my jurisdiction again—I will bury you.
Rule Two: You work for me. Not NexaTech, nobody, just me. And when I say jump, you don't ask how high. You leap or you vanish.
Rule Three: You owe me a favor. No questions. No negotiation. When I call it in, you obey. Even if it kills you.
Zane looked up, eyes narrowing. "Sounds more like blackmail than mercy."
Rika smirked. "Call it what you want. But it's the only leash I'm offering you."
She reached for a small console beside the sofa. The restraints loosened slightly, just enough to let him feel comfortable—but not escape.
"You'll be under my protection until I say otherwise. You'll move when I move. Sleep when I sleep. You're not free, Zane. You're mine for now."
"Is that an overstatement?"
"Pretty much," Rika gulped down the rest of the liquor.
Zane watched her walk back to her stylish counter,most of her liquors and wine were pink whether in color or in content. The shimmer of her dress glinting in the moonlight, and immediately one thing was clear:
He had escaped the control only to land in the grasp of something far more dangerous, more control.
Her.
Rika Barone.
"You can leave…" she said, snapping him out of his thoughts. "…for now."
The security lock around his wrist clicked and released.
Zane slowly stepped forward, passing the shattered vase and stopping at the floor-to-ceiling glass view. He looked up at the skyline, brows furrowed.
"Uh… excuse me, your sky lounge is broken."
Rika paused mid-pour. Her eyes flicked up, narrowing with annoyance. Without a word, she set the bottle down, took her goblet, and walked toward him—closer than she'd been.
Zane instinctively stepped back. His heel touched the edge of the glass wall… and then he was pressed against it. He could feel her presence—intense, invasive.
She leaned in close, her breath a whisper against his ear. The firm press of her chest grazed him, two soft sharp points barely concealed, sending a ripple of tension through his body.
"You broke it, dummy…" she whispered, placing one hand on the glass above his shoulder.
"…And you're going out through it."
"What—?"
Her foot slammed into his chest.
The glass shattered like ice beneath him, his weight carried by the impact. The air was knocked from his lungs as he slipped through the jagged opening and into the open sky.
Wind tore past him. The look of shock and betrayal etched itself across his face.
He was falling.
Falling hard.
"Don't worry," her voice echoed from above, casual, cruel. "You'll survive."
But how high was he?
He didn't know.
Would he survive a fall like this?
Definitely not.