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# Chapter 10 – Infiltration
At exactly 8:30 PM, Ira and I arrived at the base of the target building.
I stopped walking.
For several long seconds I stood there, head tilted back, staring straight up.
The building didn't just rise into the night sky.
It dominated it.
The skyscraper pierced the darkness like a colossal steel spear, vanishing so far above that the top seemed to dissolve into the city's sea of light. Its exterior was almost entirely glass — but not the kind I was used to. Every panel shimmered with a faint blue sheen, simultaneously reflecting the street and playing full-motion holographic advertisements across its surface.
Not projected *onto* the building.
The building *was* the screen.
One moment: a luxury cybernetic arm outperforming Olympic athletes. The next: a breathtaking ocean scene bleeding seamlessly into a pharmaceutical campaign promising a fifty-year extension on the average human lifespan.
My eyes drifted higher.
Above the streets, dozens of aerial vehicles threaded between towers in organized lanes — sleek cars with glowing anti-gravity engines where wheels used to be, others closer to compact aircraft than anything automotive. Not one of them made much noise. Back on Earth, the skies above major cities roared with distant airplane traffic.
Here, the lanes floated past almost silently.
Like schools of metallic fish moving through an ocean made of stars.
"...Wow."
The word escaped before I could stop it.
"So," Ira said beside me, "you finally remembered we're on a mission?"
"I am on the mission."
"You've been staring at the building for almost thirty seconds."
"I was conducting reconnaissance."
"You were sightseeing."
"I can multitask."
"You can't."
He gave me a perfectly flat look.
"...You're doing it again."
I realized I'd unconsciously started staring upward.
"...Fine."
I tore my gaze away with considerably more effort than I wanted to admit.
This city was dangerous for someone like me. Not because of the corporations. Not because of the Hunters.
Because everything looked so ridiculously fascinating.
Back in my old world, I'd considered myself someone living in a technologically advanced civilization. Smartphones. Artificial intelligence. Reusable rockets. Self-driving cars. That had all seemed impressive.
Now I was standing in a city where buildings displayed holograms the size of football fields, flying traffic filled the sky, medicine casually rewrote the human body, and people treated all of it as completely ordinary.
It felt less like traveling to another country and more like accidentally skipping two hundred years into humanity's future.
I was trying very hard not to become the person who spent their first week walking around with their mouth hanging open.
Keyword: trying.
Unfortunately, every street seemed determined to sabotage my dignity.
Even the sidewalks were different — smooth metallic panels embedded with thin glowing lines that shifted colors as pedestrians passed over them. Small maintenance drones no larger than dinner plates floated quietly along the edges, polishing surfaces that already looked spotless. Above every intersection hovered compact surveillance units, their polished white shells reflecting the neon lights as they silently observed everything below.
An entire city under constant surveillance.
Comforting. In an extremely uncomfortable sort of way.
"So," I muttered, forcing myself to focus. "This is Night Corporation."
Ira nodded. "Their regional headquarters."
"Regional?"
He looked at me.
"This isn't even their *main* headquarters?"
"No."
"..."
I stared at the skyscraper.
Of course it wasn't.
Because apparently corporations in this world collected skyscrapers the way normal people collected coffee mugs.
I finally looked away before my curiosity could get the better of me again. Mission first. Tourism later. Preferably when nobody was trying to kill me.
My attention shifted to our reflections in the building's polished glass.
Both of us looked surprisingly... normal.
No tactical armor. No weapons. No intimidating uniforms. Just two young men in what the handlers called civilian clothing — though "civilian" felt like the wrong word for it.
The jacket I wore was silk-soft but moved with the quiet rigidity of something far tougher than conventional body armor. Lightweight, breathable, flexible enough I almost forgot I had it on.
Earth definitely hadn't invented this fabric yet.
Compared to the stiff patient uniforms back at Bloom's facility, this felt almost luxurious.
"I could get used to this," I admitted.
"The clothes?"
"I was thinking more about not looking like a lab rat."
Ira's lips twitched upward. Barely. For him, that counted as laughing.
"Don't."
"What?"
"Get attached."
"...Right."
Reality returned fast.
This wasn't a vacation. This wasn't sightseeing. Somewhere near the top of this building, a man named Flex was continuing his evening completely unaware that two genetically modified teenagers had been sent to end it.
The thought settled over me like cold water.
No matter how many jokes I made — this was still an assassination mission.
"Ready?" Ira asked quietly.
I exhaled once. "As I'll ever be."
He gave a single nod. Then his ability activated.
Nothing visible happened. No glowing aura. No dramatic ripple in the air. If someone had been watching us on camera, they probably wouldn't have noticed a thing.
But I felt it.
Not physically. Mentally. The atmosphere around us... shifted.
A businessman walking toward the entrance glanced directly at us. For a split second our eyes met.
Then nothing. His gaze slid past us like we'd suddenly become the least interesting objects in existence. No frown. No confusion. He simply stopped caring.
Another employee nearly bumped into me. At the last instant she shifted slightly to one side, avoiding the collision without ever acknowledging I existed — like her brain had solved the problem and discarded the memory in the same motion.
Every person nearby behaved the same way. They saw us, registered us, then immediately filed us under *not worth attention.*
"I still hate watching this," I murmured.
"It works."
"I know."
"It doesn't make me invisible. It only redirects attention."
"I know." I looked sideways at him. "It's still creepy."
For the first time all evening, Ira allowed himself the faintest smile. "I've heard that before."
"I believe it."
If Transfiguration made me adaptable, Ira's ability made him feel like a ghost. Not because people couldn't see him — because even when they did, their minds quietly decided he wasn't important enough to remember. No supernatural spectacle. Just a tiny, precise adjustment to human perception. Small enough to avoid triggering stronger sensory-type Evolvers. Powerful enough to make ordinary security nearly meaningless.
No wonder Bloom paired him with infiltration missions.
I adjusted my collar.
"Let's go."
We started walking toward the main entrance.
The closer we got, the more obvious it became that Night Corporation took security seriously.
At first glance the lobby looked welcoming. Bright light spilled through towering glass walls onto polished white floors. Employees moved in steady streams, chatting or scrolling through holographic displays projected above their wrists.
Clean. Orderly. Professional.
Then I looked closer.
The security wasn't loud. It was *layered.*
Two guards flanked the revolving entrance in sleek black uniforms, compact rifles slung casually across their chests. Posture relaxed. Eyes never still. Every person approaching received a brief, silent categorization before being dismissed. Four surveillance drones floated above them, constantly shifting position, lenses flickering as they swept invisible beams across the crowd.
Thermal? Lidar? Probably both. Probably more.
I resisted the urge to stare.
Rule one of infiltration: if something looks dangerous, pretend it's perfectly normal.
"So," I whispered, barely moving my lips. "How many security systems am I not noticing?"
Ira didn't even glance around. "At least three."
"Helpful."
"You asked."
"I was hoping for reassurance."
"I don't lie during missions."
"...Fair."
I activated my enhanced vision — just enough to keep from drawing attention. The world sharpened. Thin lines traced the edges of the entrance. Not decorative. Sensors. Microscopic emitters hidden inside the doorframe. Pressure plates beneath the floor. Minute distortions in the air where invisible scanning fields intersected.
Every employee entering unknowingly walked through half a dozen verification systems before reaching the reception desk.
Night Corporation didn't rely on a single layer of security. They assumed every individual defense would eventually fail.
So they stacked them.
Facial recognition. Retinal scans. Biometric analysis. Movement tracking. Behavior prediction. Probably technologies I couldn't even identify.
I respected whoever designed this.
Then again — we weren't planning to defeat it. We were planning to ignore it.
Huge difference.
Ira slowed almost imperceptibly. "We wait."
I nodded. No rushing. No improvisation. The plan ran on timing.
Employees entered through the main doors every few seconds. Each one paused before a sleek pillar beside the entrance. A thin blue light swept across the face. *Beep.* A second beam flashed across the eyes. *Chime.* Reinforced doors slid open. Employee entered. Doors closed. Repeat.
Mechanical precision. Nobody questioned it. They'd done it thousands of times.
I kept my breathing slow.
A young man in a white research coat approached the scanner.
Denied. Red light.
He sighed, fished an ID card from his pocket, held it against the pillar.
Green. Doors open.
Interesting. Multiple authentication methods. Useful information. Not today — but maybe another mission.
He disappeared into the lobby. Doors sealed.
Almost immediately, another employee approached. Woman in a dark business suit, confident stride, tablet tucked under one arm. She barely slowed. Blue light. Retinal scan. Green confirmation.
The doors began sliding apart.
Ira spoke without looking at me. "Now."
We moved.
Not quickly. Running attracted attention. Natural walking didn't.
The woman stepped through the doorway without the slightest suspicion that two additional people had quietly fallen into step behind her. The scanners didn't react — they'd already completed their verification. No reason to scan again while the doors were still open.
Simple. Elegant. A tiny loophole in an otherwise formidable defense.
We crossed the threshold.
For one heartbeat I expected alarms. Sirens. Automated turrets. Something.
Nothing happened.
The doors slid shut behind us with a soft hiss.
We were inside.
I couldn't help it. A small grin appeared on my face.
"One layer down," I murmured.
Ira's eyes were already scanning the lobby. I followed his gaze.
"...Okay."
This was excessive.
The entrance hall could have fit several passenger aircraft side by side. Towering white pillars stretched toward a ceiling nearly six stories above. Instead of light fixtures, glowing geometric panels floated lazily through the air, bathing the space in something that felt almost like natural light. The polished floor reflected everything like still water.
Researchers in pristine lab coats. Executives in tailored suits. Engineers with metallic equipment cases. Maintenance workers trailed by hovering utility drones. Everyone moved with quiet purpose.
It felt less like an office building and more like the nervous system of some enormous living organism.
Near the center stood an AI-operated reception desk — no receptionist, just a holographic woman smiling warmly while simultaneously handling half a dozen conversations at once.
"...Welcome to Night Corporation."
"...Please proceed to Elevator Three."
"...Visitor authorization approved."
Her voice remained perfectly calm through all of it.
"Efficient," I admitted.
"Creepy," Ira corrected.
"...Also true."
Beyond the reception area stood five elevator banks, each entrance properly guarded. Armed personnel. Identity checkpoints. Dedicated surveillance. Multiple verification layers before anyone got on.
Taking an elevator had never been part of our plan. Now I understand why.
The stairwell was our best option.
As I scanned the lobby, something overhead caught my eye. A massive holographic advertisement rotating slowly above the central atrium.
*Night Corporation proudly presents: DermAdapt™.*
The smiling woman in the ad raised one hand. Her skin shifted — pale to brown to golden to ebony to olive — each change flowing across her body like liquid before settling into a completely different complexion.
*"Express yourself without limits. Permanent genetic dermal restructuring completed in under twenty minutes. Because identity should never be restricted by biology."*
"...Huh."
"What?"
I gestured upward. "Back where I came from..." I paused. "Actually, never mind."
"What?"
"I was just thinking humanity never changes." I watched the model cycle through her tenth skin tone. "No matter how advanced civilization gets, people will still spend ridiculous amounts of money trying to look slightly different."
Ira considered that. "...Fair."
Give humanity faster-than-sound aircraft, artificial organs, and genetic engineering, and someone would still ask: *Can you make my eyes a prettier shade of blue?*
Some things truly were universal.
A nudge at my shoulder.
"Focus," Ira said.
"...Right."
My gaze swept the lobby one final time before settling on a plain gray door tucked beside one of the support pillars. Unlike the elevator banks, it barely drew attention.
*AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.*
The stairwell.
Unfortunately, two employees had stopped nearby mid-conversation, and a security guard stood only a few meters from the door.
Opening it ourselves would immediately draw his attention.
Which meant it was time for the next part of the plan.
One guard. Two employees absorbed in a discussion over a holographic display floating between them. A maintenance drone drifting lazily across the lobby, polishing a section of floor that already looked spotless.
Traffic flowed naturally around the stairwell entrance. Not crowded enough to disappear into. Not empty enough to move unnoticed.
Difficult. Not impossible.
I leaned slightly toward Ira. "The door's the problem."
"It always is."
"Any brilliant ideas?"
"I thought you were an engineer."
"...I hate when you're right."
He didn't answer. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking exactly like two coworkers waiting for a friend to wrap up — completely forgettable. That was the terrifying part about Ira's ability. It didn't erase us from existence. It erased the *importance* of our existence.
I still wasn't sure whether I found that comforting or horrifying.
Probably both.
I shifted my attention to the floor. Smooth. Almost perfectly smooth.
An idea formed.
I quietly activated Transfiguration. The familiar sensation spread through my body — not the overwhelming rush you'd expect from movies. More like opening an invisible toolbox inside my own mind. Every material stored in the necklace existed as information. Properties. Structures. Possibilities.
I selected a low-friction metamaterial.
Microscopic changes spread across the sole of my right shoe. No light. No visible shift. The surface simply *reorganized itself* on a molecular level, reducing friction to a fraction of its original value. Normal eyes would never notice.
I tested my footing. Still stable.
Good. Too slippery and I'd be the one falling. That would be embarrassing.
I watched the guard. He wasn't perfectly still — every fifteen or twenty seconds he shifted his weight, every minute or so taking a few casual steps before returning to roughly the same position.
A habit. Predictable. People rarely noticed when they'd developed one.
"There," I whispered.
The guard began another small patrol. One step. Two. Three.
As he turned back toward the stairwell—
I moved.
Not my body. Just my ability. A thin strand of transformed material extended from my shoe, nearly invisible against the polished floor. It reached the guard's path.
Only a few centimeters. Nothing dramatic. Just enough.
His boot landed. The altered surface stripped the friction beneath his foot.
"Oh—"
His balance lurched sideways. Not enough to send him down. Enough to trigger instinct. His hand shot out automatically toward the nearest thing available—
The stairwell door.
His palm slammed against it. The magnetic seal released with a quiet *click.* The heavy door swung inward several inches.
The guard caught himself almost immediately. "What the..."
He frowned down at the floor, testing his footing. Everything felt normal — the transformed material had already dissolved back into my shoe. Nothing left to find.
One of the nearby employees glanced over. "You alright?"
"Yeah... thought I slipped."
"You probably did."
For one dangerous second, all three of them looked toward the half-open stairwell door.
I held my breath. If the guard decided to close it — if anyone questioned why —
Then Ira's ability settled over the moment like a gentle breeze.
The tension vanished. The employee shrugged. "Long day." "Tell me about it." The guard's gaze drifted toward someone crossing the lobby. The door no longer mattered.
Neither did we.
I couldn't help smiling. "...That's still unfair."
Ira raised an eyebrow. "My ability?"
"Yes."
"You manipulated the floor on a molecular level."
"And?"
"You think *my* power is unfair?"
"...When you say it like that..."
He waited.
"...Fine."
We were both cheating.
He gave the tiniest nod. Very satisfied, apparently.
The opportunity wouldn't last. Someone could close that door at any moment.
Ira moved first — same relaxed pace he'd maintained all evening. No hesitation. No urgency. Just another employee heading somewhere.
I followed half a step behind. We slipped through the narrow gap without a sound. I reached back and caught the edge of the door, easing it until it *looked* shut without letting the magnetic lock engage.
A tiny detail. An important one. If we needed a quick retreat — every second would matter.
The sounds of the lobby disappeared almost immediately. Thick concrete swallowed the constant murmur of hundreds of employees, leaving behind only a faint, distant hum.
The stairwell was quiet. Cold. Utilitarian.
Gray walls spiraling upward around flights of reinforced metal stairs. Emergency lighting in thin strips along the ceiling. No decorations. No advertisements. No windows.
Just stairs.
Lots and lots of stairs.
I looked up. "You know," I sighed, "for a civilization advanced enough to build flying cars..."
Ira started climbing.
"They also invented elevators."
"Which we're not allowed to use."
"Correct."
"So we're suffering because other people have security."
"Also correct."
"...I hate security."
"I noticed."
Despite everything, I chuckled. The tension bled off — some of it, anyway.
Because now that we were alone, the reality of where we were settled back over me. Every floor above us brought us closer to Flex. Closer to completing the mission.
Or dying. Probably not much middle ground.
I took one last glance at the sealed door. Beyond it, the lobby continued as if nothing had happened. Nobody had noticed two intruders walk into one of the most secure buildings in the city.
Good. Let's keep it that way.
Without another word, we began to climb.
The first few flights passed in silence. Our footsteps echoed softly between the empty landings.
*Clang. Clang. Clang.*
Unavoidable. For now.
We climbed at a steady pace — fast enough to not waste time, slow enough to not exhaust ourselves.
Floor Three. Floor Four. Floor Five.
Each landing looked identical. Gray walls. Metal railings. Emergency lighting. Plain security doors. The kind of place most employees walked through every day without remembering a single detail.
After a few minutes I glanced at Ira.
He wasn't even breathing heavily.
"Do you secretly have an ability that deletes lactic acid?" I asked.
"No."
"Then why do you look like you're taking an evening stroll?"
"I train."
"I train too."
"You complain more."
"...Fair."
Floor Seven. Floor Eight. Floor Nine.
At Floor Ten, I instinctively checked my surroundings. No movement. No voices. Just the low mechanical hum of ventilation. A corporation this size should have been noisy — thousands of researchers, engineers, executives — yet inside the stairwell they might as well not have existed. The concrete walls isolated us completely, leaving only the occasional muffled vibration when an elevator somewhere in the walls started moving.
It felt like climbing through the skeleton of a sleeping giant.
I shook the thought away. Too poetic. Focus.
Two more flights.
Then—
*Click.*
Both of us stopped.
A door somewhere above had opened. Footsteps. One person. Descending.
The sound grew louder.
*Tap. Tap. Tap.*
I looked at Ira. He raised one finger.
*Wait.*
I nodded. There was nowhere to hide — the stairwell was completely exposed. No alcoves, no closets, nothing. If the employee looked directly at us, this was about to become a live test of Ira's ability.
A young woman rounded the corner from the next landing. White lab coat, a stack of transparent data slates tucked against one arm. Her eyes lifted.
Straight toward us.
Every muscle in my body tensed.
She blinked. Her brow furrowed slightly.
Then her attention drifted away.
She continued walking without slowing, expression shifting from mild curiosity to complete indifference in less than a second. As she passed, she shifted slightly to avoid bumping into me. No greeting. No question about why two strangers were climbing toward the restricted floors.
Just nothing.
The sound of her footsteps faded below us.
I let out the breath I'd been holding. "...That is genuinely disturbing."
"It worked."
"I know it worked. I just watched someone look directly at us and decide we weren't worth remembering."
"It's easier than suppressing something a person already considers important."
I frowned. "So if security was actively searching for us..."
"It would become much harder."
Makes sense. His ability manipulated attention, not reality. The more important something became in someone's mind, the harder it was to redirect. Another reason to avoid triggering alarms — once the building knew intruders existed, everything would get significantly more complicated.
"Let's keep climbing," Ira said.
Floor Twelve. Fifteen. Eighteen.
The higher we went, the more the building changed. Ordinary gray security doors were gradually replaced by thicker reinforced ones. Biometric panels appeared beside each entrance. Some doors displayed glowing warning symbols indicating restricted research areas.
Night Corporation organized its building by sensitivity. Lower floors handled ordinary operations. Upper floors housed increasingly valuable projects.
Which meant our target was exactly where he should be.
By Floor Twenty, I was starting to feel the climb in my legs — not exhaustion, just a dull burn reminding me that twenty flights of stairs were still twenty flights of stairs, regardless of what Bloom had put us through.
I rolled one shoulder and stepped onto the final landing.
Then I stopped.
Unlike every floor below, this landing wasn't open. A thick reinforced security door blocked the staircase completely, matte-black surface broken only by a biometric scanner mounted beside the frame.
And two armed guards flanked the entrance.
Heavier tactical uniforms than the personnel downstairs. Body armor. Compact assault rifles. One held perfectly still, scanning the hallway with practiced discipline. The other checked a handheld security device.
Neither looked bored. Neither looked distracted.
Professionals.
"...That's inconvenient."
Ira followed my gaze. "It is."
"We're not walking past them."
"No."
"We're not talking our way through."
"No."
I looked at him. He met my eyes.
One small nod.
No discussion. No debate. No alternatives.
The guards had to go.
Quietly.
I slowly flexed my fingers.
Looks like the real infiltration was about to begin.
Neither of us moved for several seconds.
People imagined infiltration as a constant sprint — running corridors, dodging bullets, hacking doors with seconds to spare. Reality was less glamorous. Most of it was watching. Waiting. Thinking.
The guards hadn't noticed us. We were still one flight below the landing, hidden by the angle of the staircase. From here, I could only see them from the knees down unless I leaned out.
I didn't.
I listened instead.
The quiet hum of ventilation. A faint buzz of laboratory equipment somewhere beyond the reinforced door. Every few seconds, the guard on the right shifted his weight — boots scraping softly against the floor.
Routine. Predictable.
"They're disciplined," I whispered.
Ira nodded. "Rotate their attention every few seconds. The left one watches the hallway. The right keeps checking that handheld."
"No obvious blind spots."
I smiled faintly. "So we made one."
I closed my eyes. The necklace rested cool against my skin.
Transfiguration.
I mentally searched through the material patterns stored inside it. Ceramics. Polymers. Carbon composites. Memory alloys. Conductive metals. Each one organized information, waiting.
I selected the conductive metamaterial.
Tiny metallic patterns spread beneath the skin of my hands — not on the surface, underneath it. Dark silver lines branched through my palms like delicate veins before disappearing beneath my sleeves. A faint tingling followed.
Stored electrical energy.
Earlier that afternoon, before leaving Bloom, I'd spent nearly half an hour connected to a portable industrial battery. It had felt ridiculous at the time. Now I understood why Handler 245 insisted. The alloy wasn't generating electricity — it was storing it. Like a living capacitor.
I slowly clenched my fists. Tiny sparks danced invisibly beneath my skin.
Stable. Good.
Ira glanced over. "Ready?"
"Almost."
I touched the communicator in my ear. "Handler Two-Four-Five."
The reply came almost instantly. "I'm here." Her voice was calm as always. No wasted words.
"We're about to engage the guards."
"I see them."
Of course she did. Somewhere back at Bloom, an operations team was monitoring the camera feeds we'd already compromised.
"We'll need the cameras disabled."
A brief pause. "Stand by."
Three seconds.
"Cameras covering the landing are looping prerecorded footage. It'll appear normal to anyone monitoring the feed."
"How long?"
"Roughly two hours before Night Corporation notices synchronization errors."
Two hours. After that, someone would realize the timestamps no longer matched. Someone would investigate. Then every alarm in the building would activate at once.
"Understood."
I was about to end the transmission when she stopped me.
"Inala."
"Yes?"
"Don't underestimate corporate security."
I smiled. "I never do."
The channel closed. Silence returned.
I looked at Ira. "Window's open."
One short nod. "Let's finish this."
I shifted my weight forward.
Months ago, I had been an ordinary university student worrying about exams, deadlines, and whether instant noodles counted as a proper dinner.
Now I was preparing to incapacitate two armed corporate security officers inside one of the most secure buildings in the city.
Life really did take unexpected turns.
I rolled my shoulders. Every lesson Bloom had drilled into me surfaced.
*Close the distance. Don't hesitate. Disable before they react. Never allow them time to think.*
Simple instructions. Harder to execute.
I waited until the guard with the handheld lowered his eyes toward the screen.
There.
I moved.
The world seemed to slow. My enhanced body exploded forward, each step silent against the concrete.
The first guard noticed movement almost immediately. His head snapped toward me.
"What—"
Too slow.
I crossed the remaining distance in an instant. My right fist drove forward — not toward his face, toward the center of his chest.
The moment my knuckles made contact—
*Crack.*
Thousands of volts discharged all at once through the conductive alloy and into his body. His muscles locked. His eyes flew wide open. Every nerve fired simultaneously. The scream forming in his throat died as a strangled gasp, and his weapon slipped from numb fingers before it even cleared its magnetic lock.
Out of the corner of my eye, the second guard reacted.
Fast. Much faster than the first. His hand wrapped around his rifle grip in one smooth motion — years of training ahead of conscious thought.
Unfortunately for him, so were we.
Before he could pull the weapon free, Ira was already there. I barely saw him move — one moment behind me, the next crossing the landing in complete silence. No burst of speed. No exaggerated motion. Just efficient, economical movement.
The guard's eyes widened as Ira entered his field of vision. For a fraction of a second, confusion flickered across his face.
*Why is there someone here?*
Then Ira's ability settled over him — not enough to erase awareness, but enough to disrupt focus. His attention wavered. His mind hesitated.
That tiny hesitation was all we needed.
The rifle was halfway out of its sling when Ira's palm struck the guard's wrist.
*Crack.* Not a bone — the sharp sound of the weapon knocked free. The rifle spun across the floor, sliding several meters before stopping against the wall.
The guard opened his mouth. "Intr—"
The word never reached full volume. Ira's ability pulsed again. The sound existed. The guard made it. But somehow it failed to register as important — blending into the background hum of the building, no more noticeable than a distant cough.
One of the strangest things I'd ever witnessed. Reality unchanged. Only people's perception of it.
The guard recovered fast. Instead of going for the fallen rifle, he shifted his stance and threw a punch at Ira's jaw. Disciplined. Adaptable. Definitely not an ordinary security employee.
Ira leaned just enough. The fist brushed past his cheek. Before the guard could retract his arm, Ira stepped inside his reach and drove an elbow into his ribs.
*Thud.* Air forced from his lungs. He staggered sideways.
I was already moving.
My first target was still standing, barely — electricity had locked his muscles but hadn't dropped him. His body trembled violently as his nervous system fought to recover.
One quick step. I aimed for the side of his neck.
The remaining charge discharged through the blow.
He folded to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
Unconscious. One down.
I turned. The second guard had recovered from the elbow and was pressing forward — controlled, compact, each attack flowing naturally into the next. Bloom's instructors would've approved.
He feinted high, then drove a knee toward Ira's stomach. Ira pivoted just enough to miss before catching the man's shoulder and redirecting his momentum. The guard stumbled. Half a step.
Half a step was enough.
"I'm starting to feel left out," I called.
Without looking at me, Ira replied: "Then stop watching."
"Rude."
I closed the distance. The guard finally noticed me. His head turned, his eyes met mine, and for the briefest instant I saw the realization cross his face.
*There are two of them.*
He twisted to intercept me.
Too late.
I drove my fist into his abdomen. The conductive alloy released everything it had left — a violent surge erupted through his body. His back arched. Every muscle contracted at once. His fingers curled involuntarily. A strangled cry escaped and died.
The smell of ozone briefly filled the air.
Then silence.
The guard collapsed to both knees, pitched forward face-first, and lay still.
Neither man moved.
I stood there for several seconds, breathing slightly heavier than before. The landing had gone completely quiet. Just the distant hum of ventilation reminded me the building was still alive.
"...Well." I looked down at the unconscious guards. "That worked."
I flexed my fingers. The metallic patterns beneath my skin slowly faded as I deactivated the material. A faint warmth lingered where the charge had discharged.
Almost entirely drained. Recharging would take time.
Ira glanced between the two guards. "Nice punch."
I smiled. "Thank you."
"I was talking to the electricity."
"...You're impossible."
"I've been told."
"You know, normal partners compliment each other."
"I did."
"No, you complimented *physics.*"
"I respect physics."
"...One day I'm leaving you behind."
"You'd get caught."
"...Probably."
I laughed quietly. The adrenaline was still coursing through me, making the absurd conversation feel oddly natural. Maybe that was our way of staying calm. Or maybe we were both just strange.
Either explanation seemed believable.
"Let's move them," I said.
We grabbed the guards by their tactical vests and dragged them away from the center of the landing. Even unconscious, they were heavy. Body armor, weapons, spare magazines, utility pouches — it all added up.
"They really don't travel light," I muttered.
"They weren't expecting the luggage."
"...You're getting better at jokes."
"I'm spending too much time with you."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"You shouldn't."
We settled them side by side in the narrow space between the reinforced door and a large electrical maintenance cabinet. From the hallway beyond, they wouldn't be visible unless someone deliberately went to look.
Not perfect. Good enough.
I crouched beside the first guard and searched him methodically — magazine pouches, stun baton, folding utility knife, communication earpiece, access card. I held the black card up between two fingers.
"Looks useful."
"Take it."
I slipped it into my jacket pocket and moved to the second guard. Identical card, different identification number. I took that one too.
"Think they'll work upstairs?"
"Worth trying."
Fair point. Even if they only opened a single door, they were valuable.
I unclipped both earpieces and examined them. Tiny. Lightweight. Corporate issue. After a moment I placed them back.
"Leaving them?"
"If someone calls, I don't want to answer."
"You could pretend."
"I'd get caught in about five seconds."
"...Also true."
I stood and gave the landing a final look. No blood. No broken equipment. No obvious signs of struggle beyond two unconscious guards tucked behind a cabinet.
I'd call that a success.
My eyes drifted to the reinforced security door.
Mounted beside it was a biometric scanner more sophisticated than anything downstairs — narrow camera above the frame, palm scanner protruding from the wall, card reader glowing faint blue below it.
Three separate authentication methods. The Night Corporation wasn't taking chances.
I glanced at the ceiling. "Cameras still looped?"
"For now," Ira answered.
"Good."
I pulled one of the stolen access cards from my pocket. "No point making life harder."
The card slid into the reader.
A second passed.
*Beep.*
ACCESS VERIFIED.
"...Seriously?"
Ira studied the display. "They trust their guards."
"I was expecting at least a retinal scan."
"Different clearance levels."
"So we got lucky."
"We were prepared."
"...You always ruin my optimism."
He ignored that. As usual.
I wrapped my fingers around the door handle but didn't open it immediately. Instead I closed my eyes.
One more material. One more advantage.
The conductive alloy dissolved, replaced by acoustic metamaterials spreading through the soles of my shoes — thin, invisible layers branching from the necklace. The sensation was strange. Not painful. Just *different.* Like the floor had suddenly gone soft.
I took one cautious step.
Nothing. No echo. No metallic tap against the concrete.
I smiled. "I love this ability."
Ira glanced downward. "You've said that about four different materials."
"They're all useful."
"You sound like a child with new toys."
"They're scientifically fascinating."
"They're toys."
"...Scientifically fascinating toys."
Something almost like a sigh escaped him.
I pressed two fingers lightly against the door and activated my enhanced hearing.
The world changed. The distant ventilation hum sharpened. Electrical currents buzzed inside the walls. Air moved through ducts overhead. Somewhere several rooms away, machinery emitted a steady rhythmic vibration.
Voices.
I focused, filtering the distant ones out. Closer. Footsteps — two people, stationary. The soft rustle of fabric. Metal lightly tapping against armor.
Guards. Approximately fifteen meters ahead.
Beyond them — nothing immediate. No approaching patrol. No alarms.
I opened my eyes.
"Two guards. Holding position."
"Anyone else?"
"Not nearby." I exhaled slowly. "We can pass. For now."
Ira nodded once.
Somewhere above us, hidden behind dozens of reinforced walls and heavily guarded laboratories, was Flex. He had no idea we were coming — probably finishing paperwork, reviewing research, talking with colleagues. Completely unaware that every passing second brought us closer.
I tightened my grip on the handle.
"Ready?"
Ira simply nodded.
I opened the door just enough for us to slip through.
Cold white light spilled into the stairwell. The atmosphere changed instantly. Where the public floors had felt busy and professional, almost welcoming — this place didn't.
The corridor beyond was quieter. Cleaner. Sterile. Every surface is immaculate. Every corner carried the unmistakable sense that something important was hidden behind the reinforced laboratory doors lining the hallway.
This wasn't the part of Night Corporation shown in advertisements. This was where the real work happened. Where the secrets worth killing for were kept.
I exchanged one last glance with Ira.
No more jokes. No more sightseeing.
From this point onward, every mistake could be our last.
Together, we stepped into the restricted sector.
Floor Twenty-One.
The infiltration had truly begun.