After we'd left the haunted house—or what was left of it—I turned to Ronald with a sudden thought.
"Hey, Ron," I called.
He tilted his head. "Hmm?"
"Remember that treasure I told you to keep in your inventory?"
Ronald perked up. "Aye. Still there. Safe and sound."
"Good," I said with a nod. "I've decided—you can keep half of it."
"Half?!" Ronald gawked. "Why? I didn't even do anything!"
"Exactly," I said, patting his shoulder with mock gravity. "With a soul as kind and gullible as yours, I doubt you'll ever make money in an honest market. Consider it a survival fund."
Ronald blinked. "What if I get scammed?"
I raised a fist and smirked. "With me around, who in their bloody mind would dare scam you?"
He paused, then placed a hand over his heart. His eyes sparkled with admiration. "My dark hero…"
I blinked. "…What?"
"Nothing." Ronald turned away, coughing awkwardly into his sleeve.
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't hide the smirk tugging at the corner of my lips.
With Ronald leading the way, we finally arrived at the Crimson Veil Bureau—the central nerve of all covert operations, intelligence-gathering, and mission deployment in the region.
The moment we stepped through its biometric portal—a shimmering hexagonal gate that scanned for physical signatures—the air changed.
Gone was the dusty, medieval world outside. Inside, the Bureau pulsed with sleek, humming technology fused seamlessly with arcane architecture. Holographic panels floated mid-air, casting soft blue and violet glows across blackened steel floors. Transparent cables threaded through the walls like glowing veins, pulsing with rhythmic light—as though the building itself were breathing secrets.
The lobby opened into a vast, cathedral-like hall where agents strode across floating walkways and levitating platforms that glided smoothly between departments. Above and around us, enormous holo-displays projected tactical maps, surveillance footage, and rotating mission logs in multidimensional layers. AI drones zipped past, occasionally stopping to scan agents or deliver encrypted tablets with eerie precision.
Glass towers spiraled toward the ceiling, each level visible through reinforced crystal walls. Within, specialized divisions buzzed with activity: Cybersecurity & Threat Analysis, Signals Intelligence, Data Forensics, Strategic Operations, Psychological Profiling, Biometric Surveillance, and Advanced AI Research. It was a city of precision, data, and relentless innovation in constant motion.
At the center stood the Mission Obelisk—a towering spire of obsidian glass, sleek and silent, encasing a levitating orb of pale, translucent light. It rotated with deliberate grace, casting luminous data threads into the air like whispered secrets. Speech patterns, electrical surges, troop movements—even neural fluctuations during sleep—it tracked everything with chilling precision.
Overhead, sleek security drones hovered in absolute stillness, watching. Listening. Judging.
Ronald swallowed hard and leaned toward me, whispering, "Why do I feel like blinking the wrong way in here will get me arrested?"
I smirked and gave him a pat on the back. "Because it probably will."
We passed one of the glowing mission terminals, where agents queued to scan their palms and accept high-level assignments. Their faces flickered with red and blue glyphs, like war paint for the digital age.
Across the far wall, a massive LED board displayed alerts and rankings in bold crimson script:
OPERATION BLACK STORM — ACTIVE.
SHADOW LEVEL THREATS: 3.
INTEL PRIORITY: LEVEL 0.
Ronald's eyes widened. "This place is way cooler than what Master told me about."
I gave a low hum. "Cool is one word for it. Terrifying is another."
We continued forward, taking it all in.
"Have you been here before?" I asked, glancing at him.
Ronald, still in awe, shook his head. "Never. But… it's amazing." His heart sounded like it was trying to punch through his chest.
And yet, he kept walking—right toward the lion's den with stars in his eyes.
We approached the central lift, flanked by two guards in matte-black tactical armor. Their visors gleamed. No expressions. Just protocol and threat detection.
One of them stepped forward. "State your identity. Do you have an appointment? If so—who with?"
I offered a casual smile. "Shorty."
Silence.
Guns clicked.
"Arrest these trespassers."
"Eh?" Ronald and I blinked at the same time.
"Wait, what?" I lifted my hands slowly.
Ronald's hands shot up like a panicked kindergartener in a fire drill. "What do we do?! What do we do?! We're going to die!"
"Stop being so pessimistic!" I hissed at him. "Look on the bright side—at least they're not shooting yet."
"They will if you keep opening your mouth!" Ronald squealed.
The guards advanced. Each step sounded like a countdown to doom.
I scanned our surroundings—hallways, platforms, catwalks, floating lifts. One flickering side corridor had a security door stuck halfway open.
Perfect.
"Ronald—RUN!" I grabbed his sleeve and bolted.
"What?! AAHHH—" Ronald stumbled after me like a confused duckling.
Behind us, a gruff voice bellowed, "EXTERMINATE THEM!"
"Not arrest—exterminate?!" I shrieked. "What is this, pest control?!"
We dashed through the bureau, zigzagging like headless chickens. A drone whizzed overhead—we ducked. A retractable wall slid shut in front of us—I pulled Ronald through with half a second to spare.
A mechanical mop-bot whirred out of nowhere, spraying foam. Ronald slipped, arms flailing, then latched onto my jacket like a koala.
"Ronald! Let go, you're dragging us both!"
"I'm too young to be incinerated!"
We swerved through a digital archives room, accidentally triggered a sensor gate, and were promptly bombarded with holographic pop-ups:
[Welcome to Bureau Tax Code Reform.]
[Would you like to complete your annual ethics survey?"]
"No, no, no!" I waved my hand through them like smoke. "Out! OUT!"
A security turret dropped from the ceiling and scanned us.
"Unauthorized presence detected. Initiating light stun protocol."
"LIGHT?!"
PEW PEW PEW!
We dove behind a display case full of confiscated cursed tech and black-market USB sticks. Ronald peeked out and instantly retreated as a stun beam singed the floor near his nose.
"Oh my nose!" he wailed.
"We're going to die in an Excel spreadsheet museum!" I cried.
Finally, we slid into an air duct—because of course there was an air duct—and crawled like rats escaping an exterminator with a grudge.
As we panted in the dark, Ronald whispered, "Why did you say Shorty?"
"Because that's his name!"
"No! It's not!"
"…It's not?"
Ronald glared at me through the dark. "You are not allowed to speak at security gates ever again."
We continued to dodge the guards' relentless pursuit, weaving between sliding doors, hopping over security lasers, and ducking behind floating terminals.
"Wah!" Ronald cried, voice cracking. "There's more guards than before!"
"I know!" I huffed. "Where the hell is Shorty when you need him?!"
As if summoned by divine irony—or just incredible timing—a figure stepped out from around the corner.
"Shorty!" we both shouted in unison.
The man turned slowly, brows furrowed. "Hmm?" His eyes narrowed. "Llyne? Ronald?"
He glanced past us, where a small army of guards thundered in our direction like a very serious parade.
"Ack! That lunatic!" he groaned. "What did she do this time?"
We collapsed behind him, panting like we'd just sprinted through a warzone. Which, to be fair, we kind of had.
"They wanna kill us!" I jabbed a trembling finger at the guards like a dramatic courtroom lawyer.
Isaac shot me a look of pure disgust. "Who doesn't want to kill you?"
The Chief Guard stepped forward, face stony and gun still raised. "Do you know these two?"
Isaac gave us a long, withering look. Ronald and I instantly whipped out the puppy eyes—his were genuine, mine were a little more practiced.
Isaac sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "If it were just Llyne… I'd say no without hesitation." He paused. "But since Ronald's here..."
He groaned again, like we were a bad case of indigestion he couldn't quite throw up.
Isaac turned to the Chief Guard with a sigh, his voice flat but firm. "Yes. They have an appointment with me."
The Chief Guard's frown deepened. He tapped at his wrist console, scrolling through holographic schedules. "It's not in the system."
"It was a last-minute update," Isaac replied smoothly, without hesitation.
The guard narrowed his eyes, not quite convinced, but after a tense pause, he gave a stiff nod. "Next time, notify us properly. We don't tolerate unscheduled intrusions."
"No kidding," I muttered, throwing my hands into the air with dramatic flair. "Another second and poof! Our heads would've flown off like bottle caps!"
Isaac shot me a glare sharp enough to slice steel.
I quickly looked away and started whistling innocently, as if the walls were suddenly fascinating.
"Understood," Isaac said coolly, turning back to the guard. His face remained unreadable.
The Chief gave a short salute, then signaled the other guards. Within seconds, the swarm of armed personnel melted back into the building's veins like they'd never been there.
I pouted as they disappeared. "They're so unreasonable…"
"Shut up and follow me," Isaac snapped without looking back, "before I change my mind and hand you over."
Ronald and I scurried after him without protest, falling into step behind like two schoolkids caught sneaking into a staff room.