Arena District, First Week of March, 2324
The 'God Hands' Contemporary Art Gallery was less a gallery and more a magnificent glass prison—a dome of pure, geometric arrogance. It was dominated by sharp-angled metal installations and cruel blades of spotlight that cast chilling shadows everywhere. Each shadow felt like an invisible spy, watching, judging.
The air thrummed with the elite of Rich City, draped in couture worth a year's rent and carrying the expensive scent of entitlement. The ambient electronic music was not a melody; it was a cold, repetitive bass drone, as if the Gallery itself were a giant, slow-ticking machine, ready to devour anyone who dared touch its mechanics.
Vera moved among the chilled metal sculptures. Her crimson cocktail dress was a blatant standout, a deliberate anomaly in a sea of corporate grey and black. Her presence was a statement: I am not from here, and I don't care. In the small pocket of her clutch, she felt the crucial, minimal bulk of the dongle she needed to plant. Her heart hammered a dangerous, synchronized rhythm against the bass thrum.
Isaac's voice was a sharp, compressed hiss in her concealed earpiece. "Vera, you have less than two minutes before the security protocol cycles. I need five seconds of clear access at the server port. Find a physical backdoor or we go home empty."
Vera managed an internal, near-silent sigh. She gripped the edge of her clutch. "I know, Isaac. But the port area is biometrically locked. I can't risk a brute-force physical entry in this crowd. I need a miracle, or at least one moment of calculated chaos." The Marble Kingdom's shift to the more modern Rich City had complicated their digital access. Now, they needed to work meticulously. Digital wasn't enough; they required an efficient physical breach.
Vera's gaze swept the room, not focused on the art, but searching for the system's flaw.
There had to be... one weakness...
Her eyes settled on a small, secluded bar area, a quiet recess tucked behind a frosted ice-glass installation that resembled a glacier. The contrast between the liquid warmth of the drinks and the frigid architecture drew her in.
A man in a stark tuxedo stood alone there, leaning against a white marble counter. His short, dark hair contrasted sharply with his pale skin. He held a thin device, its light projecting frantic, flickering strings of code onto his fingers—a clear aura of digital failure. His cold, red retinas, left bare without the contact lenses that would hinder his peripheral vision, analyzed each line with rigid tension. His entire posture—from his stiff shoulders to the taut line of his jaw—exuded an intense physical discipline that made him look far older than his actual age. He sipped a glass of soda water with a lemon slice, his lips drawn into a tight, stressed line.
"Isaac, I've found a big fish," Vera whispered into the receiver.
"What? A fish? What are you talking about, hey!" Isaac's panicked voice distorted over the wire.
Vera offered no reply, immediately changing direction. She was drawn to the profound contradiction: perfect physical calm paired with obvious digital frustration. She saw not a guest, but a honed knife that had been dulled—thwarted by software. It was an unspoken invitation.
Carrying a copita glass of tequila, she walked with a graceful yet deliberate movement and settled onto the stool right next to the silent man.
"You look busy, sir. And you look incredibly angry at that little device. Has technology failed a professional on his night off?" Vera asked, her voice calm, her tone a practiced empathy. She tilted her head slightly.
The man shifted his gaze, leveling his deep red eyes at her. Hidden well beneath the sharp shadow of his brow, the gaze was cold as a freshly honed dagger, measuring her threat and intent in a fraction of a second.
"I prefer the latter. And keep your distance," the man said flatly, his voice a low grind of stone. "I hate witnesses, especially talkative and highly noticeable ones."
Vera ignored the razor edge of his words. "I'm not a noticeable witness, I'm Vera. And I'm intrigued by a very specific frustration. The flickering code, and the non-alcoholic drink. Let me guess: you're a pure assassin, hampered by Rich City's increasingly sophisticated firewalls. Am I right?" Vera probed, offering her hypothesis like a dangerous liquor.
The man offered a thin, skeletal smile—a smirk that didn't reach his eyes, merely a pull of facial muscle. It was a cold acknowledgment of the truth, delivered with reluctance.
"Alcohol is not good for chasing a rat. Furthermore, my support device's signal is completely blocked by the new First Class Protocol activated in this area. This isn't just encryption. This protocol is backed by an adaptive, high-level Sentinel AI. I am accustomed to manual, analog methods. This is digital logic that I cannot solve with a dagger alone, and it offends my aesthetic," he explained, his voice lowering to a calculated whisper.
"I understand. Digital failure," Vera nodded, concurring deeply. "While I'm the opposite. They've installed biometric locks on the primary server port. I need an impossible five seconds to breach it in this crowd." She glanced at the man beside her, waiting for a response.
He turned fully, his red eyes now faintly illuminated. "When I went looking for a Network, one of the information brokers mentioned a name: Vera, known for her digital penetration reputation. And yet, you're still at risk of exposure due to a physical obstacle. While I risk leaving traces due to a digital one. Annoying, or perhaps... advantageous?" he said, meeting her glance with cold composure, his finger tapping the marble.
Suddenly, in Vera's ear, Isaac's alarm-filled voice was more urgent than ever. "Vera! Rich City Jammer! Suddenly activated! Near you! Someone is trying to isolate that area! Move now!"
The man turned his face slightly, his movement almost imperceptible, allowing Isaac's earpiece to catch a trace of the leaking jammer signal. His red eyes fixed on Vera, not with anger, but with a new calculation.
"He is correct," he said, his tone shifting into something faster, more conspiratorial. "A powerful local jammer just went active, and my mission will become ridiculously suicidal. But…" The dagger-sharp gaze turned completely to Vera, his red eyes now alight with a new, lethal idea.
"I can trigger a structural instability in that massive installation. Protocol dictates that security systems will forcibly shut down all biometric smart-locks for mass emergency evacuation. That gives you a full ten-second window. I will only trigger the fire alarm as a back-up distraction."
Vera nodded, her breath caught. This was the perfect distraction, one only a professional unafraid of death—or at least arrest—would conceive.
"I need a total physical distraction in that immediate area to cover my movement. And I need a secure escape back-up once I've planted the dongle," Vera requested.
"More than a distraction. I will clear that area of every security guard facing your direction, without bloodshed—unless I am forced," he countered, his voice firm, offering a guarantee of quiet ruthlessness.
Vera suddenly picked up the copita glass of alcohol she had been holding and downed it quickly. A sudden, dizzy expression flashed across her face. She turned to the man beside her with a crooked, feigned smile.
"Guess I can't handle Tequila after all," Vera said in a deliberately weakened tone, then leaned in and rested her weight against his stiff shoulder.
The man, ever alert, did not flinch, instantly recognizing that this was not physical weakness, but a code transfer. He knew the newly activated Jammer in the area made normal audio transmission via earpiece extremely risky for sensitive information.
He did not resist her lean; instead, his head tilted slightly, allowing his rigid posture to become the perfect physical cloaking.
Between his cool breath and the near non-existent distance, Vera whispered—a sound only he could hear. "Frequency jammer active here. Audio leak risk. Listen closely. Five, dash, golf, romeo, one one nine."
Vera pulled back, returning to her stool as if nothing had happened, her face regaining its composure.
The man showed no emotion, only touching his earpiece, processing the code. L-GR 119—the license plate number for the rendezvous point.
The negotiation was over. The agreement was forged, cold and deadly, behind the veneer of a dull cocktail party. Without another word, as if their conversation had been a momentary formality before execution, the man moved with cold swiftness, transitioning from casual leaning to calculated action. He offered no apology, no farewell.
He walked away from Vera, heading toward the technical area concealed behind the ice-glass display. His pace was unhurried, yet every step broadcast a lethal determination.
Ignoring the luxurious marble stairs, he approached the colossal, spiraling metal art installation that reached the ceiling, a structure called 'Horus Angkasa'—which now became his dangerous shortcut. In a silent, agile motion, like a panther moving through a cage, he began to climb. The elite crowd was accustomed to ignoring details above their heads, too busy maintaining their dignity on the floor.
His expensive tuxedo did not hinder him; he used it to blend with the shadows and metal curves, borrowing the darkness left by the spotlights deliberately aimed to create dramatic shadows. His goal was singular and clear: reach the ceiling, where the structural weak point and the main electrical system locking the server port were located, just meters above the crowd.
"Vera! He's climbing the art installation! What is he doing?! I'm losing your cloaking signal because of this jammer!" Isaac's voice was utterly frantic, fighting against the interfering frequency hiss.
Vera did not reply with words; she merely whispered into the remaining silence of her earpiece. "Prepare yourself, Isaac. He's about to trigger the perfect backdoor, and it's the five seconds you need." Her eyes were fixed on the figure now dangling high above the elite crowd, ready to unleash an unexpected catastrophe.
With terrifying agility, the man reached the structural focal point on the ceiling, a weak spot known only to technicians. He drew a black dagger, cleverly concealed in his jacket sleeve. He did not vandalize, but used the blade to manipulate the metal joints, applying pressure to a sensitive gravitational point.
Immediately, the Horus Angkasa installation began to groan slowly. The invisible structural fissure triggered the emergency tilt sensors. Evacuation sirens blared automatically, cutting through the ambient electronic drone. The spotlights died, and blue emergency lights flickered on.
Security guards in black-and-white uniforms immediately scattered toward the creaking central installation, programmed to deal with a structural threat. Simultaneously, due to the threat of the massive installation collapsing, all biometric smart-locks forcibly shut down to allow for mass evacuation.
"Vera! Biometric smart-locks are down due to evacuation! Now! You have seven seconds! If you fail, the fire alarm will sound at the eighth second, but their main focus will return to the server!" Isaac shouted, his voice filled with near-hysterical awe.
Vera darted, her crimson gown fluttering like a banner of rebellion. She moved against the current of the panicked crowd, stepping over expensive silk dresses and dodging flying champagne flutes. The scent of arrogance turned into the sickening stench of sweat and fear. Within seconds, she reached the main server port, its door now forced open. She decisively plunged the dongle into the available socket. The small light on the dongle blinked red-green, sucking the needed data to Isaac.
"This is the authentication code for Rich City's 'Aegis' Defense System. Without this, the Cube has no future," Vera hissed, talking to herself and the dongle.
As the dongle worked, Vera glanced up. She caught the flash of red retina from the man, who had silently leaped down from the art installation with terrifying stillness, landing between two startled security guards. He did not attack, only evaded with uncanny skill. Touching the arm of one guard, causing him to stumble into his partner. He used his physical presence as bait, drawing the guards away from the service door where Vera was located.
"Five seconds, Vera! Five more seconds!" Isaac hissed.
The dongle blinked a steady green. Mission accomplished.
Vera swiftly yanked out the dongle, concealing it back in her clutch. She took her final steps toward the designated service exit. Behind her, the man looked like a quiet tornado, deflecting and manipulating, keeping the guards' attention focused solely on him. He was the lethal physical backdoor.
As Vera stepped out through the steel door and ran toward the dark parking area, she heard the door automatically lock behind her—the biometric smart-locks re-engaging. She left the man in the center of the chaos, a sharp knife busy cutting every thread of his own created disorder.
L-GR 119 was already waiting.
Fifteen minutes after the evacuation sirens had subsided into an awkward night silence. The black van was tucked into a service alley, a loading dock parking area, far from the glittering God Hands Gallery which was now closed and wrapped in public lies.
The silence inside the van was thick and deadly, broken only by the quiet whir of the laptop fan in Vera's lap. The Data Cube was safe, successfully and silently transferred to their main server.
Vera closed her laptop and placed it on the back seat. She sat calmly in the driver's seat, her gaze fixed on the steady indicator light on the dashboard. Although Isaac had confirmed the data was successfully stolen and there was not the slightest suspicion pointing to Vera or the Cube, the tension in her shoulders had not fully dissipated. She was waiting for her debt to arrive, the debt she had just incurred for that perfect physical backdoor.
Right on the promised second, the van door slid open, cutting a shadow across the alley. The man entered. His jacket was slightly dishevelled, his collar slightly askew, but his body was completely unharmed—no scratches, no bloodstains. He closed the door with a quiet movement, as if it were made of cotton. He sat in the passenger seat next to Vera. The smell of cold sweat and expensive perfume mingled in the cramped air.
"As I promised, I drew their attention north, creating the physical backdoor so you could move. And you succeeded. Now, it's your turn," the man said, his voice calm, without urgency.
Vera sighed, a deliberate movement. She reached for the earpiece in her ear, carefully removing it. Then she placed the earpiece into the ear of the man beside her. Their first physical contact was fleeting, only a brush of skin in the darkness, a transfer from one system to another.
"Pleasure to meet you, Sir. I'm Isaac. Let us pay you by cutting the digital backdoor you need." Isaac's voice sounded clear in the man's ear. Although cold, there was a hint of underlying enthusiasm.
"This is our private communication channel," Vera explained, but her eyes were still focused straight ahead, avoiding the man's gaze. She wanted to maintain this professional distance. "Untraceable by the government, the elite, or anyone in Rich City. We will give you unlimited digital access, a clear path wherever you want to go. We are the Cube."
The man touched his earpiece, as if testing Isaac's presence. "Signal confirmed. I need a digital backdoor that will never leak, a digital scalpel as sharp as my twin daggers." He leaned back, his expression returning to cold composure.
Vera looked directly at him. "I know you have your own targets and rules. So, you will work as our most expensive freelancer. But we have one non-negotiable rule," Vera said, her tone turning extremely serious, testing the limits of the man beside her. "Never touch jobs involving children. That is our most absolute Red Line. The Cube has a code of ethics, and you must adhere to it. So, show me your target. If it violates the code, this alliance ends now."
The man returned Vera's gaze with a thin smirk.
"My targets are the elite rats of the Marble Kingdom. They are all adults and filthy. I wouldn't waste energy on unprofitable targets," he replied, dismissing Vera's concern with cold certainty. "All I require is the compensation, and data on the target who escaped my capture today thanks to this jammer and the ensuing chaos. You'll hand me the digital scalpel to track them tomorrow."
"Agreed. I give you unlimited digital access." Vera accepted, agreeing to his terms without further negotiation. This was a fair price for the perfection she had witnessed tonight.
Instead of ending the arrangement, Vera posed the most important question. "What is your name, Mr. Assassin?"
The man grinned, the smile reaching his eyes this time, an expression that marked the newly formed, eternal alliance and the acknowledgment that they were now bound. It was the smile of a predator who had found an equal hunting partner.
"Call me Ren," he replied.
Silence returned to the van. There was no handshake, no ritual. Only a pact etched in the cool darkness. Since that night, in the black van tucked into a dark alley, their alliance was formed, birthing The Cube—the most dangerous team on Rich City's dark web, a terrifying combination of physical and digital backdoor power.