The "Termination Notice" on my tablet didn't just flicker; it burned with a cold, digital finality. The "Senior Partner" I had trusted to watch my back, the man who had given me the "Western Audit" as a "career-making" opportunity, had just pulled a "Judas Protocol" on me.
"Vaughn, you snake," I whispered, my voice echoing in the hollow, dissolving throne room of the Western Empire.
"Elara, we have to move!" Bastian shouted, his data-blade vibrating as it cut through another surge of violet code-vines. "The 'Guild' isn't just 'Firing' you; they're 'Erasing' the 'Project Site'. If we're still here when the 'Format' hits 100%, we're nothing but 'Corrupted Data'!"
I didn't panic. Panic was a "Liability" I couldn't afford. I looked at the "Black Ledger" one last time. The entries weren't just numbers; they were "Coordinates."
