"Sir, we have a problem," his assistant’s panicked voice suddenly erupted through the desk intercom, breaking his train of thought.
In the deep, moisture-slicked underbelly of Sector 3, miles beneath the soaring spires of the corporate elite, Giska adjusted his grip on a crude cybernetic data tool. He ignored the frantic breath of his lead netrunner, focusing entirely on the flickering green progress bar illuminating the rusted metal walls of his hidden bunker. The air down here smelled heavily of burning grease, ozone, and wet concrete, a stark contrast to the sterile, jasmine-scented paradise he knew Rea was currently inhabiting. For weeks, his entire supply network had been systematically suffocated by Zeldin Corp, leaving him with rotting organic assets and bankrupt credit lines. But
