Igniting Shadows

Date: Monday, May 18th, 2042

Time: 7:45 AM

Location: ???, Underworld District, Nebula

Characters: Specter, Lynx, Xyrotic, Vortex

"Find something funny?" Vortex's voice broke the focused atmosphere.

Emerging from Nebula's cyberpunk underbelly, Vortex was a young bomb specialist with an affinity for chaos. Raised in the shadows, he crafted lethal devices and traded in forbidden weaponry, leaving explosive mayhem in his wake.

He removed his gas mask and nonchalantly tossed it onto the couch where Specter was slouched. In his hands, he carried a weighty duffel bag, brimming with newly acquired mechanical parts, likely intended for crafting his signature explosives.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear," Lynx remarked calmly, never once diverting her attention from her intricate hacking task.

"Back from your nightly escapades, boomster? Who got the explosive treatment this time?" Xyro's grin was unmistakable as he playfully humped his anatomically exaggerated doll, eliciting a blush and a frown from Vortex.

Meanwhile, Specter, their leader, couldn't help but chuckle at the cheeky banter.

"What in the world are you going on about!? I haven't been with anyone!" Vortex protested, attempting to set the record straight.

"Called it," Specter chimed in, shifting into a more attentive position on the couch.

Xyro sighed dramatically, his disappointment palpable even as he muttered to himself.

"Called what!?" Vortex's curiosity got the best of him.

"They assumed you slipped away early last night's post-explosion, all thanks to some captivating lady," Lynx replied without lifting her gaze from the hacking interface.

"Absolutely not. My exit was hasty because of an auction. You know I'm all about securing the finest quality for my explosive babies," Vortex scoffed playfully, his pride evident in the way he referred to his bombs as 'explosive babies.'

Unbeknownst to his comrades, Vortex's night had indeed involved a chance encounter with a captivating lady in a dimly lit alleyway. Her allure and enigma had left an impression, though he decided to keep this encounter to himself, deeming it inconsequential to share with the crew.

With a gentle toss, the duffel bag found its place on the floor, its contents laid bare for the two men to assess. Specter's whistle echoed in the room as he eyed the new equipment, his smirk a testament to his appreciation for Vortex's resourcefulness.

"Well, damn. This promises some serious fun during testing," Specter quipped, his eagerness apparent.

"I've got a craving for gas bombs, that's where the real delight lies!" Xyro's suggestion was accompanied by a cynical grin, his mind already weaving sinister scenarios of toxins entwined with Vortex's explosive creations.

Vortex's grin widened as he picked up on Xyro's enthusiasm. "Oh, I'm going to provide you with all the bombs you could dream of Doc. With these new tools at our disposal, you can expect the impact to be doubled. Those ECHO officers won't even see it coming!" His voice carried a mix of determination and anticipation, envisioning the moment of triumph when their most formidable foes, the Elite Cybernetic Hazard Operations, would be caught off guard and overwhelmed by the onslaught of their explosive genius.

Specter's eyes gleamed with a ruthless glint as he leaned forward, his hands almost caressing the contents of the duffel bag. "Let's give those suits a taste of chaos they won't forget," he affirmed, the promise of retribution hanging heavy in the air.

As Lynx's fingers danced over the keyboard, her stoic expression remained unchanged, but her focus was unbreakable. "Their surveillance and defense protocols won't stand a chance against our expertise," she stated confidently, her words a silent assurance that their technological advantage was as impenetrable as her resolve.

The room crackled with a shared determination, a unity forged in the fires of rebellion. Vortex's crew, masters of anarchy in the heart of the cybernetic city, prepared to unleash a storm that would rock the very foundations of Nebula's order.

Date: Monday, May 18th, 2042

Time: 10:30 P.M

Location: Nebulae Bank, Nexus District, Nebula

Characters: Everly, Supervisor, Manager

As the clock neared the end of another taxing workday, Everly stretched her arms wide, feeling the tension in her muscles gradually dissipate. The prospect of finally clocking out and retreating to her cozy apartment was a comforting thought after wrangling with a mountain of tasks.

With a mix of determination and exasperation, she had successfully managed to tackle the majority of her arrogant manager's demands. Dealing with the co-workers' unfinished work would have been a breeze—had they not repeatedly dumped their responsibilities onto her.

A low rumble from her stomach served as a reminder of the time, prompting her to daydream about the alluring combination of "jerk rolls and beer." It was a savory indulgence that promised temporary solace from the stresses of her work.

"Lockshit, wrapped up the tasks?" The Supervisor's voice intruded, cutting through her thoughts.

Eve turned her attention to the Supervisor, her expression weary. "I've emailed you the finance reports. I'd recommend giving them a thorough review, unless you're keen on facing the boss's scoldings once more," she retorted, her tone betraying her underlying monotony.

"Shut it. The manager has a word for you before you clock out," the Supervisor sneered, a disconcerting grin playing on his lips.

The summoning from the manager never heralded positive news. What could it possibly be about? Trouble was unlikely—she prided herself on being the least problematic member of the department. Perhaps it was a proposition for a well-deserved pay raise or the long-awaited promotion she'd been hoping for.

Everly left behind her office cubicle, each step heavy with apprehension as she traversed the dimly lit corridor leading to the manager's domain. Her mind was awash with a cocktail of anxiety and doubt. Could her worries be mere overthinking, or was she justified in her paranoid concerns?

The strange behavior exhibited by the Supervisor throughout the day lingered in her thoughts. Could his actions somehow be linked to this summoning? She considered the possibility, her imagination weaving threads of suspicion.

Upon reaching the manager's office, Everly stood before the imposing door, her heart racing in tempo with the swirl of thoughts in her head. Taking a steadying breath, she rapped her knuckles against the door's surface.

"Boss? It's me, Lockwood," she announced, her voice carrying a mixture of uncertainty and respect.

In response, the metallic door responded with a faint hum before sliding open, revealing the manager's inner sanctum. Everly entered, her gaze drawn to the tall, middle-aged man who seemed almost one with the advanced technology that surrounded him. Holographic screens projected an intricate dance of data, enveloping him in an aura of command.

Unsure of whether to speak or await an acknowledgment, Everly hesitated, her eyes flitting between the data streams and the manager himself. The air was thick with unspoken tension, a palpable energy that hinted at a pivotal moment in the making.

"Take a seat, Miss Lockwood," the manager's voice was authoritative, seamlessly melding with the ongoing tasks he managed on his array of holographic screens.

Everly approached the designated office chair and settled into it as instructed, her nerves now mixing with curiosity about the purpose of this unexpected meeting. The manager's fingers paused, halting the cascade of keystrokes, and the holographic displays dissolved, leaving him fully focused on her.

"Do you have any inkling as to why I've called you in here?" his question hung in the air, coated with a layer of sternness.

"Not at all. I hope this isn't about any sort of trouble," Everly responded, her tone a blend of sincerity and concern.

A momentary pause followed her response, and then the manager's gaze locked onto hers. "There is trouble, Miss Lockwood. And I must confess, I'm thoroughly disappointed with you," he stated bluntly, the words delivered with a weight that sent a shiver down her spine.

Her brows knitted together as his words echoed in her ears. What was he referring to? Trouble? Disappointment? Her mind raced to comprehend the gravity of the situation at hand. What had she done—or failed to do—that warranted such condemnation from her manager?