Invicta reached for the bottle with the kind of casual dominance usually reserved for barroom brawlers and warlords.
Then she tipped it back, chugging it like a seasoned pro, the vodka vanishing down her throat in one long, uninterrupted gulp.
I sat there, blinking in utter disbelief as I watched this goddess bodied lunatic down enough alcohol to floor a grown man without flinching.
For a second, I genuinely thought I was seeing things.
"What the f*ck… Is this a polar bear in a bombshell's body?"
Then I remembered. Synthetic. Right.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, canines flashing as she gave me a grin like she'd just bench pressed reality.
"Alright, enough talking. Let's go. Our ride's here."
She turned around and sauntered toward the door, hips swaying lazily In my flip-flops.
"Huh? Ride? What ride?"
I asked as I got up, rubbing my head and following her down the hall and up the access stairs toward the roof.
As soon as we stepped onto the wind blasted concrete, I saw it. Heard it first a low, bone shaking hum that vibrated through the soles of my feet.
Then the shadow loomed. A massive gunmetal gray dropship hovered overhead, descending steadily on four angled chemical thrusters that spewed blue flames as they kicked up dust and trash across the rooftop.
Its design was all angular bulk, like it had been carved from a block of war steel twin engines mounted high on the tail end, wings tucked downward with integrated thruster ports, a wide front ramp yawning open as it prepared for boarding.
The cockpit was sunken back, framed by reinforced panels and a deep visor of black glass.
It looked like it could carry a full squad, two armored transports, and your mother in law's funeral march all while being shot at.
Invicta raised a hand and pointed, that damned smirk back on her lips.
"That ride."
I just stood there, wind tugging at my shirt, mouth halfway open.
"You're kidding."
"Nope."
I blinked, slowly.
"We're flying in that?"
"Mmhm."
She wiggled her diffrent colored manecuered toes in her flip flops.
"You coming, or should I carry you like a princess?"
I groaned, stepping forward, muttering under my breath.
"No need,"
I muttered, brushing past her as we stepped up the wide loading ramp into the belly of the beast. The dropship's interior was exactly what I expected and somehow worse.
Militaristic. Brutalist. Utterly utilitarian.
Black gray steel flooring, hard-lined bolted seats, exposed conduits along the walls, and narrow strip lights that flickered faintly probably just for mood and psychological effect.
It was neat, in a way that only a war machine could be, but everything about it gave off this air of ancient use.
Like it had been cleaned but never really cared for.
There were scorch marks near the ramp, old claw scratches on the benches, and dust in the vents that didn't look like it came from Earth.
If I had to guess?
Yeah. This thing hadn't seen action in years.
Maybe millions.
I sat down across from Invicta, who had already kicked her legs up onto the opposite bench like she owned the place.
Which, I guess, she did.
The dropship shuddered slightly as it began to rise, the engines thrumming low and steady, power humming under my boots.
I could feel the G's pull gently at my body as we lifted into the sky. I glanced over.
"So… where exactly are we going?"
She didn't even open her eyes, just leaned her head back against the wall, voice lazy as ever.
"Mount E*erest."
I blinked.
"Huh? Why the hell there?"
She opened one eye, that infuriating smirk tugging at her lips.
"Because that's where my real body is."
I just stared at her. Like an idiot. She finally turned to look at me, expression going flat.
"Oh for f*ck's sake…"
She crossed her arms beneath her chest.
"That's where my spaceship is."
Silence. I blinked again, because at this point I didn't even have the energy to curse.
"You buried a spaceship… in Mount Everest?"
"No. I landed it there."
She rolled her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Well, crash landed. Technicality."
I stared at the ceiling.
"...Of course you did."
The hum of the engines grew louder, wind roaring as we sliced through cloud cover, the cabin bathed in soft orange as the sun began its slow climb above the curve of the E*rth.
This was my life now.
Flying to Mount F*cking E*erest in a dropship to meet a spaceship that had been parked there for who knows how long.
With a flip flop wearing, g*d tier AI bombshell who practically made the whole human civilization a thing. I leaned back in my seat, muttering.
"I should've stayed in bed."
She grinned.
"Nope. Too late now, welcome to the rest of your life."
...
The air inside the anti terrorist command center was cold, dry, and sterile like the atmosphere had been scrubbed too clean.
A dozen operators sat at their stations, eyes glued to walls of monitors and live holographic feeds. Red and blue tactical overlays glowed across touch sensitive tables.
At the heart of it all stood the Director, arms crossed behind his back, face expressionless as he watched the live helmet cam feeds of an elite SWAT unit breaching a top floor apartment.
"Target confirmed last known location: building 287-C, unit 9A. Entry in 3… 2…"
BANG, CRACK!
The feed shuddered for a second as the breach charge blew the door, sending it swinging inward in a cloud of splinters and dust.
"Move! Move! Stack formation!"
Cam one, squad leader. The hallway came into focus, gun up, footsteps heavy and synchronized.
"Room clear!"
"Kitchen clear!"
"Living room, clear!"
One by one, they moved through the cramped one room apartment. Furniture overturned. Old, dust-sprinkled bottles on the table. A cheap, busted couch. Faint smoke residue still clinging to the air.
No movement. No bodies. No targets.
"Bedroom's clear."
"No heat signatures. No signs of struggle. Target's not here."
The Director narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening. He stepped forward and tapped the audio line.
"What about signs of recent use? Communications, network trails?"
"Negative. One powered down PC. No outbound transmissions in the last 48 hours. Fridge's still got food. Toothbrush is wet. Clothes in the laundry bin target was definitely here recently."
"But now he's not,"
The Director muttered, his tone dark, gaze glued to the feed. Then, he straightened.
"Bring up exterior CCTV. All angles. Street cams. Stairwell. Roof access. I want every frame from the last twenty four hours."
"Yes, sir."Operators tapped in, and a cascade of video feeds began to fill the wall monitors, stitched together from public surveillance, building security cams, and traffic drones.
The Director stepped closer as the main feed zoomed in on a timestamped video May 2, 06:47 AM.
He watched as Dracula walked out of the apartment. And behind him, her. The woman.Tanned skin, flip flops, red, black and white ponytail swaying, chewing gum like she was going for a stroll, not fleeing federal detection.
Invicta. The number one most wanted hacker in the known world. The woman who made entire governments scream into their firewalls.
"That's her…"
Someone murmured. The Director didn't respond. He just kept watching. The footage showed them reaching the stairwell. Then climbing up to the rooftop. And then.
Gone. No exit. No return. No teleport flash. Just gone.
"Stop."
The Director raised his hand.
"Rewind. Slow it down. Half speed. Frame by frame."
The operator nodded, and the footage reversed. Frame by frame, Invicta and Dracula climbed the last steps…
Stop.
Right there. The final frame. The Director stepped forward until his nose was nearly against the screen.
There barely visible a shimmer in the air. A distortion, like someone had bent the light itself into a vague, aircraft like outline.
Not a reflection. Not a glitch. A shape. Wings. Hull. Ramp lowering in the instant before the feed cut out.
"What the actual f..."
The words left his mouth before he realized he'd said them. He stumbled back a step, expression slack, eyes wide.
Because his world, their world was governed by data, protocol, control. And now? A man with no current job, flagged as a burnt out ex army grunt, and a cyber terrorist of the highest scale that was every heads of state nightmare had just walked up the stairs of a civilian apartment building and disappeared into thin air aboard a g*dsdamn invisible aircraft.
Not a drone. Not a VTOL. Something else.
"F*ck..."
The room was dead silent as the Director stared at the frozen frame.
"What the hell are we dealing with?"
No one answered. Because no one knew.
...
MC POV
I didn't know how long had passed. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours.
The steady hum of the engines and the gentle vibration of the cabin had lulled me into a half doze, somewhere between sleep and simmering existential dread.