[LOCATION: SECTOR 7 - EDEN-5 PERIMETER]
[TIME: 06:42 LOCAL]
[WEATHER: SMOG CLEARING / UV INDEX: HIGH]
[CURRENT OUTFIT: TACTICAL SUIT (CIVILIAN MODE)]
The sun rises over Neo-Berlin, not as a glorious orb of fire, but as a bruised purple stain bleeding through the heavy cloud layer. The light that reaches the street level is diffuse and grey, offering no warmth.
Unit 73 stands on the rooftop of a dilapidated tenement building, three blocks away from his target. The wind whips the hem of his trench coat around his legs. He does not feel the chill. His thermal regulation sub-routines maintain his core temperature at a steady 37.0 degrees Celsius.
He raises a pair of digital binoculars to his eyes. The lenses sync with his neural cortex, zooming in with a soft electronic whine.
[TARGET LOCATION IDENTIFIED: EDEN-5 BIOSPHERE]
The structure is an anomaly. In a city built of concrete, steel, and neon, Eden-5 is a pillar of vibrant, aggressive life. It is a cylindrical mega-tower, rising fifty stories into the smog. Its walls are made of reinforced poly-glass, revealing a lush, green interior. Vines choke the support struts. Massive synthetic trees press against the glass. It looks less like a farm and more like a captured jungle.
"Eden-5," Mother's voice narrates in his ear. "The city's primary source of organic oxygen and non-synthetic produce. It is also a fortress. The Green Hand eco-terrorist group has threatened it twice this month, so security is heightened. Private military contractors. Grade-A gear."
73 scans the perimeter. His HUD highlights patrol routes in red lines.
[ENTRY POINT ANALYSIS]
Option A: Main Lobby. Heavily guarded. Metal detectors. Biometric scanners. [Probability of Conflict: 98%]
Option B: Ventilation Shafts. Located on the 15th floor exterior. Requires climbing gear. [Gear Not Available]
Option C: Logistics Bay. Rear entrance. Delivery schedule detected. [Opportunity: High]
73 lowers the binoculars. "Proceeding to Logistics Bay," he thinks.
He moves to the edge of the roof. He calculates the drop. Four meters to the fire escape below. He steps off. He lands silently, his knees bending to absorb the kinetic energy, his internal gyroscope keeping him perfectly balanced.
He descends into the alleyway.
The rear of the Eden-5 facility is a hive of activity. Large, armored transport trucks branded with the Bio-Fresh logo idle in a queue, waiting to discharge their cargo of fertilizer and empty crates.
73 watches from the shadows of a waste disposal unit. He observes the rhythm of the gate.
Check ID. Scan cargo. Open gate. Truck enters. Close gate. Cycle time: 45 seconds.
A truck rumbles past his position, slowing down for the turn into the bay. It is a massive vehicle, covered in road grime.
[OPPORTUNITY DETECTED]
73 sprints. He does not run like a man; he runs like a machine, maximizing stride length and minimizing vertical oscillation. He reaches the blind spot behind the truck. He grabs the rear bumper bar. With a surge of hydraulic-assisted strength, he pulls himself up, flattening his body against the corrugated metal of the rear doors.
The truck stops at the checkpoint. A guard walks around the vehicle. 73 shifts his position, hanging off the side, suspending himself over the wheel well to break the line of sight.
"Clear," the guard grunts.
The truck lurches forward. 73 pulls himself back to the rear. The truck passes through the energy field of the gate.
[AREA DISCOVERED: LOGISTICS BAY]
[STATUS: TRESPASSING]
[HOSTILE ZONE]
The truck hisses to a halt in a cavernous loading bay. The air here smells different—earthy, humid, and rich with the scent of manure and chlorophyll. It is a stark contrast to the sterile ozone of the city.
73 drops from the back of the truck. He rolls instantly behind a stack of blue shipping crates.
He peeks out. Two dock workers in bright yellow jumpsuits are approaching the truck. A guard in black tactical gear stands near the elevator bank, holding a tablet.
"Unload the nitrogen fixers first," the guard orders. "Dr. Thorne is screaming about the pH levels on floor 40."
"Thorne is always screaming about something," one of the workers mutters, spitting on the floor.
73 needs a disguise. The tactical suit is conspicuous.
He scans the area. To his left, a small office with a glass window. Inside, a lone worker is sitting at a desk, looking at a holographic screen.
73 moves. He waits for the forklift to rev its engine, masking the sound of his footsteps. He slips to the office door. It is unlocked.
He enters. The worker, a man with thinning hair and a Bio-Fresh cap, looks up, startled.
"Hey, you can't be in—"
73 closes the distance in two steps. He creates a fist, extending the middle knuckle slightly. He strikes the man in the solar plexus, collapsing his diaphragm. As the man doubles over, gasping for air that won't come, 73 spins him around and applies a sleeper hold.
[NON-LETHAL TAKEDOWN]
[NOISE GENERATED: MINIMAL]
The man goes limp. 73 drags him away from the window.
He strips the worker. He removes his own trench coat and suit jacket, folding them into a compact bundle and shoving them into the bottom of a filing cabinet. He pulls on the yellow jumpsuit. It is baggy and smells of stale sweat and fertilizer. He puts on the Bio-Fresh cap, pulling the brim low to shadow his eyes.
[DISGUISE ACQUIRED: DOCK WORKER]
[ACCESS LEVEL: LOW (FLOORS 1-10)]
He steps out of the office. He adopts a slouch. His gait changes from the precise, predatory walk of an assassin to the tired, heavy-footed shuffle of a minimum-wage laborer.
He walks toward the elevator bank. The guard with the tablet looks up.
"Hey! You!"
73 stops. He does not flinch. He turns slowly.
[BLUFF PROTOCOL INITIATED]
[CALCULATING RESPONSE...]
"Me?" 73 asks. His voice is modulated to sound rougher, weary.
"Yeah, you. Grab that crate of air filters. It needs to go to Maintenance on Floor 5. Elevator B."
73 nods. "On it."
He walks to the designated crate. He lifts it. It is heavy, perhaps fifty kilograms. 73 lifts it as if it were Styrofoam, but he catches himself. He feigns effort, grunting slightly as he hoists it onto his shoulder.
He enters Elevator B. He presses the button for Floor 5.
The doors close.
"Target is on Floor 50," Mother reminds him. "You need to find a way to bypass the security lockout on the upper levels. The Dock Worker clearance will not get you past Floor 10."
"Understood," 73 thinks.
He looks at the elevator control panel. It is a standard Sanctum biometric interface.
The elevator rises. Through the glass rear wall of the car, the interior of Eden-5 reveals itself. It is breathtaking. Tier upon tier of hydroponic gardens stretch upward, bathed in artificial sunlight that mimics the golden hour. Drones buzz like bees between the rows of genetically modified corn and soy.
73 feels a flicker in his mind.
[GLITCH DETECTED]
Flash.
He is not in the elevator. He is in a greenhouse. A much smaller one. There is a bird in a cage. A yellow canary. A man—an older man, heavyset, with a thick accent—is feeding it.
"The bird is innocent, 47. Unlike us."
Flash.
73 blinks. The vision clears. He is back in the elevator.
[DIAGNOSTIC: MILD VISUAL ARTIFACTING]
[CAUSE: UNKNOWN]
He shakes his head slightly. "Focus," he commands himself.
The elevator dings. Floor 5. Maintenance.
73 steps out. This floor is a maze of pipes, humidity controls, and water filtration systems. Steam hisses from valves. The noise is deafening.
He drops the crate of air filters near a workbench. He needs a better disguise.
He scans the area using Instinct Mode. Through the walls, he sees silhouettes. Two men in blue coveralls—Biosphere Technicians—are standing near a smoking junction box at the end of the hall.
Technicians have mid-level clearance. They can access the lift shafts and the service stairs.
73 approaches them. He grabs a wrench from a tool cart as he passes.
"Damn thing is fried," one technician says, kicking the junction box. "Thorne's humidity override blew the circuit."
"We need a replacement fuse from the supply closet," the other says. "I'll go."
The second technician turns and walks down the corridor, heading toward 73.
73 keeps his head down, tinkering with the wrench in his hands. As the technician passes him, 73 turns.
He follows the man around the corner, out of sight of the first technician.
The technician opens the supply closet. 73 moves. A swift chop to the neck. The man drops.
73 drags him in. He changes again. The blue coveralls are cleaner. He clips the technician's ID badge to his chest.
[DISGUISE ACQUIRED: BIOSPHERE TECHNICIAN]
[ACCESS LEVEL: MEDIUM (FLOORS 1-40)]
He leaves the closet. He walks back past the first technician, who is still staring at the junction box.
"Got the fuse?" the man asks without looking back.
"Wrong type," 73 mumbles, keeping his pace steady. "Going to central stores."
"Make it quick!"
73 reaches the service stairwell. He swipes the blue badge. The lock buzzes green. He enters.
He begins to climb.
Floor 10... Floor 20... Floor 30...
His endurance is infinite. His muscles do not burn with lactic acid. He climbs at a steady, rhythmic pace, calculating the time to intercept.
At Floor 45, the stairwell ends. A massive blast door blocks the way.
[RESTRICTED AREA: FLOORS 45-50]
[ACCESS REQUIRED: BLACK KEYCARD (EXECUTIVE/RESEARCH)]
73 examines the door panel. It is a high-security retina scanner combined with a keypad. The blue badge is useless here.
"This is the checkpoint," Mother says. "Beyond this door is Thorne's domain. You have the Scrambler."
73 reaches into his pocket. He withdraws the Disposable Scrambler. It is a small, black rectangle with a jagged data spike.
He looks at the door panel. If he uses the Scrambler here, he enters the secure zone. But the Scrambler is single-use. If there is another lock on the lab door itself...
"Wait," 73 pauses. "Mother, scan the schematics for Floor 50. Is the lab door locked electronically?"
"Affirmative," Mother replies. "The Biohazard Containment door has a standalone air-gap lock. It cannot be hacked remotely. You will need a keycard or..."
"Or the Scrambler," 73 finishes the thought. "If I use it here, I cannot enter the lab."
He puts the Scrambler back in his pocket. He needs another way past this blast door.
He looks up. Above the door, there is a security camera. He shoots it with his silenced pistol. Phut. The lens shatters.
He looks at the vent cover near the floor. Too small.
Then, the door beeps. Someone is coming out.
73 flattens himself against the wall next to the door hinge. He holds his breath—stopping his lung function entirely to ensure total silence.
The heavy door hisses open. A woman in a white lab coat steps out, looking at a clipboard. She is flanked by two armed guards.
"I don't care what the readings say," she is saying. "If we increase the toxicity, the plants die too. Thorne is insane."
She walks past 73's hiding spot. The guards follow.
The door begins to close.
[TIMING WINDOW: 2 SECONDS]
73 moves. He does not attack the guards; that would trigger a station-wide alarm. Instead, he dives. He slides through the narrowing gap of the blast door just as it seals shut.
Thud.
He is inside.
[AREA DISCOVERED: UPPER RESEARCH LEVEL]
[STATUS: HOSTILE]
The aesthetic changes instantly. The lush greenery is gone. This is a sterile, white laboratory hell. The air is cold and smells of antiseptic. Men and women in full hazmat suits walk purposefully between glass-walled rooms containing twisted, mutated plants.
73 crouches behind a sterilization unit. He is still in the blue technician coveralls. He is out of place.
"You are trespassing," Mother warns. "Avoid visual contact."
He moves low, cover to cover. He heads toward the central spire—the elevator that leads to the pinnacle: Floor 50.
He reaches the final elevator. There are no guards here. Just a single, ominous door with a biohazard symbol glowing red.
[TARGET LOCATION: FLOOR 50]
He presses the button. The elevator opens. He enters. There are no other stops.
The ride is short. When the doors open, a wall of green fog greets him.
[WARNING: TOXIC ATMOSPHERE DETECTED]
[AIR QUALITY: LETHAL]
[LUNG CAPACITY: 100%]
The entire 50th floor is a single, massive greenhouse lab. But the air is thick with a heavy, verdant gas. It is the weaponized blight in aerosol form.
73 steps out.
[LUNG CAPACITY: 98%]
His HUD flashes red warning borders. His bio-filters are working overtime, scrubbing the toxins, but they are being overwhelmed.
"You have approximately three minutes before system failure," Mother states calmly. "Locate Thorne."
73 walks through the mist. The plants here are monstrous—huge, weeping things with purple veins. Visibility is low.
He activates Instinct Mode. The world turns grey. Through the fog, a golden silhouette appears at the far end of the room, forty meters away.
Dr. Aris Thorne.
73 moves forward. His health bar ticks down slowly. 95%... 92%...
He reaches a glass partition. The door to Thorne's inner sanctum is locked.
[SECURITY LEVEL: MAXIMUM]
[ACCESS DENIED]
This is it.
73 pulls out the Disposable Scrambler. He jams the spike into the card reader.
The device hums. Sparks fly. The numbers on the display cycle frantically.
[DECRYPTING...]
[BYPASS SUCCESSFUL]
Click. The lock disengages. The device burns out, smoking in his hand. He drops it.
He pushes the door open.
Dr. Thorne is there, standing over a console, typing furiously. He is wearing a heavy, yellow, pressurized hazmat suit. He looks up, seeing the man in the blue coveralls standing in his doorway.
"Who the hell are you?" Thorne's voice is muffled by his helmet speaker. "How are you breathing?"
73 does not answer. He walks forward.
[LUNG CAPACITY: 80%]
"Security!" Thorne yells. He reaches for a revolver sitting on the desk.
Thorne raises the gun. He fires.
Bang!
The bullet strikes 73 in the left shoulder. It punches through the coveralls and hits the sub-dermal plating.
[DAMAGE DETECTED: LEFT SHOULDER]
[STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY: 96%]
73 barely staggers. Pain is just information. He processes the vector of the bullet, the caliber, the damage. He discards the shock.
He continues to walk.
Thorne's eyes go wide behind his visor. "What are you?"
He fires again. Misses.
73 reaches the desk.
"You like the air, Doctor?" 73 asks. His voice is calm, despite the fact that his throat is beginning to burn.
Thorne scrambles backward, knocking over a tray of vials. "Stay back! This atmosphere will melt your insides!"
"I know," 73 says.
He vaults over the desk. He grabs Thorne by the collar of his hazmat suit.
Thorne struggles, flailing the revolver. 73 knocks the gun away with a casual backhand slap.
73 looks at the suit. He sees the corrugated hose connecting the helmet to the oxygen tank on Thorne's back.
[WEAKNESS IDENTIFIED]
"Let's share," 73 whispers.
He grabs the hose with both hands. He twists and pulls.
The reinforced rubber stretches, then snaps.
HISS.
The sound is like a serpent striking. The pressurized clean air vents out, and the toxic green fog rushes in.
Thorne screams. It is a terrible, gurgling sound. He claws at his helmet, trying to seal the breach, but it is useless. The blight enters his system instantly.
73 watches.
[TARGET ELIMINATED]
Thorne collapses, convulsing. His face turns a dark, bruised purple behind the glass visor.
73 steps back.
[LUNG CAPACITY: 60%]
[WARNING: RESPIRATORY DISTRESS IMMINENT]
"Contract complete," Mother says. "Get out of there, 73."
73 turns. He runs.
He sprints back through the lab, through the green fog. His vision is beginning to blur. The edges of his HUD are fragmenting into static.
[SYSTEM STABILITY: CRITICAL]
He reaches the elevator. He smashes the button. The doors open. He dives inside.
As the doors close, cutting off the green fog, 73 leans against the wall. He coughs, a harsh, metallic hacking sound. He spits something black onto the floor.
[INITIATING DETOX PROTOCOL]
[FILTERING BLOODSTREAM...]
The elevator descends.
He is alive. He is damaged. But the job is done.
He looks at his reflection in the elevator metal. The blue coveralls are stained with his own blood from the shoulder wound.
"Next time," 73 thinks, "I buy the sniper rifle."
[MISSION STATUS: COMPLETED]
[SEARCHING FOR EXFILTRATION...]
The elevator reaches the ground floor. The doors open.
73 steps out into the lobby. The alarm is finally ringing now, a distant siren wailing through the tower. But 73 is just a technician, clutching his shoulder, limping toward the exit with the rest of the panicked civilians.
He blends in. He disappears.