Alexander Voss executed a perfect three-point nding, rolling to absorb the impact before springing back to his feet in one fluid motion. Around him, the training facility's holographic environment simuted the dense foliage of what he recognized as a Green Realm forest. Three training drones converged on his position, their movements designed to mimic desperate Worker-css pyers.

  "Threat assessment," came his instructor's voice through the facility's speakers.

  "Three opponents. Minimal combat training. Crude weapons. Motivated by quota pressure," Alexander replied, his voice steady despite his elevated heart rate. "Psychological advantage is mine."

  He didn't wait for them to attack. In three swift movements, he disabled the first drone with a strike to its primary sensor, swept the legs from beneath the second, and used the momentum to position himself behind the third, his training bde at what would be its throat.

  "Excellent threat neutralization, Mr. Voss," the instructor said. "Your father will be pleased with today's results."

  Across the room, behind a one-way observation window, Elijah watched his brother's performance with a mixture of admiration and unease. Unlike Alexander, his final preparations involved no combat simutions. Instead, he sat surrounded by neural monitoring equipment, his mind interfacing with increasingly complex systems.

  "Your synchronization rates are exceptional," said Dr. Kessler, Helena's trusted colleague who supervised Elijah's training. "Neural psticity in the upper percentile, with particurly strong affinity for distributed network architecture."

  Elijah nodded, though he didn't fully understand the significance of these metrics. What he did understand was the strange sensation when connected to the test systems—like hearing whispers just beyond comprehension.

  "One more deep integration test tomorrow, and your pre-Game preparation will be complete," Dr. Kessler continued, making notes on her tablet. "You and your brother both exceed all performance markers for Architect-css entrants."

  "Has anyone ever scored higher?" Elijah asked.

  The doctor paused, then answered carefully. "Not in these specific parameters, no."

  Seventeen kilometers away, in the makeshift boratory of Sector 17, Lyra calibrated the final components of her neural signature masking device. Five of the settlement's most skilled salvagers watched, their faces reflecting equal parts hope and skepticism.

  "The Game's scanning systems look for specific neural interface patterns," Lyra expined, hands steady as she adjusted microscopic connections. "This device creates a counter-frequency that masks those patterns. If it works, scanning drones will pass right over you."

  "If it works," repeated Daven, the oldest of the salvagers. His daughter would turn eighteen in three months. "That's a big if, Lyra."

  "I need these final components to be sure," she said, looking up from her work. "The old research facility near the eastern corporate boundary should have them. Their security systems are outdated—designed to keep people out, not to protect what's inside. Nobody's been there in years."

  "It's still in active scan range," said Tel, her voice heavy with concern. "ProtectoCorp drones patrol that sector twice daily."

  "Which is why we'll go between patrols," Lyra countered. "I've tracked their patterns for weeks. There's a forty-minute window after the midnight patrol. We can be in and out."

  "We?" Tel raised an eyebrow.

  "I need to identify the components myself. Some of them might not look valuable to anyone else." Lyra stood, her slight frame somehow commanding the room's attention. "This is worth the risk. Think about how many of our people this could save."

  The salvagers exchanged gnces, a silent communication developed over years of dangerous work together.

  "We'll take you," Daven finally said. "But at the first sign of trouble, we abort."

  Helena Voss stood in her private boratory, ostensibly reviewing the twins' final preparation metrics. In reality, her attention was focused on a secure data channel hidden within the standard corporate networks—a channel that had just delivered confirmation that the specialized components she'd arranged to be "discarded" at the eastern research facility had remained untouched for weeks.

  "Still waiting," she murmured to herself, checking the subtle tracking system she maintained on Lyra's neural signature. The girl was moving—heading east toward the facility. Helena allowed herself a small smile. Right on schedule.

  The boratory door slid open, and she quickly switched her dispy to the twins' training data.

  "Their final metrics are exceptional," Marcus said as he entered, his voice carrying the pride of a successful breeding program rather than fatherly love. "Alexander's combat efficiency exceeds even my expectations, and Elijah's neural integration scores are unprecedented."

  "They've both developed exactly as anticipated," Helena replied carefully.

  Marcus studied the dispys showing side-by-side comparisons of the twins' development. "They'll bring honor to the Voss name. The first Architect-css pyers to reach Floor 100, I'm certain of it."

  "What makes you so confident?" Helena asked, genuinely curious about her husband's expectations.

  "Because they were designed for it," he said simply. "The culmination of the best genetic stock in the colony, enhanced with the most advanced modifications avaible. Not to mention the preparation advantages we've provided."

  Helena nodded, her face betraying nothing of her true thoughts. "They enter in three days."

  "Yes. The ceremony will be broadcast throughout the corporate sectors. A demonstration of Architect commitment to the Game." Marcus straightened his already perfect posture. "I've arranged for them to have elite starting equipment and a pre-selected team of Privileged-css pyers from allied families."

  "Everything arranged for maximum advantage," Helena observed neutrally.

  "Of course. That's what separates us from the lower csses, Helena. We pn. We prepare. We succeed." He turned to leave. "I'll expect you at the Activation Day rehearsal tomorrow."

  As the door closed behind him, Helena returned to her hidden monitoring systems. Lyra's signal was now at the eastern perimeter—right where the research facility waited with its seemingly forgotten components. All the pieces were moving into pce.

  "Drone patrol passed seven minutes ago," whispered Kai, the team's lookout. "We have thirty-three minutes until the security gap closes."

  Lyra nodded, slipping through a gap in the perimeter fence that had been carefully widened by Daven's cutting tools. The abandoned research facility loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the night sky. Unlike the gleaming corporate buildings of the central sectors, this structure showed signs of neglect—perfect for their purposes.

  "Remember, we're looking for quantum osciltion modutors, sub-frequency filters, and neural pattern amplifiers," Lyra said over the comm system. "They'll be in the neural research wing, most likely in storage rather than installed in equipment."

  The salvage team moved with practiced efficiency through the darkened corridors, their headmps casting narrow beams on dust-covered equipment. Lyra headed directly for the neural research section, guided by facility schematics she'd pieced together from salvaged data fragments.

  "Jackpot," she whispered fifteen minutes ter, carefully removing a quantum modutor from its storage housing. "With these, the masking system will be fully functional. We could hide dozens of people from the Game scanners."

  She worked quickly, identifying and collecting the critical components while the team gathered additional valuable materials. Everything was proceeding perfectly until a sudden harsh buzz cut through the quiet.

  "Scanner malfunction," came Kai's panicked voice over the comm. "Something's wrong with—"

  His voice cut off, repced by the unmistakable sound of a ProtectoCorp drone's alert siren.

  "Abort!" Daven's voice commanded. "Everyone out, now!"

  Lyra hastily shoved the components into her pack. "I've got what we need. Heading to extraction point B."

  She raced through the corridors, taking a different route from the one they'd entered by, according to their emergency protocols. Behind her, she could hear the mechanical whine of security drones deploying from ceiling compartments—apparently the facility wasn't as abandoned as they'd thought.

  The eastern exit appeared ahead, a faint rectangle of lighter darkness. Lyra increased her speed, pack clutched tightly against her chest. Just as she reached the doorway, a blinding light flooded the corridor.

  "HALT. IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED." The mechanical voice of a ProtectoCorp enforcement drone echoed off the walls.

  Lyra ducked and rolled, trying to use the techniques Daven had taught her. For a moment, it seemed she might make it—then her pack caught on a protruding piece of metal, jerking her backward. She heard fabric tear, felt precious components spill across the floor.

  The drone's scanning beam washed over her. "UNREGISTERED NEURAL SIGNATURE DETECTED. ACTIVATION-ELIGIBLE INDIVIDUAL IDENTIFIED. INITIATING CAPTURE PROTOCOL."

  Lyra scrambled for the scattered components, managing to grab a few before metallic restraints shot from the drone, wrapping around her wrists and ankles. She fought against them, but the carbon-fiber cords only tightened.

  "SUBJECT SECURED. TRANSPORTING TO PROCESSING FACILITY."

  As she was lifted off the ground, Lyra caught a glimpse of shadows moving beyond the perimeter fence—her team, following protocol, retreating to safety rather than risking capture themselves. She didn't bme them. This was always the risk.

  Her st thought before the drone's sedative injection took effect was of the half-completed masking device sitting on her workbench in Sector 17. Someone would have to finish it without her.

  In her boratory, Helena watched three notification windows appear on her private monitor in rapid succession:

  Alexander Voss: Final preparation complete. Activation scheduled.

  Elijah Voss: Final preparation complete. Activation scheduled.

  Unaligned Subject #L7K-89: Captured. Processing initiated.

  Helena closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself one moment of genuine emotion.

  "And so it begins," she whispered, entering a long sequence of commands into her system. Throughout the corporate network, dormant programs silently activated—programs that would remain hidden until precisely the right moment.

  Operation Genesis had officially commenced.