ZANTIA FEELS… OFF.

  It’s been years since she last wore a skirt.

  She’s not used to this anymore—the feeling of bare legs, the sense of exposure. The last time had been in high school, when she still wore a uniform.

  Pearl, on the other hand, looks completely at ease. More than that—she owns it. Her dark blue suit is sleek, her crisp white blouse perfectly pressed, and the black-and-gold name bar pinned to her chest is just the right touch. Her fiery red hair pops against the muted colors, adding a bold edge to her polished look.

  “Ms. Maya? Ms. Fisher?”

  A woman approaches them with a warm but slightly surprised smile. “I’m Juliette Khan, the director of this nursery. I must admit—we weren’t expecting your visit, but it’s a pleasant surprise!”

  “Thank you for having us, Ms. Khan!” Pearl’s voice is warm, confident, effortless, like she’s spent her whole life working in child development. “It’s a real pleasure to discover your little nest. How are you?”

  Zantia, on the other hand, is tense.

  There’s something lurking here. It slithers beneath the colorful drawings and bright stickers. It hides between the oversized teddy bears and toy-filled bins. The literacy corner catches her eye—whiteboards covered in alphabet lessons paired with phonetic images.

  A, Ant. B, Ball.

  And for a split second, she’s six years old again. Grade 2.

  Back when she was in charge of watching over the kindergartens during mealtimes. She was sharp, efficient, proud of her responsibilities—never missing a trick or a bit of mischief. Messes, petty squabbles, snack thefts, fake bathroom breaks just to roam the halls…

  Had her cop instincts started back then?

  “Aren’t they just adorable, Zantia?” Pearl coos playfully. “It’s enough to make us lose our professional composure.”

  The kids in this elite Safe Zone daycare are almost identical to those in any other preschool—same sneaky looks, same fidgeting, same fascination with their own boogers.

  Almost.

  The difference is in the price tags.

  The shoes on their tiny feet and the clothes on their backs are worth a fortune. These are heirs. The children of DarkNet elites, high-ranking dignitaries, and powerful allied clans. Precious children. Watched over. Coddled. Protected.

  And somewhere among them, a wolf is hiding.

  The command memo had been frustratingly vague. No names. No descriptions. Just one chilling directive:

  The hostile element is capable of mass casualties. Identity unknown.

  Fantastic.

  DarkNet Homeland Security has pulled out all the stops for this one—zettabytes of surveillance data, an AI-powered quantum network, satellite tracking, mesospheric drones.

  Secret operation. No collateral damage. No exceptions.

  Zantia sighed. Of course.

  If you so much as breathe wrong near my toddlers, I’ll have you reassigned to Arctic traffic control.

  For now, every cop in the area is lying low—not a single visible patrol car, not one security drone hovering above. No signs of law enforcement. So as not to trigger a deadly response from whoever—or whatever—they’re hunting. That’s also why the nursery hasn’t been evacuated. The enemy could be anyone. The director, a teacher, a janitor. Even the janitor’s dog—there’ve been plenty of cases of rebellious “bio-enhanced” animals before.

  Ever since Musk’s Neuralink implants became mainstream, you can find hackers and tinkerers experimenting with human-machine or animal-machine mind fusion on every street corner.

  “In truth,” Pearl continues smoothly, “your art program is truly impressive. It’s earned an outstanding rating from the school board.”

  The director’s face lights up. “Really?”

  “In fact,” Pearl adds, “you’ve been nominated for a Dark School Institution Excellence Award.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The assistant director practically materializes beside her, eager to hear more.

  Zantia seizes the moment.

  “Excuse me—where’s the restroom?” she asks, her voice casual.

  “The adult restrooms are at the end of the hall, second door on the left.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She heads off.

  As she moves down the corridor, Zantia scans every nook and cranny of the building. Her small satchel is lined with layers of flexible foil processors, each linked to a swarm of microsensors—some of which are discreetly tucked into the coils of her perfectly neat schoolteacher’s bun.

  Every living creature in the nursery is being monitored—brain activity, body temperature, heart rate, nervous tics—all of it.

  Every nanosecond, the data is cross-referenced with intel provided by Defensive AI. The smart binders—kept so close to potential threats—give Zantia and Pearl an edge over anything the DNSF has deployed. Better reaction time. Higher strike precision.

  And when it comes to firepower, the two “assistants” aren’t exactly unarmed. The lenses they wear over their left eyes are mind-activated targeting sights. Laser cannons are buried all over the area—see the target, think the command, take the shot.

  In theory.

  Zantia returns quickly to the playroom, making sure she doesn’t draw suspicion.

  She’d already noticed something odd: The assistant director stammers. Slightly. A nervous tic? A sign? Or maybe it’s that educator—the one whose smile is just a little too big to be honest.

  Let’s see, let’s see… Defensive AI’s additional info on that one:

  Regular at night raves in Pleasure Castles—places where drugs, virtual reality, and high-end prostitution blur into one seamless experience.

  Noted. One to watch.

  “Are you a cop, ma’am?”

  “No, sweetheart,” Zantia answers, stroking the girl’s golden curls. “We’re here to make sure you have a better future.”

  The little one, Maria, blinks up at her—curious.

  “In fact,” Pearl says smoothly to the director, “my colleague Zantia is a former educator.”

  “Really? Well, welcome, dear colleague!” she exclaims.

  She exclaims a lot. Over the smallest things. People who are too easily amazed tend to be intrinsically fragile.

  “Look, cops!” Maria giggles, her voice high with excitement.

  She’s rounded up a whole pack of kids, and along with a sharp-eyed boy named Shawn, she starts fiddling with the assistants’ equipment.

  Zantia and Pearl exchange a quick, uneasy glance.

  Shit.

  How do you avoid collateral damage when you’ve got a swarm of kids literally clinging to your skirts? And to make matters worse—the room just got a little too crowded. The staff, hearing about their upcoming prestigious award, have poured in to see what’s going on. Bad timing.

  New alert.

  Defensive AI: Alert Level 5.

  Hostile element present with 97% probability.

  Pearl doesn’t even flinch.

  She keeps chatting, acting normal.

  But Zantia tenses up. Her eyes are darting across every face in the room. The assistant director’s stammer is worse. A few staff members laugh too loudly at Pearl’s casual jokes. Some of them are watching with forced smiles, the kind that don’t quite hide their resentment. Jealousy. Bitterness toward the wealthy. Toward those who represent them.

  One employee is deliberately standing at the back, arms crossed, looking completely bored.

  Another—an educator—is trying to wrangle the kids, but it’s pointless.

  The brats are practically swarming them now.

  “Are we getting a Sugarboo robot?”

  “What’s your mommy’s name?”

  “Do you like my teddy bear? You can have it if you want…”

  Then Pearl stops talking.

  Dead still.

  Zantia feels it, too.

  The two Dark Swords lock eyes, then turn in perfect sync toward the same target.

  A small, timid-looking woman who had been lingering at the back of the room. She’s just turned away, walking too fast. Pearl lunges forward, shoving through the cluster of onlookers, triggering a chorus of shocked yelps and gasps.

  “Stop right there! Stop!”

  The woman freezes at the sound of Pearl’s cold, razor-sharp voice.

  A heavy silence falls over the room.

  The children start to whimper.

  Still no confirmation from Defensive AI.

  No collateral damage. No collateral damage…

  Zantia shifts slightly out of Pearl’s axis, adjusting her angle to take in the scene from a different perspective. At the same time, she gives a quick, subtle hand signal to the educators—get the kids to safety.

  But before anyone can react, Pearl spring to action. Faster than thought. Her loose bun unravels in a fiery blur as she spins—

  Lightning flashes.

  A single bolt.

  Little Shawn is thrown backward.

  A fist-sized hole gapes in his chest.

  For a moment, the room hangs in absolute silence.

  Then—chaos.

  The director loses control of her bladder. Her assistant collapses in a dead faint. And all around them—screams. Wails. Hysterical, raw.

  ***

  Two Hours Later. Zantia rages.

  “Why the hell wasn’t I told it was Shawn?”

  “It came in at the last second.”

  “Yeah? Then why didn’t I get the notification?”

  “They picked me because I was the best positioned to take the shot,” Pearl says, voice even, conciliatory.

  Bullshit. Zantia had been right next to the kid when it happened.

  The truth? Defensive AI didn’t trust her. She doesn’t have DS-5 clearance like Pearl. Maybe they thought she’d hesitate.

  Would she have?

  Would she have paused—just half a second—before executing a four-year-old? Half a second that could have cost hundreds of lives?

  Because Shawn wasn’t just a kid.

  Stuffed inside his teddy bear was a tiny ampoule of Post-Cooperation433. A chemical weapon engineered in 2022 by some lunatic lab tech, using machine-learning experiments from Cooperation Pharmaceuticals. In 2031, a single vial killed 40,000 people in a Singapore shopping mall. Shawn was about to break the ampoule.

  Just by wringing his teddy bear’s neck.

  Zantia exhales, sharp and heavy, as the updated mission report scrolls across her mind.

  Data File: SHAWN PETTIGREW Age: 4 years; Status: Orphan, adopted by Brigadier General Yann Pettigrew (DarkNet Military – Strategic Forces); Abilities: Above-average cognitive and sensory perception; Probable hostile infiltration point: Recent hospitalization for meningitis; Confirmed status: Sleeper agent—affiliated organization unknown

  Pearl breaks the silence first.

  “You gonna sulk all day?”

  The two women have finally shed their schoolteacher disguises and are back in their vehicle.

  Pearl sighs.

  Zantia glances at her from the corner of her eye, but says nothing.

  Her silence is sharp, cutting. And she knows what Pearl is thinking.

  It’s written all over her face—I’m better than you. That’s just the truth. What do you want me to say?

  The vehicle speeds toward headquarters. Pearl cold as ice and Zantia biting her lip. But the silence shatters as a message flashes across their DarkNet comms:

  Proceed immediately to Esperanza K8B Zone. Tower: Esperanza III/GEN2179. Await further instructions.