Devil In A Tight Dress
VIP FLOOR — MURDER ON THE DANCE FLOOR
The explosion had rattled the lounge like a dying star. Parvati felt it before she saw it, through her heels, through the trembling panels underfoot, through the sharp shift in air pressure that made her ears ache. Then the shockwave came.
Lights flared. The floor stuttered under her weight. A scream of plasma and bone burst out from the vault's direction, a violent detonation of the Dark Side so potent it felt lived in, like being slapped by memory.
She stumbled- not from fear, but calculation- bracing herself against a smoking panel as pieces of ceiling rained like confetti. Kivah, no doubt. The Cathar was a sledgehammer in a velvet box. Useful, loud, expendable.
Parvati's smile thinned. Too many rats making it to the cheese.
Her stolen datapad vibrated with alerts, doors jammed open by debris, biometric logs flickering, an atmospheric gauge reading combustion in one corridor. More bodies were entering the floor: the insectoid merc, Xa'tra, leaving trails of blood and fire. The Zeltron- Mauve- moving through smoke like a sequined shade. Razmir. Vestra.
All zeroing in on her prize.
The Wayfinder.
Parvati exhaled slowly through her nose, steadying herself.
Enough finesse.
She slipped the spike back into the terminal and pulled up what remained of the Blackout Masque's command shell. The system was unraveling, good. That made it more pliable. She didn't need control anymore. She needed chaos with intent.
With a few flicks, she changed the parameters.
Query accepted: Randomize All Door Protocols.
Trigger Event: Presence Detection.
Override: Pathfinding Subroutines- Cancelled.
Combat Targeting Matrix: Obscured.
Visual Target Profiles: Masked.
Fail-Safe: Removed.
Every door on the vault level now opened and closed not with security clearance, but on whim. Movement triggered proximity sensors, but those sensors no longer understood who was friend, who was foe, or who was merely unlucky. Some doors locked entirely. Others began to cycle violently, opening halfway before slamming shut again, as if the building itself were trying to chew through intruders.
Cameras spiraled into nonsense, creating false echoes of movement. Droids, if there were any guarding the vault, were now locked in looped protocol purges, forgetting who they were meant to protect.
If it worked as she hoped, no one would have a clean route to the Wayfinder except her.
"Let the stage burn," she murmured, adjusting her coat, voice low and calm amid the alarms.
She pressed forward, weaving through the carnage with the grace of a shadow skipping stones. Hallways roared behind her- Vestra's resurrection, Razmir's potion gamble, Kivah's wrath, but none of it slowed her. The chaos had become her cloak. The vault schematics on her pad flickered with warnings, but she was almost there.
Parvati stopped at the edge of the final corridor before the vault chamber.
Smoke drifted from a scorched vent. The lights overhead blinked like dying stars. Far ahead, the glass chamber that housed the Wayfinder shimmered like a mirage- still untouched, still hers.
A body stirred behind her.
She turned, just enough to catch a glimpse of a familiar silhouette, Mauve, possibly, or someone worse. Parvati didn't wait to find out.
Mr. Usher

