My Scumbag System Chapter 650: The God of Small Spaces

Natalia watched me dress with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Annoyance battled with concern battled with something that looked almost like pride.

"You’re impossible."

"I’m pragmatic."

"You’re going to get yourself killed."

"I’ve survived worse."

"That’s not the reassurance you think it is."

I pulled on my shirt and crossed back to the bed. Leaned down. Kissed her deeply. Through the bond, I pushed everything I was feeling: gratitude and desire and the stubborn certainty that I would come back to her no matter what.

She grabbed the front of my shirt and held me there for a long moment.

"If you die tonight," she said against my lips, "I will find a way to resurrect you just so I can kill you myself."

"You’ve mentioned that threat before."

"I mean it more every time."

"Noted."

I pulled away. Her fingers lingered on my chest before releasing me.

"Take Maki," she said.

"I planned to."

"Keep the bond open."

"Always."

"And Satori?"

I paused at the door. She sat in the middle of her bed, sheets tangled around her waist, purple hair wild from our afternoon together. She looked like a goddess who had just finished ruining a mortal. Which was fairly accurate.

"Come back to me."

"That’s the plan."

I left before I could change my mind. The satchel with the crystal stayed on her desk. I wasn’t ready for that step yet. Not until I had more information. Not until I understood the game I was being pushed to play.

The house was quiet as I descended the stairs. Evening light painted long shadows across the floors. In a few hours, darkness would fall. Helena Vasquez would be alone in Sublevel 7 of the Prometheus Archive.

And I would be there to meet her.

Maki materialized from my shadow as I stepped into the garage. Her human form stretched languidly, the oversized hoodie she’d stolen from my closet riding up to reveal the distinct absence of pants.

"Master is leaving already? But the tasty psychic girl seemed so eager for more of your attention."

"Business calls."

"Business is boring. Pleasure is much more entertaining."

"This kind of business leads to more pleasure later."

She considered this with the expression of a cat evaluating whether to knock something off a shelf. "Acceptable logic. Where are we going?"

"VHC headquarters. Sublevel 7."

Maki’s golden eyes widened. Her tail, which she’d allowed to manifest in her excitement, twitched violently.

"You want to infiltrate the most heavily guarded building in Valoria?"

"Infiltrate is a strong word. I prefer visiting."

"Visiting implies an invitation."

"I have one." I showed her the anonymous message. "Someone wants me to meet Helena Vasquez tonight. Whoever they are."

Maki sniffed the phone as though she could smell the sender through the screen. "Old power. Very old. This message carries traces of something that existed before the Rupture."

My blood went cold. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the sender is not human. Or was not always human. Or is human but touched by something that is very much not." She licked her lips. "Interesting. Your life is so wonderfully complicated, Master. Never a dull moment."

"That’s one way to describe impending cosmic horror."

"I prefer ’exciting opportunity for violence.’ Same thing, really."

I couldn’t argue with that logic either. Seemed to be a theme today.

The drive to VHC headquarters took forty minutes through evening traffic. New Vein City sparkled with lights as darkness fell. Holographic advertisements painted the sky with promises of better lives through corporate sponsorship. Hunter rankings scrolled across building facades like stock tickers. The world went about its business, oblivious to the secrets buried in its foundations.

The Apex Tower dominated the skyline. One hundred and forty-six floors of glass and steel and barely concealed power. Somewhere up there, Seraphina Vance sat in her office, spinning webs of causality and manipulation. Somewhere below, Helena Vasquez guarded archives that could topple governments.

And I was about to walk into the middle of it all with nothing but a cat demon and a baseball bat.

Nel’s voice drifted through my consciousness as I parked in a public lot three blocks from the tower.

The Audience is particularly engaged this evening. Your entertainment rating has increased by four percent in the last hour alone. Apollo sends his regards and advises against any action that would result in immediate death. He finds your survival streak amusing and wishes to see how long it continues.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

I was merely relaying a message. My own assessment of your survival probability is somewhat lower than Apollo’s.

"How much lower?"

Low enough that I have begun composing your epitaph. Would you prefer something witty or something sincere?

"Neither. I plan to outlive whatever cosmic bullshit is currently trying to kill me."

An admirable stance. The Audience appreciates protagonists with unwarranted confidence in the face of overwhelming odds. It makes the eventual tragedy much more satisfying.

"You’re a terrible motivational speaker."

I serve a different function entirely.

Maki and I approached the tower through service alleys and maintenance corridors. The main entrances would be suicide. Security checkpoints. Biometric scans. Armed guards with shoot-first protocols. But every building had vulnerabilities. Every system had exploits.

And I had spent eighteen years as Kaelen Leone learning exactly how to find them.

"Ventilation shaft," Maki reported, pointing toward a grate set into the alley wall. "Connects to the lower basement levels. Security is minimal. Humans rarely guard what they assume is impassable."

"Can you fit through?"

"I am a cat. I can fit through anything." She shifted into her animal form. A large black cat with two tails and eyes that glowed faintly golden in the darkness. "Follow my lead, Master. And try not to be too loud. You humans breathe so heavily."

The shaft was cramped and dark and smelled like recycled air and industrial cleaning chemicals. I followed Maki’s glowing eyes through twists and turns that no human architect would have designed. She moved with supernatural grace, her passage silent despite the metal confines. I moved with considerably less grace, but decades of breaking into places I wasn’t supposed to be had taught me how to minimize noise.

Twenty minutes later, we emerged into a corridor I didn’t recognize.