Navigating the maze of cubicles was almost too easy for the Vulpes. Her high-tech lenses scanned the area, highlighting the positions of hidden cameras and the faint heat signatures of inactive electronics. The cubicle walls, though short and unassuming, provided more than enough cover as she slipped from one to the next, her movements soundless and precise.

But she knew the real test lay ahead—the executive wing. Security there would be far tighter. Advanced locks, motion sensors, and possibly even guards patrolling the hallways. Malcom Macentyre’s office was the real prize, the toughest nut to crack, and likely the most valuable source of information. If there were any traces of involvement in the stolen technology, they’d be hidden behind the formidable defenses of his personal workspace.

The Vulpes paused at a junction, her sharp eyes taking in the potential routes. The executive elevator shaft offered a direct path, and her lenses picked up no immediate signs of internal sensors. But there was always the risk of motion or thermal detection—sophisticated systems that couldn’t be fooled by mere stealth. The stairwell, on the other hand, would be littered with locked doors, security cameras, and possibly the occasional passcode lock she’d have to bypass. Each route carried its own risks and would demand precious time—time she didn’t have in abundance.

Her mind raced, calculating probabilities and risks. The elevator shaft would save her minutes, but only if her tools could bypass any hidden surprises in the mechanism. The stairs offered more potential cover but would slow her down significantly with each obstacle she’d need to overcome.

She glanced at the clock displayed on her lenses. Morning work crews would start arriving in a matter of hours, and every passing second brought her closer to the chance of discovery. With a small, decisive nod, she chose the elevator shaft. It was the more direct path, and her instincts told her she needed to reach the executive wing as quickly as possible.

The Vulpes crept toward the elevator, using her tools to carefully pry open the doors without setting off any alarms. The shaft yawned before her, a vertical expanse of cold steel and cables. She secured a grappling hook to the frame and tested it with a firm tug before lowering herself into the void.

Her gloves, equipped with micro-spikes for enhanced grip, held steady as she descended. The silence of the shaft was almost oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the building’s machinery. Every movement was measured, deliberate, her focus unyielding.

As she approached the access panel for the executive floor, her lenses picked up a faint glow—an infrared sensor just inside the panel’s mechanism. A small smirk crossed her lips. It seemed Macentyre Systems didn’t cut corners when it came to security. With deft hands, she retrieved a compact electronic jammer from her belt and activated it, watching as the glow flickered and died.

“Piece of cake,” she whispered to herself, prying open the panel and slipping through.

The executive floor was eerily quiet, its polished floors and modern décor radiating an air of wealth and power. The Vulpes crouched low, her eyes scanning for additional cameras or tripwires as she moved toward Malcom Macentyre’s office. The stakes were high, but this was where she thrived—in the spaces between light and shadow, outsmarting the powerful to uncover their secrets.

When she finally reached the heavy oak doors of the CEO’s office, her heart quickened. Whatever lay beyond could either unravel the mystery or lead her deeper into a web of danger. With practiced ease, she began working on the biometric lock, the tension of the moment only sharpening her focus.

At last, the lock gave way, and the heavy oak door opened with a quiet but deeply satisfying click. The Vulpes pushed it ajar just enough to slip inside, immediately activating the side controls on her mask. Her lenses adjusted to a different spectrum, and the room was bathed in a faint glow as an intricate grid of sensor lights came into view.

She grimaced. It was a meticulous security measure—laser sensors crisscrossing the entire office in a web of light. To disable the grid, she’d have to reach the control panel on the far wall. But getting there would be no easy feat; the lasers were spaced just irregularly enough to demand precision. A single misstep, even the brush of a hair, would set off the alarm and turn the situation into a disaster.

“Alright, limbo it is,” she muttered under her breath, her tone laced with determination.

The Vulpes assessed the grid, her sharp eyes mapping out a potential path. She noted the heights and angles of the lasers, calculating where to step, crouch, and twist to avoid setting them off. It was a delicate dance—a game of hopscotch with stakes that could blow her entire operation.

She slid forward, lowering herself into a near split to pass beneath the first beam. Her gloves pressed against the cold floor for balance as she maneuvered her torso under the laser. Rising slowly, she took care to avoid brushing against another beam just above her shoulder.

Step by step, she worked her way through the grid, her movements fluid and controlled. Her years of training and practice served her well, each twist and turn executed with the precision of a dancer. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck as she paused to steady herself, crouching beneath a particularly low beam before carefully stepping over another at knee height.

Halfway across the room, she spotted a small vent opening near the floor—a tempting shortcut that might bypass some of the grid entirely. But it was a gamble; she couldn’t be sure if the vent was rigged with additional sensors or traps. Trusting her original plan, she continued through the lasers, her focus unbroken.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she reached the control panel on the far wall. She pressed herself flat against the surface, carefully prying open the panel’s casing to reveal a tangle of wires and circuitry.

“Let’s see what you’ve got for me,” she murmured, retrieving a compact hacking device from her belt. She clipped it onto the wires, watching as the device’s screen lit up, displaying lines of code and diagnostic information. Her fingers danced over the small controls, bypassing the grid’s security protocols with practiced ease.

After a few tense moments, the grid powered down with a faint hum, the laser lights disappearing. The Vulpes exhaled slowly, her muscles relaxing just slightly as she stepped back from the panel.

The office was now hers to search. Turning her attention to Malcom Macentyre’s pristine desk and rows of locked filing cabinets, she muttered to herself, “Time to see what secrets you’re hiding, Mr. Macentyre.”

The Vulpes tapped the side of her mask again, the lenses adjusting to a different filter that illuminated her surroundings enough for her to work by the faint beam of the ultraviolet penlight she held clenched between her teeth. The blue glow cast eerie shadows across the room as she rifled through the filing cabinets, her gloved hands moving quickly and methodically.

Her pulse quickened when her fingers brushed against a folder labeled "Internal Investigations: Discrepancies." She pulled it out, flipping through its contents with careful precision. As her eyes scanned the neatly typed documents, a picture began to form—a picture that confirmed her worst suspicions.

The files detailed a series of internal anomalies: resources vanishing without explanation, significant amounts of untraceable funds siphoned off accounts, and company inventory marked as "misplaced." It wasn’t just a one-time theft—it was a slow, methodical draining of assets that had been going on for months.

Malcom Macentyre, it seemed, was aware of the thefts but had chosen to keep the investigation on a need-to-know basis. The documents revealed a list of employees with access to the missing resources, as well as a small group of trusted security personnel who were covertly tracking the issue. Even within the files, the language was vague, as though Malcom feared someone might stumble upon the trail.

"Paranoid bastard," the Vulpes muttered under her breath, though she couldn’t help but grudgingly respect his caution. It also meant the problem was serious enough for Malcom to bypass standard procedures—something a man like him wouldn’t do lightly.

She stuffed the folder back into the cabinet, careful to leave everything exactly as she’d found it, and turned her attention to the desk. If Malcom was keeping the investigation off the books, there was a good chance he had personal notes or encrypted files hidden away.

Pulling open the desk drawers one by one, she found little more than the usual detritus of an executive: pens, stationery, a few unopened envelopes. Then, tucked at the very back of one drawer, she found a small key card with the Macentyre Systems logo stamped on its surface.

“Bingo,” she whispered, slipping the card into a secure pocket on her belt.

Her work here wasn’t done, but the card could be her ticket to accessing the executive server or any private safes in the building. The thefts, the missing funds, and Alice’s stolen tech—they all pointed to someone inside the company with both access and ingenuity.

She stepped back from the desk, scanning the room one last time with her ultraviolet light. Satisfied she’d left no trace, she turned toward the door, ready to continue her search.

Whoever was behind this wasn’t just stealing—they were dismantling Macentyre Systems from the inside. And if her hunch was right, it was all connected to Alice’s stolen tech. This was a puzzle, and the Vulpes was determined to see it solved.

The Vulpes hesitated, holding the key card between her fingers as her eyes flicked back to the filing cabinet. The list of board members and their associated offices lingered in her mind, a breadcrumb trail that felt too tempting to ignore. With the card, she could move through the building more freely, cutting down the time it would take to investigate each suspect. But she doubted any of them would leave an obvious paper trail—especially if Malcom’s trusted security team hadn’t already uncovered something definitive.

Still, it was worth a closer look. Malcom’s covert investigation suggested that he was trying to root out someone he once trusted deeply. She could sense the reluctance in the way the files were worded, the caution in how this information had been handled. Malcom wasn’t trying to protect himself—he was protecting his company from a betrayal he didn’t want to believe was possible.

The Vulpes tightened her grip on the card and moved toward the door, her thoughts racing. She felt a measure of relief knowing Malcom wasn’t her culprit; the man’s paranoia now made sense in a way that absolved him of guilt. But his list of suspects was another story. If even one of them was connected to the Rusos, it could explain how Alice’s prototype had ended up in the wrong hands.

She slipped out of the office as silently as she had entered, her focus shifting to the names she had memorized. Checking the board members’ offices wouldn’t be simple. Even with the key card, there were bound to be additional layers of security. But the gnawing possibility that the answer was within reach pushed her forward. This wasn’t just about Alice’s technology anymore—it was about uncovering a deeper betrayal that could topple Macentyre Systems entirely.

Navigating through the quiet hallways, she made a mental note to pay particular attention to anything linking one of the board members to the Ruso family. Malcom’s suspicions and the Rusos’ known involvement were the key to untangling this web, and every second she spent here brought her closer to the truth—or to getting caught.

The Vulpes slowed her steps as she neared the first office on the list, her senses sharpening. If this was a betrayal from within, whoever was behind it was playing a long and dangerous game. And she intended to beat them at it.

Her work was painstaking, each step demanding meticulous care. Even with the master key card, the additional layers of security within each office made progress slower than she had anticipated. She bypassed biometric locks, dodged silent motion detectors, and even navigated a pressure-sensitive floor in one particularly secured space. Every second felt like an eternity as she sifted through files, rifled through drawers, and scanned the contents of encrypted terminals.

Most of what she uncovered wasn’t damning or even relevant to the case. It was the sort of mundane ugliness that came with power—petty rivalries, questionable expense reports, and correspondence that hinted at ambitions as sharp as knives. None of it was illegal, but all of it painted an unflattering picture of the people at the top of Macentyre Systems.

The Vulpes sighed quietly, her frustration mounting. This wasn’t what she needed. There were no hints of the Ruso family, no breadcrumbs leading her to the stolen technology. Just the secrets of powerful people guarding their thrones.

She tucked away a discarded file and moved to the next office, her resolve hardening. This was part of the job, the slow grind of piecing together a puzzle when most of the edges were still hidden. She just needed one lead—one clue that would pull the rest of the picture into focus.

Slipping into another office, her lenses swept the room for hidden security measures. She moved carefully, her gloved fingers flipping through a file cabinet marked “Confidential.” Here, too, the contents were banal. But then her fingers froze over a document that mentioned a "special shipment" tied to one of the suspects on Malcom’s list.

The words "discretion required" and "outside subcontractors" jumped out at her, setting her instincts on edge. It wasn’t much, but it was a thread. A thread that, with enough pulling, might unravel the web of deceit she was entangled in.

The Vulpes slipped the document into her pouch and eased the file cabinet shut. If this was tied to the stolen tech, it could be her first tangible lead. But it also raised more questions. Who were these subcontractors? And how deep did this go?

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. There were still more offices to check, and dawn was approaching fast. If she was going to find answers, she needed to move quickly and trust that this fragment of evidence would guide her to the truth.

The Vulpes held her breath, her body tense and coiled like a spring as she crouched behind the large potted plant. Her enhanced hearing picked up the faint click of polished leather shoes against the sleek floor, each step deliberate and unhurried. The lights flickered on ahead of the man as he strode purposefully down the hall, his silhouette sharp and precise in the dim glow.

Her lenses adjusted automatically, enhancing her vision in the low light. The man wore a dark suit, impeccably tailored, and moved with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly where they were going. His face remained partially obscured by the angle and the faint shadows cast by the lights overhead, but his direction was unmistakable—Michael Macentyre’s office.

Her mind raced. What was someone like him doing here at such an early hour? He wasn’t maintenance, wasn’t security—his tailored suit screamed executive, not someone handling routine building operations. The timing and purpose seemed too suspicious to ignore.

She stayed perfectly still, her breathing shallow as she watched him approach Michael’s office door. He paused briefly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out something small—a card or key. With a practiced swipe and a faint beep, the lock disengaged. The man stepped inside without hesitation, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

The Vulpes considered her options. Whoever this was, he clearly had high-level access. Breaking into Michael’s office wasn’t something just anyone could do, and the precision of his movements suggested he knew exactly what he was looking for. She had to act carefully—there was no telling what this man was after or who he might be working for.

Slowly, she shifted her position, staying low as she crept closer to the office door. Her lenses scanned for security measures, confirming none had been triggered beyond the standard lock. With her amplified hearing, she strained to pick up any sounds from inside the room—a drawer sliding open, papers rustling, or even a whispered voice.

Nothing. Just silence.

Her heart pounded as she debated her next move. She could wait for him to exit and try to follow him, or she could risk slipping in after him to see what he was up to. Either way, this man might be the key to uncovering the truth behind the stolen tech—and protecting Alice from whatever shadowy forces were circling closer.

The Vulpes adjusted her enhanced hearing, fine-tuning it to pick up the faintest sounds. She cracked the door open ever so slightly, just enough to catch the conversation unfolding inside. As the man began to speak, her suspicions were confirmed—it was Michael.

Why was he in his office so early? She crouched lower, pressing herself against the doorframe, straining to catch his words.

"Ah, glad I could catch you..." His voice was calm, measured, but there was a faint undercurrent of tension. "Yeah, time zone differences can be a real pain... Everything should be in order."

There was a pause as he listened to the person on the other end of the line.

"No, no reason to worry—just make sure you keep your end of the deal." His tone carried a note of authority, a man who was in control or at least trying to project that he was.

"Of course, glad we could come to an arrangement," he continued smoothly. "I’ll call you again before the product launch."

The Vulpes furrowed her brow as she processed his words. The casual professionalism of his tone barely masked the weight of what was being discussed. Whatever "arrangement" Michael was referring to, it was clear this wasn’t ordinary business. And “product launch”? That could mean anything—anything from a legitimate corporate venture to something far more insidious.

She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to storm in and demand answers. No, she reminded herself, this was about gathering information. Patience would yield far more than confrontation.

 The Vulpes stiffened as a faint buzz crackled from the office’s comm system, followed by a cheerful voice.

“Mister Macentyre, Doctor Little came in early today. She’s down in the labs. Thought you might want to know so you can pay your lady a little surprise!”

She barely heard Michael’s chuckle over the pounding in her ears.

“Thanks, Jeff,” Michael replied smoothly. “I’ll swing by the labs and see if she wants a little sugar with her morning coffee!”

Vulpes pressed her back against the wall, her thoughts a whirlwind. If Michael was heading to the labs, it meant his office would be empty—unguarded. This could be her best opportunity to uncover something concrete, evidence that either damned him or, for Alice’s sake, absolved him entirely. Her jaw tightened at the thought of what she might find. For Alice, she had to know the truth.

She listened intently, her body coiled like a spring as Michael’s footsteps echoed down the hall, growing fainter with each passing second. The moment the sound disappeared completely, she moved. There was no room for hesitation. The stakes had never been higher.

***

Dorothy grunted as she swiped her ID badge at the security checkpoint. The fluorescent lights felt harsh against her bleary eyes, and the buzz of morning chatter from a few other early arrivals only grated her nerves further. There’d been a problem reported with one of the robots in the manufacturing wing—a recurring glitch that required her immediate attention.

“Morning, Jeff,” she muttered as she trudged past the security desk, waving halfheartedly.

The guard offered a cheerful response, but Dorothy was too groggy to care. “Need coffee,” she mumbled, not even glancing back. “Talk like human later.”

She made her way toward the employee lounge, already picturing the steaming mug of caffeine that would help her function like a civilized person. Work before sunrise might pay well, but it came with a steep price: her sanity.

***

Alice paused, glancing at the clock. The hours had slipped away as she worked, her focus consumed by calibrating the telepathic receiver. Despite her unease and the ethical dilemmas swirling in her mind, the pressing need to uncover the truth propelled her forward. Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up the headband, hesitating for just a moment before sliding it carefully into place.

The device nestled snugly into her blonde hair, blending almost seamlessly. It could easily pass as an ordinary accessory, and for a fleeting second, a voice in her mind—that voice—chimed in with a suggestion: It would look downright cute with a bright blue bow on it.

Alice sighed, trying to silence the intrusion as she adjusted the receiver. Focus, she told herself firmly. This wasn’t about fashion or appearances. This was about finding answers, protecting her work, and making sure it wasn’t used to hurt anyone. Whatever it took, she would see this through—on her terms.

Alice’s breath hitched, her pulse racing as she realized the ribbon wasn’t just a figment of her imagination—it was real, tied neatly to the receiver band. Her shaking hand tightened around the bottle of pills in her purse, the edges digging into her palm. It’s just the stress, she told herself, trying to steady her breathing. It has to be the stress.

Before she could take the next step—either untie the ribbon or swallow the pills—the door swung open. She froze, her head snapping up as Michael’s voice cut through the tension.

“There’s my busy little bee!” he said with his usual charm, stepping into the lab. “Have any morning honey for me?”

Alice hastily let go of the pill bottle, her hand darting to smooth her hair and adjust the headband as if it were no more than a fashion statement. She forced a bright smile onto her face, hoping it didn’t look as shaky as it felt. “Michael! I wasn’t expecting you this early.”

He closed the door behind him, his expression warm but tinged with curiosity. “I thought I’d surprise you,” he said, crossing the room in a few long strides. “Jeff mentioned you came in early, so I figured I’d stop by before my day gets hectic. I swear, Alice, you’re always working so hard. I don’t know how you do it.”

Alice felt her heart pounding as he leaned down to kiss her cheek, her mind racing to keep the panic at bay. She couldn’t let him see the cracks forming—or worse, the ribbon. She turned slightly, brushing her hair forward to obscure it, and laughed softly. “You know me, always a project in progress.”

Michael smiled, stepping back to glance around the lab. “Well, don’t let me distract you too much. What’s this new gadget you’re working on?” He gestured toward the equipment scattered across the desk.

Her pulse quickened as his eyes moved closer to the headband. “Oh, just tweaking some older designs,” she said quickly, picking up a nearby notebook and flipping it open to obscure the view. “It’s nothing exciting, just streamlining a few prototypes.”

"That’s just like my little cash cow, always making more milk."

Alice’s eyes narrowed sharply, confusion flickering across her face. What did he mean by that? Then, it hit her. Michael hadn’t spoken those words aloud. The telepathic receiver—it was working. Those weren’t spoken words; they were his thoughts.

Her breath quickened, and she blinked, forcing a smile that felt as fragile as glass. Her heart raced, but not from the proximity of her fiancé.

“Yeah… so, what are you doing here so early?” she asked, struggling to keep the tremble out of her voice.

Michael flashed his winning smile, his demeanor as polished as ever. “Oh, just talking to a contact overseas, you know—wheeling and dealing.” His tone was casual, but his thoughts betrayed him.

"And making me a billionaire by selling your designs."

Alice felt her breath hitch, her grip tightening around the small pill bottle in her hand. The rattling echoed faintly in the room, betraying her unease.

“I… see. That’s good,” she managed, her voice shaky.

Her mind was spinning, a cacophony of thoughts clashing with the voice she couldn’t ignore—Other Alice.

"Are you still making excuses for him?" the voice whispered, sharp and cutting. "Did you hear what he just thought? He’s selling your designs, Alice. He’s using you."

“No,” Alice murmured under her breath, clinging to the shred of doubt she could muster. “He loves me. This has to be a misunderstanding.”

Michael’s voice brought her back to the moment. “Don’t overwork yourself, alright? I’ll swing by later for lunch.”

He leaned in, placing a light kiss on her forehead. Alice barely suppressed a flinch, her heart pounding for reasons she didn’t want to admit.

Michael gave her one last dazzling smile and left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

The moment he was gone, Alice sank into her chair, her mind reeling. The pill bottle in her hand rattled again as her grip on it faltered.

"He’s lying," Other Alice hissed, her tone cold and merciless. "You know it’s true. You’ve always been his little ticket to power, his pretty pawn."

“No,” Alice whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s not true. It can’t be.”

"It is," the voice pressed, softer now but no less insistent. "You’re smart enough to see it. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

Alice’s fingers tightened around the bottle, her knuckles white as she fought the rising tide of panic. She had to think, to find clarity, but the truth felt like a weight crushing her chest. For the first time, she couldn’t tell if the problem was the receiver… or if she was finally hearing something she’d been too blind to see all along.

“Maybe we can finish that date night that work interrupted after you’re done here?” Michael added with a grin as he left, his charm as effortless as ever.

Alice forced herself to look up at him, her lips twitching into a weak imitation of a smile. But as he turned to go, his thoughts spilled out, cruel and unfiltered.

"And this time, maybe I won’t ditch you because a busty brunette was horny and needed me to solve her problem."

Alice froze, the words hitting her like a physical blow. The pill bottle slipped from her fingers, tumbling noiselessly into her purse as her hand fell limply to her side.

"He... cheated on you!" Other Alice growled, her voice rising with fury. "He stole from you... and he cheated on you! He never loved you at all!"

Alice’s world fractured around her, the voice's rage mixing with the deafening silence in her own mind. Her heart, her carefully constructed storybook life—it all crumbled like sand slipping through her fingers.

Her chest tightened, tears pricking at her eyes as the weight of the revelation pressed down on her. Michael’s betrayal wasn’t just about the designs or the lies he’d told—it was personal. Intimate. A vicious twist of the knife in a heart that had only ever wanted to believe in love.

Her thoughts spiraled, a cacophony of disbelief and anguish, while Other Alice seethed with unbridled rage. "You’ve given him everything, and this is what he does? Steals from you, cheats on you, uses you?!"

Alice remained in stunned silence, her trembling hands now clutching the edges of her desk for support. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think—she could only feel the jagged edges of her shattered trust cutting deeper with every heartbeat.

Her perfect life had been a lie. A cruel, hollow fantasy that had just been fed into a wood chipper, leaving her with nothing but the jagged truth.

Alice didn’t want to be here, couldn’t bear the weight of the betrayal. She fought to hold herself together, but the tears began to stream freely down her cheeks. Her body trembled, and she slumped forward like a broken puppet whose strings had been cut. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the silence in the room grew suffocating.

Then, slowly, Alice—or rather, not Alice—rose.

The sorrow in her bright blue eyes was gone, replaced with a shimmering intensity of whimsy and fury. A broad, confident smile curled across her lips, unnervingly cheerful. Her posture shifted, loose and carefree yet charged with an unsettling energy, as though a storm brewed just beneath the surface. She brushed the tears away with deliberate ease and stood from her chair, her movements fluid and theatrical.

With a playful hop, she skipped toward the vault where her other experimental creations were stored, discarding her lab coat along the way. Her steps turned into a whimsical little hopscotch, each bounce lighter and more carefree than the last. A small, almost childlike giggle escaped her lips, echoing eerily in the lab’s stillness.

“Down the rabbit hole we go…” she murmured, her voice lilting and sing-song, as though savoring the words.

She reached the vault, her fingers dancing over the keypad with practiced precision, the code coming effortlessly to her mind. The heavy door creaked open, revealing the shelves lined with experimental devices—some harmless, others teetering on the edge of dangerous innovation.

“Oh, Michael,” she cooed softly, running her fingers along the sleek, metallic casing of one of her prototypes. “You’ve been a very, very bad boy, you hurt Alce! And bad boys always get what’s coming to them.”

Her giggle grew louder, more manic, as she began to gather her tools as the steps of a delightful game came to her mind. “Alice deserves Wonderland and that's just what we are going to give her”