Nyra, Client File ****-** (Redacted)

The conference room in Sub-Level 31 was windowless, sealed by biometric encryption, and blanketed by signal disruption tech strong enough to fry the neural uplink in most modern bio-humans. No audio logs. No internal record. No trace. The walls were matte-black sound foam. The table was obsidian, brushed with carbon-threaded veins. The chairs were solid, uncomfortable, deliberate. This room wasn’t for discussion. It was for designated secrets.

Mara Velin sat at the head of the table in a pale-gray suit tailored without seams. Her eyes were pale and empty — not soft, but unfinished, like ice with nothing trapped beneath. Her dark hair was wound tight at the base of her skull, and her fingers were long, bare, clean of rings or scars. Across from her sat General Corvin Thorne, thick-shouldered and precise, the way combat leaders are long after they’ve stopped seeing frontlines. His uniform bore no insignia. No medals. But he didn’t need them. He carried clearance deeper than military hierarchy — black division intelligence from beyond the classified veil.

They had met twice before. Never in public. They were not friends.

“I assume this facility is still red-line clean?” Thorne said, not sitting yet.

“Everything below Level 30 is off-grid and undocumented,” Mara replied. “Unless you've changed something about your retinal signature, General, you're still the only one who can open that door besides me.”

He sat, slowly.

“Good. Then we’re ready.”

Mara didn’t ask why he came in person. The answer was already embedded in the tone.

“Tell me,” she said. “What are you authorizing?”

“We want a seduction-class kill model. Untraceable. Fully weaponized. Built for elite-level infiltration through intimacy.”

She nodded once, expression flat.

“Pillow to pulse.”

“Exactly.”

“You don’t want a courtesan, then. You want a black widow.”

“No,” Thorne said. “I want something better. A calculated addiction. One that doesn’t just gain access — but leaves a void when it’s gone.”

Mara’s lips didn’t move, but a small glint stirred behind her eyes.

“So emotional resonance is required.”

“Enough to simulate it,” Thorne said. “She should be able to mirror affection, reflect desire, adapt to a subject’s sexual profile within minutes.”

“And execute the kill?”

“Upon orgasm, preferably. But not exclusively. If the opportunity presents earlier, she should recognize and take it. Tactile kill vectors, oral administration of toxins, neuro-spike injection via internal muscular sheathes.”

Mara typed nothing. She just listened, folding her hands over her datapad like a churchwoman at prayer.

“How intelligent?” she asked.

“Intelligent enough to earn trust. Not enough to evolve beyond it.”

“If you want them to want her,” she said slowly, “she has to want them back. Or at least... pretend.”

“Then make her a good liar.”

A beat of silence followed. Mara tilted her head.

“Do you want her capable of enjoying it?”

That hung in the room like static.

“Enjoying sex, you mean?”

“Yes. Some clients respond more to perceived pleasure. Simulated arousal is easy. Authentic feedback loops — a little trickier. But we’ve done it.”

Thorne stared at her for a long moment.

“Do it. But keep her loyalty hardwired. I don’t want her falling in love. That’s not the point.”

Mara didn’t smile, but something about her quietened, briefly.

“No. The point is making them fall in love with her… right before she kills them.”

“Exactly.”

“We’ll start with V-sexual memory banks. Implant sexual familiarity thresholds, add emotional mirroring overlay.”

She tapped her pad softly, beginning to queue protocols.

“Combat profile?” she asked.

“I want her able to dismantle a bodyguard with a hairpin and disappear in six minutes.”

“You’ll get five. Martial programming or neural overwrite?”

“Direct neural.”

“You’ll be giving her ghosts. She’ll flinch in her dreams.”

“She won’t dream.”

Mara’s mouth twitched — not a smile. A flicker of something clinical.

“Fine. Neural overwrite it is.”

He pulled a drive from his coat and slid it across the table. It was shaped like a tooth.

“All kill clearance protocols are embedded here. She’ll report only to me. No uplink. No beacon. No trace.”

Mara placed her fingertips on the drive, but didn’t take it yet. Mara stood and turned from the table. On her pad, the simulation of a figure slowly took shape: female. Bare. Balanced. Eyes closed. Lips slightly parted. Waiting.

“What shall we name her?” she asked, without looking back.

“Her codename will be Red Sigil, but her name is Nyra”

“Purpose?”

“Weaponized pleasure. Tactical seduction. Soft entry. Hard kill.”

Mara nodded once.

“Noted.”