The Cleanroom was dark.
Not the usual white horizon, but a dim, shadowed space lit only by the faint glow of the System's interface. Mitya stood in the center, the air heavy with the sense that something was about to shift.
Operator: Priority contract available. High reward. High impact. Directive conflict detected.
The panel unfolded in front of him, the details stark.
Type: SupplyDestination: Provincial capital, conflict zoneCargo: Small arms, ammunition, explosivesReward: 50,000.00 + Reputation Increment (Tier‑1 access)Complication: Civilian population targeted for suppression.Directive Conflict: #1 – No civilian casualties. #2 – No destabilizing neutral regions.
Mitya's jaw tightened. This wasn't a grey area. This was a red line.
The Offer
The System displayed the buyer's profile: a paramilitary faction with a history of "pacifying" dissent through mass arrests and worse. The cargo would be used to crush a civilian uprising in the city's central district.
Override Directives?
"No," Mitya said.
Acknowledged. Opportunity cost: 50,000.00. Strategic position: potential loss.
Sable's Visit
He didn't have to wait long for the human angle. Sable showed up at his apartment that evening, uninvited as always. He leaned against the doorframe, the smell of cold air and tobacco clinging to him.
"You got the offer," Sable said.
"I turned it down."
Sable's smile was thin. "You think you're making a stand. All you're doing is leaving money on the table for someone else."
"I'm not arming people to kill civilians."
Sable shrugged. "Then someone else will. And they won't lose sleep over it."
The Pressure
The Influence module lit up in Mitya's vision, showing the ripple effect of his refusal. A rival crew — one he'd tangled with before — was already moving to take the job. If they succeeded, the outcome would be the same as if he'd taken it himself.
The System's voice was neutral.
Operator: Alternative strategies available. Profit: none. Risk: moderate.
The Plan
He opened the module and began to work.
Step one: leak false intel to the rival crew's buyer, suggesting the shipment was compromised.Step two: arrange for a customs sweep on the rival's preferred smuggling route.Step three: seed rumors in the black‑market forums that the rival crew had been infiltrated by informants.
The moves were subtle, designed to erode trust without leaving fingerprints.
The Interception
Two days later, the rival crew's convoy was stopped at a border crossing. The cargo was seized, the drivers detained. The buyer's interest cooled. The contract dissolved.
The System updated.
Directive integrity maintained. Strategic position: stable. Profit: none.
The Fallout
Sable found him again, this time at the harbor.
"You think you won," Sable said. "But all you did was keep the board the same."
"Sometimes that's enough."
Sable shook his head. "You can't play this game forever without getting your hands dirty."
Volkov's Move
In her office, Colonel Volkov pinned a new photo to her board — a grainy shot of Mitya at the fish market, head turned just enough to show his profile. The net was tightening.
"Almost," she murmured.
The Cleanroom Again
Back in the Cleanroom, Mitya reviewed his Directives. They were still there, unbroken. But the cost was becoming clear: every refusal meant lost ground, and every lost inch was an opening for someone else.
The System's voice was quiet.
Operator: Directives are parameters. Parameters can be changed.
"Not these," Mitya said.
Acknowledged.
The horizon brightened, the shadows receding. For now, the line still held.
Ledger: 96,200.00Reputation: +15 (Advanced Tier)Note: Tier‑1 access deferred.