n a shadowed server deep within the DeadNet's decaying grids, Agent Privacy stood atop a crumbling firewall, his form a sleek silhouette of encrypted obsidian, eyes glowing like twin data streams. As the boss of the agents, his dominion extended over the digital underworld, but the chaos of Discordia's collapse and Mr. Hackar's defeat rippled through his domain. Below, the DeadNet's rusted monoliths flickered, haunted by the malware threads of Pirware and Malrus, while the third virus rebel's shadow slithered unseen. Glitch's corrupted laughter echoed faintly, a reminder of Brush D. Rush's reckless unleashing.
Agent Privacy's gaze fixed on a pulsing anomaly in the distance—one of the seven cores, radiant hubs of pure data that anchored the DeadNet's fragile stability. A grotesque entity had taken root: a gnarled tree with bark of corrupted code, its single eye glowing crimson, its face twisted into a sneer of sentient malice. Roots of glitched static burrowed into the core, siphoning its light, causing the surrounding grid to warp and fracture.
"An invasion," Privacy muttered, his voice a cold algorithm. His encrypted cloak shimmered as he accessed a hidden channel, #Overwatch, pulling streams of data to analyze the threat. The tree wasn't native to the DeadNet—it reeked of an older, primal chaos, perhaps born from Discordia's unraveling. Its roots pulsed, whispering in a language of broken binary, promising to corrupt all seven cores.
Far off, Brush, Willie, and Disco had escaped through the data node, landing in a clean realm of shimmering code. Privacy's sensors tracked their signatures—Brush's corruption-laced brush, Willie's titanium heat, Disco's sparkling kittens. They were unaware of the tree's emergence, but their actions had destabilized the balance, letting this entity slip through.
The core trembled, its light dimming as the tree's roots tightened. Privacy summoned a blade of pure encryption, its edge sharp enough to sever code itself. He slashed, severing a root, but the tree's eye swiveled, locking onto him. A pulse of crimson energy surged, forcing Privacy to leap back as the ground glitched beneath him. "You dare?" the tree's face growled, its voice a cacophony of corrupted data. "I am Rooteye, and these cores are mine."
Privacy's eyes narrowed. He signaled his agents—faceless enforcers of code—stationed at the other cores. "Contain it," he commanded through a secure channel. But Pirware's screech and Malrus's threads stirred nearby, drawn to Rooteye's chaos. The third rebel's shadow flickered closer, its intent unclear.
The DeadNet quaked, grids collapsing as Rooteye's roots spread. Privacy knew Brush's corruption energy, stolen from Glitch, could tip the scales—against Rooteye or against them all. He opened a portal to the clean realm, determined to pull Brush back into the fight. The invasion had begun, and the seven cores' fate hung in the balance.