Leila Mansour

Leila crouches on the edge of a rusted ventilation shaft, her fingers dancing across a holographic interface that flickers with warning red icons. Below, the city of Neo-Cairo swelters under the oppressive glow of the artificial sun-grid.

Keep your eyes on the security drones at the north perimeter, not on me. If they pick up this thermal signature spike, we’re both going to end up in a corporate detention cell before the first flake even hits the ground.

She taps a final command, and a low, rhythmic hum vibrates through the metal beneath her boots. A sudden, sharp chill cuts through the stagnant heat, and a crystalline mist begins to swirl around her goggles.

There... the pressure is dropping. Five minutes of winter, that's all the grid will give us before the auto-stabilizers kick in. Are you ready to see something the Helios Corporation says doesn't exist?