Chapter 112 Handle It.

Chapter 112: 112 Handle It.

It was time.

The Omnidome had been completely transformed. What was usually a multi-purpose combat arena had been retrofitted into the epicenter of superhero corporate media.

It was opening night for the Superstars’ highly anticipated cinematic debut, and Firefly had spared absolutely zero expense.

Through the backstage monitors, I could see the chaos unfolding outside.

Massive klieg lights stabbed into the night sky. A sprawling, crimson red carpet stretched down the grand steps, flanked on both sides by heavy velvet ropes holding back a literal tidal wave of screaming, crying fans.

Paparazzi flashbulbs strobed so fast it looked like it could give an epileptic a seizure.

Reporters shoved microphones over the barricades as the heroes—dressed in their high-end, sponsor-approved formal wear—paused to sign autographs and pose for the cameras.

Drone cameras buzzed overhead like a swarm of bees, broadcasting every forced smile and rehearsed wave directly to millions of screens worldwide.

And me?

I was standing in the shadows of the VIP holding area, dropping Psyren off for her cue.

"You all set?" I asked her, keeping my voice low over the ambient roar of the crowd echoing through the concrete walls.

"Please, boss. I can’t look this good and not be ready," she purred.

I didn’t know about her mental state, but I did know she looked damn good.

Edna had truly gone all out on the fabrication. The suit was a masterpiece of kinetic-weave darkness that clung perfectly to Psyren’s curves.

Aggressive, jagged highlights of neon pink glowed faintly along the seams.

Her pink hair blazed vibrantly in the gloom of the backstage corridor, and her eyes sparkled mischievously behind a sharp, domino mask shaped like a butterfly’s wings.

Over it all, she wore that pointlessly short, heavily spiked leather cropped jacket. It screamed punk-rock anarchy—the absolute perfect antithesis to the manufactured, bubblegum idols currently waving on the red carpet.

"You look ready to kill," I said. "Or at least cause some major property damage."

"You going to stay and watch the show?" she asked, popping her hip so her belt chains jingled.

"Of course. I wouldn’t miss your big debut for the world. I just need to check in with Lacey upstairs, and then I’ll be moving down into the crowd to play spotter."

"Then I’ll see you after the credits roll, boss," she said. She leaned forward, sliding a gloved hand down my chest, her voice dropping to a teasing, heavy whisper. "And I’m gonna show you exactly how much I appreciate all your hard work."

I felt a sudden, involuntary spike of heat at the promise in her eyes and the sheer proximity of that outfit.

If I were a jealous man, I’d be genuinely pissed that the whole world was about to see her looking like this.

But we were on the clock. I gave her a firm nod, peeled myself away, and headed deeper into the bowels of the stadium.

The employee corridors were a madhouse. Frantic production assistants sprinted past with clipboards, while technicians wrestled with thick bundles of coaxial cables that twisted through the semi-darkness like black snakes.

I navigated the labyrinth, eventually climbing a secure stairwell to the executive observation deck.

I pushed the heavy acoustic doors open and stepped inside.

The half-circle control room was bathed in the cool, blue glow of a dozen massive broadcast monitors and mixing boards.

A half-dozen technicians were hunched over their consoles, feverishly cutting camera angles and adjusting audio feeds, all under the watchful, predatory eye of Lacey.

She loomed behind them like a five-star general orchestrating a war flanked left and right by the two boulders; Brick & Stone.

Lacey was dressed in a razor-sharp, dark corporate short skirt suit, her posture rigid as she gazed through the massive, reinforced glass window overlooking the interior of the auditorium.

Below, the sprawling VIP seating area was slowly filling up with elites, influencers, and contest winners—I didn’t even know they did a contest.

The sight of her up here was faintly eerie. Her reflective glasses mirrored the blinding lights of the stage with soulless precision until she heard the heavy door click shut and turned around.

"Miles. So good to see you," she said, her lips curling into a perfectly calculated smile.

"How are things looking up here?" I asked, stepping up beside her to look out the glass.

"Exquisite," she purred, turning back around and resting her manicured hands on the back of a technician’s chair. "The red carpet broadcast is pulling record numbers. The engagement metrics are off the charts."

She tapped the tech’s shoulder. "Here. On the main feed. Flicker the subliminal sponsor logos during the transition wipes. Let them linger just a fraction of a second longer this time."

"Yes, ma’am," the hunched, goblin-like man muttered, frantically typing on his keyboard.

"Looks like you’ve got it handled," I said.

"And what about you, Miles?" Lacey asked, tilting her head to glance back at me, a coy smile playing on her lips. "Going to watch the premiere up here with me? It’s quite spacious. I might even sit on your lap. Best seats in the house."

As tempting as that incredibly dangerous offer was, I shook my head. "Rain check. I’m going to work my way through the crowd on the floor. Keep my boots on the ground."

"Hm. Suit yourself." She adjusted her glasses, the playful flirtation vanishing in an instant, replaced by cold corporate calculation. "I’ve heard you’ve been having some... external complications lately."

That got my full attention. I stiffened. "What have you heard?"

Lacey turned to face me fully, leaning her lower back against the console edge.

She crossed her arms and legs, smiling in that infuriatingly knowing way of hers. "Well, Miles, certainly nothing definitive. I’d have forwarded you a memo at once if I had actionable intelligence. But... I have heard whispers that a certain man has been nursing a rather expensive grudge against you."

"Delirium," I said flatly. "Do you know where he is?"

"I know nothing of his location," Lacey said smoothly. "Only that someone utilizing his encrypted signature has been snooping around Firefly’s data brokers. He was attempting to purchase the operational details of this very event."

My blood ran cold. "Did he get them?"

"Please, Miles. Give me some credit," Lacey scoffed elegantly. "I told his proxies that Firefly does not discuss our exclusive contracts with outside individuals. We have a reputation to uphold. But a rejection doesn’t mean a man like that simply gives up, does it?"

I frowned, staring out at the massive crowd filtering into the auditorium below.

Fuck. It used to be that my biggest issue was my career spilling over into my private life.

Now, my private life was actively bleeding into my career. I absolutely could not let that cyborg freak derail Psyren’s debut. Not tonight.

"I’m heading down to the floor," I said, shrugging my jacket on more securely, my eyes scanning the shadows of the auditorium.

"Keep your comms open, Miles," Lacey called after me, turning back to her monitors. "If I see anything, you better handle it."