THE PHOENIX AND THE FORM: Chapter Three

 The Blue Sprite, its sleek fuselage painted in blue decorative highlights, glided gracefully through the crisp Welsh air. As the Piper descended toward Cardiff Airport, the early evening sun cast a warm glow on its polished surface. The runway stretched out before them, a ribbon of asphalt framed by rolling hills and distant valleys.

Blue gripped the controls inside the cockpit, her knuckles white with anticipation. She adjusted her scarf, revealing the faint scar that traced across her neck and touched her jawline. Her eyes, a shade darker than the sky.

 Victor sat beside her looking out at the Welsh landscape. The plane’s engines hummed, drowning out the rhythmic beat of his heart.

The landing gear touched down with a gentle thud onto the sun-kissed tarmac, and the Blue Sprite taxied toward the waiting hangar. The door opened; Victor’s heart raced as he stepped onto the tarmac, the trepidation palpable on his face. Blue followed, her scarf fluttering like a flag in the wind. The Welsh air smelled of rain in the cool evening. They took their bags and started towards the airport building.

Victor’s palms dampened. He had never lied to customs officials before. He struggled to maintain his composure, as the fear constricted his chest. The weight of deception settling heavily on his shoulders.

They entered the customs hall, buzzing with the sound of fluorescent light, and the multitudinous din of conversations. Blue weaved through the throng of tourists, her steps purposeful. Victor trailed behind, his stomach clenching with each roll of the suitcase at his side. The handle felt cold in his grip, the wheels making a soft, rhythmic clatter against the tiled floor. Reaching the customs checkpoint, the knot of dread tightened in his chest.

“Remember,” Blue murmured, her voice a low hum in his ear. “Academic enthusiasm, minimal details.”

They separated into the two open lanes. Victor watched Blue approach the officer, her smile as practiced as a stage performance. He forced a similar smile as his turn neared.

The officer facing him was a young man, his gaze sharp. ‘Passport, sir?’

Victor handed it over, his fingers clammy. The officer flipped through the pages, then looked up, his expression neutral. “The purpose of your visit to Wales?”

“Academic research, officer,” Victor replied, his voice a touch too eager. “I’m here to study the development of local folklore—myths and legends throughout history.”

The officer raised an eyebrow. “Folklore huh? Not your typical tourist pursuit.”

Victor swallowed hard. “Precisely officer! That’s the beauty of academic exploration, uncovering hidden narratives in unexpected places.”

The officer’s gaze lingered on him, then flicked to the suitcase by his side. “Any research materials to declare?”

“Just notebooks and reference materials, officer,” Victor blurted, hoping his eagerness wouldn’t raise suspicion.

The officer gestured toward a side table. “Place your suitcase there, please, sir.”

Victor’s heart plummeted. A physical inspection? He fumbled with the handle, his mind racing. He tried to appear nonchalant as the officer unlatched the suitcase.

Meanwhile, Blue had finished her exchange with her officer, a brief conversation that ended with a smile and a wave. She glanced toward Victor; her brow furrowing with concern.

The young officer peered inside, scanning the contents. Victor held his breath. Inside was a neatly packed collection of clothes and toiletries. A hint of disappointment flickered in the officer’s eyes.

“Seems legit,” he finally said, latching the suitcase back up. “Welcome to Wales, sir. Enjoy your research.”

Victor mumbled a thank you, his body flooded with relief. He rejoined Blue, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange.

They stepped out of the airport terminal. Blue pulled out her phone, tapping the Uber app with deft fingers. The screen illuminated her face. The Uber driver’s name—Gareth—appeared, along with the car’s details. “Okay, our ride is on its way.”

Blue’s scarf fluttered as she scanned the surroundings, her gaze sharp. “We’ll be at my house soon,” she added, turning to Victor with a smile.

They stood there for a while, and then Blue’s phone chimed. She glanced at it and declared, “Aha! Our ride awaits.”

Blue led the way, her scarf trailing like a midnight comet. Victor followed. The Uber—a sleek black sedan—waited by the curb. He opened the car door, revealing the plush leather seats. Blue climbed in, and once inside, Victor closed the door behind him, cocooning them in silence.

The car seats, worn smooth by countless hours of driving, carried the scent of aged leather and sun-warmed upholstery, with a hint of motor oil. Blue instructed the driver and they were off.

As the Uber pulled away, they rolled past the Welsh hills, their curves softened by centuries of rain and wind. Emerald-green meadows stretched toward the horizon.

From afar, one could see stone walls that crisscrossed the land, weathered and moss-covered. Victor, reveled in the sights.

The black sedan glided through the Welsh countryside; its engine humming quietly. Its two passengers sat silently in its back seat; Victor’s eyes tracing the emerald-green fields dotted with sheep, and Blue sat beside him—enjoying the sights as well. The driver, Gareth, watched them through his rearview mirror.

“Fine evenin’, isn’t it?” Gareth said, his accent thick, his voice a low rumble.

Victor nodded, grateful for the conversation. “Indeed.”

“You here for the local festival?”

“Festival?” Victor asked.

“Aye, festival,” Gareth said, grinning, his craggy face softened by the light. “The Eisteddfod—a grand gatherin’ of poets, musicians, and bards. They compete for glory, recitin’ verses that echo through the valleys.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Victor, “that sounds delightful!”

“That it is, draws many afar and wide to these green hills o’ ours.” Garreth concurred.

“I’m sure they do,” said Victor.

Blue leaned back, her gaze on the mist-shrouded hills. “And the music? Tom Jones, Stereophonics—legends, right?”

Garreth grinned. “Aye, legends indeed. Our choirs, too—mesmerizin’. Singin’ is in our blood, like the rain and the hills.” He paused. “So then, is that what brings you here to this side of the pale blue dot?”

“Fraid not,” Blue replied coolly.

“Oh! What could it be, then?” he pressed on.

“Research,” she said, her tone cryptic.

“Aye?! What about?” he inquired.

“Ancient artifacts,” she said simply.

Gareth’s eyebrows shot up. “Archaeologists, then?” His gaze lingered on Victor.

“Something like that,” Victor said, choosing his words carefully.

Gareth chuckled. “Well, you’ve got the right country for it. Wales hides its secrets well.” He gestured toward the rolling hills beyond the window. “Stories older than time itself.”

“We’re here to uncover them, to find what’s been lost,” she said as she looked at Victor.

The sedan glided to a halt; its purring engine silenced.

“Well, here we are,” Gareth said, his voice a low rumble. “Take care you two. And mind the fair folk in these hills, they can be a mischievous bunch.”

“Ta very much, Gareth! We’ll be seein’ you around, maybe!” Blue said with a wave as they stepped out of the car. He winked at them before pulling away.

Victor stood on the gravel driveway, his gaze sweeping over the sprawling villa before him.

“This is your house?” he asked Blue, his surprise clear. Blue laughed, her eyes dancing. “Yes.”

As she stepped onto the polished stone path, her presence triggered a soft chime. The gates, like obedient sentinels, slid open smoothly. The steady voice over the speakers said, “Welcome home Blue.” she glanced at Victor, her eyes holding a mix of challenge and anticipation. “Welcome home,” she said, her voice low. “This is where our journey truly begins.”

Victor’s shock was palpable. The villa stood before them—a sleek fusion of glass and steel, in minimalist lines. Its angular architecture was a deliberate departure from the ancient hills that cradled it. Glass panels stretched like transparent canvases, framing the Welsh landscape as if it were a living masterpiece. Steel beams, sleek and unyielding, intersected with mathematical precision. The roofline, in sharp angles against the sky, bore a resemblance to an eagle in flight.

The villa’s grounds unfolded—a meticulously curated canvas of modernity against the ancient Welsh backdrop. Gravel paths wound through manicured grass lawns. In one secluded corner, a small glasshouse stood; the gleaming frame reflecting the wispy clouds scudding across the sky, offering a glimpse of the vibrant blooms inside. As they approached the front door, Victor noticed its material—a seamless blend of glass and steel. It’s sleek metal handle glinted in the evening sun, as Blue pushed it open.

She led Victor through the entrance, where polished marble floors met floor-to-ceiling windows. Victor’s shock lingered as the blinds pulled back, and sunlight streamed in. The walls had surrendered to an open layout. No doors, no partitions—just fluidity. The kitchen whispered to the dining room, and the living area leaned in, conspiring to create one harmonious space.

Plush rugs softened the starkness, their fibers yielding underfoot. The ceilings stretched toward eternity, daring the chandelier to reach higher. The chandelier was a masterpiece—a cascade of crystal, refracting sunlight into halos. Long curtains framed the windows, their folds pooling on the polished floor.

The designer furniture intrigued him: minimalist chairs with sharp angles and a sculptural coffee table that seemed to defy gravity. Cold steel met warm wood, creating an intentional tension—an artistic clash that mirrored the villa’s soul. In a recessed alcove, a single blue orchid bloomed, a contrast to the villa’s clean lines.

Blue draped her midnight-blue scarf over a chair. “Home sweet home,” she said as they stepped into the villa. “Welcome, make yourself at home.” As the door closed behind them, Victor wondered what secrets awaited within the polished walls.

Blue led Victor up the stairs and down a corridor lined with Renaissance-esque paintings—that seemed to pulse with hidden meanings. The floor beneath their feet shifted from marble to polished wood.

“Anyway, I’m sure you’re tired from the trip,” Blue said to Victor, her eyes softening. “Why don’t you get some rest?” She gestured toward a door at the end of the corridor. Words hung in the air, a gentle invitation. Victor glanced around the house with its glass walls and polished floors. Fatigue tugged at his bones. The promise of a quiet room and a comfortable bed.

Victor hesitated, gratitude swelling within him. “Thank you,” he replied. “It’s been a long journey.”

“Rest,” Blue murmured, her eyes holding both understanding and a hint of exhaustion. She was tired too. She disappeared into her own room. Victor watched as her door closed, and found himself alone in the corridor—his door awaiting him.

Exhaling, he moved to the door, turning the knob and letting it swing open. He stepped into the room, the door closing softly behind him. A chime sounded, and soft light enveloped him—a blend of evening’s light and strategically placed lamps. He stood at the threshold, finally taking in the scene before him. The intricate moldings displayed a level of craftsmanship, unlike anything he’d ever seen. Wood, polished to a warm glow, beckoned him further inside.

The plush carpet silenced his footsteps, its softness cradling his weariness. The king-sized bed, beckoned with crisp white linens promising a restful night. Above the velvet headboard hung a gilt-framed mirror, reflecting the sparkling chandelier—a signature piece, its crystals winking like a constellation.

Antique furniture graced the room: a writing desk with elegant cabriole legs, and a Louis XVI armchair. Bedside tables held reading lamps, while a dresser stood ready to receive his unpacked clothes. A plush armchair, nestled in the corner, offered a quiet nook for contemplation.

Artwork adorned the walls, each piece drawing his gaze. He crossed to the window, the heavy silk curtains framing a breathtaking view of the green Welsh landscape. Beyond the room lay an en suite bathroom, a marble-clad sanctuary promising solace, and a chance to unwind.

Silence enveloped Victor; the room was soundproofed, though a question lingered in his mind. But for now, the air conditioner hummed softly, maintaining a perfect temperature. He set his bags down and collapsed onto the luxurious bed, sinking into its depths. The room seemed to wrap around him, a cocoon of softness and silence. Sunlight, now a fading memory, had left behind a warmth that seeped into his bones. The chandelier above, a crystal constellation, seemed to hum a lullaby. His breathing slowed, and as darkness folded around him, sleep claimed him.

 

Victor stirred, the morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. The bed cradled him, still holding the warmth of dreams. He stretched, unraveling the knots of sleep and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

He padded across the rug, onto the gleaming wood floor, pushed open the bathroom door, and stepped inside—a haven of veined marble and iridescent glass. Warmth beckoned from the inviting showerhead. Victor undressed and stepped into the glass box. He adjusted the knobs, and water cascaded over him, washing away the night. Steam rose, wrapping him in its embrace.

Victor stepped out of the warm shower, droplets clinging to his skin. The bathroom mirror reflected a face still etched with grief. He reached for the plush towels, wrapping himself in their soft embrace.

His suitcase lay open on the bed. He pulled out fresh clothes: a crisp beige sweatshirt, dark blue sweatpants, and a pair of socks. He stepped out of the room; the polished wood floor, cool against his feet. The corridor stretched ahead—a gallery of paintings, each frame telling a tale of old. Warm rays of sunlight slanted through the windows, bathing the Villa in a soft glow.

At dawn, the villa breathed; a living entity caught between worlds. Birdsong, a vibrant counterpoint to the fading silence, filled the air as the first rays of sunlight kissed the glass walls. As he walked through the villa, Victor noticed the chandelier above—the crystal constellation dormant, waiting for nightfall to ignite. A lone detail remained—Blue’s scarf was still draped over the chair, a silent remainder from the day before.

The kitchen beckoned - a sleek expanse of marble and stainless steel, bathed in the cool light of dawn. The enticing sizzle of sausages—a promise, the scent of pancakes—a melody, waiting to be played on the stovetop. Victor rounded the corner, and there it was - the heart of the villa, humming with a quiet readiness.

He stepped into the space; the room breathed—an open-plan canvas, with no walls to confine its dreams. The island stood at its center, a polished slab inviting creation. Gentle rays of sunlight cast a warm glow on the tools of the trade: chopping boards, a knife rack, and a well-worn recipe book, lying open. Beside it, a cookbook stand held a book with pages yellowed and ink faded. But he wouldn’t need that.

Neutrals embraced the space - soft grays like morning mist, whites like whipped cream, and beiges like sun-kissed wheat. But pops of color winked playfully—a teal Moka pot, and a bowl brimming with lemons, offering a burst of sunshine—captured in citrus orbs. Shaker-style cabinets lined the walls, their cool handles promising hidden treasures—spices and herbs, the scent of cinnamon waiting to be unleashed.

Quartz countertops gleamed, reflecting the light, and subway tiles stacked neatly offered a practical backdrop. Behind the stove, a stone slab veined like ancient maps added a touch of drama. Stainless steel appliances stood by, silent soldiers awaiting their orders: the fridge, the eager oven, and the black microwave.

On the windowsill, a row of potted herbs - basil, mint, and thyme - offered a promise of fresh flavors within arm’s reach. And there, on the wall, a chalkboard scrawled with Blue’s handwriting.

Victor tied the apron, and let the aroma of mint and thyme weave its wonders—a symphony in flavors, the kitchen, his orchestra, and he; the conductor. His eyes scanned the pantry shelves, their contents neatly organized. His fingers brushed against the glass jars; sugar, spice.

He reached for the self-rising flour—the flour bag crinkling as he measured out a precise cup. Next, salt, then vanilla pods that sat in a jar. The fridge hummed, he pulled open its shimmering doors, and took out the sausages—links of savory promise. Their paprika-spiced aroma teasing his senses. Eggs, free-range, waited in their carton. He cracked them into a bowl, yolks and whites conspiring. A block of butter, cool to the touch, waited patiently.

The griddle warmed—a sunspot on the stove. He ladled the pancake batter—a fluffy canvas for morning art. The sausages sizzled, their aroma weaving through the air. Butter melted; eggs scrambled; sunrise in a skillet.

And as Victor flipped pancakes, the honey stood ready—a golden river in a bottle, ready to sweeten the day. The kitchen embraced him—a dance of flour and fire. Breakfast, like love, was made from the simplest of ingredients.

Victor stood by the stove, as the heap of pancakes ascended ever higher and the griddle sizzled with anticipation. His hands moved with practiced grace, whisking eggs, sizzling sausages, and flipping pancakes. The scent—fluffy and golden—wafted through the kitchen.

“Just how you like them, Miranda,” he whispered, “Light as whispers, with a hint of vanilla.”

 

Sophie’s laughter danced in the air. “Daddy, can I flip one too?” Her tiny hands, flour-dusted, tried to mimic his motions. Victor laughed, lifting her high, spinning her in a dance before setting her at the kitchen island.

He turned back to the side counter and poured milk into the batter, stirring gently. Sophie sat at the table, legs swinging, eyes wide. “More honey Daddy!” Victor chuckled and set down the bowl before turning and grabbing the honey bottle. He squeezed the bottle over her pancakes, and the honey gushed out. “HAHAHA! Make it rain sweetness Daddy!”

“Whoa! Slow your horses cowboy!” Miranda said, nearly screaming. “Hehe!” chuckled Sophie as she took her pancakes and ran, “Come here you little rascal!” Miranda said attempting to grab her, but she blew right past her, “You’ll never catch me,” she called out and Miranda rolled her eyes, sighed, and gave Victor a look. Victor shrugged, still holding the incriminating evidence.

 

The sausages popped, their sizzle punctuating the silence. Victor flipped a pancake—a perfect circle. He slid the pancakes onto a plate, layer upon layer.

 

Miranda laughed, “Sophie at least come sit at the dinner table,” she called. Sophie’s head poked up from behind the couch. “Promise you won’t take away my pancakes?” Miranda sighed. “I Promise,“ she said. “Cross your heart?” Sophie demanded. Miranda rolled her eyes and looked at Victor for help, who shrugged and raised his hands in surrender. She sighed louder this time and said, “Cross my heart.” “But you didn’t cross your heart,” Sophie protested. Miranda grunted and turned to face Sophie, and, rather aggressively, crossed her heart. “Okay,” said Sophie as she got up and moved to the kitchen island, cradling her plate of pancakes in her hands. She placed her plate on the kitchen island and clambered up onto a stool, legs swinging, eyes wide with anticipation. Victor flipped his and Miranda’s pancakes, each one a canvas for love.

“Mommy?” Sophie piped up, her voice like wind chimes. “Why do pancakes have bubbles?”

Miranda leaned against the counter, her rich, dark, brown eyes dancing. “Well my sweet Sophie, those bubbles are secrets; whispers from the batter, saying, ‘I’m ready to be golden.’ And then, when Daddy flips them, they giggle!”

Sophie giggled too, her dimples deepening. “Daddy, can I flip one?”

Victor held out the spatula, Sophie got down from her stool and ran to her father, who handed her the spatula, his daughter’s tiny hands dwarfed by the task. “Victor, she needs to eat,” protested Miranda. “I know, I know; she’ll eat, she’ll eat!” He justified. “Gently now,” he instructed, as his hands wrapped around hers. “Like blowing a dandelion.” With a swift motion, the pancake was flipped. “Daddy! Daddy I did it! Did you see? Mommy did you see?” “Yeah!” Victor cheered, “Nice work. We’ll make a chef out of you yet,” he said, tousling her braids. Miranda leaned in; her breath was warm against his ear. “Our little chef,” she murmured.

“Our little chef,” he nodded, Sophie’s pancake soaring; a miniature sun in flight.

The pancake landed—a perfect golden disc. She beamed, flour dusting her nose. “Look Mommy look!”

Miranda kissed her forehead. “Perfect,” she said. “Just, like, you!”

“Remember,” Miranda said softly, “love is the secret ingredient.”

 

“Good morning,” said Blue, stirring him from the memory.

Victor blinked. He turned, spatula still in hand. Blue stood there; cerulean eyes wide, fresh from the shower. Her bright blue hair clung to her neck, droplets of water tracing delicate paths. She wore a plush bathrobe, its fabric a soft embrace against her skin. The color—a pale white—echoed the morning clouds beyond the window. The robe cinched at her waist, revealing hints of collarbones and the curve of her throat. Victor’s gaze lingered there. “Ms. Blue,” he said, his voice hoarse from unspoken words. “You startled me.”

She smiled, enigmatic as ever. She tilted her head, a question in her gaze. “Did I?” she said, her voice a morning breeze. “I’m sorry.”

Victor gestured to the plate of pancakes; their golden edges were still warm. “For you.” She looked at the pancakes heaped up on the plate. “Oh! Those are for me? You shouldn’t have.”

“Well, it’s the least I could do.”

Blue took the pancakes and took a seat, the plush bathrobe hugging her curves as she reached for the honey.

Her fork cut through the pancakes, and she took a bite, “Hmmm-mm!” she moaned, her expression dancing between surprise and delight, her eyes widened, her moan of approval sending warmth through the kitchen. “Just how I like them,” she said. “How did you know?” She asked, looking up at him. Victor, caught in the gravity of her reaction, felt a warmth unfurl within him. He gazed at her, mouth slightly open before he blushed, “Umm… trade secret,” he stammered, turning back to the stove. The spatula trembling in his hand.

Blue’s moan of approval hung in the air as Victor’s heartbeat stumbled. She gave him a quizzical look but didn’t press further. Instead, she took another bite, her lips curving into a half-smile.

Victor moved to the fridge; its cool metal door swung open. He reached for the glass jug of orange juice. Cool to the touch. Condensation clung to his fingertips like dew on leaves. The tangy aroma enveloping him.

Blue watched, her eyes following his every move. “Juice?” she asked, her voice a whisper of curiosity.

He nodded, pouring the liquid into two glasses. The clink of ice cubes echoed. Victor settled at the table, the chair creaking under his weight. The pancakes waited, golden and patient.

He tipped the glass to his lips, the ice cubes clinked softly as he sipped. He stole glances at Blue, his gaze drawn to the way the light danced in her hair. A million unspoken questions battled within him, threatening to spill over.

When she had finished her plate and her cup she said, “Thank you for breakfast Victor.”

“My pleasure Ms. Blue.”

She got up from the table and with a deep breath said, “So I’m gonna go get dressed, you finish up your breakfast, I’ll meet you in my study in a few, okay?” And with that, headed back upstairs.

Victor lingered in the kitchen, the taste of orange juice still on his lips. Blue’s footsteps faded as she ascended the stairs—a whisper of footfalls against the wooden banister. As he finished the last pancake, Victor pushed back his chair, its legs scraping against the floor. He carried the plates to the sink; the porcelain clinking. The faucet gushed, water cascading over the dishes. Victor scrubbed, lost in the rhythm—the circular motion, the warmth against his skin. Blue’s study awaited, but for now, the kitchen held him. The scent of vanilla, the echo of his memories.

He dried the plates and stacked them away. Wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, he left behind the scent of soap and the hold of his memories. The hallway receded behind him as he entered the study. Sensing his presence, the blinds rolled back and the room came alight. The walls wore a soft hue, like the inside of a seashell; neutral, calming. No sharp angles here; just gentle curves and purposeful lines.

The desk stood near the window, its surface a polished expanse of oak. The chair—an ergonomic marvel sat behind the desk—pristine, untouched. Bookshelves flanked the walls, reaching toward the ceiling. Victor traced the spines as a reading nook beckoned—a plush armchair by the window, its upholstery a shade of burgundy. Light danced—a ballet of task lamps and ambient fixtures. The windows framing the view of the welsh landscape, like floor to ceiling, living paintings.

Each step sent a satisfying whisper across the walnut hardwood, the smooth texture a pleasure underfoot. Dominating the space above the desk, a canvas exploded with a fiery supernova, rendered in breathtaking detail. Indoor plants perched on the windowsill—sentinels of life, their leaves reaching for sunlight. And the bulletin board—a patchwork of notes, postcards, and sketches.

A low thrumming pulsed beneath the surface of the room, the subtle hum of technology weaving its silent symphony. Unobtrusive outlets materialized at intervals along the walls, like discreet breaths taken by the unseen machines.

Blue walked into her study. She was wearing a black knit top that hugged her frame, its soft fabric allowing ease of movement. She had paired it with well-fitting jeans that clung to her legs, exuding an air of elegance. The door closed behind her. Their eyes met, Blue smiled, “Ah! Great, you’re here!” she said.

She made her way to her desk and placed her hand on it. There was a chiming noise and Blue said, “Lower screen.” A sixty-inch flat screen lowered from the ceiling of the study. Victor watched it with eyes raised and when it was done lowering all the way, intoned an, “Oh… kay!” Blue giggled and came to stand beside Victor, moving from behind her desk to in front of the screen. She was holding a remote in her hand as well as two other items. “Would you like to sit?” she offered him. “No thank you, I think I’ll stand.” He said. “Okay.” She said and turned to face the screen, switching it on.

“Pull up the data files on the castle,” she said. There was once again a chiming noise and a map of Lord Harrington’s castle spread out on the screen before them.

Victor Frank adjusted his spectacles and leaned in. “Here’s everything on Lord Harrington’s castle.” A voice intoned, “Located at 51 degrees, 34 minutes north, 1 degree, 34 minutes west, the castle features high stone walls. Guard towers flank the main entrance, their crenellations housing surveillance cameras and motion sensors.”

“There are three shifts of guards,” the voice continued. “During the day, they patrol the perimeter. At night, they focus on the interior. Raymond Reynolds, head of security, is meticulous but predictable in his rounds.”

“A forest beyond the castle walls provides natural cover—an excellent potential route for the exit—”

“In case of anything, that will be our way out.” Blue mused.

“There is an available alternate route as well Blue,” the voice added, “a tunnel connecting the wine cellar to the nearby riverbank. Though being a viable alternative route. You and Dr. Frank will require a diversion—a distraction to occupy the guards during your exit if you opt for that option.”

“On Friday, February 14th, 2044 from 7:00 pm, Lord Harrington will host a black-tie dinner event. The guests will be distracted, security will be focused in-and around the one area—”

“As long as nothing spooks them, they should remain focused in and around the hall where the dinner will take place; that, is when we make our move.” Blue chipped in as she cast a glance at Victor, who, looking at her, acknowledged with a nod.

“That is correct, Blue. However, I feel inclined to add there will be a significant security presence in the parking lot as well.”

“Right…yes let’s not forget the parking lot,” Blue said with a smile on her face. She looked at Victor, who smiled too.

“Yes, it is important to always make decisions with accurate information, Blue!” The voice intoned.

“Moving on,” she said

“There is also the head of security, Raymond Reynolds. If he deviates from his routine, you will need to adapt quickly.”

“That’s all right. As we have seen, we have our alternate escape routes planned.” She said, glancing at Victor, who nodded solemnly.

“The major obstacle to consider,” the voice continued, “is the AI security system. Lord Harrington’s castle is fortified with a Sentinel X900.”

Victor whistled. “Whoa! Okay! So, what’s the plan?” he asked worriedly.

“Oh we’re coming to that,” Blue said.

“The Sentinel X900,” the voice continued, “boasts a sophisticated AI-driven surveillance network. First advanced thermal imaging cameras strategically placed throughout the castle grounds can detect even the slightest changes in heat signatures. These cameras can see through walls and foliage, rendering any attempt at concealment futile.”

“Adding to its prowess, the system includes highly sensitive motion detectors, calibrated to distinguish between natural movements, such as swaying trees, and the calculated steps of a human being. Any anomaly triggers an immediate alert, sending a cascade of notifications to the central control room.”

“The security network is interconnected with biometric scanners, including fingerprint, retinal, and facial recognition. The scanners are integrated into access points throughout the castle, ensuring that only authorized individuals can pass through. Biometric data is cross-referenced with a secure database, making forgery virtually impossible.”

“I hope we have a plan!” Victor repeated.

Blue just smiled and said, “Continue.”

“As an additional feature, Lord Harrington’s Sentinel X900 security system is outfitted with autonomous drones. These drones patrol the castle perimeter and interior, equipped with high-definition cameras and non-lethal deterrents. These include stun guns, tear gas canisters, and tranquilizer darts to incapacitate intruders. Controlled by the AI, the drones operate with precision, coordinating their movements to cover blind spots and respond to threats in real-time.”

“The system’s AI is named Eurus; it is the castle’s brains. Eurus can identify potential threats within seconds. It employs machine learning algorithms to adapt to new intrusion techniques, constantly updating its protocols. Eurus can predict human behavioral patterns, making it one step ahead of any potential intruders.”

“Moreover, the castle’s infrastructure is protected by electromagnetic locks and reinforced steel barriers that can be deployed instantly to seal off sections of the building. These measures contain intruders, preventing them from reaching critical areas.”

“The Sentinel X900’s advantages over human guards are stark. Unlike humans, it doesn’t suffer from fatigue, distraction, or error. It operates around the clock and can respond to multiple threats simultaneously. Its decision-making is devoid of emotion, ensuring that security protocols are executed flawlessly every time.”

“Okay!” said Victor, “what’s the plan?”

“We’ll, hack it.” Said Blue, turning to face Victor.

Victor, his mouth ajar, said, “Hack it?”

“Mm-hmm!” affirmed Blue

“And how exactly do you intend to hack a Sentinel X900?!” Victor bellowed

“With an AI of our own, of course,” she said, smiling cheekily, “should we tell him?” she asked out loud.

“There is no need to be alarmed Dr. Frank. I am uniquely equipped for this task.”

“How so?” Victor asked, having learned never to underestimate what to expect from the blue-haired lady standing before him.

“He can leech onto other AI systems,” she said.

“Leech?” Victor asked.

“Kind of like a parasitic wasp,” Blue said. “He gains access to the system invisibly, but instead of trying to break into the operating system or core commands, he just feeds the AI false data.”

“The analog Blue has drawn is quite fitting, Dr. Frank. My programming is quite analogous to a parasitic wasp manipulating its host.”

Victor nodded, intrigued. “So then, how do we ensure we evade detection?”

“We’ll be using these special indicators,” Blue explained as she handed a bracelet to Victor, who took it and began studying it. “As long as we wear these, we will effectively be invisible to the camera feeds. Yet everything else will appear normal on the surveillance systems. The AI won’t detect anything wrong because its pattern recognition systems won’t be triggered. It’ll be as if we were never there.”

The voice added, “The indicators emit a unique signal I recognize. When detected, I alter the security AI’s perception, making it believe that the area is clear of intruders while displaying all other activity as usual.”

Victor looked impressed. “Who created this?” he asked.

“Some kid from South Korea,” she said, “the CIA paid him a lot of money for it. But I got a hold of a prototype version of it, off the black market before Uncle Sam made all other versions of it disappear. With a bit of tweaking from yours truly, I can safely say it works. At least it will work against Harrington’s security AI system. I’m not sure what it would do against HORUS.”

“Oof! That thing is formidable; it pilots drones!” Intoned Victor.

“I know, but I would like to try it out someday though; yeah… someday…” Blue said, gazing off into space. Victor raised an eyebrow at her.

“What!? A girl can’t dream?”

“What do you call it?” Victor asked, nodding at the TV screen.

“Prometheus,” she said. And Victor chuckled. She smiled.

“Okay, what about the vault? How do we get past its security?” Victor asked.

Blue smiled a glint of excitement in her eyes. “It’s simple. With the indicators, we can scan our fingerprints and retinal patterns, and Prometheus will relay to the security AI that it’s Lord Harrington accessing the vault.”

Prometheus confirmed, “Indeed. The vault’s security will be bypassed seamlessly. The system will recognize Blue’s biometric data as Lord Harrington’s, allowing unrestricted access.”

Victor placed his hands on his hips and gazed dreamily at the ceiling, his curiosity piqued. “So, we just walk in, scan, and we’re in?”

“Exactly,” Blue replied. “As long as Prometheus is in control, we’ll be undetectable and the system will be fully deceived.”

Victor smiled impressed. “Not bad, Ms. Blue.”

Blue blushed and, turning back to face the screen, she said, “Okay Prometheus, let’s talk about transport.”

“Yes Blue, secure transportation is critical. We’ll park a nondescript truck near the castle—a mobile base of operations. The truck will be equipped to receive all necessary data, ensuring constant communication and surveillance. This setup will allow us to monitor the guards’ movements and react in real-time to any changes.”

Victor nodded, absorbing the details. “How will we stay connected to the guards’ feeds?”

“The truck will be equipped with monitors receiving the same feeds the guards are seeing, thanks to the repeaters you will plant throughout the castle disguised as a waiter,” Blue said as she swiveled her head to look at Victor. “Once you plant them, Prometheus will feed the same camera feeds to our truck. We’ll see what they see.”

“You said waiter?”

“Yes, my restaurant will cater for the dinner. Michael, the chef, has agreed to have you on as an extra hand, to wait on the guests.”

Victor’s eyebrows raised. “You own a restaurant?”

“Hmm! Co-own. I have ten percent shares. I co-own many small to medium LLCs. Michael’s restaurant is just one of them. I got him this gig; in exchange, he lets me have my man on his team.”

“And I’m your man.” He intoned.

“You’re my man.” She acknowledged smiling and gazed at him in silence for a moment. Victor blushed and continued, “Okay, tell me more about these repeaters.”

Blue handed him a small device. Once again, Victor took the time to observe the object.

“You’ll have to plant them discreetly. Once you turn them on, they’ll be on a timer. There are vials of acid inside, and once the timer runs out, they’re set to break and destroy the electronics, so we’ll be on the clock. And be careful with them, you don’t want to jostle them too much. They might break.”

“Once they’ve all been planted, at the relevant locations, head to the truck.” Blue continued, pointing to the TV screen. The blueprints on the screen changed, flashing red at certain points on the map. “You’ll be our eyes and ears inside. The repeaters will ensure Prometheus can maintain a strong connection and feed the security system false data. I’ll let you know once I have the artifact. Once I have it, drive the truck back here and we’ll be off, back to Nairobi in no time.”

Victor looked impressed. “So, I’ll be in the truck, coordinating with Prometheus while you retrieve the artifact. Once you have it, I’ll be ready to drive us out of there.”

“Exactly,” Blue confirmed hesitantly. “Timing and precision are crucial. With Prometheus, we’ve got the edge we need. Now, let’s make this heist a success.”

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