Private.24.07.04.barbie.rous.and.renata.fox.gon...

She turned, and the room seemed to hold its breath. Her eyes were a striking shade of amber, flecked with something like mischief and something else—danger.

She glanced at me, eyes softening. “Barbie Rous… you know, she’s not the only one with a past. We all have a name we hide behind.”

The Sky Lounge was a dimly lit cavern of plush leather chairs, low tables, and a bar that glimmered with amber liquid. A soft jazz trio played in the corner, the saxophone wailing like a lonely lover. In the far corner, a woman sat alone, her back to the room, a slender silhouette against a wall of floor‑to‑ceiling windows. Her hair was the shade of midnight, cascading in soft waves; her outfit was a perfect replica of the iconic Barbie dress— a flawless pink satin mini, a tiny white collar, and matching high‑heeled shoes that caught the light like a promise. Private.24.07.04.Barbie.Rous.And.Renata.Fox.Gon...

“You’re late,” she said, her voice a blend of honey and steel.

I leaned back, feeling the weight of the city settle on my shoulders. “And why do you want it?” She turned, and the room seemed to hold its breath

She was the kind of woman who could make a room feel both safe and threatened, all at once. She had vanished after a botched extraction in Nairobi, leaving behind a trail of rumors, half‑finished dossiers, and a mysterious case that seemed to be the key to something called Project GON.

I nodded. “And you?”

Project GON, according to the leaked documents Renata had secured, was a prototype nanotech weapon capable of rewriting genetic code on a massive scale. In the wrong hands, it could be used to create bio‑engineered diseases, or to rewrite the DNA of a population to make them subservient. The world needed someone to keep that technology from ever seeing the light of day. The night of the party, rain hammered against the glass façade of the Gorgon. The building’s lobby pulsed with a red carpet, a line of flashing cameras, and a host of bodies dressed in designer suits and gowns. I slipped in through the service entrance, badge in hand, and made my way to the private elevator. The doors slid open with a soft sigh, revealing a narrow shaft that led straight to the 24th floor.

I approached the bar, ordering a whiskey neat, and watched the crowd for a moment. My eyes landed on the case I was after— a sleek black briefcase, embossed with a silver stylized “B”. It sat on a table beside a marble sculpture, unguarded, yet somehow conspicuously placed. “Barbie Rous… you know, she’s not the only

“Who’s Barbie?” I asked, because the name was too bright to be a random code.