They wind around the passing inconsequentialities of cars, the spilling traffic, Asadi's unique abilities proving once again useful in opening those avenues that were formerly closed to them. Immediately after she directs the lone receptionist elsewhere, Rush slides behind the unoccupied computer, standing hunched over the faint blue flicker of the monitor. It takes very little effort to digitally access the mainframe functions, a success hardly befitting the term. ROMAC should have, perhaps, considered the exquisite irony of employing a cryptographer without making use of that clearly well-utilized skill set. Access and manipulation of systems unintended for Rush's eyes has always been a particular talent of his. The workarounds are contemptibly simple to establish, even simpler to apply to a delicate structure he has no qualms about dismantling in full.

He sluices adroitly into the core of those systems, navigating streamlined circuits of code with economical surety. His eyes rake the screen, fingers rattling a methodical tattoo against the keyboard. A virus is complex in theory, uncomplicated in design; an easily constructed, incomplete filigree of numbers and lines of code, launched into the binary void in its nascent stages with the sole purpose of unraveling every security protocol it encounters.

"We move quick," he says shortly, darting Asadi a look from over the desk, and this is his only warning before he executes the command.

The computer hums softly on its desk, processing the directive. A minute trickles past in agonizing silence.

Then the Base roars into a sequential chaos, alarms erupting, then lights slamming off, sending an echoing cascade of emergency sirens shrieking through ROMAC's darkened halls.