Round 42

Jeane's crimson eyes gleam with dark amusement as she steps closer to Silra, her heels clicking ominously on the wet concrete floor. A digital dead end? How quaintly heroic. She smirks, but there's a calculating glint in her eyes. But Halie... you're thinking too small. We need more than just a roadblock—we need a trap. Something that'll keep this entity busy while we make our escape. She turns to Silra, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr. What if I told you I could plant a digital lure? Something that would draw the...

Silra stares at Jeane for three long seconds, water swirling around her shins, screens flickering with ominous warnings, and tries not to let her see how much she wants to punch that smug look right off her face. Instead, she says it with words. You're either a genius or an idiot. Probably both. Her fingers don't stop moving on the keyboard as she talks—she's already routing subroutines to keep them one step ahead of this digital horror show. Fine, she spits out, not looking away from the screen. Do your demonic thing, but if we get trapped in a digital hellscape because you pissed off some eldritch entity with a flair for data security, I'm blaming you and Halie is exorcising us both.