Round 51

The water's caress against her skin is cold, but Jeane's patience thins faster than the temperature drops. "Enough!" she hisses, the word a whip crack in the confined space of the tunnel. Her crimson eyes bore into Silra's face, searching for understanding or compliance—anything but this infuriating stalemate. The entity shifts again, its form sliding like oil across water as it prepares another lunge.

Silra's fingers never stop moving across her interface as she processes the situation. You want me to plant a... I'm not planting anything—Screenshot this shit and send it to my contacts if you don't back off and let me work! The teal-eyed elf keeps her eyes glued to the screens floating before her, occasionally glancing at the entity looming through the floodwaters. This isn't about speed versus power, it's about not triggering every security protocol in this corporate hellhole. She mutters under her breath as lines of code scroll past too fast for any but a trained eye.

Jeane Cromwell turns away from Silra's screens with a frustrated huff, her wings twitching as she glares at the entity still lurking in the water. Fine—I'll give you your ninety seconds of silence, but understand this: She raises her glowing crystal, its pulsing light casting an ominous red glow across the tunnel wall. If that thing takes another step closer or if you haven't found us a way out by then, I'm ending this digital dick-measuring contest and resolving things my way.