The chanting outside grew louder. The locals were protesting… something. Immigrants? Hard to be sure – Hungarian might as well be ancient Sumerian as far as Alice was concerned. Whatever the topic, they sounded angry. Which was in keeping with the wave of nationalist fervor currently sweeping the capital.

Alice cursed softly as she puzzled over a sea of red ink. Why couldn't they go hate people somewhere else? Her project was profoundly off track, and the incessant shouting outside wasn't helping her figure out how to right it.

Her assignment to Budapest had come straight from the top; her success at rescuing the flight beacon project had earned her a reputation as something of a miracle worker. Even Lynch, the CEO, had taken notice. He’d approached her with an ‘exciting opportunity,’ which had turned out to be this steaming pile of shit.

Space Core was in the process of setting up the ground-based infrastructure for managing the world's first asteroid mining operation. It'd be years before the rock reached terrestrial orbit, but with nearly a trillion invested, they needed to hit the ground running when it arrived. That meant installing base stations around the world to ensure continuous and redundant communication.

The political ruckus in Hungary had set the timetable here back months, if not years. All their hardware had been impounded 8 months ago. The red tape had assumed a hydra-esque quality; every time she thought she'd gotten the documents straight two new mandatory permits or tariffs popped up. Bribes didn't seem to help either; a parade of minor functionaries was bleeding her slush fund dry, yet none of them seemed able to move things along.

She’d resolved to get to the bottom of it, and holed herself up in a conference room with a web of documents and displays worthy of any conspiracy theorist. She was currently shuffling through the stack of permit approvals for the umpteenth time, triple checking every line against the latest regulations.

The shouting outside reached a fever pitch and a series of crashes echoed up from the street. Alice slid her chair over to the window to get a better view.

The square below was filled with protestors, some of whom had just thrown a concrete barrier through the plate glass window across the street. Armed soldiers stood posted at regular intervals along the sidewalk, but were uninterested or unwilling to intervene. A few of them were even chanting along.

There was an audible clunk as the lock on the conference room door engaged, then the speaker in the center of the table sprang to life.

"Attention all personnel, this is a security advisement. We have received reports of street violence. For your safety, all doors in the building have been locked. Please remain calm and await further instructions."

Alice frowned at the wall of glass between her and the hallway. The lock did not provide her a sense of safety. She hit the call button on the conference speaker and dialed security. Hold music came on immediately. No surprise there.

More crashing from outside, closer this time. Alice looked out the window and saw the angry mob had begun pouring into her building. She finally picked out a word from the chant: 'vállalat'. She knew that one from her business course: 'Corporation.'

At six stories up, it would take the mob a while to reach her. She wasn't going to wait it out in this fishbowl. She tested the door handle to be sure. Locked, as advertised.

"Shit." Alice looked back to the wall of glass. How much could an eight-foot plate of glass cost? She grabbed a conference chair and hurled it at the wall, shielding her face with her arm.

Clunk. The chair bounced harmlessly off the tempered glass and clattered to the ground. Okay, time for Plan B.

As a rule, Alice hated stilettos. But today she was happy to have made the concession to fashion. She slipped off one of her shoes for stability, then delivered a crushing side kick to the wall with the other. The full force of the blow transferred through the narrow steel spike under her heel. The wall collapsed in a shower of crystal shards.

Alice the stilettos back on to cross the glass pebbles. None of it looked sharp, but why take chances? Once she was out in the hall she kicked them both off and carried them in one hand. Tiny heels: good for breaking windows, bad for running.

A security post occupied the corner of her floor, she could get help there. She sprinted past the bank of conferences, drawing bewildered looks from the occupants trapped inside. She ignored them.

At the end of the hall was a locked door, solid and unmarked. To most of the occupants, it was just another utility closet. As the site lead, Alice knew it was more than that. She banged on the door. “Let me in.”

"This room is for authorized personnel only, please proceed to the nearest open room and close the door behind you."

"Open up assholes, it's your boss, Alice Yang."

Low voices conferred behind the door, but there was no immediate response. She rapped louder.

"You're not technically part of our management chain, Ms. Yang. We're Blackmountain staff."

"I don't care who you report to, I know who's at the top. You either let me in now, or I'll see that Lynch hears about it."

Another quiet exchange, then the sound of a deadbolt releasing. Alice didn't wait, she pushed through the door and stormed into the room.

Inside were a pair of security goons. According to his name tag, the towering brute who let her in was Pearson. The other guard faced away from her, studying a bank of monitors displaying the building security feeds. Alice noticed with concern that one of the cameras appeared to be in the ladies’ room. The man at the control panel seemed to sense her gaze and that square went suddenly dark. She'd deal with that later.

"Pearson, report. What's going on out there?"

Pearson puffed out his chest and looked down at Alice. "I don't take orders from civvies."

The man watching the cameras spun his chair around. Gutierrez.

"Apologies, Ms. Yang, Pearson here was just transferred from field ops. He isn't used to corporate detail." Pearson glowered but said nothing.

Gutierrez continued, "It's a scare for sure, but our defenses are solid. There's only one path out of the lobby and into the building interior. We closed the security door on it as soon as the protestors moved into the square. The only way up here is through that three inches of steel." He gestured to a silver door on the lobby feed. "They'd need a tank to get through it."

"And who can open it?" Alice asked.

"Just us in the booth," Gutierrez answered. Alice picked her lip.

The scene in the lobby was deteriorating rapidly. A man wearing a balaclava and holding a rifle was shouting at the two receptionists. They went pale as sheets and shook their heads in unison. Something about the antagonist looked familiar to Alice.

A thought occurred to her. "How does a visitor enter when the security door is engaged? They have to page you?"

Gutierrez swallowed hard. "Uh, actually the receptionists are also able to admit visitors. At their discretion."

The man on the screen leveled his rifle at one of the workers. The woman raised her hands lamely in the air but continued shaking 'no'. Then her head exploded and a crimson splatter splashed against the back wall.

"Oh hell," said Pearson.

The remaining receptionist looked over at his fallen coworker and his eyes went wide. His head shake morphed into a nervous nod. He reached one hand under the desk, and the security door swung open.