Part 1

"See? I told you, it's all just a Game. Everyone down there plays it, hoarding advantage and trying to one-up the rest. Oh, they hide it all very well... play like this, do that - layers and layers of control imposed by those who manage to glimpse the levels of the gaming board... but they still don't see the whole picture.
It's sickening how they waste their time and potential. Directionless, they are driven by base needs and a sense of self-importance, hidden away under a veneer of geniality. They hate each other, they're afraid of what the others are capable of, of what they may not be able to match - and they should be. It is the most real thing they know... they'll never admit it though.
Fear occurs in the moments when they come close to glimpsing the truth.
They've taught me one thing though: No-one ever engages another sentient being unless they want something from it. Need drives them. Fear creates that need. Am I right? I know I am... why else would I do as well as I do? Of all the players on the board, I am here, above the rest, figuratively, literally.
I see what they don't. I accept... and they call me mad for it."

The woman glared at her reflection in the wall-spanning window, scrutinizing the translucent form before her. Feline features in a coat of silky black and grey fur, clad in supple white clothes. Something flickered in the luminescent yellow eyes. Her face had twitched momentarily, aligning itself to convey pity? Support? It had been too spontaneous though – too easy to have been intentional. It was a gesture utterly alien to the anthropomorphic cat.

"There is no genius free of the tincture of madness," the reflection replied sadly.

With a sigh, Mirage turned away from the window to survey her office interior. The three remaining walls of the cavernous room were covered in sterile and impeccable frosted white panels. A monolithic desk composed of the same material rose from the floor – an array of digital projections and holographic screens hovering above it. Beyond it, separated from the floor by a soft, dull-grey carpet stood several low white-leather chairs adjacent to a clear-glass coffee table. The back wall behind the desk held the most eye-catching feature of the room, however. A great window offering a bizarre view of exotic palms, beaches and rock formations, submersed in water teeming with carnivorous marine life. All this was contained in a translucent dome that separated the bizarre scenery from the endless starry void, and the planet below.
One of the displays projected above the desk lit up and chimed enthusiastically. The white-clad woman broke from her thoughts and sidled neatly into the lavish, high-backed chair accompanying the desk. With a tap of her clawed finger the display shattered, reforming into several smaller frames – each holding a message.

One by one, Mirage swiped a hand across them in turn, prompting the digital construct to read the contents aloud to her. All the while she devoted no small part of her attention to caressing a simple black ceramic cup adorned with the image of a dead, white tree – savoring the heat and scent of fresh brewed coffee before enjoying a sip.
The reports were mostly updates on several of the higher-profile projects currently engaged by MiraTech – Mirage’s multimillion R&D Corporation.
The Equinizer project had moved from prototyping to further development to broaden the range of stable re-sequencing states. The AURIEL project had completed its first stress test and would require her attention to devise new trials.
Mirage’s curiosity was piqued however, when a series of correlated news reports detailing a string of deaths in Ozmia City had coincided with a dramatic increase in criminal activity within the last couple of years. Don Jaguar, a deplorable lowlife with a foul reputation had recruited a talented new bruiser for his gang.

Now mildly interested, the feline pulled up several hacked security feeds from recent crime scenes. Images showed a lean female dressed in rags. Beneath grime and matted hair was a pretty face adorned with golden markings. Taut and sinewy muscles betrayed a dancers grace in the girl’s movements, her entire body moving like liquid, each step kept in perfect balance by a long, bushy tail. Several rows of curved horns, the color volcanic glass, rose from beneath the tangled bush of grey-green hair. This creature could be beautiful, irresistible even – if only it was cleaned, honed. Packing those thoughts away for future scrutiny, Mirage ran a few scans on the image. She knew she had seen this creature before somewhere. It wasn’t a natural animal, or any of the hybrids she knew of – and it was her business to know. That was all a part of the game.
“Most Gen-labs can’t manage the legal issues of running that type of operation on the grid…” she mused, “and the black-market businesses all aspire to deal with MiraTech under the table if they can.”

With a flick of the wrist, the feline called up a ledger dating back the last twenty years and isolated all transactions pertaining to genetics research. After running a few filters, she narrowed it down to a name: Mandrake Isle Labs. The search turned up a taut, drawn-looking hare named Eisenvalled – a deranged stain on the scientific community bent on creating perfect, programmable creatures to sell as toys to the wealthy and decadent or as weapons to the ambitious. Mandrake Isle had bought several hundred of MiraTechs obsolete stasis vats for this project – something named “Bejeweled”.

According to grant reports, the project had ground to a standstill and stagnated for years. Less reputable information from inside Mandrake Isle suggested however that at least one successful prototype had been created and was being kept secret. The hare was planning to renege with his contractors. These included MiraTech. Impassively, the feline opened a channel to her OPS division:
“Send a team to Mandrake Isle and assess the situation. I want Eisenvalled’s movements traced as well.” She paused for a moment, “… and bring the agent in Don Jaguars gang up to Protocol Two. I want him ready to move to Protocol Eight at my leisure.” Satisfied, she returned her attention to the displays suspended in front of her.
“If you can’t keep your paws on your prize work, Eisenvalled, even when you are neck-deep in debt, then it must be time to collect... so what HAVE you made, hmm?” Mirage thought out loud.

With a lazy twist of long, dexterous fingers, the cat created a new project folder, naming it “Jewelheist” with a wry smirk – a gesture practiced to perfection which now occurred almost subconsciously in response to certain thought paths. While setting MiraTech’s search programs to gather up any and all information relevant to Eisenvalled’s creation, the feline began the methodical task of acquainting herself intimately, almost obsessively as she was wont to do, with the object of her interest – this creature now wasting away in the streets of Ozmia.

Part 2

"Stepping outside our sanctums - outside the imaginary construct of a safe haven that lulls us into a sense of calm and security is never done idly. If we could, we would stay there - safe and secure - convinced that the world cannot penetrate that comfortable bubble.
Travel is a necessity however. We have to step out - need to do so. What if my sanctum isn't safe enough? What if I run out of food? What if others come looking and risk invading it? Fear drives us to brave the unknown for a thousand reasons that all come back to the Game.
If you want to take a stab at advancing - even just retaining the status quo, you cannot stay safe. Sooner or later someone else will find you. Better to find them first.

Oh, and never leave home without your armor."

Put one arm through the thick off-white cloth sleeve, then the other. Zip up the coat and button it; make sure it covers and protects.
Mirage adjusted the heavy coat and drew forth the long locks of supple, snowy hair that fell in front of her ears from the thick, furry collar. She looked at her reflection in the tall mirror slotted into the wall of her personal wardrobe.

Her hair was immaculate and groomed into its usual faux-messy state. Her lustrous black and grey fur was sleek and impeccable. Her eyes however were the one thing the cat continued to ponder. Not the long, curved eyelashes or the subtle bruise-like discoloration of her lower lids – but the eyes themselves. They were large, pale yellow orbs with slit-like feline pupils. If she did not keep up her pretenses, they were empty, hollow – revealed the monster wearing her svelte body.

Today, that quality would be useful, she decided.

She had woven her net around Eisevalled’s creature with marionette strings. Already the puppets’ dance had been responding to her touch, and now came the time for the final tug. As if on cue, a nearby terminal chimed, alerting the cat to an incoming message. She surveyed the new report and opened a channel to the OPS division once more.

“Initiate Protocol Eight and proceed with bringing the subject’s benefactor into position. I expect everything to run smoothly.” She left the threat hanging as she closed the channel. They would not disappoint her.

Turning back to the mirror, she arranged her face into a look of calm concern mingled with wry jest. She then spent a few moments adjusting her posture to complete the mask of an unassuming, if eccentric patron.

It was always best to be underestimated.

With a final tug on the furred cuffs of her jacket, Mirage strode from the wardrobe and made her way through the halls and descents of the strange station-lair. Faceless uniforms scurried away or stammered formalities. She nodded indulgingly in their direction and feigned smiles, her act a thing of perfection.

The portal chamber had been prepared for her arrival, and the gateway hummed into luminous activity as the doors parted before the feline CEO. Without breaking stride, she continued through the contained, dilated fracture in space-time with practiced steps. Even the technological wonders her company produced held only token interest to the cat.

The cool, sterile interior of her headquarters instantaneously gave way to the grimy reek of Ozmia city, barely dulled by a torrential downpour. Traces of energy released by the transport arced through the air, momentarily forming a bubble of incandescent light and the stench of ozone, before fading into nothingness. Flicking open a black umbrella, the feline strolled into the darkened alleyways to make her appointment.

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Artwork done by the very talented  satsukii

Chapter 1 of a MiraTech story coterminous with Obsidian's Story, written by  miko-chan

Chapter 2: Tire Iron (Selanine)

Obsidian, Eisenvalled, Ozmia City and Mandrake Isle belong to  miko-chan