Arthur sat in the Outpost's primary communications center, reviewing supply requisitions on his omni-tool while Shifty managed routine check-ins from patrol squads. The room hummed with the familiar background noise of active terminals and distant ventilation systems. Three days had passed since his time with Soda at the Maid Café, and the Outpost had settled back into its comfortable rhythm.
Shifty's console chimed with an incoming priority transmission. She glanced at the encryption header, and her casual demeanor evaporated. Her shoulders straightened, and she quickly routed the signal to a secure channel.
"Commander," Shifty said, her voice carefully neutral. "Encrypted priority message from Central Command. Eyes only. Deputy Chief Andersen's personal authorization code."
Arthur looked up from his omni-tool. Andersen rarely used personal codes unless the situation demanded absolute discretion. "Route it to the secure terminal."
Shifty's fingers danced across her console. "Done. I'm stepping out for a coffee break. Standard protocol."
Arthur nodded his appreciation. Shifty understood when to give him privacy, another reason she'd earned his trust over the past year. Once the door sealed behind her, Arthur moved to the secure terminal and initiated the decryption sequence.
Andersen's face appeared on the screen, but the background was blank—he'd recorded this message somewhere without identifiable features. His expression was grim.
"Cousland. What I'm about to tell you doesn't officially exist. This communication will auto-delete after viewing, and I'll deny ever sending it if questioned." Andersen paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "We have a problem in the Outer Rim. Central Government Nikkes—specifically those assigned to administrative and support roles—have been disappearing. Twelve confirmed cases over the past eight weeks. They're being stolen and forced into companionship services in the entertainment district."
Arthur's jaw tightened. The entertainment district had always operated in a legal gray area, quietly accepted by the powers that be as a necessary outlet in humanity's underground prison. But targeting Nikkes who worked directly for the government crossed a line.
"Before you ask why I'm not sending A.C.P.U., the answer is simple: someone high up is running interference. Every official investigation gets stymied before it starts. Evidence disappears. Witnesses recant. The few leads we've developed point to multiple individuals in positions of authority—people who can bury anything that threatens their operation." Andersen's expression darkened. "I need someone outside the normal chain of command. Someone with Outer Rim connections who won't be flagged the moment they start asking questions."
The deputy chief leaned closer to the camera. "You're uniquely qualified for this, Cousland. You used to work the Outer Rim as a mercenary. You know the players, the culture, how things operate down there. More importantly, you treat Nikkes like people—these victims will need someone they can trust if we're going to extract them safely."
Andersen pulled back slightly. "Your cover identity is Jason Borne, intelligence officer conducting routine security assessments. Shifty will provide the documentation. Start with the entertainment district's main thoroughfare. Ask questions, observe, use your contacts. Find out who's running this operation and where they're keeping the missing Nikkes. Once you have actionable intelligence, we'll coordinate an extraction." He paused. "Be careful, Arthur. Whoever's behind this has enough power to make problems disappear. That includes you if you're not discreet."
The screen went dark. Arthur sat motionless for a moment, processing the mission parameters. Twelve Nikkes stolen and enslaved. Officials blocking investigation from within. Andersen's hands were tied by politics, so he was reaching for someone who could operate in the shadows.
The door opened and Shifty returned, her expression carefully blank. She set a data chip on the console beside Arthur. "Your credentials, Commander Borne. Intelligence Division, authorized for security assessments in the Outer Rim. Biometrics have been adjusted in the system to match your prosthetics—you'll scan clean at any checkpoint."
"How long have you known about this?" Arthur asked.
"Deputy Chief Andersen contacted me six hours ago to prepare the documentation. I didn't know the mission specifics until you viewed the message." Shifty met his eyes. "For what it's worth, I agree with his assessment. If anyone can find those Nikkes and bring them home, it's you."
Arthur picked up the data chip and loaded it into his omni-tool. The cover identity was thorough—complete service history, authorization codes, even a manufactured personality profile suggesting he was a by-the-book bureaucrat. Perfect camouflage for moving through the Outer Rim without drawing attention.
"I'll need civilian clothes," Arthur said. "Nothing that connects to the Monarks or the Outpost. Standard tactical gear underneath, but the outer layer needs to blend."
"Already prepared and waiting in Locker Seven." Shifty pulled up a file on her console. "I've also compiled recent activity reports from the entertainment district. Three new establishments opened in the past two months—all high-end companionship services. Could be legitimate expansion or convenient covers for the trafficking operation."
Arthur studied the information. The establishments had expensive storefronts, licensed operations, and clean inspection records. Someone had invested significant resources into making them appear legitimate. "Good work. Send the full files to my omni-tool."
"Already done." Shifty hesitated. "Commander, the entertainment district isn't like the rest of the Outer Rim. Different rules apply down there. If you need backup—"
"I'll be fine." Arthur stood. "Monitor the secure channel. If I need extraction, I'll send the code word through intelligence division frequencies."
Shifty nodded, though concern flickered across her face. Arthur left the communications center and made his way to the equipment lockers. Inside Locker Seven, he found a set of civilian clothes—dark pants, nondescript jacket, worn boots that had seen plenty of use. The kind of outfit that would let him disappear into the Outer Rim's crowds.
He changed quickly, concealing his handgun in a shoulder holster beneath the jacket. His prosthetic limbs would mark him as enhanced, but plenty of people in the Outer Rim had prosthetics. He'd pass casual inspection.
The AZX train ride from Outpost to the Ark proper, then walk to the gate, a security checkpoint leading to the Outer Rim took forty minutes. Arthur spent the time reviewing Shifty's intelligence files, memorizing names, locations, and patterns. The entertainment district occupied six blocks in the deepest section of the Outer Rim, where the Ark's sterile architecture gave way to jury-rigged neon and improvised construction.
When Arthur stepped past the gate, the familiar assault of the Outer Rim hit him immediately. The air was thicker here, recycled too many times and heavy with the smell of cooking oil, cheap cologne, and desperation. Neon signs flickered in garish colors, advertising everything from bars to gambling dens to services that operated just inside legal boundaries.
He'd spent years working as a mercenary in these streets before Central Command had conscripted him as a commander. The Outer Rim remembered its own, but Arthur had changed since those days. He'd gained purpose, responsibility, people who depended on him. Returning felt like stepping into a past life.
Arthur made his way toward the entertainment district's main thoroughfare. The crowds thickened as he walked, a mixture of off-duty workers, outlaws, and people looking to forget their circumstances for a few hours. Music thumped from competing establishments, each trying to drown out its neighbors.
He spent two hours moving between venues, asking careful questions and observing the flow of people. Most establishments were exactly what they appeared to be—bars, clubs, gambling halls operating with various degrees of legality. The staff were mostly human with a few Nikkes mixed in, all seemingly there by choice.
But three locations matched Shifty's intelligence about recent openings: The Pearl Room, The Velvet Garden, and Elysium Dreams. All three occupied prime real estate with expensive facades and security that looked more professional than the surrounding establishments. Arthur noted their positions and continued his reconnaissance.
He was passing a narrow alley between two buildings when a familiar voice called out from the shadows.
"Well, well. Didn't expect to see you back in this part of town, honey."
Arthur turned. Viper emerged from the alley's darkness, her platinum blonde hair catching the neon light. She wore her signature outfit—white skintight blouse that showcased her figure, pink jacket, white miniskirt, and fishnet stockings. Her pink eyes studied him with amusement, and her shotgun rested across her back like a casual accessory.
"Viper." Arthur kept his voice neutral, aware they were in public view. "This is unexpected."
"Is it?" She moved closer, her heels clicking on the pavement. "You're in my territory, asking questions about establishments that happen to be on Exotic Squad's watch list. Either you're here on business, or you've developed some very interesting new hobbies." Her expression shifted slightly, genuine curiosity breaking through her playful facade. "So which is it, Arthur? What brings the legendary Commander Cousland back to the entertainment district?"