The synthetic petals continued their lazy descent as Arthur, Sakura, and her entourage slipped away from the bustling plaza. The festival's glow faded behind them, replaced by the stark, utilitarian corridors of the Ark's underbelly. Arthur's goddesium legs carried him with silent precision, his tactical coat swaying slightly with each step. Sakura moved beside him, her kimono a striking contrast to the grim surroundings, her expression a mask of calculated calm. The captured Liberty thugs were bundled into a nondescript transport van, their protests muffled by gags and the hum of the engine.
Sector Four loomed ahead, a labyrinth of abandoned warehouses and flickering neon signs. Seimeikai operatives had already scouted the location confessed by the pinned leader—a decrepit storage facility on the district's edge, its rusted doors gaping like wounds. As they approached, Sakura's team fanned out, securing the perimeter with practiced efficiency. Arthur scanned the shadows, his prosthetic arms tingling with readiness.
Inside, the warehouse was a cavern of forgotten crates and flickering emergency lights. The air hung heavy with dust and the faint tang of oil. Sakura's men dragged the captives to a dimly lit corner, where interrogations began in low, insistent tones. Arthur watched from a distance, his mind racing through the implications.
Sakura caught his eye, noting the furrow in his brow. She gestured to a stack of crates nearby, forming an impromptu seat amid the grime. "You look like you have questions brewing, Arthur. We're waiting for my men to cross-reference that intel anyway. Ask away—consider it a perk of our... temporary union."
Arthur settled beside her, his prosthetic hand resting on his knee. The festival's pretense felt distant now, overshadowed by the raw edge of this operation. "Alright. You've mentioned these 'accords' a few times, and the way you, Moran, and Rosanna enforce them. But earlier, you referred to an 'oath' that the Underworld Queens took. What's that about? It sounds like more than just a pact between rivals."
Sakura's sharp eyes softened momentarily, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. She adjusted her kimono's fold, the silk catching the faint light. "Perceptive. Most outsiders don't dig that deep. The Underworld Queens aren't just a title—we're a squad, Arthur. Formed to keep the criminal underbelly of the Outer Rim and the Ark in line. Think of us like Missilis' Exotic squad, but with deeper roots and less corporate strings."
She leaned back, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone as the distant murmurs of interrogation provided a grim backdrop. "I run Seimeikai, a yakuza outfit that's been around since before the Ark's founding—tradition, honor, the works. Moran's Peony Association is smaller but packs a punch, all about calculated power plays. And Rosanna's Hedonia? That's the rising force, flashy and ambitious, carving out influence in the shadows. Some of us were knee-deep in this world before becoming Nikkes; others waded in after. But the thread that binds us? We all swore an oath upon death—to become Nikkes and regulate the darkness."
Arthur's mind reeled. "Upon death? That's... deliberate. Who orchestrated this? And why you three specifically?"
Sakura's gaze drifted, as if peering into the past. "'Him.' Mustang, the CEO of Tetra Line. And here's a tidbit that'll make your head spin—he's held that position since the Big Three were founded. Uncontested, unchanging. The man's a fixture, like the Ark itself."
Arthur blinked, processing the revelation. Mustang, the enigmatic head of Tetra, pulling strings from the shadows? It aligned with whispers he'd heard in the Outer Rim, but the longevity was staggering. "Since the beginning? That's impossible—a century, at least. How?"
"Questions for another time," Sakura replied with a wry smile. "But it shook us too, back then. As for the oath..." Her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes, the warehouse fading as memory took hold.
The scene shifted in her mind's eye: a dimly lit chamber deep in Tetra's headquarters, years ago. Sakura, Moran, and Rosanna—human then, fierce and unyielding—stood before Mustang. He was a towering figure, his features obscured by shadow, exuding an aura of timeless authority. The air was thick with tension, the weight of their criminal lives pressing down.
"You want us to what?" Moran had snarled, her arms crossed defiantly. "Take over the Outer Rim by force? That makes us no better than those Exotic puppets Missilis trots out."
Rosanna nodded, her eyes blazing. "We're not your enforcers, Mustang. We've built our empires on our terms. Why drag us into this?"
Sakura had been the one to voice the core question, her tone measured but sharp. "What exactly do you want from us? And why the three of us? There are plenty of players in the game."
Mustang's response came like a low rumble, his silhouette unmoving. "Only those who have known darkness will not fall victim to its temptations." He stepped into the light, revealing a face etched with the lines of untold years, eyes that seemed to pierce souls. "You've all seen the outlaws of the Outer Rim not as monsters, but as humans—flawed, desperate, real. That's rare. Admirable. But the citizens? Those cushioned by the Ark's illusions? They could never understand. They'd succumb to the depravity, become the very darkness they fight."
He paced slowly, his words weaving a vision. "This isn't about conquest. It's about restoration. Peace in the Ark. From the old days to now, the divide between the haves and have-nots has festered into enmity, a war brewing in the shadows. If it escalates, the Ark crumbles under its own hatred. You three—you'll combat that darkness, acknowledge its persistence in humanity, but regulate it. Swear to become Nikkes upon your deaths, guardians of the balance. Not eradicators, but wardens."
The women exchanged glances, the gravity sinking in. Moran broke the silence first. "And if we refuse?"
"The chaos consumes us all," Mustang replied simply. "But I believe you'll see the necessity. The oath is to fight the shadows, even as they endure. To preserve humanity's fragile light."
In the end, they had sworn it—hands clasped, vows spoken in the flickering light. Sakura as the traditionalist, Moran the strategist, Rosanna the innovator. Bound by purpose, resurrected as Nikkes to uphold the fragile order.
Back in the warehouse, Sakura opened her eyes, the memory lingering like smoke. "That was the oath, Arthur. To combat the darkness while knowing it can't be fully banished. It's why we enforce the accords—stability over anarchy. Liberty's defiance? It threatens that balance, especially with Heavenly Ascension stirring again after their little civil war with the Peacemakers."
Arthur nodded, absorbing the layers. It explained the uneasy truce among the Queens, their Nikke resilience fueling underworld control. But it also raised questions about Mustang's ageless reign and Tetra's hidden agendas.