The Outpost's communications center thrummed with its usual low-key energy as Arthur Cousland reviewed the latest reports. Their own Dome of Eternity simulated a new day, casting warm glows across the consoles where Shifty monitored incoming data.
He adjusted his tactical coat, feeling the familiar hum of his goddesium prosthetics.
"Heading out again?" Rapi asked, entering the center with a datapad in hand. Her tactical outfit hugged her form, assault rifle slung casually over her shoulder.
Arthur nodded. "Back to the Center. Guilty was a start, but Sin's next. Andersen wants progress."
She stiffened slightly. "Be careful. These Nikkes... they're locked up for a reason. And you've got enough on your plate as it is."
"I know. But if I can turn them, it's more allies for us."
The AZX train ride to the Ark was uneventful. At the Rehabilitation Center, Mana greeted him in the lobby, her lab coat crisp as ever. "Councillor Cousland, back so soon? Impressive session with Guilty yesterday. She didn't break anything—or anyone."
"Progress is progress," Arthur replied, following her down the corridor. The air grew heavier, charged with the hum of energy fields containing volatile charges.
Mana paused outside a door marked with psychic hazard symbols. "Sin's a different beast. I'd warn you against even trying with her. She's got this way of wrapping counselors around her little finger. More than a few have nearly tampered with her criminal records before getting caught. One even tried to smuggle in contraband. Her voice is modulated now, but don't let that fool you—she's a manipulator without it."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Noted. But I've dealt with mind games before. What's her story?"
"Classified details are sparse, but she used her voice to bend minds—hypnotic suggestions, making people do things against their will. The mask neutralizes it, turns her words into a garbled mess at first. You'll adjust. Just... stay sharp. No favors, no promises."
He entered the room, the door sealing behind him with a pneumatic sigh. The space was similar to Guilty's: stark walls, bolted table, chairs. But Sin was a vision of calculated allure. Slim as a supermodel, she lounged in her restraints—leggings hugging long legs, shoes tapping idly, a skintight sports bra accentuating her lithe curves, and a purple jacket draped off her elbows, exposing porcelain skin that gleamed under the lights. Her long black hair flowed with dark purple highlights, framing purple eyes that sparkled with mischief. A special mask covered her lower face, connected to a voice modulator that distorted her speech into a muffled, electronic warble at first.
Arthur sat across from her, placing his datapad down. The mask made understanding her initial words a challenge—static-laced murmurs that he strained to decipher. "I'm Arthur Cousland, your new counselor. Let's talk."
Sin tilted her head, eyes locking onto his with an intensity that felt probing. Her modulated voice crackled: "*Another one? How delightful.*" The words cleared slightly as the device adjusted, becoming a synthetic purr. "You look sturdy. Prosthetics? Fancy."
He nodded, undeterred. "Goddesium legs, and right arm, Cerberus left arm. Now, about you—"
She interrupted with a laugh, muffled but melodic through the modulator. "Me? Oh, nothing special. But these shoes... they're dreadful. Prison issue, you know? When I get out, I want something fabulous. Expensive, designer heels. To blend in, camouflage the criminal vibe." Her purple eyes danced, as if sharing a secret.
Arthur leaned forward, trying to steer the conversation. "Camouflage? Interesting. What makes you think you'll need to hide? What landed you here, Sin?"
She waved a restrained hand dismissively, the chains jingling softly. Her jacket slipped further, highlighting the graceful lines of her shoulders. "Hide? Who said anything about hiding? It's about style, darling. These walls cramp my fashion sense. Say, you seem like a man of taste. Ever tried chocolate Splendamin?" From a small pocket in her jacket—how she'd managed that in restraints was a mystery—she produced a wrapped bar, sliding it across the table with a flick of her fingers.
Arthur eyed it cautiously, Mana's warning echoing in his mind. But refusing might shut her down. He picked it up, unwrapping it slowly. The chocolate was rich, a burst of sweetness with a hint of something exotic. "Thanks. Now, back to my question. Your crimes—hypnotic voice, right? What did you use it for?"
Sin's eyes crinkled in amusement, her modulator humming. "Crimes? Oh, that's such a harsh word. Let's talk shoes instead. Imagine me in stilettos, strutting out of here. Wouldn't that be a sight? You'd notice, wouldn't you?" She leaned as far as her restraints allowed, her sports bra stretching taut over her supermodel figure, porcelain skin flawless.
He took a bite of the chocolate, buying time. It was good—too good for prison rations. "Shoes are fine, but I need to understand you to help. Tell me about the incidents. People got hurt?"
She pouted through the mask, or at least her eyes suggested it. "Hurt? Exaggerations. People are so dramatic. But you... you're different. Strong, commanding. Bet you've got stories. Share one, and maybe I'll share too." Her voice, even modulated, carried a seductive lilt, drawing him in despite the distortion.
Arthur hesitated, sensing the deflection. This was her game—coy responses, changing subjects, fixating on trivialities like shoes to evade the core. He realized then: Sin didn't need her hypnotic voice to manipulate. Her charm, the way she mirrored interest, offered small gifts like the chocolate—it was all psychological sleight of hand, wrapping him in a web of rapport without revealing a thing.
"Alright," he said, playing along for now. "A story. Back in the Outer Rim, I sacrificed my limbs so I could use Nikke grade wespons. A Ripper-doc set me up with these." He tapped his goddesium prosthetics, the alloy humming faintly. "Turned weakness into strength. Your turn—what's the real reason for the shoes?"
Sin's purple eyes gleamed. "Clever. The shoes? They're a symbol. Out there, I can be anyone. Not just 'Sin the criminal.' Fancy heels say sophistication, not cellblock. But enough about me. That chocolate—good, right? I have connections. Could get more for you."
Another deflection, laced with an implied favor. Arthur pressed on. "Connections that got you here? Smuggling, mind control for gain?"
She laughed again, the sound tinny through the modulator. "You're persistent. I like that. But let's say... hypothetically, if someone could suggest things to people, make them see reason— is that so bad? The Ark's full of corruption. Officials taking bribes, hiding illegal tech. Me? I just wanted a better life." Her jacket slipped lower, exposing more of her toned arms, a subtle showcase.
He caught the hint—ties to corrupt officials. But she danced away from details, always coy. "Specifics help me advocate for you. What did you do exactly?"
"Specifics are boring," she replied, eyes locking onto his with feigned innocence. "Tell you what—help me with those shoes when I'm out, and I'll be ever so grateful. We could be friends. Close friends." The implication hung, her supermodel figure shifting suggestively within restraints.
Arthur felt the pull, the mind game unfolding. She was masterful, using allure and evasion to steer the conversation, planting seeds of alliance without committing. No hypnotic voice needed; her presence was the weapon. He ended the session there, buzzing for exit, but not before pocketing the chocolate wrapper as a reminder.
Outside, Mana shook her head. "See what I mean? She's slippery. Any progress?"
"She's playing games, alright," Arthur admitted with a tired sigh.