Viper and Jackal walked down the dimly lit corridor, the fluorescent lights above flickering intermittently, casting long shadows that seemed to shift and writhe along the walls. The deeper they ventured into the hallway, the atmosphere around them thickened like a fog, oppressive and suffocating. It felt as though the walls themselves were closing in, narrowing the space as they moved forward.
Jackal's usually boundless energy faltered. Her once-lively steps slowed as unease crept up her spine, her instincts screaming at her to stop. "Do you feel that?" she whispered, the words barely escaping her throat. Her voice, usually boisterous and confident, was reduced to a strained murmur, as if speaking too loudly would provoke whatever lay ahead.
Viper, ever composed, felt the same creeping dread. The air was different here—thick, heavy, as though it clung to her skin. She could almost feel it pressing into her lungs, making it hard to breathe. The hallway, now feeling far longer than it should have been, seemed to stretch endlessly, the light barely penetrating the gloom that gathered around John's door. Her sharp gaze, always scanning and prepared, faltered, betraying her fear. The closer they got, the more her mind whispered that something was very wrong.
"Yeah..." Viper muttered, her voice tight. "Something's off." The words hung in the air like a mist, suffocating the space around them. She tried to shake off the sensation, but it was inescapable. The door loomed ahead like the maw of a beast, beckoning them, yet simultaneously repelling them, as if daring them to come closer.
The pressure built with each step. It wasn't just fear—it was something else, something that gnawed at the edges of their consciousness. The closer they got to the door, the harder it became to move, as though the hallway itself was swallowing them. Jackal, who could face down a battalion of enemies without flinching, found herself rooted in place, her feet refusing to go any further.
And then... a creak.
The door opened slowly, groaning on its hinges. The invisible weight pressing on their chests vanished in an instant, the tension evaporating as if it had never existed. The oppressive force that had wrapped itself around them dissipated, leaving them standing in an eerie, still silence.
John stood in the doorway, his expression calm, almost amused, as if he had no idea what kind of nightmare had just enveloped them. The sudden shift from crushing terror to normalcy left Viper and Jackal shaken, their instincts still buzzing even though the threat seemed to have evaporated.
Viper, regaining her composure, raised an eyebrow, her tone laced with a forced casualness. "Did you get a good night's sleep, Honey? Must've been comfortable, sleeping next to three dangerous, beautiful women," she teased, masking her unease with her usual sultry banter.
John rolled his eyes, masking his irritation with a heavy dose of nonchalance. "Yeah, a dream come true," he deadpanned, the sarcasm slipping easily from his lips. He stepped aside, leaning casually against the doorframe as he motioned for them to enter. "So, you coming in, or are you just going to stand out there gawking?"
Jackal, eager to shake off the lingering sense of discomfort, perked up immediately. "You bet we are!" she declared, her usual bubbly enthusiasm snapping back into place as she bounded past Viper into the room without a second thought. The awkward tension from earlier vanished from her like a wisp of smoke, replaced by her careless, almost childish energy.
But Viper lingered, her eyes narrowing slightly as she surveyed the room. She wasn't one to overlook the subtleties. The air here—it wasn't just the room that had felt wrong. There was something else, something only she could sense, like a predator sniffing out danger hidden in plain sight. Her gaze flickered across the space, her smile still in place, but something in her eyes sharpened, calculated.
John, oblivious to the shift in her demeanor, leaned back against the wall, stretching his arms. Viper's smirk returned, this time a touch more forced, her confidence only a mask for what she wasn't saying. "Quite the setup you've got here, honey," she remarked casually, her tone sweet but layered with something unspoken. "Bet you sleep like a baby in here."
John shrugged. "As well as I can," he replied, completely unfazed by her words.
Viper's eyes lingered on John for a fraction longer before she sauntered into the room, her smirk widening as if nothing was amiss. She pushed aside her suspicions—at least, for now.
John tilted his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. "So, where's Crow? She didn't stick around to enjoy our little soirée, huh?"
Viper's smile didn't waver, but her eyes flickered with something—perhaps annoyance. "She went off to check out a bar near one of Rat's brothels. Figured she'd scope out the place before you decided to grace us with your presence."
John raised an eyebrow, feigning hurt. "Oh, I feel so left out. I thought we could've come up with a plan together. Guess Crow's always one step ahead."
Jackal snorted, clearly entertained by the tension. "Yeah, Captain does what Captain wants. She's probably already coming up with a scheme."
John couldn't help but chuckle, though his eyes narrowed slightly. He wasn't sure how much they were willing to cooperate. There was a coyness to them, an edge to their answers that told him they weren't going to give him everything he needed. But that was fine. He'd work with what he had.
"Alright," John said, pushing off the wall. "Let's head out and sync up with her. I'd hate to miss out on all the fun."
As they walked toward the bar, the shadows of the Outer Rim seemed to stretch out endlessly, swallowing them whole. The sound of their boots scraping against the cracked pavement echoed, but the streets themselves remained eerily quiet. The air was heavy with the stench of grime and decay, mingling with the occasional whiff of stale alcohol seeping from the rundown buildings.
Jackal bounced along beside them, her energy barely contained. She hummed loudly, her head swiveling from side to side like an excitable puppy catching a scent, completely oblivious to the oppressive atmosphere that hung over the place. "Man, this place looks like fun!" she chirped, skipping ahead. "Do you think they have snacks inside? Or, ooh, what if they have something to blow up?" Her eyes sparkled with glee, and she clapped her hands, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet.
Viper, on the other hand, moved with deliberate grace, her hips swaying as she shot John a sultry glance over her shoulder. Her voice dripped with playful teasing as she purred, "You sure you can handle all this, Honey? It's a lot for one guy to deal with, after all. But don't worry, I'll be gentle." She winked, her words laced with a teasing mockery that felt less like a flirt and more like a taunt.
John rolled his eyes, biting back a sigh as he trudged along behind them. He was still getting used to the strange dynamic of Exotic squad, and while he didn't fully trust them yet, he was starting to realize that understanding them was just as important as watching his back. Jackal was unpredictable in her childlike exuberance, and Viper... well, Viper seemed to enjoy seeing just how much she could get under his skin.
"Is Crow in there?" he asked, his voice flat as he scanned the building they had arrived at.
Viper smirked, her gaze flicking to the bar ahead of them. She smiled, a touch too sweet, "Better hurry, wouldn't want to be late for the show."
John's expression didn't change as they reached the entrance to the bar, its neon sign flickering like it could give out at any second. "I'm hurt," he muttered dryly. "I thought we were all going to come up with a plan together."
Jackal barked a laugh, nearly doubling over as she grabbed the door handle. "Yeah, right! You're gonna have to catch Captain first if you wanna plan anything! She's probably already causing trouble in there!" She bounded through the door without a second thought, her laughter echoing into the musty interior of the bar.
Viper followed, her voice soft as she leaned in just close enough for her breath to tickle John's ear. "You sure you're ready for this, Honey?" she whispered, her tone dripping with faux concern. "It's a whole different world out here."
John glanced at her, his expression unreadable, before pushing past and stepping into the bar. The door swung shut behind him, leaving the damp streets of the Outer Rim behind as they entered Crow's territory.
The bar was a dim, dingy place, tucked away in a forgotten corner of the Outer Rim. The atmosphere clung like an oily residue, reeking of stale alcohol, sweat, and the faintest hint of despair. Crow was already seated in the far corner of the room, her back to the wall, watching everything with an unsettling calm. Her presence seemed to command the space, as if everyone around her was subconsciously avoiding her, though they dared not glance her way too often.
John stepped inside, feeling the palpable tension hanging in the air. Crow didn't look up as he approached the table, but the way her fingers drummed a slow, steady beat on the side of her glass suggested she'd been waiting a little too long for his arrival. She didn't look up when they entered, and John could feel the tension as soon as he stepped inside.
Viper sauntered in next to him, her usual playful smirk barely hiding the sharpness in her gaze. "Well, honey, looks like we've been left in the dust," she purred, clearly amused by Crow's early departure.
Jackal, bouncing on her heels like a hyperactive child, piped up, "It's like a race, and Captain's winning! We gotta catch up, right? Right?!"
John didn't answer immediately, his eyes locked on Crow, who had yet to acknowledge their presence. The bar's atmosphere was thick with an uneasy quiet, the kind that made everyone glance over their shoulder, expecting trouble. Crow finally looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly when she layed them upon John.
"Nice of you to join me," she said dryly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. The disdain in her voice wasn't masked. "I thought you'd gotten lost."
John took a seat across from her, unfazed by her tone. "You could've waited."
Crow's lips curled into a small, sharp smile. "You're the one who needs to keep up, Commander."
Viper slid into the booth next to him, leaning back casually. "Oh, come on, Crow, don't be so hard on him. We're here now, aren't we? Let's just get to business, shall we?"
Jackal had already taken the seat closest to the wall, bouncing slightly as she grinned at the group. "Yeah! Let's get this show on the road!"
Crow's gaze barely flicked toward John, her expression indifferent, almost bored. "The brothel in Eastside? Rat's using it to push blackmail. He's not just hustling Ark officials; he's selling information to anyone who's buying—doesn't matter if it's the Ark or scum from the Outer Rim." She shrugged, her tone dismissive. "Let them tear each other apart. It's all the same filth."
John raised an eyebrow. "You think it doesn't matter?"
Crow scoffed, leaning back in her chair. "Ark officials getting blackmailed? Oh no, how tragic." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Rat's a snake, sure, but the only difference is he's not hiding it behind a shiny badge or a cushy title." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "But he's playing a dangerous game. And I don't like people who think they can play both sides."
Viper, who had been idly tracing the rim of her glass, spoke up with a sly smile. "I've got some contacts who can get us inside. But we'll need to be careful. Rat's not stupid."
Crow didn't seem to care. She leaned forward, her voice lowering. "Jackal and I know the back streets, the underbelly. We'll use that to spy on him, get a feel for his next move. When we know what he's really up to..." Her fingers tapped the table, her expression turning cold. "Then we deal with him."
John remained calm, unflinching. "And me? What am I supposed to do in all of this?"
Crow's lips curled into a faint, almost mocking smile. "You? Follow my lead, keep up, and maybe you'll live to see the end of it."
An hour later, John found himself on the top of what looked like a dilapidated factory alongside the members of exotic.
The rooftop of the building provided a perfect vantage point over one of Rat's operations—a dimly lit, rundown facility nestled between crumbling warehouses. Crow, Viper, Jackal, and John crouched behind the rooftop's parapet, watching the scene below.
"Something's off," Crow muttered, her sharp eyes scanning the subdued activity in the courtyard. "There should be more guards. They're acting skittish."
John followed her gaze. The place looked far too quiet. A couple of guards loitered near the entrance, but the usual flow of illicit activity was absent. The tension in the air was palpable, and John could feel it creeping into his bones.
Jackal, meanwhile, was casually fiddling with a loose tile on the rooftop, seemingly oblivious to the unease gripping the others. She hummed a little tune, her carefree demeanor a stark contrast to the tension between the rest of the squad.
Viper silently slipped away, her form disappearing into the shadows as she went to make a call. Crow's brow furrowed, her fingers drumming lightly against the rooftop ledge. "I don't like this. Something's spooked them. Rat's not one to cut and run unless he feels the heat."
Minutes later, Viper returned, her expression tight as she stood behind Crow. "Got word from one of my contacts. Crow, remember that gang in the junkyard? They were found dead. All of them. And get this—they were one of the gangs working with Rat. Word on the street is that he's gone underground."
John remained silent, his jaw tightening slightly. He knew exactly what had happened to that gang—he had dealt with them personally, after all. But now his actions had complicated things, and Rat had slipped out of their grasp.
Internally, John cursed. He hadn't expected the fallout from his actions to reverberate this quickly, and now Rat was hiding, probably waiting for the heat to die down. The silence between the squad members stretched, the weight of the situation pressing down on them.
Crow glanced at John, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Looks like we'll have to dig a little deeper now. Hope you're ready for the long game, Commander."
As Viper slipped back between John and Crow, her usual sultry smirk was already forming on her lips. She leaned in closer to John, her voice low, conspiratorial. "I think I can get ourselves a ticket in, Honey," she said, drawing out the words with deliberate care. "You and I can head into that little brothel-slash-club together. It's a place that specializes in... let's just say, trafficked Nikkes. We'll go in like the perfect pair—me as the plaything and you, my oh-so-charming Commander."
John raised an eyebrow, his discomfort obvious, but Viper pressed on, not missing a beat. "The manager of this establishment has a thing for Nikkes—he's got a collection, you could say. If we play our cards right, I can get him talking, and he'll lead us to Rat." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "But, you're going to need to act the part. I'm talking about full-blown, scummy Commander—one of those types who see Nikkes as nothing more than toys."
John's frown deepened. The very thought of playing that kind of role made his skin crawl, but he knew Viper was right. It was their best chance to get inside, to get the information they needed. Still, the idea of pretending to be one of those monsters churned in his gut.
"Great," he muttered sarcastically. "My dream assignment."
Viper tilted her head, her smirk never faltering. "Don't worry, honey. I'll handle the manager. You just focus on acting the part." She gave a playful wink, but John didn't miss the seriousness in her eyes. Despite the flirtatious attitude, Viper knew the gravity of the situation.
Crow, who had been silently observing, gave a dismissive wave. "Just get in, find the bastard, and get the intel. Play it smart and follow her lead. If you can't handle it, well..." She trailed off, her lips twisting into a sardonic grin. "Let's just say you won't make it out alive."
John locked eyes with Crow, his expression hardening. He wasn't one to back down, even if the situation was distasteful. "I'll play along," he said, his voice steady. "But make sure you're ready to pull me out if things go south."
Viper's smile widened. "Oh, don't worry. I'll be right by your side Honey. Now, let's get going. Rat's waiting."
The corridors to the club were labyrinthine, leading John and Viper through dark, twisting passages designed to keep prying eyes at bay. Their IDs had been checked multiple times, and each checkpoint felt like peeling back layers of secrecy as they descended further into the underworld. The further they went, the more the air seemed to thicken with a tension John could almost taste. This was a place where lines had long been crossed, where ethics had been discarded in favor of indulgence and exploitation.
Finally, they arrived.
The club's interior was deceptive—lavishly designed with sleek, modern architecture and shimmering lights—but the truth lay just beneath its polished surface. As they stepped inside, the sight was enough to turn John's stomach. Nikkes were everywhere, not as guests or equals, but as commodities. They worked the floor, tended to tables, entertained patrons. Their eyes were hollow, their movements mechanical, devoid of the spark that made them who they were. John could feel his anger simmering beneath the surface, but Viper's whispered warning cut through his thoughts.
"Remember the role," she murmured, her tone sharp but quiet enough to only reach his ears. "You're not here to save anyone. Act the part. The more convincing you are, the faster we get what we need."
John's jaw clenched, but he gave a slight nod. He knew what was at stake, even if every fiber of his being wanted to tear this place apart. He had to play it cool. He had to pretend, even if just for tonight, to be the kind of person he despised.
It didn't take long for the manager to find them. A tall man with a slicked-back look, his smile as oily as his demeanor, approached them, flanked by two burly guards. His gaze flicked over Viper with an appreciative smirk before settling on John.
"VIP, huh?" the manager drawled, his voice dripping with slimy charm. "You must be someone special to have a Nikke like that with you. We don't see many Commanders with your... tastes. Not unless they're in for a good time."
John forced a grin, his stomach twisting. "I like to keep things... interesting."
The manager's smile widened, pleased. "Well, you're in luck, friend. Since you brought your own Nikke, everything's on the house. Just as long as it's 'consensual', of course." He winked as though they were sharing some private joke. John's hand twitched with the urge to kill him right there.
Viper played her part perfectly, leaning into John with a sultry smile, her fingers tracing lightly over his arm as if they were every bit the depraved duo the manager believed them to be.
"We're here for the full experience," she purred. "No limits."
The manager's eyes gleamed with approval. "That's what I like to hear! Let me show you to a private room. You'll have all the privacy you need to enjoy yourselves." He led them through the club, weaving past booths where other Nikkes were draped over men in dark suits, their faces blank masks of submission.
Finally, they were ushered into a dimly lit room, plush with velvet furnishings and soft, ambient lighting. The door closed behind them, leaving John and Viper alone in the suffocatingly quiet space.
Viper dropped the act, her voice low but steady. "We've got a few minutes before anyone checks in on us. We play this right, we'll get what we need from the manager... but you better keep that rage in check. No slipping up, Commander."
John sat down, the weight of the situation settling over him. He didn't trust his own reflection right now, but they were in too deep to back out. All that was left was to see how far they'd have to go before they found Rat. The air in the room was thick, not just with the dim lighting and luxurious furnishings, but with the underlying sense of danger that came with being in a place like this.
"That manager creeps me the hell out," Viper muttered, breaking the silence. She shot a glance at John, who nodded in silent agreement.
"He's not exactly winning any points for charm," John said, rubbing the back of his neck, the unease still prickling at the back of his mind.
Viper, now slightly more composed, reached for a sleek tablet that was resting on the table. With a few taps, she scanned the building's security systems. Her eyes narrowed as she read through the details. "This place is locked up tight. Cameras, guards, encrypted access points... it's a fortress."
John frowned. "Figures. But we're not leaving without something. We need to find whatever we can that will point us to Rat's location, even if it's small."
Viper set the tablet back down, her expression hardening. "Alright. But we play it safe. One wrong move in here and we're done for."
Before they could strategize further, there was a soft knock at the door. John tensed, but Viper remained calm as a waiter entered, balancing a tray with drinks and a selection of appetizers. He placed the items on the table, bowing slightly before making a quiet exit.
They exchanged a look. "We'd better make this convincing," John said, picking up a glass of what looked like whiskey. Viper didn't hesitate, grabbing a margarita from the tray with a smooth, practiced motion. "Might as well enjoy ourselves while we're here," she said with a smirk, her voice dropping back into the sultry tone from earlier.
John watched as she took the small dish of salt provided and carefully applied it to the rim of her glass. There was something almost mesmerizing about the way she moved—calm, calculated, but with an underlying intensity.
She scooted closer to John, her margarita in hand, the tension between them shifting from professional to something else, something more dangerous. "Let's drink to the future success of this little charade," she murmured, raising her glass slightly.
John clinked his glass against hers, though his mind was still running through the possibilities—what evidence they could find, how long they had before someone came to check on them. He took a sip, but his focus was elsewhere, knowing they were on borrowed time in this twisted place.
John and Viper sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their drinks, before a plan began to form. The lavish yet grim atmosphere of the club weighed on them, the trafficked Nikkes around them reinforcing the gravity of their mission. Viper leaned in, her voice low and filled with that dangerous playfulness she wore so well. "I'll work the manager. Flirt with him, see what secrets he's hiding. Men like him always think they're smarter than they are."
John raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "And what about me?"
"You'll talk to the Nikkes," Viper replied, her tone flat but purposeful. "They're scared, but if anyone here knows what's really going on, it's them. They see everything."
John nodded. It was a simple enough plan. Play their parts, blend in, and gather what information they could. But as Viper stood, ready to make her move, John watched her head toward the manager, her sway exaggerated just enough to catch his eye. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself, shaking his head. Then as she left, his smile faded. "Sorry Viper, but I have my own plans," he muttered under his breath.
He set down his drink, leaving the private room quietly, blending into the shadows of the club. His instincts told him there was more to uncover. As he moved through the dim corridors, he passed by a series of closed rooms, the thick doors barely muffling the disturbing noises coming from within.
The deeper he went, the more disturbing the sounds became—muffled voices, the clinking of chains, and then... a girl's sobbing, faint but unmistakable. John's stomach turned, the sound cutting through him like a knife. He paused outside the door, his hand tightening into a fist, the knuckles cracking as rage built inside him. Inside, he could hear a man's sickening laugh, clearly reveling in the girl's misery.
John's jaw clenched, his nails biting into his palm, but he forced himself to continue walking. As much as he wanted to tear that door off its hinges, he couldn't blow his cover—not yet. Not until he had something solid on Rat and his operation. He pushed the anger down, letting it simmer just below the surface as he made his way toward the bathrooms, his mind already turning over what he'd just witnessed.
John entered the bathroom and quickly locked himself in one of the stalls. The muffled noises of the club became distant, and he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
He focused, activating his cursed technique. The world around him sharpened as he began enhancing his senses, one by one, starting with his hearing. Every creak of the floorboards, the faint hum of distant machinery, the chatter of voices, all became amplified in his mind. The sound of electrical currents running through wires crawled into his awareness, a subtle buzz that normal ears couldn't pick up. He honed in on it, following the electrical hum in the background.
Next, he shifted to his sense of touch. The cool metal of the stall door felt rougher, every tiny imperfection on its surface becoming clear as his fingers traced the edges. He stepped back, letting the enhanced tactile awareness guide him. A faint breeze swept through a small crack between the walls, and it was there—just above him—a wire.
A glimpse of silver peeked through the slight gap between the stall and the ceiling. It was part of the club's security system, he realized. He blinked and activated his sight next, his eyes narrowing as his vision zoomed in, following the wire as it disappeared into the wall. He alternated his focus, enhancing his sense of smell for a brief second—just enough to catch a whiff of soldered metal and the faint scent of burnt plastic. It confirmed what he already suspected.
Shifting back to his enhanced hearing, John picked up the vibration of footsteps from above. Multiple people, pacing in a rhythmic pattern. He scanned the area in his mind, tracing the direction of the wire through the walls, and calculated the path with a quick mental map. By switching his focus between touch, sound, and sight, he pieced together where the wire led—a control room, most likely filled with security monitors, was situated several rooms to his left and one floor above.
John allowed the enhancement to fade slowly, a slight dizziness creeping in from using his technique so intensely in a short span of time. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as the normal sounds of the club returned. He had what he needed—a location. Now he just had to figure out how to reach that room undetected.
Adjusting his shirt collar and brushing his hair, John stepped out of the stall, his plan beginning to take shape. The hard part was over. Now, it was time to act.
John slipped out of the stall, wiping the faint dizziness from his senses after using his cursed energy. His gaze scanned the club again, watching as several Nikkes moved in and out of a room, balancing trays of drinks and empty dishes. That must be the kitchen, he thought.
He moved with deliberate slowness, pretending to enjoy the sight of a pair of Nikkes dancing on poles, his eyes casually trailing their movements as his mind worked on finding the right moment. The guards were focused on the guests, too caught up in the scene to notice him.
His senses sharpened once more, this time focusing on the camera near the kitchen's entrance. He reached into his pocket, fingers closing around a small coin. Without breaking his stride, he flicked it with a burst of cursed energy. The coin zipped through the air like a bullet, smashing into the camera lens with a faint crack. A small pop of sparks sputtered as the camera went dead.
Perfect.
John wasted no time, speeding up slightly, his cursed energy enhancing his movements as he timed it just right to slip in behind a Nikke server, barely catching the door as she walked out. The kitchen was grimy and dim, the air thick with the smell of stale grease and overcooked food. Malnourished cooks, human and Nikke alike, moved about mechanically, too focused on their tasks to pay him any attention.
John moved towards what looked like a service door at the back of the kitchen, slipping through the chaos unnoticed. Just as he was about to reach for the door handle, it swung open, and a guard stepped through, almost walking straight into him.
Before the man could react, John was already moving. In one swift motion, he grabbed the guard by the collar and yanked him into the hallway beyond the door, slamming him hard into the wall. The guard gasped in surprise, his eyes wide with fear as John pressed him against the cold concrete, his hand gripping tightly around his throat.
John lifted him by his neck and slammed the guard into the ground with a thud that reverberated down the corridor, the force of impact knocking the man out cold. There was a fleeting moment of silence, broken only by the soft echo of the collision. John glanced down, already moving with precision, his focus razor-sharp. Without hesitation, he began stripping the unconscious guard of his uniform.
The clothes were tight, the fabric pulling uncomfortably at his arms and shoulders as he struggled into the ill-fitting outfit. The guard had been smaller than him by several sizes. John grumbled to himself, adjusting the too-short sleeves and tugging at the collar that threatened to choke him. The helmet was even worse—a shallow dent from when he'd slammed the guard down marred its otherwise sleek surface. John considered ditching it but decided against it.
He stepped out of the room, now dressed in the guard's uniform, though the stiffness of the fabric and awkward fit made his movements feel clumsy. The service corridor stretched out before him, dimly lit and reeking of stale air. His boots thudded against the concrete floor as he moved toward a stairway at the far end of the hall. He felt ridiculous—like a soldier stuffed into a child's costume—but the tightness of the uniform didn't matter now. What mattered was getting to that security room undetected.
As he neared the stairway, he couldn't help but smirk, the situation almost laughable in its absurdity. Here he was, wearing a skin-tight uniform with a dented helmet, yet still managing to move through the shadows, heading deeper into the heart of a place rotten with corruption. The weight of the mission pressed down on him again, but for now, he pushed it aside. One step at a time.
John arrived at the security room, his boots muffled by the worn-out carpet as he stepped inside. The door clicked softly behind him, and with a swift motion, he locked it. Inside, a skeleton crew of guards and a couple of tech workers sat at their stations, engrossed in the grainy security feeds displayed on the monitors. The flickering lights illuminated their faces in an eerie glow, unaware of the looming danger that had just entered the room.
The tension was palpable, but John's demeanor remained calm. His eyes swept over the setup—old screens, hard drives stacked haphazardly, and wires spilling out from under the control panels. The noise of the buzzing electronics filled the room, masking the sound of his movements. He adjusted his too-tight uniform, the fabric pulling uncomfortably with each step as he made his way closer to the controls.
In an instant, he was on them, moving with precision. He disabled one of the guards with a swift blow to the back of the head, the man crumpling to the floor without a sound. Another guard turned, but before he could react, John had already incapacitated him. The workers looked up, panic dawning in their eyes, but John moved quickly, silencing them before they could scream.
With the room now under control, John turned to the equipment, locking the door behind him once again. He quickly started scanning the feeds
Back on the floor, Viper leaned in closer to the sleazy manager, her demeanor playful, but with an edge of danger. Her tone was light, but each word was deliberate, like bait dropped into murky water. She was reeling him in.
"You seem like a real mover and shaker," Viper cooed, a sly grin playing on her lips. "I bet a man like you knows exactly where real power and secrets are kept."
The manager chuckled, puffing his chest out a little. He loved the attention, especially from a Nikke like Viper, who oozed confidence and charm. He glanced around, his voice dropping to a near whisper, as though preparing to share something he rarely offered. "Let's just say... I've got eyes everywhere. All the good stuff flows through me."
Viper smirked, playing along. "Maybe you could show me sometime. I'm sure we could make it worth each other's while." Her flirtation was artful, disarming the man's suspicions and pushing him to reveal more, all while keeping him on a tight leash.
John, meanwhile, worked fast, uploading the security footage and scanning through files. His focus sharpened when he found the manager's office feed—where Viper was slowly leading him. John was still in the dark about how far she'd go. He kept an eye on the monitors while continuing to pull as much data as he could. His mind raced with the need to stay a step ahead.
The flickering screens showed snippets of rooms all over the club, including the darkened hallways John had passed earlier—the muffled sounds of deals, the quiet footsteps of Nikkes trapped in servitude, and behind one door, the twisted cries of someone clearly in pain.
His fingers stilled on the keyboard, fists clenching briefly as he fought back the urge to act now. No. He had to keep his focus. If he could just uncover the right leverage, he could shut this whole operation down.
But then, back on the floor, Viper tilted her head, locking eyes with the manager, her hand brushing his sleeve ever so slightly. The connection was made. She'd gotten him right where they needed him.
Viper's heels clicked softly against the polished floors as the manager led her through the winding paths of the club. The heavy beats of music thrummed in the air, almost masking the quiet conversations in the side rooms. But Viper had her focus set on the man beside her, her eyes glinting with intention. She leaned in close, offering a smile that was part playful, part predatory.
"You must have quite the influence here," she mused, letting her fingers brush against his arm in an almost absent-minded gesture. "Running a place like this, I bet you know every little thing that happens, don't you?"
The manager puffed up at her words, clearly enjoying the attention. His eyes glittered with self-importance as he glanced around, as if to confirm his dominance. "Of course," he said, with a slow smirk. "Not much gets past me. And let's just say... I have friends in high places. Benefactors who know how to protect their investments."
"Is that so?" Viper purred, her voice like honey. "Seems like some of your guards are missing tonight, though. I wonder why?"
The manager's smile faltered slightly, but his ego wouldn't let him stop. "Ah, well," he began, "my benefactor pulled some of the guards away. There's been... some trouble brewing in the Outer Rim. Dangerous situation. But it's nothing I can't handle."
Viper nodded thoughtfully, all while subtly steering the conversation, leading him exactly where she wanted him. "Trouble in the Outer Rim, you say? Must be something serious to call your attention away from such a fine establishment."
"Nothing to worry about," the manager replied, his voice steady but his eyes flicking nervously to the side. "Everything's under control."
They arrived at the door to his private room, and the manager reached for the handle, turning it with a flourish. "Here we are—my personal sanct—"
His words cut off as the door swung open to reveal a guard slumped on the floor, unconscious.
Before the manager could react, John appeared out of the shadows, his hand flying to the manager's throat with startling speed. He slammed him against the wall, his grip tightening just enough to keep the man from reaching for the panic button on his wrist.
Viper crossed her arms, her expression more annoyed than surprised. "This wasn't part of the plan, Honey."
John, his voice a low growl, didn't even glance her way. "I decided to alter the plan."
The manager, eyes wide with fear, struggled against John's grip, but it was futile. John's grip was iron. Without another word, he shoved the manager toward the bathroom, dragging him inside as the man choked out desperate pleas.
Viper sighed, stepping toward the door, her posture still relaxed but her eyes gleaming with barely concealed irritation. "Guess I'll watch the door, then."
John didn't respond. The door to the bathroom slammed shut behind them, and there was a brief pause before the sound of the faucet turning on filled the air. The water rushed, loud and violent, mingling with the muffled sounds of the manager's panicked gasps.
Outside, the atmosphere was suddenly suffocating, the weight of what was happening just behind the door hanging in the air. Viper leaned against the wall, her fingers tapping a slow rhythm on her thigh, but even her usual calm exterior couldn't completely mask the tension creeping in.
In the bathroom, the faucet continued to run, the sharp, metallic scent of blood already beginning to mingle with the water.
The manager's scream was cut off by the slam of a fist, and the gurgling of a man struggling to breath under water.
An hour had passed. Viper was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, eyes lazily fixed on the closed door to the manager's room. The distant hum of the club's activity droned on, muffled and unimportant compared to what was happening behind that door. Finally, it creaked open, and John stepped out, the manager stumbling after him, a broken shell of the man he had been.
The manager's babbling was incoherent, his eyes wide with fear, his hands shaking uncontrollably. John's expression was unreadable, cold and calculating, but something in his eyes flickered—conflict, maybe, or disgust. He wiped his hands on a cloth, barely acknowledging the pitiful man beside him.
"He broke," John confirmed in a low voice, glancing at Viper. "Gave me some information, but we need to get out of here. I'll tell you everything once we're somewhere safe."
He stepped toward the manager, reaching for the man's throat. His intention was clear. Viper's hand shot out, catching John's arm before he could act.
"Not yet," Viper said, her voice smooth, almost playful. "We can still use him."
John's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping even lower, edged with anger. "Do you know what I saw in there? What this scum is responsible for?"
Viper's grip tightened slightly, her eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Oh, I know. But keeping him alive gives Exotic leverage. We can make an impact on a much larger scale if we play this right."
John's jaw clenched, and for a brief moment, he looked as though he might ignore her, but then something shifted. His hand fell away from the manager, and he let out a frustrated sigh.
The manager slumped against the wall, gasping for breath. Viper stepped forward, her expression smug as she leaned in close to the trembling man.
"I found out a little something while my friend here was having his fun," she purred. "Your real name is Iannis Konstantine, right? You've got a wife... and kids. So, here's what's going to happen. You're going to keep your mouth shut about what happened here tonight, and nothing gets out. And nothing happens to them." Her smile was sweet, but her words were laced with venom.
The manager's head bobbed in frantic agreement, his eyes darting between Viper and John, desperate for any sign of mercy. But there was none. Viper patted him on the cheek before turning to leave.
As they walked out of the club, the tension between them was palpable. Viper broke the silence first, her tone teasing but with a hint of something deeper. "I didn't expect you to have such a dark side, Commander."
John didn't reply.
In the dimly lit corner of the outpost, John tossed pieces of fried chicken into the air, watching with a mixture of amusement and awe as Jackal, in her usual hyperactive fashion, leaped up and snatched each piece mid-flight, swallowing everything whole—including the bones. She barely touched the ground before she was ready for the next one, her grin wide and excited as if it were all a game. He kept his off hand on a bag full of hard-drives he had pulled out of the security room, clenching hard without realizing.
"Wow... you're really something," John muttered, tossing another piece into the air and shaking his head in disbelief as she caught it effortlessly.
Meanwhile, Viper and Crow stood to the side, deep in conversation, their expressions more serious. Viper's gaze occasionally drifted to John and Jackal, but her focus remained on the task at hand.
"Turns out Rat's canceled every meeting he had scheduled for the next week," Viper said, her voice low. "All except for an arms deal that's supposed to go down soon. Problem is, we still don't know where it's happening."
Crow folded her arms, her face twisted in disdain. "Typical. But we know he's dealing with the Grove Side Boys, right? That gives us something to work with."
Viper nodded. "Yeah, but I don't have many contacts with them. Still, I'll pull what I can."
Crow's gaze sharpened, and her lip curled in disgust. "You're working awfully hard for a human commander. Don't tell me you're actually starting to like him."
Viper snorted, brushing off the comment with a dismissive wave. "Oh, please. He's just an interesting plaything, that's all. Don't get your wires crossed, Crow. I know how to keep my distance."
Crow's eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with skepticism. "You'd better. Just remember who we are, and what we do. You're getting too cozy for my liking."
Viper's smirk returned, though there was a flicker of something more serious in her eyes. "Relax. I'll be careful. And besides," she gestured to the door behind them, "we've got that manager eating out of our hands. That should be something to celebrate, right?"
Crow grunted, clearly unimpressed. "I don't care about that slime. What I care about is whether or not you can keep your head straight."
As Viper turned her gaze back to John and Jackal, she watched the commander laughing with Jackal, tossing more chicken into the air. His playful demeanor was a stark contrast to the cold, calculating side he'd shown at the club earlier. There was no trace of the darkness she had witnessed—just a man having fun, as if the weight of his recent actions didn't exist at all.
Viper's smile faded slightly as she muttered to herself, "Interesting, indeed."
The dimly lit streets of the Outer Rim echoed with the steady clink of boots on cracked concrete. A man, dressed in the fine, tailored clothing of the Ark's elite—his silver hair slicked back in an immaculate, regal style—walked in the center of a small group of guards. Their footsteps were heavy, purposeful, and brimming with arrogance. They were heading back to the safety of the Ark after some unsavory business in this forsaken place, where the Ark's shadow never truly lifted.
The air felt heavy tonight, as if something foul was brewing in the abandoned alleyways that lined their path. The Sovereign, his lips pressed into a thin, condescending smile, paid little mind to the dirtied streets, or the desperate figures that slinked into the shadows as he passed. He had power, wealth, and the protection of his guards—a force field of control that left him feeling untouchable.
But then the light began to die.
One by one, the flickering streetlamps dimmed, as if their energy were being drained by something darker than the night. The guards tensed, their hands twitching toward their weapons as an unnatural stillness settled over the street. Their breaths, shallow and quick, were the only sounds left, the usual hum of distant generators and machinery now conspicuously absent.
"Keep moving," the Sovereign hissed, but there was an edge to his voice. The bravado was beginning to crack.
Suddenly, the darkness shifted.
It was subtle at first—just a wisp of shadow, curling unnaturally at the edges of their vision. Then, like a curtain falling, the shadows dropped. Heavy, suffocating, and all-encompassing. A low, almost imperceptible whisper seemed to crawl through the air, sending shivers down their spines.
The guards raised their weapons, their nerves stretched to the breaking point. But they were too late. The shadows seemed alive, moving with a purpose that was far more menacing than any natural darkness. A breath, a flicker, and then—there he was.
John stood in the middle of the group, his figure emerging from the swirling darkness as if he had been born from it. His face was obscured by the shadows, but the cold gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
The guards were frozen, their instincts screaming at them to run, but their bodies refused to obey. The Sovereign's mouth opened in a silent scream, his hand reaching toward the nearest guard, but John's gaze never left him. The air grew colder, heavier, as if the very shadows themselves were pressing down on them, suffocating them with invisible hands.
Then the whispering began again. Low, incomprehensible, and yet filled with promise—of pain, of reckoning. The Sovereign's guards flinched, their eyes wide, as the shadows closed in.
John took a slow step forward, his smile curling in the darkness. The Sovereign's last thought before the world swallowed him was of the little girl he tpaid for in the brothel.
And then the shadows consumed them all.
Notes: The next few chapters are going to be a bit darker, let me know what you think, I am open to any thoughts or critisi