The safehouse was a cramped, subterranean bunker tucked beneath a rusted cyber-scrap yard in the heart of Sector 9. The air here was thick with the scent of ozone and cheap coolant oil, and the ceiling vibrated occasionally from the heavy footsteps of scavengers roaming the slums above.
Asher set Lucy down gently onto a metal cot. With a clean, practiced motion of his regular human hand, he tore away the ruined, sparking plates of her Silver-frame exo-suit, exposing the deep, purple bruising along her ribs and the nasty fracture on her right shin.
Lucy groaned, clutching her side as Asher walked over to a workbench, grabbing a standard military-grade dermal-knitter he had scavenged weeks prior.
"Hold still," Asher commanded softly, activating the tool. A warm, blue sealing light washed over her skin, knitting the minor tears and numbing the agonizing pain in her leg.
Lucy let out a long, shaky breath, her gaze tracking Asher as he moved around the room. Now that the adrenaline had completely worn off, the sheer weight of her situation was settling in. "You still haven't told me your name," she muttered, her voice raw.
"Asher," he replied simply, putting the medical tool away. He pulled up a metal stool, sitting across from her with his arms crossed. His face was completely normal, his terrifying crimson eyes and horns tucked safely away behind his human facade. "Now, talk. Drones like the ones I just broke don't get deployed to execute academy cadets unless someone at the top is panicking. Why was Commander Briggs targeting you?"
Lucy’s hands balled into tight fists, her knuckles turning white. A look of pure, burning hatred flashed across her features.
"Because I found out where the Federation's missing weapon shipments are actually going," Lucy said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Vanguard-4 is supposed to be a strict military mining colony, right? High command claims all the heavy plasma cores and exo-suit prototypes are being used to fight the Abyss Beasts on the frontlines. It’s a lie."
She leaned forward, ignoring the dull ache in her ribs. "Three days ago, I was auditing the supply manifests for Commander Briggs’ division. I noticed a massive discrepancy—thousands of high-grade military rifles and mech cores were being marked as 'destroyed in action.' But the coordinates of those battles didn't exist. I dug deeper into the local network grids and traced the digital signatures."
"They were being funneled right here," Asher realized, his eyes narrowing. "Into the slums."
"Exactly," Lucy nodded bitterly. "Briggs isn't just a decorated commander; he's the biggest black-market arms dealer on this side of the galaxy. He’s been smuggling military-grade weaponry directly to the vicious syndicate syndics and crime lords who run the Rust District slums. He fuels the gang wars down here to keep the lower class destroying themselves, all while pocketing billions of credits."
She looked down at her hands, her voice trembling with betrayal. "I took the data directly to him, thinking it was a security breach he didn't know about. I was naive. He smiled, thanked me for my diligence, and the moment I stepped outside his office, my terminal access was revoked. An hour later, I was flagged as a traitor who stole classified data, and those automated execution drones were sent to erase me in the waste. If it wasn't for you... I'd be a pile of ash."
Asher sat in silence, processing her words. A dark, cold amusement settled deep within his demonic soul core.
The human military high command was utterly rotten to the core. A commander was selling weapons to the very slums Asher was currently hiding in. To an ordinary person, this corruption was a tragedy. But to Asher, it was a golden opportunity.
If Briggs was flooding the Rust District with high-grade military tech, it meant the slums were currently a goldmine of raw mechanical data just waiting to be devoured by his [Assimilation] skill. Furthermore, the casualties of these engineered gang wars would produce exactly what Asher needed: desperate, elite fighters abandoned by society, waiting to be saved.
"The slums are a meat grinder," Asher said, his voice carrying a heavy weight as he stood up and walked toward the entrance of the bunker. "Briggs is using this place as a garbage dump, but he doesn't realize that the people he's oppressing down here are resilient. The rest of the people I need for my inner circle—the ones who will help us tear Briggs down—are right outside these walls.
He turned back to look at Lucy, his eyes flashing a momentary, brilliant crimson before returning to a calm brown. "Rest up, Cadet. Once your leg heals, we are going shopping in the underworld. Briggs wants a war in the dark? We’re going to give him one.