The Mean Streets of Megacity Montalban, Level Twelve

Level Twelve of the Montalban Premium Tower, home to NipSlip Adequate Attire, was, to put it charitably, a dump. It made a certain tortured sense; who would want to buy premium products from a non-premium floor? No, the skyway tube connecting Megacity Montalban proper to its premium goods annex tower was on Level One Hundred, and anything below that should consider itself lucky for the chance to act as an extended foundation for the finest cocksocks and nipple pasties produced in the New World.

As a result, the Montalban Lower Ninety-Nine were a laissez-faire bedlam of passively sanctioned depravity. Smugglers' dens, fighting pits, ramshackle drug stills; as long as the filth got nowhere near the heavily-guarded stairway to Level One Hundred, the official NipSlip Adequate Attire position was "Who Gives a Fuck".

Sufficed to say, it was not an easy place to live. But not one without its advantages.

For freelance adventurers with corporate records best described as iffy, like Ali, it provided access to employers particularly interested in avoiding the snooping eyes and yellow highlighters of bureaucrats. No employer on the Lower Ninety-Nine, corporate or otherwise, was going to go and do a silly thing like checking your permanent record. And the Fighter's Guild had strongholds as low Level Ten, drastically lowering the odds one might encounter a naked psycho ganger eating a human head like an apple during trips to the corner store.

Plus there were other perks. No corporate oversight meant the functioning auto-fill vending machines had smuggled Czarina booze instead of NipSlip's in-house swill. And the cart noodle around the block from Ali's shithole of an apartment was as good as any she'd had, anywhere.

Febee clearly agreed, lasciviously slurping up a wide noodle. "This is pretty decent," she offered around her mouthful, "What's that guy doing in a trashpile like this?"

Ali eyed the shriveled old man as he wheeled his pot-strewn cart down the sidewalk, plowing carelessly through anyone too slow or too stupid to dodge out of his path. "He's probably got a truck full of organs in his habicube. First rule of the Lower Ninety-Nine: if the food is good, don't ask questions."

"Mm." Febee slurped another noodle. "Good rule."

"So." Ali pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, fully committing to the role of an experienced fixer, "Your father."

Febee nodded, plucking the fish cake out of her cartoon and flicking it onto the ground. "He's vanished. Not a word, no note, nothing."

"No chance he's just off on a binge?"

"Definitely not. He didn't even take his favorite secretary with him; he's addicted to that little slut's pussy. And I do mean that literally; he starts to get the shakes if he goes a half day without dumping a load into her."

"So what, then? You think he's been taken hostage or something?"

"If he has, the only ransom they want is the pleasure of his company."

"Huh." Ali her drummed her fingers across her folded arm. "So you want me to find out whatever it is that's happened to him? To see if he's okay?"

Febee cocked an eyebrow. "Him not being 'okay' would be very much acceptable. Frankly, it would be preferable; I could move into his penthouse and get serviced by genetically-enhanced manservants all day instead of busting my ass hypnotizing suckers with my tits. But the most important thing is we find proof one way or the other. Living, fine. Dead, even better. But the Board of Directors is not okay with the unknown. 'Unknown' makes them nervous. 'Unknown' is probably losing them money."

"What're they going to do about it?"

The elf scowled in annoyance. "They'll finish what they've already started. When his last vacation day was used up yesterday, they immediately seized all of his company properties and frozen his expense accounts."

"Let me guess," Ali didn't try very hard to keep the smug tinge out of her voice, "That includes the one he was letting you use."

"You're so insightful." Febee crumbled her empty carton, throwing it at Ali's face. "Yes, that included my company credit card. Why the fuck else would I want to come squat in your depressing hovel? And when he's burned through the week of paternity leave he never took when I was born, he'll be full-out sacked. Then it's goodbye, sponsorship. Goodbye, genetically-enhanced manservants. Goodbye, future."

"Yes, well. Obviously I weep for you." Ali ducked under Febee's hurled chopsticks. "Lucky you, then, that I'm here to get you through this tragedy. If you'd gone with anyone less skilled, who knows? You might have had to spend the rest of your life the way I do. Oh, the horrors."

"I knew you'd understand." Febee reached a hand into her impossibly deep cleavage, producing a small datashard. "This is my father's encrypted day planner. It should have his whereabouts on the day he went missing, but unlocking it is beyond my areas of expertise."

Ali furrowed her brow as she accepted the proffered memory chip. "If you have this, why not just turn it over to the Sploop board? Let them handle it?"

"Seriously?" Febee rolled her eyes. "For someone so sharp, Anais, you are such a ditz sometimes. Why would the board want him found? They've got legitimate cause to fire him right now. Do you have any idea how rare of an opportunity that is? If things stay how they are, they get to remove a seat from their table and split up its power between themselves."

"Okay..." Ali lifted the datashard into the air, giving it a once over. Hm, only a new-ish model. A few bells and whistles, but nothing all that extreme. Shouldn't be too difficult to crack it open for a little peek. "How'd you get this, then?"

Febee snorted. "Stole it, obviously. And it wasn't easy; Father's secretary moves fast for someone as knocked up as she is."

"Nice. Any guesses as to what we might find?"

"A few. Father's official role was brand outreach; he was always looking for new groups to fold into the Sploop machine. And that usually took him out of the megacity proper. If he had a meeting somewhere in another tower, or further abroad, that would certainly be a good starting point." Febee trailed off, her sparkling pink eyes taking on a reproachful air. "Running into trouble seems unavoidable, either way. You're sure you can handle security issues?"

Ali waved her hand dismissively. "Not an issue. I've already put out the call. We'll be, to use an industry term, secure as fuck."

"Fine, if you're..." The elf trailed off, folding her arms underneath her mammoth bust as she raised an eyebrow at something over your shoulder. "Friends of yours, Anais?"

"Huh?" Ali twisted around, the back of her neck going prickly at the sight of the two oversized lunks sporting bull horns and shotguns and the smug little gobbo looming behind her. Aw shit. It's the goddamn Bad News Boys. Still, she quickly reasoned, best to play it cool. Reputation mattered on this block. "Oh, hey guys. 'Sup?"

The bovine muscle only offered ominous snorts, but the gobbo simpered in her signature oily smile. "We'd like a word, Ali."

Ali glanced back at Febee, the elf looking entirely amused by the situation. Well she's not going to be any help. Bluh. So, Ali simply shrugged as casually as she could manage. "Can't imagine why, Socks-On."

"Oh no?" Socks-On carefully plucked a fleck of lint off of her striped tie, airily flicking it away. "The Boss takes a dim view on contract welchers, Ali. You know that."

Ali jerked a thumb towards herself. "I got hired to verify whether that artifact was authentic or not. Not to make sure it was authentic to begin with. What's what you," She pointed a finger towards Socks-On and her goons, "Were hired to do. Seems to me like you are the one who should be worrying about the kinds of views the Boss is taking."

"Sure. Totally." Socks-On stifled a yawn. "That's definitely one way to look at it."

"Though I'm sure you're about to offer an alternate take."

"That's why I like you so much, Ali. You're such a smartie." Socks-On spread her hands out ingratiatingly, though the readied stance her bully boys had taken undercut the gesture somewhat. "You made a mistake, that's all! You are a goddamn amateur after all, so who'd figure anything different? So how's about you come with us to see the Boss, let's say right about now-ish, to explain to him that you were wrong; that the artifact me and the boys put so much time and effort into acquiring for him is authentic after all. Wouldn't that just be the biggest load off, Ali? You're gonna feel just swell after you come clean."

"Pass."

Socks-On's smile didn't falter, but her lowered ears and the slight lifting of the bully boys' shotguns were crystal clear. "I'm giving you a real simple Option A, Option B type choice here, Ali. You really want to go with Option B?"

-ma'am Option B does not sound optimal-

Ali muttered as softly as she could manage. "You think?"

-ma'am Option A is also non-optimal-

Fortunately for Ali, Febee decided to finally inject herself in the situation. The elf bounced merrily past the struggling scholar, grinning dimly and wobbling wildly. "Aw, you guys~! Let's not fight!"

Socks-On balked at the sudden display of overly buxom cheer, glancing towards Ali with startled eyes. "Who the fuck is this?"

Febee cutely puffed out her cheeks, planting her fists on her hips and leaning forward in a way practiced to stick as much boob and ass out as possible. "Can't we all just be friends? You an' Ali are, like, rilly rilly smart, right? Right?"

"Uh..." It took the baffled gobbo a moment to formulate a response. "Y-yes?"

"I knew it! Yay~!" Febee clapped her hands together, gleefully hopping and jiggling in place. "So let's put away those nasty ol' weapons and figure this out! Okay?"

Socks-On still seemed confused, but motioned to the two beefed-out Splicers behind her all the same. They began to put away their shotguns and, for a moment, Ali's heart soared. Were they seriously getting through the situation this painlessly? But then a look of recognition flashed across the brutish face of one of the bully boys, and he let out a delightled gasp. "Oh fuck! Febee? From Febee's Freshest?"

Febee didn't miss a beat, making a little heart with her thumb and forefinger as she winked at the bruiser. "That's me~!"

"Oh man! I'm such a big fan! I've watched your stream a hundred times!" He started rummaging around in his pockets, his shotgun dangling forgotten at his side as he pulled out a datapad. "I've always dreamed we might meet! Can I get a picture?!"

Febee grinned. "Sure thing~! Pictures cost-"

She trailed off as the cyberdeck hidden within her decolletage let out a loud trill, immediately followed by a droning message: "WARNING: USER ASSOCIATED WITH DATAPAD IS A NON-SUBSCRIBER. WARNING: ILLICITLY OBTAINED PREMIUM FEBEE'S FRESHEST CONTENT DETECTED ON DATAPAD."

Febee drew her gun with a furious snarl. "Die, SCUM!"

Fuck. Option B it is.

The tech-fueled railshot struck the vid-stealing bully boy square in the chest as Ali spun behind a nearby dumpster, frantically punching commands into the omnitool within her wrist. Socks-On was still too stunned to make a move, but the remaining bruiser had already begun to take aim with his shotgun. Ali raised her wrist to her face, the omnitool's megaphone activating as she intoned a Command with a tech-strengthed voice. -DROP IT-

The bully boy blinked, staring dumbly at his empty hands as his shotgun clattered to the ground. Before he could work through what had happened, he collapsed under the combined assault of a gout of neon from Ali and another railgun shot from Febee. He groaned woozily as Febee planted a foot on top of his chest, the baton she raised above her head telescoping into a full baseball bat as it suffused with tech, exploding in an arch of static as the woman brought it to bash the bruiser into unconsciousness.

Not that it was all going so well. Any instinct to celebrate immediately died as the dumpster Ali was positioned behind exploded in a maelstrom of fire, Socks-On's cyberdeck steaming from the powerful tech output as she screamed over the devastation. "You're gonna explain things to the Boss one way or another, Ali! Even if I gotta pin a goddamn note to your fucking corpse!"

Ali coughed, eyes stinging from smoke and an arm worryingly singed as she called back. "No thanks!"

The gobbo snarled as a railshot from Febee went wide, flicking out her hand to release a pulse of force that sent the elf flying. She smashed into the side of the alleyway, teeth bared in a pained snarl as she struggle to stay on her feet. The first bully boy was advancing now, too, a pair of knuckledusters that sparked with worrying arcs fitted to his enormous mitts. Shit. Looks like Auto was right about the viability of Option B.

Socks-On must have seen the realization in Ali's expression, because her oily smile had returned. "Thaat's right, Ali. Hey, don't worry; it's okay! Your gal pal here is gonna treat you right. We can still go with Option A, alright?" The gobbo's smile began to curl cat-like at the corners. "It's gonna cost you more now, though. A lot more. It's...huh?"

The gobbo trailed off, turning around to gawp at the enormous figure that towered above her. "Who the bwah-?!" Socks-On could only squawk in surprise as she was lifted bodily off her feet, cyberdeck clattering to the ground as she was smashed full-force into the alleyway's wall. She did her best to writhe and claw her way free, but found herself unable to break free or bring the concentration necessary for her techs to bear as she was pulverized against and against against unyielding concrete.

The bully boy, you were relieved to note, had fled the moment the odds had shifted out of the Bad News Boys' favor. Socks-On really needed to hire stupider muscle. Classic rookie gooning mistake; you hate to see it.

Ali glanced towards Febee, the elf waving off any need for help. Okay, she's fine; good. The scholar rubbed gingerly at her scorched arm, taking a moment to enjoy watching Socks-On be face-planted into the wall before calling out. "Don't kill her. That'd just be even more trouble."

"Okay."

A moment later the battered gobbo had been dumped into a nearby trash can, head lolling about deliriously. Ali could almost see the little cartoon birds flying around her. Well. Socks-On was officially a problem for later, now. She couldn't help but grin as she beamed up at her savior. "Thanks."

A featureless face gazed back down. "I was very glad when you called Professor Ali."

"Me too, Charlie. Me too."