Inspector Vincenzo Rinaldi met me at the airport, pulling up in a sleek, compact Alfa Romeo MiTo. He emerged from the car already mid-conversation, speaking animatedly into his earpiece in a local Italian dialect at a speed and pitch higher than standard human tolerances recommended.

"Ah, fantastic! The pain in my ass finally arrives," he exclaimed, throwing his hands theatrically into the air as he approached. "Thanks to him, I was stuck in traffic for two hours! Expert bullshit-maker from the island who loves blowing things up—wonderful! Now I've got to babysit his ass for the next two weeks! Gotta go!"

He abruptly ended his call, pocketing the device, and glided to a stop in front of me, switching seamlessly to accented but impeccable English.

"Detective Kay, benvenuto a Venezia," he said, offering a sarcastic flourish of his hand. "I'm sure your stay will be as resplendent as possible with all the beauty that our fair city has to offer Detective."

"I'm sure it'll show me what it wants to show." I responded with a firm handshake. I met his grip firmly but didn’t return the squeeze. If I did, I might crush his hand, and that wouldn’t be great for international relations.

This also told me something pretty important. They didn't know I was an Android.

"I'd like to stop at my hotel quickly to drop off my clothes and then goto headquarters to see your setup If that’s possible, Inspector… Rin… Rinaldi? May I call you Vinny? Just easier for me. I'm not that great with names."

The curly-haired man simply nodded, mumbling a quick, dismissive ‘Certo, certo’ as he popped open the back hatch. I shoved my large bag inside and swung the hatch closed—nearly taking my fingers with it.

I managed to cram myself into the front seat, my knees in front of my face and the headrest cramming me forward. Luckily I couldn't feel pain or discomfort so I simply grunted for appearances and looked out the window to the 15 minute ride to my hotel.

Vinny narrated the streets like a tour guide, rattling off the best gelato spots and historical tidbits between complaints about tourists. I let him talk, filing away the useful details while staring out at the canals and tight alleyways.

TAI had set me up at the NH Venezia Santa Lucia—a sleek junior suite, just flashy enough to convince the locals I was an important AI security consultant sent from Tulanto, and sufficiently discreet for private investigation. More importantly the hotel was a quick walk to the Venice police headquarters, known as Questura di Venezia in the Santa Croce district.

Like many hotels it overlooked the Grand Canal, and was a picture enthusiast wet dream. Luckily for me everything I saw was computer vision and yet another series of pictures.

I registered at the front desk and had them take up the luggage. I didn't really need to see or enjoy the room that I would hardly be in, so I turned around and told Vinny that I'd like to walk over. The joy on Vinny's face at the prospect was so evident on his jolly round face that even his thick hanging mustache seemed to be smiling.

As we walked at my pace, he filled the time talking about the beauty of Venice and places to take me to enjoy the bounties of the historic city. By the time we reached the Questura, Vinny was breathing like a man who’d just climbed five flights of stairs, his mustache twitching with every labored inhale. He barely reached my shoulder, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in stamina—just enough to keep up and still complain the whole way.

We entered the headquarters through a back door reserved for police officers. Vinny got me set up with my clearance papers at a slow, deliberate pace.

I heard him bad mouth me to at least 3 different officers between that time and finally we got to meet the Chief Domenico Conti.

"Hello, Detective Kay, I hope you arrived in good health" he said in Italian, which was interpreted by Vinny.

I winked at Vinny, and replied back in Italian, “I’ve had worse trips, Chief. I’ve been looking forward to sharing my island’s best practices with you. Ready to start the audit immediately.” To say Vinny was surprised would be an understatement.

We spoke for about thirty minutes as I outlined the five W’s of my cyber-expert cover assignment—a simple task for me.

Leaving the office, Vinny tailed behind me as we went to the Cybersecurity department, and asked me why I didn't tell him I knew Italian.

“You didn’t ask. Figured you were practicing your English.” I said it straight-faced, but I caught the way Vinny’s mustache bristled in annoyance. Worth it.

I plugged in a PD issued loaner laptop and got to work examining their data feeds from various sources including Interpol, five eyes, NYPD, FBI, and other law enforcement intelligence organizations world wide. People never realize how internationally connected international cities really are.

I set up a Datamart—a specialized database that pulled specifically flagged intelligence from agentic AI routines. Basically it filtered out the noise, linked like issues, flagged anomalies from multiple sources, and compiled them into reports for review.

I linked up with TAI for field updates and to verify my work—she had me scale back the app before I published it to the network. In two hours, I had produced what a human team would take a year or two to accomplish.

With that done, I tested out my new toy—the legacy touchpad—to pull Italy’s intelligence reports from AISE through a series of proxies.

Surprisingly, there wasn’t much in digital format. Most files referenced dead drops—but never where to find them.

I guess the spooks’ cloak-and-dagger playbook banned digital storage. Smart.

Now I had to find a lead—in a city I didn’t know, on the other side of the world—with my very own Italian version of Inspector Clouseau shadowing me. First order of business: ditch the guy.

The guy was slumped behind me, bored out of his mind, playing a pay-to-win phone game—and judging by the number of transactions, he was definitely paying. He sat in an old chair that must’ve come with the building, its creaky frame protesting every time he shifted. I think I even heard him snore once or twice.

I turned around and said to him "Ah, finally done!".

He jolted upright, processing what I’d just said, then broke into a grin. ‘Great! It’s just about dinner time, and I know this fantastic restaurant with a beautiful bar! You’re gonna love it!’

"Sounds super, champ. But first, one last task before we call it a night. Actually, Vinny, I could use your help. I’ve got reports to cross-check against Interpol and local databases to validate this Datamart’s output—shouldn’t take more than three hours. Mostly just verifying case codes and running compliance checks. Tedious, but important. You in?"

I’d actually finished that over an hour ago, but he didn’t need to know that.

"Ehhh, you know, actually, I want to—but look at the time, Kay! You’re a beast of burden! I’ve got a family! I gotta handle things back at home, you know how it is, right? If I leave you here, you got this, yeah? No problem getting back to the hotel, no?"

“Oh, yeah, no worries. Get home. I’ll see you here later.”

And with that, the small man threw on his blazer and I assumed he would slip out of the building as fast and quietly as possible.

"Detective, the Chief must like you already, he told me to tell you that he's getting questions about you for outside sources."

“Noted,” I said, waving him off. “See you later, Vinny.”

I stayed another hour mostly to amuse myself, before heading to the hotel.

AISE had been tracing the breach for a while now, but I kept rerouting them—bouncing my signal through half a dozen international servers, dragging them in circles. I gave them false leads, set up temporary decoys, even let them think they were closing in a few times before pulling the rug out from under them. If they’re already asking questions, might as well keep them entertained.

The night air was cool, and the streets were quiet. I took my time, hands in my pockets, watching the city move. AISE was probably still tripping over their own feet. I’d check in on them later.

Then—bump.

It wasn’t much. Just enough pressure to register as someone passing too close in an otherwise empty street. I could check the footage later if it was anything. I kept walking, but my right hand grazed my coat pocket on instinct.

Something was inside that hadn’t been there before.

No footsteps followed. No hurried retreat. Just Venice, moving like it always did.

I waited until I reached the next streetlamp before checking—and found a note written in Japanese. 11 PM. Harry’s Bar. Mai.

Looks like I had plans tonight after all.

I shot TAI a quick update. She replied that the name was a generic cover, which I already had guessed.

I decided to take the 25 minute walk over to the legendary bar instead of taking a Vaporetto and risking wet suit pants. I took off my tie, placed it into my pocket and bit into the tail end of my cigar. I should make it to the bar about 10 minutes before 11pm at my current pace.

Harry’s Bar wasn’t just a bar. It was an institution. The fact that Mai picked this place meant that I was basically already in a Bond story. May as well accept it and live up to the illusion. Obviously someone went to great lengths to speak to me, and I wouldn't leave them disappointed.

Stolen story; please report.

I hit St. Mark’s Square and took a moment to look around. Even at this hour, it was busy—people moving to and fro at a rapid pace.

During the walk, I studied the tape of Mai slipping me the note and found that the Mai in that tape—unless deliberately misleading—wasn’t a woman. So either he was a guy, or she had a partner. My espionage training strongly suggested the latter.

It was time to take my AI Unit’s theoretical knowledge, stack it against real-world neural network experience, and see how well they aligned.

I stepped through the doors of Harry’s Bar, the soft murmur of conversation mixing with the clink of glasses and the faint scent of old wood and fresh cocktails. The place wasn’t large—just a handful of tables, warm lighting, and the quiet hum of money in the air.

The maître d’, a wiry man in a crisp white jacket, looked me over the way only seasoned staff in places like this could—polite, practiced, and subtly assessing if I belonged. I didn’t hesitate.

“Table for two. She’ll meet me.”

The phrasing wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a question. Just a statement.

The maître d’ gave a professional nod and gestured toward a table near the side of the room—good sight lines, discreet enough, but not in a forgotten corner. Smart choice.

As I settled into my seat, the maître d’ took a step back, giving me the slightest nod before turning to leave. Smooth, professional—just like I expected.

I slipped a folded bill between my fingers and let my hand drift just enough for him to notice. No theatrics. No need for words.

He paused, then took it with the same quiet efficiency, the exchange lasting less than a second.

“For the hospitality,” I said, barely above a murmur.

“Naturally, sir,” he replied, tucking it away without so much as a glance.

He didn’t need to check how much it was. He knew it was enough.

I slid into the chair and let my fingers drum lightly against the tabletop, taking in the room. Wealthy regulars, quiet tourists trying to pretend they weren’t, a couple of older gentlemen locked in hushed conversation over whiskey. Classic scene.

A waiter appeared almost immediately, dressed in the same pristine uniform, already holding a menu. I pulled a bill from my pocket and slid it across the table before he could say a word. Not ostentatious, not a bribe—just an introduction.

“I expect good service,” I said, voice even. “And a quiet table.”

He barely glanced at the bill before tucking it away, his nod almost imperceptible.

“Of course, sir.”

I leaned back and bit down lightly on the tail end of my cigar—unlit, but enough to keep my hands busy. The drink could wait. For now, I wanted to see if my ghost would actually show up.

And show up she did. Miss Mai walked into the bar like she owned the place, tall confident with strong legs that went on for days.

Harry's Bar was sure to have seen it's fair share of beautiful women, some bold, and others dangerous, but this dame pulled them all together into a coup de grace that few others could match by demeanor alone.

She saw me right away and walked directly to me. The maître d’ simply looked at me and nodded, as I nodded back. Mai's red dress, a red that was deep and closer to blood or burgundy then anything Hollywood sell you in a cheap weekend movie. It was the kind of red that spoke volumes about its filler, the kind of red that didn't need to announce itself as it already knew you were looking.

The fabric hung her just enough to be elegant and yet still told a story of what could be. It glided rather than clung. The slit just high enough to be dangerous.

And Kay had seen plenty of women in plenty of dresses in his time, but for some reason, one specific woman sat in his mind—perched in a chair at a table that could hold up empires. Maybe that chat with TAI has to happen sooner than later.

"Mr. Richard Kay, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, my name is Mai Kobayashi, and I hope we can have an interesting conversation tonight." she said in fluent English.

I stood and took her offered hand, "Pleasure is all mine mam" I said in fluent Japanese--setting the language for the night, and gently kissed the top, following around to pull her chair out like a real man should.

Sitting back down, I let her order her drinks and when the waiter left I asked the question of the moment.

"I couldn't help but notice that a lot of these bathrooms here don't have toilet paper. Does that seem odd to you Ms. Kobayashi?"

Her laugh was as beautiful as the rest of her, and I couldn't help but notice men look over as she giggled to my joke.

“So, now that the ice is broken, Ms. Kobayashi—”

She interrupted smoothly. “Call me Mai.”

“Fine, Mai. Call me Kay. So, what did you want to see me about?”

She leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the table as she swirled her drink. “So, what would you say to the idea of… say, six or seven Tulanto androids being illegally imported here over the last year?” She let the number sit there, just long enough to measure my reaction before continuing. “Would that get a guy like you to finally accept Italy’s open invitation to tech trade—especially after Mt. Etna? You know, after the last time?”

I took a slow sip of my drink, letting the moment stretch before answering. “I wouldn’t know, Mai.”

A flicker of something crossed her face—not surprise, just calculation. She tilted her glass, watching the liquid shift. “I just find it odd that the isolationist island, out of the blue, suddenly offers assistance to Italy of all places.” Her voice stayed even, but there was a deliberate slowness to her words now, like she was circling a point. “I would think they already served your purposes once, right Kay? No need to piss them off again.”

I rolled the glass in my hand, letting the condensation bead on my fingers. “For the record, they did invite us in to help that time—and we did.” I let that sit before adding, “Ten thousand people in Zafferana Etnea are alive today because of us.”

She didn’t blink. “I wouldn’t know, Kay. I just know what I read.”

I smirked. “Indeed. Gotta keep up one’s illusions, Mai.”

We drank in silence.

Then, without missing a beat, she shifted gears. “Bidets, Kay.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“The cleanest method of toiletry,” she said, taking a slow sip of her drink.

I leaned back slightly, watching her now, not the other way around.

“No need to clean up your mess if you execute perfectly, Kay. That's why there is no toilet paper. Call it a test of skill” she said, laughing off the silliness of the statement.

I let the words hang in the air before giving her a cheeky smile. “Again, I wouldn’t know.”

She rolled her eyes, amused, but then something flickered behind them—something shifting, recalculating.

Her smirk lingered, but I could see the wheels turning now. The joke had landed, sure, but now she was thinking.

A stupid answer after a series of perfect ones? No. That wasn’t a stupid answer.

It was a perfect answer.

She swallowed lightly, the kind of movement most people wouldn’t notice. “Um…” she started, clearing her throat. “Uh… are—would you happen to be one?”

I didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just rolled the ice in my glass and met her eyes.

“Are we that close already, Mai? I’m not asking you about your chromosomes yet, am I?”

She blinked, just once, but it was enough. Now I had her attention.

Too much attention.

The conversation had shifted—not just from playful to serious, but from power play to something deeper, something primal.

For the first time tonight, she wasn’t thinking about the deal.

She was thinking about what was sitting across from her. She was thinking about me.

Her fingers were still wrapped around the stem of her glass, but when she went to set it down, there was the faintest tremor. A ripple across the surface of her drink. A soft clink of glass meeting wood, just a little off-center.

I let the silence stretch just long enough to let her own thoughts start to turn against her. Let her feel the weight of what she had just asked. Let her wonder if she had gone too far.

Then, right before she could decide to cut and run, I loosened the noose.

I reached for my glass, took a slow sip, and set it down with a quiet clink. Casual. Deliberate. Grounding.

“In Tulanto, a favor is as good as gold.” I let that settle, watching her closely, giving her something else to focus on. Something safe.

“So I’ll ask—what kind of assistance can the great nation of Japan offer to humble little Tulanto in our time of need… to possibly earn itself a favor?”

The tension didn’t disappear, but it shifted. Her expression flickered—not relief, but understanding.

The tremor was gone now.

Fear was one thing. Opportunity was another.

And greed? That was universal.

No immediate reaction. Just the slight shift of her posture, the controlled stillness that came when someone was deciding how much to give away.

I just needed her to know there was a deal to be made.

I didn’t need an answer right away and motioned for another round.

Mai exhaled softly, just barely noticeable, as she picked up her fresh drink.

Not a retreat. A recalibration.

She took a slow sip, letting the ice clink softly against the glass before setting it down—this time without a tremor.

“Information for a round of diplomatic talks,” she said finally, her tone measured, composed again. “You have questions. I have answers. In return, Tulanto opens the door for a conversation between my people and yours. No commitments. Just a talk.”

She was watching me closely now, gauging my reaction the way I had been gauging hers. A careful counter-move. A way to reframe the power dynamic without pushing too hard.

I smirked, rolling the glass in my fingers. “A simple conversation? You make it sound so harmless.”

“Because it is.”

I raised an eyebrow at that.

She smiled—smooth, practiced. Back in her element. “Come on, Kay. You know how this game works. Nothing happens in a vacuum. Your island holds the single most advanced AI economy on the planet, and yet, somehow, you still pretend you’re just a footnote in global politics.”

I let the words hang between us for a moment before replying, “We hold more than just AI, Mai.” I leaned forward slightly, my voice steady. “Mana power, medicine—and the OG of them all, matter disintegration. I’m not sure a talk would just be about AI.”

Her smile didn’t slip, but I caught the way she inhaled just a fraction deeper, steadying herself. The moment wasn’t lost on her.

Then I leaned back slightly. “And here I thought you just wanted to let us know where our androids are.”

A flicker of amusement crossed her expression, but she didn’t take the bait. “As I said, nothing happens in a vacuum.”

I took another sip, letting the ice cool my tongue. “So if I agree to this little exchange… what do I get in return, right now?”

Her smile didn’t falter. “A name.”

That was interesting.

“A name,” I repeated, watching her.

She tilted her head slightly. “The name of the person responsible for smuggling Tulanto-made androids into Italy. You came here looking for ghosts in tailored suits, Kay. I can tell you who dressed them.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Mateo Falieri, right? What we need is his records—and him, if possible.”

That was the test. If she balked, I’d know she was feeding me scraps.

If she bit, we were in business.

Mai’s expression didn’t change, but I caught the way her fingers tensed just slightly around the stem of her glass. A small hesitation. Reluctance.

“I know local info brokers who may know where some caches are,” she said carefully, choosing her words like a woman walking a tightrope.

Not a confirmation. Not a refusal. A middle ground.

I let the silence sit, watching her.

Then I smirked. “So, a maybe. A lead for a lead.”

She exhaled softly, shaking her head just a fraction. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

I tapped a finger against my glass. “Not my job to make things easy, Mai. My job is to make sure Tulanto doesn’t get played.”

Her lips pressed together, considering. Then, finally, she took a slow sip, set her glass down, and met my gaze.

“The brokers work in layers,” she admitted. “I can get you in the first door. Anything beyond that?” She tilted her head. “Depends on what you’re willing to trade.”

I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I called up TAI.

Her response came back before Mai could even take another breath. Greenlit. Contact initiated.

I nodded once. “Done.”

Mai’s brows lifted slightly, like she hadn’t expected an answer that fast. She adjusted quickly, slipping back into her polished diplomatic act. “Great. When can you ask your people to contact mine?”

I swirled the ice in my glass, letting the moment stretch. Then, casually, I met her gaze.

“No, Mai. It’s already done. The sit-down is scheduled.” I let the weight of that settle before adding, “So I really hope you can deliver.”

She blinked—just once—but I saw it. Not surprise. Not quite. Just the realization that she had miscalculated my timing.

And that I wasn’t giving her room to back out.

Her expression didn’t falter, but she blinked again—slower this time, processing. Not surprise. Not quite. But understanding. She reached for her drink, but this time, it wasn’t casual. It was deliberate. In one motion she drank the rest of the cup down.

"Welcome to the to team, kid." I said with a smile and raised my glass and downed my own.