"It was Hellball who sparked the idea," Lucy mused, watching Peril nearly choke on a bite of Lioncourt's meticulously crafted stuffed pasta. The warm scent of spinach and ricotta filled the room.

Peril coughed, reaching for her glass of sparkling water. She took a sip. Eyes wide. "Sorry?" she managed.

Lioncourt sighed softly, setting down his fork. "All that effort," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "And we're diverting to conversation instead of savouring the meal."

Lucy felt a ripple of tension. "Have you ever heard of The Black Chalice?" she asked for the second time, trying to sound casual.

Peril glanced at Lioncourt. Then back at Lucy. Her fingers fidgeted with her water glass. "That name wasn't on my list for tonight," she said, her words tumbling out. "Did... did you mention it to her?" she asked Lioncourt.

He raised his hands in a graceful gesture. "Non," he replied smoothly. "Les secrets ne devraient pas exister entre de belles dames." His smile was disarming, but his eyes held a glint of something unreadable.

"Hellball mentioned it," Lucy continued. "Suggested it as a place for future business meetings. Gave me an invitation code."

Peril's gaze dropped to her plate. She took a deep breath. "It's an untouchable, untraceable shadow data fortress," she began, words spilling out quickly. "A digital third-space deep in the darknet. Invitation only."

She paused, collecting her thoughts. "It's used by people deep in the shadows — fixers, mercs. They value discretion above all else. A dark online community of anarchists, mercenaries, shadow workers of all kinds... and other, more esoteric types." Her voice trailed off, the last words almost a whisper.

Lucy studied her, mind whirring. They'd shared so much — late-night confessions, whispered secrets. Peril knew she craved connection in the shadows. They had laughed together about the lack of secret handshakes or hidden shadow bars.

Of course it was all online. The realisation hit her hard. She took another bite of pasta, savouring the rich flavours, trying to steady herself.

"There's more, isn't there?" Lucy said quietly. "The Black Chalice—it sounds... Arthurian."

Peril nodded slowly, a hint of guilt in her eyes. "You'll find out soon enough if you go," she said. "The owner is a hacker named Siege Perilous. Sometimes called Galahad by friends." A small smile played on her lips. "A massive knight in literal shining armour."

"You soppy romantic," Lucy teased, a mix of amusement and something deeper. "Your online persona is the mighty knight? No wonder people don't connect you two."

"And who are you then? Lancelot?" Lucy asked to Lioncourt, a playful glint in her eye.

Peril and Lioncourt exchanged a glance.

Lucy gasped, laughter bubbling up. "No! Seriously?"

Lioncourt placed a hand over his heart theatrically. "But of course," he declared. "Who else could embody such charm? Le plus puissant chevalier de tout le royaume." He winked, his accent wrapping around each word like silk.

"This is the secret?" Lucy asked, her emotions a swirl of surprise and mild amusement.

Peril shrugged, her gaze earnest. "Part of it. Not all. When we talked about firewalls in our lives, about not wanting to know each other's secrets, it's been hard to know where to draw the lines."

"I feel awful," she added softly.

Lucy took a sip of water, considering. "I'm not angry at all. It's complicated. We lead very complex lives, compartmentalising everything."

She met Peril's eyes. "But things are starting to make sense. You're the owner of a darknet fortress catering to all kinds of shadow dealings. Grimes wanting the Siege Perilous makes unfortunate sense—and it's dangerous for me to know. What if someone like Grimes targets me again?"

"We take that risk together," Peril said, reaching across the table to grasp Lucy's hand, her touch warm.

Lioncourt stood gracefully, his movements smooth and deliberate. "Perhaps I should give you two some privacy," he said, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Trois, c'est une foule." He carried his plate to the couch settling in with effortless elegance.

"It's different from your VR world," Peril continued, her thumb tracing circles on Lucy's hand. "Not as sophisticated or sensory-rich. It's built for privacy, untraceability, security — not flashy graphics or biofeedback."

"But people still have cool avatars," she added, a spark returning to her eyes. "You'd be surprised at the effort some hardened black ops merc-types put into their online personas."

Lucy tilted her head. "Can you design one for me?"

Peril's face lit up. "That's the right question!" she exclaimed. "A cool ranger avatar, perhaps? How big would you like those fantasy breasts?" A mischievous gleam danced in her eyes.

Lucy sighed dramatically, a smile tugging at her lips. Both of them were very slender — Peril was practically an ironing board, and Lucy barely a B cup.

Her girlfriend being a breast woman in many ways was ironic. Maybe Peril liked them so much as she barely had anything to speak of herself?

"Go ahead," she said finally. "Just don't make them excessive."

Peril grinned broadly. "No promises," she teased.

Across the room Lioncourt chuckled softly. "Ah, young love," he mused, swirling his wine glass. "C'est un plaisir à voir."

Lucy shot him a playful glare.

"Merely appreciating the ambiance," he replied, eyes twinkling. "But perhaps dessert is in order?"

Peril perked up. "You made tiramisu?" she questioned.

Lioncourt's expression brightened. "Mais bien sûr, ma dame," he said.

*

Lucy felt Peril's hand slip into hers, the touch warm and eager. Peril's eyes sparkled with excitement, a grin stretching wide across her face. She looked like a kid about to unveil a trove of Christmas presents.

"Can't believe it's finally time," Peril said, practically bouncing on her toes. "I've waited so, so long to show you this."

Lucy chuckled, pulling Peril close for a quick kiss. "Okay, Alice," she murmured. "Lead me into your wonderland. Show me how deep the rabbit hole goes."

Peril's smile deepened. She pressed her palm against the doorpad lock. Lucy noted the subtle hum of scanners—not just fingerprints, but micro-readings of blood flow, nerve signals, maybe even more.

Typical Peril, always overengineering. But the security expert in Lucy was impressed.

The door slid open silently. Beyond the threshold, a dimly lit room stretched ahead, another door ten feet away. As they stepped inside, Lucy's predictive systems pinged softly at the edge of her vision. In safe mode, they offered gentle warnings rather than urgent alerts.

Her gaze drifted to the right corner. A humanoid combat drone loomed there, nearly seven feet tall. Her Bullet-Rzor AI scrolled data along her left eyeline: tri-barrelled autocannon, reactive armour plating, advanced optics.

"That's quite the surprise," Lucy said, keeping her tone light. "I don't know much about drones, but that's a heavy assault military model, not exactly a security bot. Expensive, lethal, and highly illegal to own."

Peril flashed a mischievous grin. "We have twelve just like him throughout the building."

Lucy arched an eyebrow. "Drones have pilots. You have twelve security guards I've never met?"

"Something like that," Peril teased.

Lucy thought of Leonard the doorman, always friendly behind his desk. She'd noticed the hidden security turrets in the lobby—couldn't miss them with her learnsoft security specialist training. But twelve combat drones? In a building where other residents lived, albeit none above the seventh floor.

"How many floors do you own in this building?" she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.

"Come on!" Peril tugged at her hand. "I didn't bring you here to spend twenty minutes in the doorway."

She darted through the next door, which opened at her approach.

Lucy followed, her mind racing with questions.

The next room was bathed in subdued hues of pink and blue—Peril's favorite colours. Rows of server racks lined the left wall, blinking quietly. To the right, Peril perched on an elaborate recliner chair festooned with cables and interfaces. A couch and a cluttered table sat nearby, datapads strewn across it.

Three walls were covered with screens from floor to ceiling, a central display dominating the array.

"Welcome, Skadi," a feminine voice echoed around them. The acoustics were perfect; the sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

"Uh, hello?" Lucy glanced at Peril, who was watching her with an expectant smile.

"I've been so looking forward to meeting you," the voice continued. "Peril talks about you all the time. Please, let me introduce myself. I am Anneal. But please, call me Anne."

Lucy tilted her head. "A house AI?" She surveyed the room, noting a few humanoid drones moving among the servers — technician models, their movements precise.

"Nice setup," she added. "Though 'Anne' doesn't quite fit your whole Arthurian theme. Unless my lore is rusty. Should she be Genevieve or something?"

Peril laughed softly. "Anneal chose her own name. It's quite appropriate."

"You could say it's central to how I came into being," Anne chimed in.

"She's also much more than a house AI," Peril said, her eyes gleaming.

"Okay..." Lucy felt a flicker of unease. She hadn't seen Peril this animated in a while.

"Did I speak too soon?" Anne asked politely. "Are we still unwrapping surprises?"

"No, you're right on time," Peril assured her.

Lucy sank onto the couch. "So what's this about?"

Peril took a breath. "Anne is an AGI."

Lucy blinked. Then she laughed.

"No." She said, with absolute definitive certainty.

Peril raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"Bullshit," Lucy said lightly. "It's a very sophisticated AI, I'll give you that. Great voice, by the way — quite charming."

"Thank you," Anne replied.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"And I bet you've integrated it with those drones," Lucy continued. "But AGI? Come on. No one's cracked that yet."

"AGI," Peril repeated, a playful smile on her lips.

Lucy studied her, searching for the joke. "You're serious?"

"Completely."

"Look," Lucy began, leaning forward. "It's not that I don't appreciate what you've built here. This setup is impressive—a whole room full of servers, probably more below us. But I've dabbled in electronics. Even if you had an entire floor packed with processors, it's not enough for an AGI."

"She has you there," Anne interjected. "This facility couldn't possibly house my core matrix. It's more of an access node."

Peril nodded. "I never said this was everything."

"AGI," she said again, the word hanging in the air.

Lucy shook her head. "At best, AGI is thirty years away. It's like fusion power—always promised, never delivered. If someone had cracked AGI, it'd be front-page news."

Peril leaned against the recliner. "What if I told you it's been kept secret? That AGI was achieved back in 2051."

Lucy stared at her. "Thirty years ago? We had smart AIs then, sure, but AGI? No way."

"Has it never struck you as odd," Peril pressed, "that AI development seems to have stalled? We have better applications, sure, but no fundamental breakthroughs."

"Because it's hard," Lucy countered. "If a company had made that leap, they'd shout it from the rooftops. Stock prices would soar. You can't keep something like that under wraps."

"Unless it's in certain interests to keep it quiet," Peril suggested.

"Conspiracy theories now?" Lucy tried to keep her tone light.

Anne's voice filled the room. "She's quite adept at scepticism. Makes valid points."

Peril shot a mock glare at the ceiling. "Don't enjoy this too much."

Lucy sighed. "Even if I believed you — which I don't — how would I verify it? Turing Tests are obsolete. AI can mimic human conversation easily."

"There's the Wozniak Coffee Test," Anne offered. "Or the Lovelace Test."

Lucy chuckled. "Lovelace Test?"

"An AGI creates something truly novel — art, poetry, a story," Anne explained.

"That's outdated," Lucy said. "We've had AI-generated art and literature for decades."

"Speaking of creations," Anne said smoothly. "I made an avatar for you, for The Black Chalice."

An image appeared on the central screen. A ranger in a forest, but exaggerated — impossibly large breasts, scant armour that was more decorative than protective.

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "By the size of those assets and the bikini armour, I'd say that's more for Peril's enjoyment than mine."

Peril blushed slightly. "Maybe a little artistic license."

Lucy was about to respond when a thought struck her. She opened a private channel to Peril through her neural link.

Skadi: Peril, tell me those armed drones aren't controlled by this AI.

Peril: Of course they are.

Lucy felt a cold knot form in her stomach. She forced herself to breathe evenly. Oh my god, she thought. An AI claiming to be sentient, in control of military hardware.

This was sci-fi horror territory. She remembered old vids about rogue AIs and robot uprisings. But this was Peril. She wouldn't... would she?

"Umm," Lucy said aloud, keeping her tone measured. "Maybe we can tweak the avatar a bit? Less... exaggerated. More practical armour. I'd rather not look like a pin-up in a place where we're conducting business."

Peril nodded, a hint of disappointment in her eyes. "Fair enough. We can adjust it."

"This might take a while to sink in," Lucy continued. "Why don't we table the AGI discussion for now? Let's focus on the avatar and head to The Black Chalice."

"Excellent idea," Anne agreed. "Though are you certain about the bust size? Peril does have a preference."

Lucy laughed, easing back into a casual tone. "Absolutely sure. I'm not aiming for 'hentai heroine' here. Normal proportions, please. And let's add my ballistic mask. No need for anyone to see my face, even a stylized version."

Peril smiled. "Got it. We'll make the adjustments."

Lucy took another sip of coffee, letting the rich flavour ground her. She decided to play along — for now. Peril was probably pulling an elaborate prank, or perhaps it was part of some role-playing scenario? An initiation haze for people who found out about The Black Chalice?

"Ready when you are," she said, the couch lacked the many cables of the cyber-chair Peril was sitting on, but had more than enough ports to jack into.

Peril logged into the recliner, hardwiring in a few neural cables. "This is going to be great," she beamed.

Lucy mustered a genuine smile. "I'm sure it will be."

Anne's voice intruded again. "Looking forward to our next conversation, Skadi."

"Same here," Lucy replied lightly, keeping her doubts to herself.

Lucy's mind raced, but she kept her demeanour calm. She'd humour Peril for now, but she'd need to have a serious talk later. Placing those heavy combat drones in the hands of a sophisticated AI was no laughing matter.

*

The sensation hit Lucy like stepping into a cold pool. This wasn't like any VR MMORPG she'd ever played. Her usual games were immersive to the point of sensory overload, but this — this was different. The biofeedback was muted, like someone had turned off touch. But the visuals? They were a feast.

She moved gracefully into the lobby bar, cascades of green code raining down the walls in stylistic homage. The Matrix, she noted instantly. Copyright laws clearly didn't apply here. A clean white Stormtrooper argued animatedly nearby with a hulking barbarian whose muscles seemed carved from stone by Crom himself.

Lucy blinked, her eyes adjusting to the chaos of avatars. It really was a IP nightmare. Maybe that hentai-inspired avatar would've fit right in after all.

A message flickered at the bottom of her vision.

Peril: Are you going to stand around the entrance all day?

She glanced across the room. Peril — or rather, Galahad —stood engaged in deep conversation with someone who resembled the lead from the 2050s Yakuza Kuroi Kaze series. The avatar was a perfect rendition—sharp suit, sharper katana, looked exactly like the neo-classic image from the movie: an unstoppable force cutting through yakuza ranks like a dark wind.

"Skadi!" A cheerful voice pulled her back. She turned to see a walking red ball with arms, legs, and anime eyes bouncing toward her. It took a moment, but recognition clicked — a classic British sweet from the 1960s and 1970’s her AI chatbot research had turned up looking up his name, a "gobstopper." Hellball.

"When my invite dinged that you'd cashed it in, I rushed right over," he said, his cartoon eyes gleaming. "Couldn't let a first-timer wander the hallowed grounds without a guide."

She smiled behind her mask. "Appreciate it, Hellball. Thanks for the invite. Quite the place you've got here."

"Oh, this?" He waved a stubby arm dismissively. "This is just the lobby. You wanna see some cool stuff? I'll take you to the Stadium."

"Lead the way."

They moved toward a grand pillared entrance. "So, how many people use this place?" she asked, glancing at the myriad of avatars milling about.

He shrugged—a full-body motion that made him wobble comically. "Hard to say. The Black Chalice doesn't keep a guest list. Only Siege Perilous himself probably knows the real number. But everyone important is here. Every Fixer in town spends time at the Stadium. Major players drop in a few times a week."

"And law enforcement?" Lucy raised an eyebrow. "This place must be a magnet for the FBI or someone."

Hellball chuckled. "We're in the deepest shadows of cyberspace. Most think I'm a top-tier hacker, and even I can't fathom the code we're treading on. It's like an untraceable, unhackable castle floating in the net."

She sensed his awe. "Impressive."

A message scrolled subtly into her view.

Anne: There are actually two FBI agents and three active police officers who are regulars. They've been thoroughly vetted.

Skadi: Are you listening to everything?

Anne: Peril asked me to keep an eye on your first day. And, well, it's hard not to listen when you're everywhere. The Black Chalice, in a very literal sense, is me. You're all kind of bouncing around inside me. It tickles.

Skadi: That's a massive secret I’m guessing? If people knew you monitored everything...

Anne: One of many secrets. Peril wanted you fully in the loop — no more barriers. Every black op discussed, every shadow deal made, every byte of data — it all passes through me.

Skadi: Peril's showing a lot of trust. This cuts deep.

Anne: She's wanted to share everything with you for months.

They entered the Stadium, and Lucy felt her breath catch. It was a coliseum of ancient stone, vast and echoing. Above, the sky was a tapestry of classic movies playing simultaneously. Then, boundaries dissolved. Space Marines in heavy blue armour stormed into Lord of the Rings, blasting away at orcs and goblins with bolters and swinging chainswords.

She'd seen AI mashups before but never like this — real-time, seamless, and stunningly detailed. A Mad Max chase intertwined with wizards playing quidditch, the landscapes merging into a chaotic symphony.

Skadi: Anne, what is this? It's incredible.

Anne: Just the ceiling. I call it the mnemo-scope. My imagining cores enjoying a bit of creative expression.

She could almost hear a smile in Anne's words.

Hellball nudged her. "Amazing, right? Imagine the processing power behind this."

"Yeah," she murmured, still absorbing the spectacle.

Her gaze drifted downward. Instead of sand the arena floor was a sprawling map of the city, magnified and detailed.

"The Stadium is the place for jobs," Hellball explained. He pointed out various avatars clustered around the arena. Names floated above them—fixers she'd heard whispers of, some she'd even worked with. Aurum's name stood out.

She spotted him easily. No subtlety there. His avatar towered at seven feet, a dead ringer for Idris Elba, dripping in gold rings—and probably gold teeth if she got closer.

She decided to test the environment. With a thought, she floated up to a seat in the stands overlooking the map. Movement here was as much mental as physical. Gravity more of a mild suggestion.

Interactive menus unfolded before her allowing her to slice the data, overlay different displays, zoom in and out. The city map was rendered in dark greens and greys, a living organism. Data streams cascaded from the sky like digital rain.

"What are those?" she asked Hellball, pointing to the shimmering threads.

"Live feeds," he said. "Updates from Seattle PD files, camera footage from thousands of city cams, AI profiles. Every car dashcam, every doorbell camera. Thousands of tapped systems. It's something else."

Anne: This is also the forge for the Riverside News, the Sodo Times, and all the hyper-local screamsheets we publish.

Symbols in blue, red, and yellow dotted the map—some with dollar signs, others with gold coin icons, a few with both. They blinked in and out of existence.

"Job postings?" she guessed.

"Exactly," Hellball confirmed. "The gold coins are karma."

"Karma?"

"A system unique to The Black Chalice. Sure, you can take jobs for cash, but the real currency here is karma gold coins."

She selected a job at random. A data steal. Minimal details—just a client name, Butarant, a target area, a 24-hour window, and the payment: two karma coins or a hefty sum in cash.

"Butarant," she mused. A Fixer with a stronghold in Little Asia. Lucy quick-searched her UI for the name. His avatar — a grand Chinese dragon — coiled majestically atop the coliseum.

She noticed inconsistencies. Some jobs were vague, like Butarant's. Others were hyper-specific. One caught her eye: a wetwork assignment to eliminate a named ganger, last seen minutes ago in a specific location. One karma coin, no cash option.

As she watched, the job vanished. A name flashed briefly: Chrome Oni. Someone had claimed it.

"What's the point of these gold coins?" she asked. "Why not just use cash?"

Hellball's eyes widened comically. "Those coins are the ultimate currency here. Fences accept them, high-profile jobs are posted for them. They're more valuable than money."

He leaned in conspiratorially. "Remember when that doc was kidnapped by Havok?"

She nodded.

"Siege Perilous dropped ten karma coins into the map, prize for the highest verified body count against Havok that night. Every top merc in the city scrambled for them. Word is, Lancelot lost out to Ashwraith. Rumour has it, he had to buy Ashwraith a fancy car on top of it. He wasn't thrilled."

Lioncourt was Lancelot, she recalled. She'd have to tease him about that later.

"You ready to check out the DataCrypt?" Hellball asked.

"There's more?" She arched an eyebrow. "I thought a shadow job hub with its own cyber-currency was about peak intrigue."

He laughed, his round form bouncing. "Oh, the DataCrypt is hacker heaven. You'll love it. I'll introduce you to some friends."

As they moved, she sent a quick message.

Skadi: He's awfully enthusiastic. How much did Peril pay him to be my tour guide?

Anne: In the interest of transparency, she gave him a karma coin.

Skadi: That's like a hundred grand! Just for this?

Anne: No, Skadi. It's a favour. That's what the karma coins represent—transferable favours of significant value.

She pondered that. In a place where trust was scarce and favours held weight, perhaps karma was the only currency that mattered.

They approached a gateway pulsating with neon glyphs.

"Ready?" Hellball asked.

She took a moment, absorbing the myriad of sensations—the visuals, the whispers of code, the underlying hum of immense power.

"Let's see what else this place has to offer," she said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.