The conference room’s walls were sleek and polished, glowing faintly with the cold light of integrated displays showing data streams, surveillance feeds, and technical schematics. Jackie sat near the edge of the room, her posture rigid, arms crossed over her chest. She wasn’t used to environments like this—places that felt sterile and artificial as if even the air was controlled. Prescott’s battered fields and rough-hewn outposts might have been chaotic, but at least they had been real.
Across the room, Kovacs hunched over a projection of his latest design, fine-tuning the details while occasionally muttering to himself. Jackie watched him with a mixture of admiration and unease. Protecting him wasn’t a burden, but it wasn’t easy either. This wasn’t a battlefield where she could rely on instinct and reflex. Here, threats were subtler, buried in corporate intrigue and shadowy alliances.
The door hissed open, and Alphonse stepped in, his usual tailored suit as immaculate as ever. Behind him, a pair of CID agents entered, their black uniforms sharp and ominous. The tension in the room immediately thickened.
Alphonse offered a slow smile, his gaze sweeping the room before settling on the CID agents. “Ah, our esteemed guardians of truth. What a pleasure.”
The lead agent, a woman with a severe haircut and piercing eyes didn’t return the smile. “Alphonse, we need to talk.”
“Do we?” Alphonse replied smoothly, moving to the head of the table and taking a seat as if he owned the place. “Or are you here to waste my time with more baseless insinuations?”
Jackie exchanged a glance with Kovacs, who had finally looked up from his work. Alphonse’s casual arrogance wasn’t new, but the CID agents’ barely concealed irritation suggested the stakes were higher than usual.
The lead agent placed a small data chip on the table, her movements precise and deliberate. “You’ve been withholding information about Cindralis Dynamics. The connections to Prescott’s attackers are too strong to ignore.”
Alphonse leaned back in his chair, folding his hands. “Withholding? It's such a strong word. I prefer to think of it as… discretion.”
The agent’s eyes narrowed. “Discretion isn’t an option here. Lives are at stake. You're obligated to share if you have intelligence that could link Cindralis to the attack.”
Alphonse’s smile didn’t falter, but a glint of steel was in his eyes now. “Obligated? My dear, I’m not one of your subordinates. I don’t take orders from the CID.”
The second agent, a broad-shouldered man with a faint scar across his cheek, stepped forward, his voice low and menacing. “You’re not untouchable, Alphonse. If we find out you’ve been sitting on intel, there will be consequences.”
Alphonse leaned forward slightly, his tone as smooth as silk. “Oh, I’m sure there will be. But let’s not pretend you have the authority to act without your superiors’ blessing. This isn’t your playground, Agent.”
Jackie felt her fingers tighten on the armrest of her chair, her instincts screaming at her to be ready for… something. The back-and-forth between Alphonse and the CID agents had the feel of a fuse slowly burning, and she didn’t want to be caught off guard when it finally reached its end.
“This is a waste of time,” the lead agent snapped, turning to leave. She paused at the door, her glare cutting through the room like a blade. “If you care more about protecting your secrets than protecting lives, that’s your choice. But don’t expect anyone to believe you weren’t complicit when the truth comes out.”
As the door hissed shut behind them, the room fell into a tense silence. Alphonse tapped his fingers lightly on the table, expressing mild amusement. “Such righteous indignation,” he said, almost to himself. “It’s practically a performance art.”
Jackie couldn’t help herself. “Why not just give them what they want?”
Alphonse turned to her, his smile faint but unreadable. “Ah, Sergeant Stewart. It's always so straightforward. But the world isn’t as simple as you’d like. Information is power and power… well, that’s something one doesn’t hand over lightly.”
“Even when it might save lives?” she shot back.
“Especially then,” Alphonse said, his tone turning cold. “The CID has its agenda, just as I have mine. And trust me, Sergeant, their definition of ‘saving lives’ rarely includes people like us.”
Jackie bristled but didn’t reply. However bitter, the truth in his words wasn’t lost on her.
***
Later that day, Kovacs was escorted to one of Ivara Prime’s prestigious engineering institutes for a pre-competition interview. The building was a marvel of design, its exterior blending gleaming metal and translucent panels that shimmered like water. Inside, the air buzzed with quiet energy, students and faculty moving between labs and lecture halls with purpose.
Kovacs felt out of place immediately. His boots scuffed the pristine floors, and his simple work jacket stood out among the locals' tailored uniforms and polished shoes. But he straightened his shoulders and pressed on, determined not to let the unfamiliarity shake him.
He was led into a glass-walled room where a middle-aged man with a kind face and a faint accent greeted him. “You must be Kovacs,” the man said, extending a hand. “I’m Professor Renar. I’ll be overseeing your submission.”
Kovacs shook his hand, surprised by the warmth in his tone. “It’s… an honor to be here.”
Renar smiled, gesturing for Kovacs to sit. “The honor is ours. I’ve read your preliminary designs. Crude in some ways, but there’s ingenuity there. The conventions do not bind you our students often are.”
Kovacs blinked. “Is that a good thing?”
“Sometimes,” Renar said, his expression turning thoughtful. “But ingenuity without discipline can be dangerous. Ivara Prime is built on a balance of innovation and control. Finding that balance is the challenge.”
Their conversation moved to technical topics, and Kovacs was drawn into Renar’s perspective on mech design. The professor spoke of adaptive systems that respond to user input in real-time and materials engineered at the molecular level to shift between states based on environmental conditions. This was unlike anything Kovacs had encountered on Prescott, and it sparked ideas he hadn’t known he was capable of.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
But as the meeting ended, Renar’s expression grew serious. “Kovacs, a word of caution,” he said. “The competition you’ve entered is more than it appears. Success here isn’t just about your skills—it’s about politics and alliances. Make sure you know who you’re standing beside.”
Kovacs nodded, his mind churning as he left the institute. Renar’s words lingered, their implications unsettling.
***
The air was tense when he returned to the CID’s quarters that evening. Jackie was leaning against a wall, her arms crossed, while Alphonse lounged in a chair with his usual air of nonchalance. The CID agents stood nearby, their expressions hard as stone.
“What’s going on?” Kovacs asked, stepping into the room.
“Just the usual,” Jackie muttered. “Alphonse is playing games, but the CID is not liking it.”
Alphonse glanced at him, his smile faint. “Ah, Kovacs. The voice of reason. Perhaps you can help explain to our dear agents that patience is a virtue.”
“Or maybe you can explain why you’re withholding information we could use,” the lead agent snapped. “Again.”
Alphonse’s gaze turned sharp, his tone icy. “I’m not withholding. I’m safeguarding. There’s a difference.”
Kovacs felt the tension coil tighten, and the room teetered on the edge of something explosive. For the first time, he realized just how dangerous the mission and the people around him truly were.
The sleek conference room had grown colder in tone since the CID agents departed, as though their accusations had left a tangible chill in the air. Jackie leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed, watching Alphonse with the wariness of someone who knew better than to trust a charming smile. Kovacs sat a little to the side, his fingers brushing the edge of his tablet. He didn’t dare interrupt the silence; it felt like the room itself might crack under the tension.
Alphonse broke the quiet first, standing and strolling to the room’s far side where a small refreshment station had been set up. He poured himself a glass of water, swirling it absently as he spoke. “They’re always the same, you know. The CID.”
Jackie’s eyes narrowed. “The same how?”
He took a sip, then turned, his free hand gesturing lazily. “Trigger-happy. Single-minded. They call themselves protectors, investigators, but they’re just another arm of authority wielded by people who think they know what’s best.”
“And you think you’re better?” Jackie shot back.
“Not better,” Alphonse replied smoothly. “Smarter.” He placed the glass on the table's edge, then leaned against it, crossing his arms. “You see, Sergeant Stewart, the CID operates under the illusion that if you push hard enough, people will give you what you want. They fail to understand that pushing too hard often leads to unintended consequences.”
Kovacs frowned. “Unintended consequences?”
Alphonse glanced at him, his expression shifting to something darker, more serious. “The people I’m dealing with, Kovacs—the ones the CID is so eager for me to name—don’t take kindly to being cornered. They’re not the kind to file complaints or stage protests. They vanish into the shadows until they decide to make their displeasure known… violently.”
Jackie tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharpening. “You’re saying they’re dangerous.”
“I’m saying they’re killers,” Alphonse said bluntly. “Efficient, ruthless, and very invested in remaining anonymous.”
Jackie leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “If they’re that dangerous, why are you even involved with them?”
Alphonse smirked faintly. “Because danger and opportunity are often two sides of the same coin. And sometimes, the only way to protect yourself or others is to stay close to the fire.”
“That’s a nice way of saying you’re profiting off them,” Jackie said, her tone cold.
He chuckled, though it lacked humor. “Profit isn’t always measured in credits, Sergeant. Sometimes, it’s about leverage. Influence. Survival.”
Kovacs finally spoke, his voice tentative but firm. “You could tell the CID what they want to know. Let them deal with these people instead of you.”
Alphonse’s expression hardened, and he stood straighter, fixing Kovacs with a piercing stare. “And how do you think that would go? The CID storms into a delicate situation, guns blazing, demanding answers. Do you think those people would just roll over? No, Kovacs. They’d disappear, take their secrets, and leave chaos in their wake. Chaos that would spill over onto anyone nearby.”
Jackie snorted. “Sounds convenient. Keeps you in control.”
“Control is a necessity,” Alphonse said, his voice sharp. “Not for me, but for the mission. The CID’s blunt tactics would destroy any chance of getting real answers. My methods may be slower, more nuanced, but they get results without collateral damage.”
Jackie stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “How many people get hurt while you play your ‘nuanced’ games?”
Alphonse didn’t flinch. “Fewer than would die if the CID had their way. Believe it or not, Sergeant, I don’t enjoy watching people suffer. But sometimes, suffering is the price of progress.”
The tension in the room escalated as Jackie and Alphonse squared off, their words cutting through the air like knives. Kovacs shifted uncomfortably, feeling like an intruder in an argument that had been simmering long before he’d stepped onto the Resolute.
“Let’s say you’re right,” Jackie said, her voice low but charged. “Let’s say the CID is too heavy-handed, and you’re the only one who can handle this. What’s your endgame? What happens when you run out of tricks and these people turn on you?”
Alphonse’s smile returned, but it was thinner now, more guarded. “That’s the beauty of it, Sergeant. They don’t turn on me because I make myself indispensable. I’m the bridge between their world and yours, ensuring neither side collapses the other.”
“And what happens to people like us,” Jackie said, gesturing between herself and Kovacs, “when that bridge falls apart?”
For the first time, Alphonse hesitated. It was brief, but it was enough to make Kovacs realize the crime lord didn’t have all the answers. “Then,” Alphonse said quietly, “you do what you’ve always done. You survive.”
The room fell silent, the weight of his words pressing down on them.
As the tension ebbed, Kovacs turned back to his tablet, pretending to focus on his design but unable to ignore the storm brewing around him. Alphonse’s words rattled him, not because of their bluntness but because they felt uncomfortably close to the truth.
He had always thought of himself as a builder, a creator. But here, in this glittering city filled with secrets and shadows, he felt like a pawn in a game he didn’t understand. The CID wanted him to be a spy. Alphonse wanted him to be a tool. And Jackie—she was caught between protecting him and fighting battles he wasn’t sure he wanted to be part of.
The system chimed softly in his thoughts.
Observation: User displays signs of uncertainty. Recommendation: Clarify immediate objectives.
Kovacs scowled. “Objectives? How about making it out of this alive?”
The system, of course, didn’t respond.
Jackie finally broke the silence. “If you’re indispensable, Alphonse, maybe you should start proving it. Tell us something—anything—that can help.”
Alphonse regarded her for a long moment, then gave a small shrug. “Cindralis Dynamics isn’t just a corporation. It’s a facade, a convenient shell for several… less conventional operations. One of them supplied the weapons used in the attack on Prescott.”
Kovacs’ stomach tightened. “Do you have proof?”
“Proof?” Alphonse said, arching an eyebrow. “No. But I have whispers, patterns, and movements that suggest it strongly enough to warrant attention. Unfortunately, whispers don’t satisfy the CID. They want something tangible, something they can hold up as justification.”
“And you’re afraid giving them those whispers will make things worse,” Kovacs said, his voice quieter now.
Alphonse smiled faintly. “Exactly. So, for now, I give them what they need to stay busy while I work on unraveling the truth in my way.”
Jackie’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue further. She simply turned and walked to the door, pausing only to glance back at Kovacs. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
Kovacs followed her, his mind spinning. As they left the room, he cast one last look at Alphonse, who stood alone, the faintest trace of weariness in his sharp features. For all his bravado, Alphonse wasn’t invincible. He was playing a game with stakes higher than any Kovacs had ever known.