The group followed Beirut through the shimmering corridors of the skyscraper, the ambient lighting creating a soft glow that highlighted the sleek lines and ultra-modern architecture. Glass walls revealed breathtaking views of the bustling city below, where the streets were alive with the vibrant pulse of neon lights and the dizzying heights of towering structures.

As they walked, Vargas couldn't help but be struck by the sheer scale and opulence of it all. The city was a marvel of engineering, with sleek, aerodynamic flying cars zipping through the sky like schools of fish. Each vehicle was adorned with colorful lights and advertisements, creating a kaleidoscope of motion and sound in the air above the ground.

Beirut led them to a sleek, elongated flying car that resembled a luxurious limousine more than a typical transport vehicle. Its polished surface gleamed in the ambient light, and the doors opened automatically with a soft hiss. Inside, the interior was plush, with leather seating, ambient lighting that adjusted to their moods, and screens that displayed information about their destination.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Beirut said with a warm smile as he gestured for them to enter. "We're heading to the penthouse suite atop the Harman Skyscraper. You'll find everything you need there. Each of you has your own room, and I've arranged for meals to be prepared. We want you to feel at home."

The crew stepped inside, taking in the opulent surroundings. Vargas settled into one of the plush seats, feeling the car hum to life around him as it lifted effortlessly from the ground. He exchanged glances with his crew, noting the mix of awe and unease on their faces.

As they soared higher into the sky, the view of the city transformed. They passed by other flying vehicles, their paths weaving and intersecting in a carefully choreographed ballet of movement. Skyscrapers shot up like jagged teeth, their facades illuminated with holographic advertisements and vibrant displays. The air was alive with the sounds of the city—a cacophony of laughter, music, and the distant thrum of machinery.

When they arrived at the top of the Harman Skyscraper, the flying car settled gracefully onto a landing pad that overlooked the city. The view was breathtaking, with a panoramic vista of the sprawling urban landscape stretching out before them, a patchwork of lights and colors.

Beirut led them inside the penthouse suite, and the interior was even more extravagant than Vargas had anticipated. The space was open and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the skyline. Luxurious furnishings adorned the living area, and a fully stocked bar gleamed in one corner.

"Get used to your surroundings," Beirut instructed, motioning toward the various rooms. "You'll each find your accommodations are equipped with everything you need. I'll be in my office if you need anything."

Vargas nodded, but before he could ask any questions, Beirut added, "I'd like to meet with you later to discuss the specifics of your investigation. I believe we can collaborate on a few fronts. We need to ensure we're on the same page regarding the situation with Investigator Beirut."

As Beirut exited, Vargas turned to his crew. "Well, this is something," he remarked, running a hand through his hair. "Luxurious, yet something feels off. I want everyone to stay alert."

Keera rolled her eyes playfully. "You can't seriously be uncomfortable in a place like this, Vargas. Look at it! We could get used to living like this."

"I'll pass on the luxury," Ralo replied. "It's too quiet. You know how the universe works—nothing good comes from being this comfortable."

"Let's not forget why we're here," Nera added, her gaze sweeping over the suite. "This isn't a vacation. We're here to investigate, and I still don't trust that guy. There's something about him and his wife that doesn't sit right."

Vargas nodded, the gravity of their mission weighing on him. "We'll stick to the plan. Get settled, and then we'll regroup to discuss our next steps. Stay sharp, and don't let your guard down."

As his crew began to explore their temporary home, Vargas found a quiet corner to gather his thoughts. He looked out over the sprawling city, the vibrant lights illuminating the night.

Vargas sat quietly on the edge of the sleek, luxurious bed in his room, the dim glow of the city's lights filtering through the massive windows. The room was furnished with every amenity he could want, but he didn't care much for such comforts.

This wasn't his first time in a place like this, but the opulence never sat well with him. The silence felt unnaturally heavy, the kind that made him too aware of his own thoughts.

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With a quiet sigh, Vargas reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, circular device, no larger than a coin. He set it on the bedside table and tapped it lightly. Instantly, a soft hum filled the air as a hologram flickered to life, projecting an album of images above the device. This had been his nightly routine for as long as he could remember, a small slice of solace in a world that demanded too much.

The first image was of him as a baby, swaddled in his mother's arms, his father standing proudly beside them. Their faces were warm, full of love and hope, unaware of the tragedy that would strike years later. Vargas' parents had passed during a military conflict, a casualty of the endless wars that had shaped the galaxy's history. He could barely remember their voices now, but the image always brought him a sense of calm, a reminder of where he came from.

The pictures shifted, showing him as a young boy in school. His expression was serious even then, standing alongside other students who seemed more interested in causing trouble than learning. But there was one other face beside him, a girl with auburn hair and an easy smile—his best friend from those years. He hadn't seen her in a long time, but she had been a bright spot in his otherwise focused childhood.

Another image faded in, this time from his time under his former mentor, Inquisitor Ralon. The two stood side by side in the photo, Vargas wearing the uniform of an assistant investigator, his eyes full of admiration for the man who had taught him almost everything he knew. Ralon was a towering figure, both physically and in reputation. He had guided Vargas with a firm but caring hand, shaping him into the investigator he was today. Vargas often thought of Ralon, especially when faced with tough decisions, asking himself what his old mentor would do. Beside Ralon in another image was Vargas' fellow assistant investigator at the time, Elias. They had both trained under Ralon's watchful eye, forging a brotherhood through years of shared hardship.

As the holographic album continued its slow, methodical rotation of memories, one image caught Vargas' eye—a wedding picture, one that he hadn't looked at in a long time. His breath hitched slightly as the image came into sharper focus.

It was him, standing beside his ex-wife, the girl with auburn hair from his childhood. Her name was Lyra. They were standing under a canopy of stars, the backdrop of a quiet garden on a distant planet, where they had chosen to marry far away from the chaos of galactic conflicts.

Vargas looked younger, more carefree. He was smiling, genuinely, a rare sight even back then. His dark hair was neater, and he wore a formal dark suit, but even with all the ceremony, there was a relaxed joy in his expression, a glimpse of the man he had been before the weight of his work had settled on his shoulders. Lyra, standing beside him, was radiant in her simple, elegant dress. Her auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the starlight. She looked up at him, her eyes full of love and warmth, a smile that seemed to brighten the entire moment.

They were holding hands, fingers intertwined, and the connection between them was palpable, even through the still image. Around them, friends and colleagues from their pasts were gathered, smiling and clapping, celebrating their union. It was a small ceremony, intimate, just like they had wanted. Both of them had spent their lives surrounded by duty, and this moment had been something just for them.

The album showed a younger Vargas, standing beside his former student, Davik. Davik had been one of the brightest minds Vargas had ever trained, full of passion and promise. The two of them had shared countless missions, and Vargas had taken great pride in recommending him to become a full-fledged investigator.

He still kept in touch with Davik from time to time, but the recent influx in new cases prevented any lengthy chats.

Finally the album shifted one more time displaying a final image. Vargas tapped the image twice, preventing it from rotating any further. It was an image of his current team.

The entire crew stood together, grinning, looking far less professional than they usually did on the job. Keera had her arm slung casually over Vesik's shoulder, both of them laughing at some joke. Nera stood just off to the side, giving a small smile, her usual composed expression softened. Ralo, as usual, had his face half-hidden by the oversized jacket, though the playful smirk was unmistakable.

Vargas looked at the image for a moment, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He reached for the hologram projector, gently pressing the button to shut it down. The room fell into darkness, the images fading into the still night as Vargas sat in silence, letting the calm wash over him.

Vargas tucked the hologram projector into his coat pocket, the small device fitting neatly beside his other gear. He turned to the mirror, removing the layers of his armored coat with practiced efficiency. The heavy, sensor-embedded trench coat and plated vest were set aside, replaced by a more relaxed, yet still formal, outfit. A dark, tailored jacket and black slacks, casual yet refined enough for a meeting. It was important to maintain appearances, especially when dealing with an investigator like Beirut.

He strapped a compact laser pistol into a hidden holster inside his coat, always prepared for the unexpected, then took a final look in the mirror. The faint traces of fatigue on his face didn't go unnoticed, but he ignored them. He had faced far worse than exhaustion.

Satisfied with his appearance, Vargas exited the room, the door sliding shut behind him with a quiet hiss. The soft hum of the luxury apartment and the distant city sounds beyond the windows provided a momentary calm. But his mind was already shifting, preparing for whatever Beirut had planned. Something about this whole situation still felt off.

The hallways of the skyscraper were quiet, and as Vargas moved toward the meeting location, he mentally reviewed the strange atmosphere his team had noticed earlier.

Straightening his coat, Vargas prepared himself for the conversation ahead, walking toward the elevator that would take him to Investigator Beirut.