Vargas sat back in his chair after the call with Ralo, the soft hum of the city outside filtering into his room. The usual intensity of his work had been wearing him down, and for once, there was a sense of limbo—a brief moment where he could breathe, despite the brewing dangers. His eyes flicked to the small holoprojector sitting on the desk, still from last night's display of memories.

After a deep breath, he decided to take a break from the endless string of investigations, at least for a while. There was only so much one could do without unraveling, and besides, Triton I had an air about it that felt... almost nostalgic.

He grabbed his coat and headed out the door, deciding to take a stroll through the city's sprawling, sleek streets. The futuristic urban landscape of Vandros Prime, with its towering buildings and zooming hovercars, was still a marvel to him, even after all these years of traveling to different worlds. This was the slice of life that existed between missions—a quiet space before the storm.

The markets buzzed with life as Vargas wandered through the bustling center of town. Vendors sold everything from advanced technology to handcrafted trinkets, a weird fusion of past and future. His eye caught on an old-fashioned coffee stand, oddly quaint in such a high-tech city. Feeling a bit more grounded today, he approached it.

"One coffee, black," he ordered, the familiar warmth of the drink bringing a rare moment of comfort.

As he sipped his coffee, Vargas continued walking through the market. The people here were vastly different from the chaos he usually faced. Some were street performers, while others were engaged in conversation about the day-to-day politics of the Federation. It was almost normal.

He passed by a small shop selling specialized equipment for awakened individuals like himself. His gaze drifted over the displays—enhanced cloaks, aura amplifiers, and other gadgets used for Aera manipulation. It reminded him of his own training and the many upgrades he'd avoided, preferring to rely on his instincts and minimal tech support. Still, he couldn't help but browse. A new set of gloves caught his eye, designed to channel energy more efficiently.

"You're interested?" the shopkeeper asked.

Vargas gave a polite smile. "Not today. But they're impressive."

After a few more minutes of wandering, he decided to grab a snack from a street vendor—a warm, spicy bread that reminded him of a dish back on his home planet. He leaned against a railing overlooking the lower levels of the city and let his thoughts wander. The city was beautiful, in its own way. He could see families moving about, the glow of their lives so different from his own.

His mind flickered back to the girl, Emilie, and the nagging headache from their earlier encounter. She'd fled too quickly, and now her presence was tied up with the mysteries of the rogue AI, the null pylons, and Triton's complex web of secrets. He wondered what Ralo would find in the records. Was she really just an orphan, or something more?

He let out a breath and decided not to stress over it for the moment. He wasn't a detective all the time.

The sun began to set, casting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and red as Vargas made his way deeper into the city.

Vargas walked through the neon-lit streets of the red light district, the hum of the city's nightlife pulsing in the air. The casinos, bars, and clubs that lined the streets were alive with energy, the flashing signs casting vibrant hues of pink, green, and blue across the pavement. The night was thick with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and the faint scent of expensive perfumes, blending into a heady mix that made his senses sharpen.

He wasn't usually one for this kind of scene, but after the frustration of a fruitless day, it felt like a good place to burn off some steam. He stepped into one of the larger casinos, the heavy doors sliding open with a soft hiss. Inside, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The air was cool, the sound of clicking chips and digital slot machines merging with the low hum of conversation and the occasional shout of excitement from a winner.

Vargas casually made his way to one of the blackjack tables. Credits weren't an issue for him—being an investigator granted more than enough wealth to live comfortably. But there was something about the casino, with its underlying current of chance and risk, that gave him a strange sense of clarity. It was a controlled chaos, not unlike his own work.

He sat at the table, nodding politely to the dealer, and exchanged a few credits. He didn't bet high; this was more about watching the people around him. He kept his eyes scanning the room, noting the different kinds of patrons—the high rollers with their polished suits, the tourists with wide eyes and emptying wallets, and the seasoned players, calm and calculating.

His attention drifted to a group of women standing near the bar. They were dressed in sleek, provocative outfits, their skin glowing under the neon lights, implants and augmentations visible beneath. Their smiles were sharp, their gazes calculated.

Prostitutes, enhanced with pleasure mods—everything from sensory amplifiers to mood stabilizers to ensure the best experience for both them and their customers. The way they moved, with a smooth, almost mechanical precision, reminded Vargas of the Federation's obsession with optimization, even in the most personal of spaces.

He watched them for a moment, not out of interest but curiosity. This part of the city was a far cry from the polished, orderly sectors where he normally operated. Here, it felt like people were clinging to something real amidst the technological enhancements—chasing some fleeting sense of satisfaction, whether through gambling, sex, or the temporary escape offered by the loud music spilling from nearby clubs.

The beat of the party music vibrated in the air even out on the street. Every now and then, Vargas could hear the laughter and shouts of patrons from the bars spilling onto the sidewalks, neon signs lighting their faces as they stumbled from one club to the next.

A dealer's voice pulled him back to the table. He glanced down at his cards—another loss, though he barely noticed. With a nod, he stood, leaving the table with his remaining credits. Vargas wandered deeper into the casino, making his way past rows of slot machines and poker tables. It felt strangely distant, even though the place was packed.

As he stepped out onto the streets again, the buzz of the district hit him full force. The red light district was truly alive now—the night's energy peaking. Hovercars zoomed overhead, neon signs flashed with promises of good times and easy escapes, and the thrumming bass of the clubs vibrated under his feet.

He walked slowly, watching as the crowd moved past him in waves—some dressed in gaudy outfits, others in understated elegance. It was a strange sight, and Vargas couldn't help but feel the contrast between this hedonistic display and the very real dangers lurking just beneath the surface.

Vargas wasn't ready to head home just yet. The night was still young, and the city was alive with energy. The neon lights of the red-light district pulsed in the distance, calling to him with their vibrant colors and loud music. He decided to visit one of the most famous clubs in the area, a hotspot renowned throughout the cosmos.

When he arrived at the club, a long line of partygoers stretched out in front, waiting their turn to get in. But Vargas, being an investigator, didn't have to wait. As he approached the entrance, the hulking mutant bouncer, his muscles bulging under his suit, bowed his head respectfully and waved Vargas through without a word.

Inside, the club was a sensory overload. Bright skylights flashed overhead, casting beams of light over the sea of dancers below. The dance floor was packed, a swirling mix of flesh and machinery, humans and cyborgs moving in rhythm to the pounding music. The smell of alcohol and sweat filled the air, mingling with the synthetic enhancements of those who had augmented their bodies for pleasure and endurance.

Vargas made his way toward the VIP section, his eyes scanning the crowd. As he approached the private area, a familiar face caught his eye—Ajani Gordon. The famous adventurer sat at a large table with some of his crew, laughing loudly as he drank. Ajani's bronze skin gleamed under the club's lights, his signature grin wide and infectious. He was a man known across the galaxies for his strength and larger-than-life personality.

"Vargas, mi bredren!" Ajani called out, spotting him. He waved Vargas over, his voice heard over the booming music. "Come, join us!"

Vargas smiled and made his way to the table. Ajani stood to greet him, wrapping him in a strong, friendly embrace. "Didn't think I'd see you here," Ajani said with a chuckle, clapping Vargas on the back.

"Neither did I," Vargas replied, settling into a seat. The two shared a drink, catching up like old friends.

The club's vibrant energy seemed a little distant here, muted by the elevated view they had of the writhing dance floor below. Vargas looked over at his old friend, noting how the years hadn't dulled Ajani's energy—if anything, it seemed like the adventurer thrived on chaos.

"So, you're a hero now, huh?" Vargas said with a smirk, taking a sip of his drink.

Ajani leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and flashing that signature wide grin of his. "Yah, man. Got immunity from the Council and everything. All official-like," he replied, his accent rolling smoothly over the words. "Battle of Veridia, few years back. You remember that madness?"

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Vargas nodded, the memory of Veridia flashing briefly in his mind. It had been one of the bloodiest battles the Federation had seen in recent history, with the demonic forces of the Divine Realm swarming the skies and the ground turning into a battlefield of fire and destruction. It was a fight that had nearly torn the planet apart.

"I remember," Vargas said. "You were smack in the middle of it, if I recall."

Ajani laughed, slapping his thigh. "Right in the thick of it, mi friend! They had me on the front lines, clearing the path for some big generals. We had to fight like demons just to keep the invasion from swallowing the whole city." He shook his head, eyes lighting up with the thrill of the memory. "Council was so grateful after we won, they handed me that immunity like a medal."

Vargas chuckled. "Can't say I'm surprised. You've always had a way of getting into the worst situations and somehow coming out on top."

Ajani raised his glass. "To surviving, no matter the odds!"

They clinked their glasses together, a shared toast to the strange paths their lives had taken. Vargas and Ajani had a long history—one that had started on opposite sides. Years ago, they had been enemies, clashing in conflicts that now seemed distant and almost insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Vargas had been an up-and-coming investigator, while Ajani had been a wild mercenary with a reputation for taking whatever job paid the most, Federation laws be damned.

But somehow, over time, things had changed. After a brutal showdown on the remote moon of Zeyta, where both had been trapped in hostile territory and forced to work together to survive, the animosity had faded. Respect had grown in its place, and soon after, they found themselves standing side by side on more than one battlefield. What had started as enmity had turned into camaraderie.

"Never thought we'd end up as drinking buddies," Vargas said, shaking his head with a small smile.

Ajani chuckled, leaning forward. "Life's funny like that. One minute we're trying to kill each other, next we're here in some fancy club, sipping drinks and swapping war stories."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a moment, watching the clubgoers below. Vargas thought about how much had changed since they first met. Ajani had mellowed, in his own way, trading some of his recklessness for a more controlled power. Vargas himself had risen in rank, his responsibilities shifting from simple investigations to handling some of the Federation's most dangerous threats.

"You working on something big?" Ajani asked, breaking the silence, his tone more serious now.

Vargas glanced at him, weighing his words. He wasn't about to give away everything, not yet. "Something's brewing. Investigating a few cases that might be connected. Nothing I can't handle."

Ajani gave him a knowing look. "You always say that, but I've seen the kind of messes you end up in."

Vargas smiled. "Yeah, well, this one might take a while."

Ajani shrugged, draining the last of his drink. "If you need a hand, you know where to find me."

"I'll keep that in mind," Vargas replied, appreciating the offer.

Vargas and Ajani began to trade some information and discuss the various rumors they had heard during their travel through the cosmos.

As the music thumped around them, Ajani leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. "So, Vargas, what's the deal with those Praetorians? I've met a few in my travels, but I've always wondered what makes them so special—and why they're so damn big."

Vargas took a sip of his drink, considering how best to explain. "Well, it's not just their size. The Praetorians are genetically enhanced beings. They've had extra organs implanted in their bodies to survive wounds that would incapacitate most people."

Ajani raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Extra organs? Like what?"

Vargas nodded, recalling some of the details he'd learned during his training. "Things like additional lungs, enhanced hearts, and specialized organs that can heal at an accelerated rate. They're built to take a beating and keep coming. But the real game-changer is the nanomachines they've got running through their systems."

Ajani's eyes widened. "Nanomachines? I've heard whispers, but I didn't know it was that advanced."

"Yeah, they can harden in response to force," Vargas explained, his excitement rising. "Imagine a body that can instantly reinforce its muscles and bones to withstand immense pressure. When a Praetorian takes a hit, their body reacts almost like armor, redistributing the impact and allowing them to keep fighting. It gives them an incredible edge in combat—strength and durability that most regular folks just can't match."

Ajani leaned back, impressed. "No wonder they're so feared. It's like facing a walking tank. But what about their minds? They can't be all brawn, right?"

Vargas shook his head. "They're not just muscle. The Praetorians are trained to be strategic thinkers, often with advanced combat training. They understand tactics and can adapt on the fly. That combination makes them deadly."

Ajani chuckled, taking another swig of his drink. "And here I thought I was tough. Guess I should stick to my day job and leave the heavy lifting to them."

Vargas laughed, enjoying the joke. "Ha, we both know Praetorians are nothing to you. What are you again? A-class?"

Ajani nodded his head, a smug smile written across his face.

Vargas leaned back in his seat," You're completely out of my league. I mean, you could probably take down an entire company of Praetorians without breaking a sweat."

Ajani chuckled, shaking his head as he took another sip of his drink. "Yeah, well, let's not get too carried away. The Federation's grading system is outdated. There are plenty of lower-ranked Awakened out there who could match me blow for blow. Just look at the training some of these kids go through these days. They've got skills that would put my early days to shame."

Vargas smirked, raising an eyebrow. "You're not saying you're worried about a rookie, are you?"

"Not worried, but I respect their potential," Ajani replied with a grin. "And speaking of potential, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention your own abilities. You might not be A-class, but you've got your own strengths. Just not in raw power."

Vargas feigned shock, placing a hand on his chest. "How dare you! I'll have you know I can throw a punch when needed!"

"Sure you can," Ajani laughed, leaning in. "But I'd pay to see you try to keep up with me in a brawl. Just remember, I'm not above taking advantage of that 'inspector' badge of yours to keep my edge. Nowadays the only things that can beat me are the pylons."

Vargas leaned in, his expression shifting from playful to serious. "Speaking of the pylons, have you come across a null girl named Emilie? I'm looking for her. She's young and works in the sanitation department."

Ajani's demeanor changed instantly. The jovial sparkle in his eyes faded as he set his drink down, focusing intently on Vargas. "Nulls… they're no joke, Vargas. I've encountered a few in my long life, and I can tell you firsthand just how dangerous they are, especially to Awakened like us."

Vargas nodded, sensing the weight of Ajani's words. "What makes them so dangerous?"

Ajani leaned back, folding his arms as he recalled his experiences. "Think of it this way: a null is like a gaur—a relentless predator. They drain the aera, our very essence, and can render an Awakened powerless. We might as well be a tituruga standing against a well-fed gaur. It's a losing battle." His tone was serious, his usual lightheartedness replaced by a solemn warning.

"Wow, that's a stark comparison," Vargas remarked, absorbing the gravity of Ajani's words. "I hadn't considered it like that."

Ajani continued, his voice low and steady. "The worst part is that they can be unpredictable. They don't know their own strength, and in their desperation, they can lash out. I've seen it happen before—friends turned into enemies, all because of a null's touch. It can drain more than just power; it can drain your very will to fight."

Vargas shivered slightly, his thoughts racing back to the girl he'd encountered earlier—the one with the filthy face and nervous expression. "I understand the risks, but I can't just leave her out there. I have to find her before someone else does."

Ajani took a deep breath, his brow furrowing as he delved deeper into the complexities of nulls. "Just like Awakened, nulls vary in power. Some are incredibly strong, able to cancel out not just an individual's aera but the aera of an entire planet. Even my own. They're like the null pylons."

Vargas nodded, recalling his earlier thoughts about the pylons and their role in the conflict-ridden history of the galaxy. "So, you're saying that some nulls can be that powerful?"

"Exactly," Ajani replied, his tone serious. "But here's the kicker: unlike with Awakened, there's no real way to gauge a null's strength before you confront them. You could be facing a novice who can barely drain a drop of aera, or you could stumble upon a powerful one that could wipe the floor with you in seconds. It's like playing roulette with your life."

Vargas felt a chill run down his spine at the realization. "That makes things a lot more complicated. I've encountered a null before, but I had no idea how strong she could be. It's a gamble every time."

"Exactly," Ajani continued, his expression earnest. "That unpredictability is what makes them so dangerous. You could think you're in control, only to find out you're facing a predator with abilities you didn't even know existed. It's a dangerous game to play."

"Yeah, and it's not a game I want to lose," Vargas said, his resolve hardening. "I can't let this girl become a target, especially if she doesn't know what she is."

Ajani raised his glass again, this time in a more serious toast. "Just remember to be cautious. And if you do find her, don't hesitate to reach out. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve when it comes to dealing with powerful nulls."

"Right," Vargas said, the weight of the conversation settling in. "I appreciate the advice. I just hope I can get to her before it's too late."

The two remained in silence enjoying the vibes of the club and the champagne in their glasses. Just then Ajani recalled something from the past.

"You know, I fought against the Imperators almost a century ago. They were a force to be reckoned with."

Vargas raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really? What were they like? Did you get to face any of them directly?"

Ajani chuckled, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice. "Oh, definitely. They were incredible fighters. One of them was quite tenacious, and left an impression on me. That man had a presence—an aura that could make you second-guess every move you made. I remember the fight vividly; he was relentless, strategic, and strong. I'd love to face him again someday when I'm even stronger."

Vargas nodded, absorbing the weight of Ajani's words. "Who was that?"

"I saw him again on the wanted posters, I believe it was Sahaad Abbas?"

Vargas sat up in surprise,"So, you've met him? Do you know anything about his disappearance?"

Ajani shook his head, his expression growing serious. "I wish I did. It's a shame, I hope he is still alive."

Vargas chuckled at Ajani's concern, "Hah, don't worry those Imperators make the Praetorians look like children there is no possible way he could be killed so unceremoniously".

"You're right about that, I threw him to a whole other country and he came back, no injury. No magic or anything".

As the night wore on, Vargas realized he was starting to feel tipsy from the drinks. The pulsating energy of the club began to blur around the edges, and he decided it was time to call it a night. He stood up, giving Ajani a firm handshake.

"Take care, my friend. It was good to see you," Vargas said, feeling a mix of camaraderie and urgency.

"Likewise! Stay safe out there, and let me know if you ever need backup. Just remember to keep an eye on those nulls," Ajani replied, his grin returning.

With a final wave, Vargas made his way out of the club, the neon lights flashing around him as he stepped into the cool night air. The city of Vandros Prime buzzed with life, but his mind was focused on the tasks ahead. The hunt for Emilie and the mysteries surrounding the Imperators loomed larger than ever as he headed home, determinat