Serpent's Bargain

The meeting room stank of sweat and frustration. OctoMan's tentacles tapped impatiently against the steel table where crime scene photos of the burned house were spread. Umbra sat stiffly in the corner, her stomach wound still wrapped in bloodstained bandages. Germination picked at the vines growing from her scalp - a nervous habit she'd had since childhood.

"We're wasting time," OctoMan said, pushing forward a photo of the charred remains. "Germ, what did you get from Hal?"

Before she could answer, the door burst open. Retro dragged Hal inside, his arms pinned behind his back.

"I told you I don't know anything else!" Hal spat.

Germ stood quickly, sending a spray of lilac petals from her hair. "He's telling the truth. Oriken keeps his inner circle tight."

OctoMan's tentacles twitched in irritation. "Then why did you bring him?"

"Because..." Germ hesitated, glancing at Hal. "Because he knows about the police corruption. The real reason Oriken stays hidden."

All eyes turned to Hal. He squirmed under their gaze. "I only know rumors," he muttered. "Some high-ranking cop in Awata Local is dirty. Maybe even the one giving Oriken his guns. But I don't know who."

The room fell silent. Needlepoint absentmindedly sharpened a playing card between his fingers, the metal edge glinting.

OctoMan leaned forward. "That's not good enough. We need names."

"I can't just ask!" Hal's voice cracked. "You think Oriken won't notice if I start poking around police business? I'll end up in the canal with cement shoes."

Germ placed a hand on Hal's shoulder. Tiny vines sprouted from her fingertips, wrapping gently around his wrist. "There's another way," she said softly. "You've been wanting to move up in Oriken's crew, right?"

Hal eyed her suspiciously. "What are you suggesting?"

OctoMan's inmense iq kick into action, and the holographic display flickered to life, showing a map of Tawaji's southwest sector. "Oriken's always looking for new dealers," he said. "Hal volunteers for street sales. We provide protection from the shadows so he can ascend quick and easy."

Myco snorted. "And when Oriken asks why he suddenly wants to sling Dustfire?"

"Money," Germ said simply. She turned to Hal. "Tell them you're desperate. Medical bills. Gambling debts. Whatever sells it."

Hal wiped his lip. "This is suicide. If they suspect anything-"

"You'll have us," Germ interrupted. "I'll be with you every step. Undercover as your... friend, Blondie and Hart know me." She ignored the way her vines trembled slightly at the words.

Retro crossed her arms. "And when he gets made? I can't time-jump his ass out of a bullet."

OctoMan's tentacles formed a complex pattern. "Which is why we need contingencies. Needlepoint, you're on overwatch. Joule, monitor police frequencies. If this goes south..."

"It won't," Germ said firmly. She met Hal's terrified gaze. "I won't let it."

Hal exhaled sharply. "Fine. But if I smell even a hint of-"

The door slammed open again. Chameleon stood panting in the doorway, her skin shifting colors erratically. "We've got company. Cops. Three cruisers just rolled up outside."

The squad tensed. OctoMan's tentacles grabbed Hal by the collar. "You led them here?"

"No! I swear!" Hal's voice cracked with panic.

Germ peered through the blinds. "Not here for us," she reported. "They're hitting the noodle shop next door."

Joule frowned. "Since when do Cantonal cops raid restaurants?"

A crash echoed from below as the police smashed through the shop's door. Through the window, they could see officers dragging out terrified kitchen workers.

Hal's breath came fast. "That's Oriken's front. They're moving on his operations."

OctoMan's eyes narrowed. "Which means someone gave them the tip." He turned to Hal. "Your corrupt cop just made their first mistake, or is not as high ranking as we tought."

Germ's vines tightened around Hal's wrist. "This changes nothing. We stick to the plan."

Hal's fingers twitched against the tabletop, tracing the grooves in the cheap plastic. The scent of burnt coffee and Myco's faintly toxic spores hung thick in the air. Germ's vines had retreated from his wrist, but the memory of their grip lingered like a brand.

"Fine," he muttered, the word tasting like ash. "But not for you." His split knuckles ached as he clenched his fist. "For Germ. And only because Oriken's been skimming my pay anyway." The lie came easy—better they think him greedy than scared.

Across the table, OctoMan's tentacles coiled in satisfaction, their suction cups puckering against the steel surface. The hologram projector hummed between them, casting sickly blue light over the charred remains of the drug den. A single feather, half-melted into concrete, glowed in the projection.

"Quill's gang," Retro said, her voice flat. She didn't need to glance at the image; her visor had already shown her every angle twice.

Needlepoint's razor-edged playing card flashed as it flipped between his fingers. "Third fire this month. Either Oriken's cleaning house—"

"—or someone's framing him," Joule finished, the static from her energy-charged fingertips making the hologram flicker.

Hal leaned in, the scar on his forearm pulling tight. "That's not Oriken's work." The words came out rougher than he intended. "Blondie does his dirty jobs—and that psycho likes his targets to scream. This?" He jabbed a finger at the carbonized bodies images. "This is a message."

The room went still. Even Myco's spores paused mid-drift.

"From who?" OctoMan's voice was dangerously calm.

Hal hesitated. The truth was, he didn't know. But the way Germ's thorns pricked at her own palms told him she needed this. "Quill's crew was small-time," he said slowly. "Until they hooked up with some guy so call "doc" pushing pure Dustfire, old supplier, he was gone a long time ago. Rumor is, he's back."

Retro crossed her arms, her holographic visor darkening. "We're chasing shadows. Oriken's the real threat."

"Or we've got two problems," Joule countered, her grin sharp enough to cut. "A corrupt cop and a rival dealer."

Germ's vines slithered across the floor, restless. "Hal's right." Her voice was quiet but carried the weight of certainty. "That fire wasn't just business—it was personal. Someone's making a play. And we're standing in the middle."

OctoMan's tentacles formed a complex pattern—calculating, always calculating. "Hal infiltrates Oriken. Retro's team scouts the burn sites." A pause, then softer: "Germ? Keep him alive."

Hal snorted. "Yeah. That's the priority." The bitterness in his voice surprised even him.

The projector clicked off, plunging the room into murky yellow light from the single bare bulb overhead. Needlepoint's cards vanished back up his sleeves as he stood, the metal edges catching the light one last time.

"We move in pairs," OctoMan said, his tentacles already mapping routes on a handheld display. "Joule, Needle and Chameleon with Retro. Myco with me. Germ—"

"—with Hal," she finished, her vines curling protectively around her wrists.

Hal opened his mouth to protest, but the look in her eyes stopped him. There was something there beyond duty—something that made his chest tighten.

"Just don't slow me down," he muttered instead, pushing away from the table.

Retro's time-clones were already dissolving at the edges as she stepped toward the door. "Meet back here by midnight. And Hal?" Her visor flickered. "Try not to get shot this time."

The door slammed behind them, leaving Hal alone with Germ and the lingering scent of ozone from Joule's departure.

"You didn't have to do that," he said quietly.

Germ's vines brushed against his hand—just for a second. "Yes," she said. "I did."

Outside, the distant wail of police sirens cut through the afternoon air. The hunt was on.

2 blocks away

The espresso machine screamed like a wounded animal as Go-Go stabbed at her phone, the cracked screen reflecting her scowl. Across the table, Goro adjusted his designer cufflinks with practiced ease, his expensive watch glinting under the café's industrial lights.

"Look, Hiroshi," he purred into his earpiece, stirring sugar into his coffee with his free hand. "That favor from the Yamamoto wedding? Time to cash in." His smile never wavered as the voice on the other end squawked protests. "Five minutes. Just tell me about Oriken, yes?."

Go-Go watched his performance through narrowed eyes. Goro's whole demeanor shifted when he worked a mark—shoulders relaxing, voice dipping into that confidential tone that made people feel like they were sharing secrets with an old friend.

"Taro? Mase Taro?" Goro's polished shoe tapped a rhythm against the table leg. "The same cop one who got suspended for beating that dealer last year? Interesting..."

He winked at Go-Go as the information flowed. By the time he hung up, she'd already pulled up Taro's personnel file on her hacked tablet.

"Corrupt," she muttered, zooming in on a surveillance still of the cop accepting a briefcase from a figure in shadows. "Meets with Oriken's lieutenants at the docks every Thursday. Taro clears the perimeter, but someone protects him, someone high above."

Goro sipped his coffee, unruffled. "My contact says Taro's got a mistress at the Blue Orchid Motel. Posts about it on his burner account like an idiot." He slid his phone across the table, displaying a poorly cropped photo of Taro's distinctive serpent tattoo over a woman's thigh. "Shall we go say hello?"

"Later, i got something else going now, come with me" Go-Go took her things and walk away, leaving Goro to pay, and follow her.

They walk to a weird alley, the stench of rotting garbage and stale urine hit them three blocks from the meet point. Goro wrinkled his nose as Go-Go cheerfully greeted their twitching informant—a Dustfire addict named Jin with eyes like shattered glass.

"Jin-chan!" Go-Go beamed, pulling out a chair at the rusted patio table like they were at a Michelin-starred restaurant. "You look like shit."

Jin's laughter turned into a wet cough. "Fuck off, pretty girl. Where's the stuff?"

Go-Go tossed a baggie onto the table. Jin lunged for it, but Goro's hand snapped out, pinning the man's wrist with deceptive strength.

"First," Goro said, still smiling, "tell us what Go-Go asked."

What followed was a masterclass in interrogation disguised as friendly chatter. Goro leaned in when Jin whispered about a guy called "Blondie", who works for Oriken, dirty work to be specific, and nodded sympathetically at the addict's muttered complaints about rough treatment. By the time Jin described finding Blondie making out with a super short shotgun in that same alley, Go-Go had compiled a dossier-worth of material.

"You're disgusting," she told Goro as they walked away. "You weren´t even supose to be here, yet you take de lead and do it... good enough"

He straightened his tie, unperturbed. "And you've already got twelve tabs open on his mistress's OnlyBuffs, her full real name and direction, as well Taro's. We all have our stengths."

Go-Go sighted, and continued walking, sending Hector all the information they gathered on a codify text message.

"We are going late to Taro's" Go-Go saightes even lauder, and hurry up behind Goro. Until they find a good spot. Pier 12.

.

Pier 12 loomed ahead, its rusted cranes silhouetted against the neon skyline. Go-Go's fingers flew across three devices simultaneously—tracking Taro's patrol car GPS, monitoring police band chatter, and scrolling through the cop's embarrassingly public dating profile.

"He's twenty minutes out," she reported. "Taking his usual 'coffee break' route past Needlepoint's patrol sector."

Goro adjusted his wire. "Remember the plan. We—"

"I know the damn plan," Go-Go snapped.

They watched from a rooftop as Taro's cruiser rolled up. The cop was everything his file suggested—mid-40s, the beginnings of a gut straining his uniform, that telltale serpent tattoo peeking from his shirt.

Goro sprang into action the moment Taro stepped into the alley.

"Officer! Thank god!" He stumbled forward, the perfect image of a panicked businessman. "Those thugs took my wallet—they went that way!"

Taro's hand went to his baton. "Calm down, sir. Description?"

What followed was a symphony of manipulation. Goro's "frantic" account gave Go-Go exactly forty-seven seconds to slip into Taro's unlocked cruiser. By the time the cop returned—having found no muggers—his dashcam had been disconnected, his radio didint work and the gps got changed to be stationary.

"All set," Go-Go murmured in Goro's earpiece as he finished his Oscar-worthy performance.

Taro clapped Goro on the shoulder. "You should be more careful, Mr...?"

"Watanabe," Goro lied smoothly. "From Kasumi Enterprises public relations, can I acompany you to .report the crime at the station?"

When both got in the car, Taro noticed Go-Go in the backseat. For a moment he tought "Im gonna die", later when Go-Go show him the photo with his mistress, he tought "I wanna die", and understood what was gonna happen now.