"I am the number one supplier of custom lovers and non-surgical customizations in the Black Market." Pimp explained as they were travelling, taking a whole side of the ride with his bulk.

As he spoke, he actively kept the passenger's attention on his person with a muscle twitch here, a slight movement there. Subtle, but too deliberate to stay unnoticed by nanite-supported processing. The bare torso wasn't only vanity.

"Need a specific adjustment? A certain kink your partner can't fulfil? We have a solution and no surgery involved." He jabbed a clawed thumb in his own chest with a smirk. "Some prefer the all-natural way, and they pay a lot for it." Natural. Right. "As they should; it's not an easy process, so most of our profit is your run-of-the-mill whoredom. High end men and women who use their mutations in unique ways you wouldn't imagine." He smirked.

It was an exaggerated boast, but his pride in his work was genuine. Zax could understand; he felt the same when he successfully analysed a mutation and planned in consequence. He had rarely heard of sex-related mutations, or a trigger via kinks, but it made sense.

A mix between a brothel and an activation dojo?

Interesting idea, but he was more concerned with the specifics of employment. Prostitution was a job like any other, but he didn't think the Black Market was so involved in defending worker rights. Or consent. He didn't feel like he would be given a choice.

I'm scared.

His lone ray of hope was how a low-mutant like they though he was couldn't fit with their theme. They didn't know who he was though, much less his hobby or his proficiency, so what did they take him for? Were they branching out? Was there a purestrain fetish?

If so, I'm screwed.

He was doing surprisingly well to hide his terror, somehow. His heart was beating up a storm, but agitation didn't reach his face and body language.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I took someone with so little mutation?" Pimp added. "Simple: you're close to a blank page. So much more options than most." His smile turned hungry for a split second. It was so brief, without his nanites Zax would have missed it. "And I just love exploring those options, modelling people into something better, and watching up close."

"Forcing the issue one way or another would orient mutations in the opposite direction." The hobbyist stated in as flat and factual a voice he could manage.

"Exactly! That's why all I have so little competition. Everyone who sees their boys or girls as objects get their sweet deserts and karmic retribution. Never ends well. No, I won't force you, but I'll remind you I'm the best chance you'll ever get to advance your mutation in something great. Or at all, with your age. Consent is one of the most obvious yet unseen keys to my success. Pleasure and satisfaction, tied to lust, tied to basic survival instincts, all coming together to push the 3G in a clear direction."

"Interesting. It might even affect what creature the traits are taken from. My theories explained a basic but fixed pool of options unique to the individual, but this may affect it. I never heard of a way to orient the form, only the function."

Pimp's passion was plain to see and infectious. Despite the situation, Zax's fire was picked. He didn't even register how this reliance on consent would affect his immediate future.

"It would not necessarily develop in helpful traits, though. Beyond the basics, I mean. Pretty sure most fantasies are pleasant because they're detached or opposed from real life."

"Not a problem for my employees, but true. There's always a balance to find. You make pertinent remarks, how come?"

"It's been a hobby of mine for a long time."

Pimp was a competent professional, so Zax admitted his own skill. At worse it wouldn't do anything; at best it would make him more valuable. Maybe even strike an actual relationship.

Zax didn't mention his issues, just in case, but he detailed his theories. Pimp leaned in the conversation, recognising more than an amateur. Against his best judgement, the prisoner lowered his guard a bit, lulled by the familiar topic.

The coming days proved… interesting.

***

Being a high-ranked officer among Enforcers could have its frustrations, but Bor usually saw it as a fulfilling occupation. Not today.

Hoping to see something he had missed, he re-read his final report one last time.

When an unknown girl had asked to meet him specifically, he had suspected another clumsy attempt at currying his favour, by a growing group who thought they could benefit from him turning a blind eye on some activities. Annoying, but he could manage; greet her politely, pretend to listen, then kindly and firmly reject the offer with an appropriate warning. Been there, done that.

Her simple mutation – a tail – and her constant twitches didn't match the common attempts at hinting power and intimidation, but he took it in stride. The news she brough however...

This boy has the worst luck ever.

She had introduced herself as a friend of Zax, the strange expert he had met during the Core incident. He had left a strong impression on the officer at the time, but he had thought they wouldn't meet again. Then they had, and he had delivered the thorough testimony of a survivor, in a brand-new medium. Now why would he send a friend instead of coming in person or sending a message? The veteran officer had an ominous feeling and gave her his full attention.

She explained his recent trips to the Circle, part business, part leisure. The work contracts saved online and the entry point's archives confirmed part of her allegations. She had inaccuracies in the timing, but it only lent her more credibility. Humans were not perfect.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

One evening he hadn't come back, and he still hadn't sent an explanation to his roommates nor his apprentice.

They had tried and failed to contact him in several ways.

They had tried contacting the Circle's Enforcers, but they didn't have a hotline for the dot. Normal.

They had viewed his archives-diary-automatic vlog – because of course that was a thing – but it had shown no hint until he arrived at the Enforcer Station, with a colleague, a civilian and a dog, when the recording abruptly stopped. "Connection lost" according to the error message.

That had been the first true red flag; an Enforcer station, even ill-furnished, should be one of the last places to lose any network connection.

They had gone to the Circle in person, but in vain. Even at the station, they were met with firm – and not exactly polite – rebuttal and denial. Despite the proofs they had brought. They couldn't even confirm the detective's existence, let alone talk to her.

Second red flag.

On the way back to the dot, the roommate with a synthetic feather cloak had noticed something off; she thought they might be followed. They took a detour to confirm; they were. Nothing happened before they reached the dot, luckily.

Too plausibly deniable for a red flag, but it didn't paint a nice picture of the situation.

Bor would have dismissed that part, if not for the diary-vlog-thingy they had activated before leaving the dot. If he needed proof of their relation with the boy, he had it. Roommate B's paranoia had paid off, sadly. The recording wasn't enough to identify the culprit, but it was definite proof they had been tailed after they left the station.

They had originally planned on investigating further, but this development made them reconsider. He was supposed to be their last resort, but they agreed to go to him without delay. Wise decision.

Zax had spoken well about him. Flattering.

Because this case involved a dotter outside the dot, he had grounds to handle it personally, and he had.

He hadn't expected it to be easy; his colleagues in the Circle didn't care much for digital paperwork.

He hadn't expected indifference; from fellow Enforcers, it had come as a punch in the face.

It had led him to bring his own team from the dot.

It had not prepared them for active sabotage. Bureaucratic slowness and red tape had their limits, and they were past it. It had taken a moment to realise, and even more to accept, but the more they searched, the less they could deny the fact.

Someone was actively hindering their progress. Cleaning a scene. Bribing or intimidating potential witnesses before they arrived. Someone who was constantly aware of their moves. Someone close, watching. It could only be someone in the station. Some probing baits proved it was worse than they suspected. Most likely, more than one enforcer was an accomplice, including the captain.

How can one clean a hierarchy where even the top is rotten?

It had reframed the whole case, and the sheer scale of the operation. Considering how unsurprised, and even blasé the civilian Residents were, Bor feared it was a lot more common than common sense would dictate.

In the end, when all venues had turned into dead-ends, all the lead had turned cold, the dot's Enforcers could only fall back, ignore their corrupt colleagues' scorn, and report to the dot's authorities.

If that was how the Circles handled their autonomy, something had to change. Only the Main Computer could make it happen; it controlled the supply of 3G in the Shelter.

It will make it happen. Efficiently and ruthlessly.

One way or another.

Another worrying thought.

In the meantime, Bor had bitter news to deliver. He could only hoe those girls wouldn't do something rash.

***

"I can't believe it!" Aran paced in the main room of their apartment, fuming about the officer's answer. "That's all he can say after all this time? They confirmed the kidnapping we already knew, and that's it? What kind of world are we living in!? 'No legal ways of going further'? 'Measures will be taken'? 'It won't happen again'? I don't care! What about the one it DID happen to! I bet he's not even the only one!"

SG was folded in ball on the couch, watching her friend helplessly vent her frustrations. She hadn't gone to the station with her, but she had followed the tailed girl's senses-livestream on her bracelet.

She didn't want to believe it at first, but it couldn't be denied; Zax had been taken by the Black Market. Only they could disappear someone so thoroughly. And they could even block Enforcers? Her paranoia when she first arrived felt a lot less silly now, even if they didn't have much sway in the dot.

Hopefully.

The former gladiator was horrified for her friend. The only reason she was still able to form coherent thoughts was Zax's forever frail body made him unfit for the arena. It also meant she had no idea what he was going through.

Aran eventually exhausted herself and collapsed on the couch next to her.

"Should we tell them about… that?" The winged girl proposed, uncertain.

"What? Ah, that. I don't think so? We can't explain it, we can't prove it, and we didn't learn anything that could lead us to him. Or his kidnappers."

A few days prior, something strange had happened during meditation. They kept at it. When their mind was as empty as they could get it, they were… they knew he was fine?

It was challenging to word it. It was not them hoping for the best, or in denial. They knew, for a fact, without any doubt, his situation was stable and not miserable. Independently, they had brushed it off, a mere trick to reassure themselves. The next day, in the same way, they knew he had made friends and enemies, and his future was a mix of excitement and anxiety.

They didn't take it seriously, until Aran casually mentioned it and SG revealed she had had the exact same sensation. Both of them had the same thought, in the same way, at the same moment. Something was going on and they couldn't ignore it. Their first thought was Zax trying to communicate through their nanites.

The third time, they tried to focus on this idea, and it confirmed it was the nanite resonance thingy Zax had been working on, but he was not doing it on purpose. He was meditating too, and had similar effects on his side which told him about the Enforcers not helping.

Over the following days, more information arrived. They couldn't actively communicate; it was just a passive exchange of data guided by their subconscious. One of them wanted to know something, the information was shared by whoever had the information.

The girls learnt Zax didn't know where he was or who had him taken, but he would be more likely to leave the Shelter altogether than to escape his captors. They wanted to despair, but Zax made it difficult. He was too excited. Something about pairing this effect with a recent breakthrough on his side, involving rewiring, their circulatory system, and a dog-man?

The last part was patchy and unclear, probably because Zax merely was starting on whatever it was so none of them had deep knowledge on the topic.

SG agreed with Aran's reasoning, but they couldn't just forget it.

"It can't continue."

She didn't elaborate. They both knew.

It was something all three of them shared but refused to acknowledge, as confirmed by meditation. Deep resentment; indignation at how corrupted their home was. The Shelter might not be perfect, but it wouldn't fall as long as everyone worked together. Cooperation was a key to survival, flourishing, everything.

Having people actively opposing it made something burn in them. They had to act.

"But what can we do?"

"He said, 'No legal ways of going further'." SG glanced at what was below their bottoms.

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