“Seize her! Alien contraband!” The inspector's voice was a whip-crack, cutting through the stunned silence. The armed men, who moments ago had been lowering their rifles, snapped them back up, muzzles now aimed squarely at Tazien. Toris, a blur of motion, stepped in front of her, his back to the firing squad, his own body a shield. His posture was rigid, every muscle coiled, ready to deflect the impending volley. The official narrowed his eyes, surprised by Toris’s defiant stance. “Sir,” Toris stated, his voice calm, controlled, utterly devoid of the strain Tazien knew he must be feeling. “That object is my property. A new, highly classified weapon model from the Drevkan Ordnance Division. I was testing its efficacy in the field.” Gasps rippled through the few remaining Vor lackeys cowering in the corners. Mila, still clutching Bramm and Nika to her sides, stared wide-eyed at Toris. The official's gaze flickered between the sleek, menacing stun baton and Toris’s unwavering expression. The story was a flimsy lie, barely woven, but Toris delivered it with the full weight of his reputation and rank. “A weapon model?” the inspector repeated, a skeptical edge in his tone. He stepped closer, his boots crunching on shattered glass from the window Toris had just burst through. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And why is it in the possession of a civilian?” “Security protocols, sir,” Toris replied smoothly, not flinching. “Its very existence is above top-secret. A civilian would never be allowed near it, much less in possession of it. It’s… highly volatile.” He deliberately let the words hang, suggesting danger and state secrets, a direct challenge to the Commissioner’s authority to question further. The inspector hesitated, his eyes lingering on the baton, then on Toris’s stern face. The weapon was undeniably advanced, unlike anything he had ever seen in the Republic’s arsenal. The idea of it being a new, classified Drevkan weapon, a secret project, was unsettling. He had no desire to inadvertently interfere with a military project beyond his purview, especially from a decorated veteran like Toris Dren. “Perhaps a private discussion is in order, Inspector,” Tazien interjected, her voice steady. She nudged Toris gently aside, stepping forward. Her eyes locked with the inspector's, offering a quiet hint of something intriguing. “A matter of… sensitive intelligence regarding the Vor clan’s wider networks. Just us.” The official, whose face still held a hint of suspicion, was clearly intrigued by the mention of “sensitive intelligence.” He waved a dismissive hand at his men. “Stand down. You two, with me. The rest of you, secure the perimeter. Don’t let a single rat escape this compound.” He gestured toward a smaller, adjoining room – likely an elder’s private study – its door ajar. Tazien shot Toris a quick, reassuring glance, then followed the official. The door clicked shut, muffling the sounds of the ongoing arrests and the children’s excited chatter outside. The room was opulent by Drevkan standards, filled with dark, polished wood and faded wool hangings. Tazien walked to the center, her mind racing. The clock above her head, unseen by the Commissioner, still gleamed at 30 days. This needed to be a victory, a solid, undeniable win. She took a deep breath, the scent of stale tea and old paper filling her nostrils. “Sir,” she began, turning to face him. His eyes were still wary, assessing. “What I’m about to show you is for your eyes only. A matter of… personal recompense for the inconvenience.” She reached into her bag, not for the stun baton, but deeper, her fingers brushing against the fabric of a carefully folded blanket. Her portal shimmered open, unseen, as she mentally commanded it to produce her chosen item. A low, soft hum filled the air for a fraction of a second, unnoticed by the Commissioner, as the object materialized. With a theatrical flourish, Tazien pulled away the blanket, revealing it. It was a monstrosity of beige synthetic leather and chrome, a relic from a future era of comfort. A futuristic, self-heating massage chair. It hummed softly, its integrated control panel glowing with soft blue lights, hinting at untold luxury. The inspector dropped his jaw. His eyes, which had been ice chips moments ago, now bugged out, wide with a mixture of confusion and unadulterated greed. He circled the chair slowly, his hand reaching out, then pulling back, as if afraid it would vanish. He poked a cushioned armrest, then touched the strange, smooth plastic of the control panel. “What… what in the name of the High Party is this contraption?” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. He cautiously sat in it, his posture stiff, then jumped as the chair hummed and gently reclined, a soft, warm pressure beginning to knead his lower back. His eyes fluttered shut, a sigh escaping his lips. “It’s a… therapeutic relaxation device, Commissioner,” Tazien explained, leaning against the doorframe, a smirk playing on her lips. “A field trial unit from a highly advanced, non-aligned industrial partner. Purely for stress relief. A gift, for your… discretion in the matter of the ‘classified hardware.’” He didn’t answer. His head lolled back, a look of pure bliss washing over his face as the chair worked its magic. Tazien watched, satisfied. Raw greed lit his face. The allure of such unimaginable luxury was a far more potent weapon than any threat. After a long moment, the inspector slowly pushed himself upright, tearing himself away from the chair’s embrace with visible reluctance. He smoothed his rumpled jacket, a new sheen in his eyes. “Indeed. A most… persuasive argument, Madam Vor. The charges regarding the… ‘field model’ are entirely dismissed. A misunderstanding, nothing more.” He offered a thin, almost genuine smile. “And as for any further ‘sensitive intelligence’ you may wish to provide… my door is always open.” He gave her a knowing nod, then strode past her, opening the door. As he walked out, he paused, looking back at the massage chair, a hint of longing in his gaze. “Have it delivered to my personal residence in Drevka City by morning. Securely.” Tazien simply smiled, a silent agreement passing between them. She stepped out into the hallway, the chaotic aftermath of the arrests still ongoing. Toris was waiting, his arms crossed, a strange, intense expression on his face. He watched her approach, his eyes tracing her features. “Classified Ordnance hardware?” Tazien murmured, a teasing lilt in her voice. “That was quite a performance, Captain Dren.” “You are a menace, Tazien,” he said, his voice low, rough. “A beautiful, infuriating menace.” He reached out, his hand hovering near her cheek, then dropped, his fingers curling into a fist. “I watched you walk into that room. I thought… I thought I was going to lose you.” His gaze was so raw, so utterly unguarded, that it took Tazien’s breath away. His stoic façade had completely crumbled. The stern, cold soldier was gone, replaced by a man consumed by a fierce, undeniable emotion she hadn’t seen in years. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I don’t know what you are, or what you’ve become, but… I’m hopelessly in love with this version of you. This vicious, brilliant woman who protects our home and our children with such… terrifying grace.” He didn’t try to kiss her, didn’t try to touch her. He simply stood there, his confession hanging between them in bewildered awe. Tazien, for once, was speechless, her own pragmatic heart skipping a beat at the sheer intensity of his admission. The moment was abruptly shattered by the arrival of Bramm and Nika, who skidded to a halt in front of them, their faces smeared with dirt and triumph. Mila trailed behind, looking utterly exhausted but equally pleased. “Mama! Papa!” Nika crowed, waving a handful of crumpled notes. “We got lunch money! From the sniveling man with the droopy mustache! We told him you’d take his other eye if he didn’t pay up!” Bramm nodded vigorously, displaying a small pile of metallic ration tokens. “And his cousin’s, too! He cried a little.” Toris blinked, then let out a sharp, choked laugh, a sound Tazien had never heard from him before. He looked from his beaming, chaotic children to Tazien, a bewildered, adoring smile spreading across his face. The tension in the hallway dissipated, replaced by the absurdity of the moment. Just as Tazien was about to respond, a jarring, high-pitched whine erupted above her. The brilliant green glow of her sky-clock flickered, then abruptly turned a terrifying, pulsing blood-red. The glorious 30 days vanished, replaced by a frantic, dizzying descent of numbers. 00:09:58 00:09:57 00:09:56 [Final Fate Convergence: The Patriarch Returns.]

The Massage Chair Bribe