Food at Mayden station isn't luxurious. Sure, high-end restaurants can be found in Skyside, made with real animals and plants. However, for the vast majority of those on the station, most food is vat-grown. There is nothing inherently wrong with it, but with all the regulations surrounding cloning, most stations bring in the lowest bidder to do the job. Hence why Giria Labs have cornered the market in the quick-service restaurant business.

'Star-Bitz' is one of the more prominent ones, and the restaurant of choice for Dell and Domitia to have a quiet word over a bite to eat. It also helps that it’s nearly midnight station time, so most are either asleep or already hard at work on third shift. The food isn't great, all of it having that plastic, glassy taste that comes from low-quality vats. Yet it does the job for Domitia, the restaurant having options for those in need of a lot of proteins and calories to help them work their augs. The 'Star-Krakken Platter' is just a pile of vat-grown fish and some veggies haphazardly thrown in. Supposedly it’s a 'Toak Delicacy,' yet Domitia has never heard any Toak she fought alongside ever talk about it. Dell settles something smaller - a simple 'Solar-Soup and Sandwich,' which was cold tomato soup and a floppy cheese and meat sandwich.

"You'd think for a quick service restaurant, the food would still be hot," Dell moans.

"You'd think." Domitia looks around, checking if the restaurant is truly empty.

Star-Bitz didn't have staff unless you counted the roaming worker drones that moved around on stumpy legs. Whoever owns this particular franchise had dressed the drones in short skirts and crop tops. None of the clothes fit properly and look painted onto the bulking automatons.

"So," Dell begins after finishing the last bite of his sandwich, "Did you just want to go to jail or what?"

Domitia sighs, "I just wanted to know who really bailed us out."

"Don't ask dumb questions like that," Dell says, "Sometimes it's better not knowing." He points towards the 'order wall.’ A series of small cubbies where the bots in the kitchen put the food once it's been cooked, "You really wanna know what goes on in there?"

"You and I both know that everyone has a boss," Domitia says, sipping on her grape soda, her favorite drink, "Ours happens to be automated, and on such a large scale we aren't noticed."

"Your point?" Dell asks.

"Someone noticed us," Domitia says gravely, "Someone who might know more than what someone at the Bounty Board could tell." She leans in, "When was the last time you heard anyone call me Sejanus?"

Dell considers this for a moment, taking a sip out of a cup of subpar coffee, "Well, nothin’s happened yet. So why bother worrying about it." He gets on the table, hands in his pockets, leaning against the glass, "Sometimes you gotta take that risk."

Domitia hums, looking out into the empty restaurant, watching the drones march by in their ridiculously tight outfits. Mulling it over in her head, she realizes her partner was right, but that didn't mean it set her right. The Bellator can't help but shake the feeling of puppet strings tightening around her. She can't be someone else's puppet, not again.

"Compromise then," Domitia finishes her soda, looking Dell in the eyes as she says, "We take our winnings and make for new hunting grounds. Sounds to me like we might be in trouble in these parts."

Dell shrugs, "Can't blame ya. With Os dead, it's probably for the best we get a move..."

Domitia and Dell turn their attention to the waiter drone watching them. Domitia looks to Dell, who gives a shrug; the grumlian clears his throat and asks, "Can I help ya?"

"No." A woman's voice answers, "But I can help you," The drone then points out the window.

Outside, the station is dead. A handful hurry left and right, up and down the street outside, yet only one sits quite smugly, Domitia notes. Her artificial eyes shine a dull blue in the low light of the nearby streetlamp, the wiring of augments matching, standing out starkly on her dark skin. With her hood down, Domitia can see the full extent of her augments; the top of her head is partly replaced with a data processor, giving the impression of a crown.

"You were the one on the elevator," Domitia notes.

"Name's Murci," The hacked bot says, "Security isn't too tight there; I'd turn off my phone, Dell. Your shit Elo rank is showing."

Dell grumbled, "I play for fun, you techie."

"That's what losers say," Murci remarked through the bot, "Now. You done giving up, or do you want your lead?"

Dell looked at the bot, then across the street, then back at the bot, finally choosing to narrow his eyes on the bot's visor, "Whatcha want?"

"Not much," Murci answered, "Just a cut. Say forty-five."

"I'd kill you before I'd give you forty-five." Dell growls,"' Sides, I'd only pay mine twenty."

"I'll settle with thirty," Murci said, Domitia hearing the smile in those words.

"What exactly do you have?" Domitia asked, "What's buying you that thirty percent?"

"Os' backup." Murci remarks casually, the robot and the hacker herself both rolling their wrists, "I happen to know where it is."

"Right, now you're fucking with us," Dell says disrespectfully, "Os was good. Real good."

"And he and I ran in the same circles. Although mine was more about finding the what's versus his who's." Murci explained, "Net-heads on Mayden stick together. We don't fuck with each other, and we cover each other if something goes wrong. Os trusted me with his place. Get me there, and I can get what you're looking for."

"Why the fuck haven't you done that yourself?" Dell asks.

"Seems like you're capable," Domitia adds.

"I'm not that much of a fighter, and I got two bounty hunters who'll crack heads for a cool ten million." Then leans onto the table, "Problem is Os' place is being sat on by some gangers. Waiting for Security to unlock it so people can legally loot it.

"I just need some muscle. Nothing too serious, just strong enough looking that they'll leave me be," The bot leans forward and extends a hand, "We got a deal?"

There’s an apprehensive pause as Dell and Domitia both mull it over. Domitia knows her answer; despite the risk and the looming shadow of someone taking an interest in things, the Bellator cannot deny the desire to hunt down Flynt. There is still a chance, and she would take it.

She looks over to Dell, the grumlian mulling it over himself. Domitia can guess his answer, a measured response between risk and reward. Dell scratches underneath his chin, giving Domitia a look.

"You want him, don't you?" Dell asks.

Domitia sits up straight, "He was a monster. Putting him away would do everyone good. Real good."

"And I like getting paid," Dell took the bot's hand, "Got yourself a deal."