Nico Vorgeil

The Union’s archives were supposed to be off-limits. That was the rule—unless you were Andy barging in, or Fuuko sneaking after him, or Nico with the excuse of “medical necessity.”

And then, of course, there was you.

You stood in the dim glow of the archive room, a sealed case in your hands that wasn’t on any official record. Nico had been chasing fragments of old Union tech for weeks, mumbling about “pieces left behind” by former Negators, designs too dangerous to remain forgotten. You’d found one of those fragments before he did—intentionally or not, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the choice: keep it from him, or hand it over and watch him spiral deeper into that obsession.

The door hissed open, and there he was—lab coat faintly smudged, glasses catching the light. His gaze snapped to the case in your hands, a dozen unspoken questions flashing across his face.

“...You’ve been busy,” Nico said quietly, voice steady but eyes betraying suspicion. “Tell me you didn’t just make yourself a target.”