Warfare Augmented Intelligent Frame Unit
Chapter 106 – Sieg Heil Imperium Tavern

Chapter 106 - Sieg Heil Imperium Tavern

I sent Fei a message: I wanted to join the Neo Terrestrial Reich. Her reply came quickly—brimming with joy. She welcomed my decision without hesitation and gave me a location where I could meet with Ismail Arondight in three days' time.

Those three days passed quietly, like the calm before an uncertain storm. And finally, after our last class, just as the sun dipped beneath the burning-orange horizon of Xyraxis, I found Fei waiting outside the gleaming gates of Orbital Tech. The metallic surface of the academy shimmered in the fading light, and a gentle breeze stirred the dust around her feet.

Fei's face lit up the moment she saw me, and she clapped her hands together with gleeful excitement.

“Zaft!” she called out, dashing toward me with the energy of a puppy reunited with its owner. “You actually came! I thought this was just one of your weird jokes again, but you’re serious this time, aren’t you?”

“Y-yeah,” I replied, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly. “I’ve weighed my options… and honestly, there’s only one path that makes sense now.”

Then, with a slight grin, I stepped aside. 

“Oh—and I brought someone. An old… admirer of yours.”

“Old admirer?” Fei blinked, tilting her head in that signature way of hers—curious, like a child trying to solve a riddle.

But her expression changed in an instant. Her golden eyes widened in disbelief as a familiar silhouette stepped into view—a tall, slightly pale man with soft, wavy brown hair.

Neil.

“Hello, Fei,” Neil greeted, raising a hand in a casual wave. But his smile lacked its usual warmth—empty, almost haunted.

“N-Neil…” Fei whispered, her voice trembling as she clasped her hands in front of her chest, as though she were praying. “A-Are you really coming back?”

“Yeah,” Neil said simply. “I’m coming back. And I’m going to save you.”

“Save… me?” she echoed, her confusion deepening, painting her face with unease.

I cleared my throat, cutting through the moment. “We should get going. I need to speak to Ismail Arondight—about the terms of my recruitment.”

“Oh, right,” Fei said with a quick nod, her expression tightening with purpose. She pumped her fists once, then whipped out her phone and tapped rapidly on the screen. “We’re getting a personal transport for this meeting—security protocol.”

Less than a minute later, the low growl of a motor echoed down the street, and a sleek, cyberpunk-red car slid to a halt before us. Its paint shimmered under the streetlamps, almost alive with pulse-like circuitry veining across the chassis. 

Behind the wheel sat a driver who could’ve stepped straight out of a dystopian noir: a lanky punk wearing tinted glasses despite the late hour, his left arm inked with coiling dragon tattoos, and his right arm entirely cybernetic—metal gleamed where flesh once was, pistons subtly hissing with every twitch of his fingers.

Without hesitation, Fei slipped into the front passenger seat, confidence in every movement. Neil and I followed, settling into the dimly lit backseat. The car's interior smelled faintly of machine oil and burnt circuits.

As the vehicle pulled away with a smooth hum, Neil’s eyes drifted to the back of the driver’s neck. I followed his gaze—and froze.

There, etched into the man’s skin in stark black ink, was a five-sided swastika. Not a symbol I recognized from history books, but something worse: something current. I think Nazis has evolved for the past couple of centuries.

Neil turned his head slightly toward me, narrowing his eyes in silent warning. He didn’t need to speak. The message was clear.

I swallowed hard, a dry knot forming in my throat.

The symbol matched what Agent Feena had once described to me in a hushed tone—the sigil of the Neo Terrestrial Reich. This driver wasn’t just working for them. He was one of them.

And now, with nothing but quiet tension between us and no way out, I realized what this meant. I was no longer circling the edges of this dark world—I was being chauffeured straight into its core.

All I could do was sit back, steady my breath, and hope to whatever higher power might listen that luck was on my side.

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After several minutes of weaving through neon-lit streets and gliding beneath holographic billboards, the car came to a halt in the pulsing heart of Xyraxis Metropolis’s nightlife district—right in front of the infamous Sieg Heil Imperium Tavern. 

I’d seen this place before, mostly through filtered social media posts—lavish feeds filled with glittering bottles, sculpted patrons, and scandalous moments. According to some of my classmates, this was the place to be laid—if you could afford it. And only the richest brats from Orbital Tech had that kind of money to burn.

As we stepped out of the car, a wave of bass-heavy music rolled over us like a sonic tidal wave. Even from outside, I could feel it vibrating in my chest. A long line of partygoers stretched around the block, each dressed in eye-catching outfits and shimmering accessories. Two towering bouncers flanked the entrance, arms crossed, scanning IDs and faces with mechanical precision. Their eyes looked more like scanners than human.

I whistled low and smirked. “Are we going to parteeey now?” I mocked, half-laughing, trying to ignore the pit growing in my stomach.

“Should be,” Neil replied dryly. “With you signing on, the Neo Terrestrial Reich’s plans are practically set like scheduling an extravagant wedding.”

“Neil’s right!” Fei added with a cheerful fist-pump. “Ismail’s gonna be thrilled to see you tonight. Come on—follow me!”

Fei didn’t waste a second. She cut straight to the front of the line, weaving past stunned partygoers with a barrage of polite-yet-firm “Excuse me!”s. Neil and I trailed behind her like bodyguards following royalty, though it didn’t stop the glares. People stared us down like we’d committed some unforgivable social sin—cutting in front of dozens of would-be clubbers dressed to kill. I returned their looks with a half-apologetic, half-awkward smile.

At the front, Fei held up her phone to one of the bouncers. The screen lit up with a crimson sigil—and just like that, the giant stepped aside. No questions asked. VIP access.

That’s when I noticed the ink etched into the bouncer’s thick neck: the same five-sided swastika.

I swallowed hard. That mark again.

As the doors opened for us, the full force of the club’s interior hit like a thunderclap. Music thundered against the walls, heavy with synths and distorted beats. Rainbow strobe lights slashed through the smoky air, creating a chaotic rhythm that danced across every surface. It was dazzling—and borderline seizure-inducing. Bodies packed the dance floor, moving like one undulating organism, lost in a frenzy of sound, light, and synthetic euphoria.

The dance floor was a pulsating sea of bodies, drenched in sweat and colored lights. People moved with reckless abandon, their limbs flailing to the thunderous beat like they were trying to shake off the weight of the world. On the raised stage, girls in metallic bikinis twirled effortlessly around chrome poles, their movements fluid, seductive, and mechanical all at once. On the opposite end, shirtless male dancers with sculpted torsos and glowing body paint performed synchronized routines, drawing wild cheers from the crowd.

I kept my head still, resisting every urge to turn or crane my neck. Instead, I let my eyes do the work—scanning the room, quietly observing. I counted them as discreetly as I could. Five… six… eight… ten… twelve…

And then I lost track.

Too many. Too many people bore the five-sided swastika—inked onto necks, shoulders, and forearms like badges of allegiance. The mark of the Reich. Some wore it proudly, bare-chested to display it like armor. Others kept it subtle, tucked beneath half-zipped jackets or hidden behind thick necklaces.

I swallowed my unease. Almost everyone here looked like they’d stepped out of a criminal syndicate’s catalog—tattooed muscleheads, grim-faced mercs, street punks with cybernetic limbs, and glossy-eyed clubbers whose smiles didn’t quite reach their eyes.

I muttered internally, Guess I fit in just fine. The thought was meant to be sarcastic, but it landed heavier than I expected. Myrrh would’ve torn that conclusion apart with a single scoff, maybe thrown in one of her classic one-liners to remind me who I am—or who I’m pretending not to be. A goon.

But she wasn’t here.

And I couldn’t rely on her anymore—not for this. I had already gone too far down the rabbit hole. There was no turning back now.

Fei led us onward, weaving through the crowd like she’d been doing this for years. Her hand reached back now and then to make sure we kept pace. We passed dancers, servers with trays of glowing drinks, and guests lost in their own neon-fueled ecstasy. And then—finally—we reached it.

The VIP lounge.

Encased in thick, transparent glass, the lounge seemed like another world entirely—soundproof and insulated from the chaos outside. Beyond the glass, I could see plush crimson carpeting, golden light strips outlining every edge of the sleek interior, and a massive C-shaped red sofa dominating the center like a throne.

And there, seated with the calm presence of someone who owned the room—and maybe the entire block—was Ismail Arondight.

Contrary to what I remembered from the casino, Ismail Arondight no longer bore even a hint of his previous Michael Jackson-esque appearance. The sequins and theatrics were gone. Now, he looked like a cyberpunk rock god risen from the ashes of some underground revolution. He wore sleek black shades that reflected the nightclub’s strobing lights, and a tight-fitting tank top that clung to his broad, tattoo-laced torso—showing off a body sculpted by warfare and vanity in equal measure. His left arm was fully cybernetic, matte-black metal with subtle glows pulsing beneath the surface like veins of magma.

Tattered jeans hugged his legs, revealing glimpses of chrome plating embedded into his thighs and knees. He looked part rebel, part machine, and entirely dangerous.

Surrounding him were five hostess girls, lounging across the C-shaped couch like ornaments in a throne room. Their laughter was low and perfumed, their eyes half-lidded, detached. Still, I felt a twinge of jealousy rise in me. The guy was a literal terrorist—and yet here he was, flanked by beauties like some dystopian king. Maybe if I turn terrorist too, I thought bitterly, I’ll finally get a harem.

Ismail suddenly pulled down his shades, revealing cybernetic eyes glowing a menacing shade of crimson. They locked onto me with razor-like precision, scanning, dissecting, confirming. Then his gaze shifted to Neil, something colder flickering behind the red light.

Fei stepped ahead and opened the soundproof glass door with a fluid gesture. As it slid open, the noise of the nightclub dulled instantly, like we’d passed through an airlock.

Neil and I stepped into the lounge.

“We have arrived, Ismail,” Fei said with an elegant bow, her voice formal, as if announcing nobility.

“I can see that,” Ismail replied, his voice like dark velvet—rough, yet oddly charismatic. “And you even brought a bonus.” His lips curled into a mocking grin. “So… the prodigal son returns.”

He wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were locked on Neil.

“Ismail,” Neil growled through clenched teeth. I noticed his eyes were faintly glowing blue now, the telltale spark of his HUSBANDO interface activating beneath the surface.

“So tell me, Neil Orbeus…” Ismail leaned forward, resting his metal elbow on one knee. “What made you turn tail and slither back? What flipped that righteous little heart of yours, huh?”

Neil stood firm. “I didn’t have much of a choice. If my friend here,” he nodded toward me, “is willing to join the Neo Terrestrial Reich… then I figured I’d be more useful on the inside.”

Ismail threw his head back with a low, sinister chuckle. “Good call,” he said at last, his grin widening into a crescent-shaped smirk. “Though just so you know…”

Ismail's eyes flashed neon red. It was just for a split second.

“I’ve already hacked into your phones and smartwatches. All communications are mine now. No one leaves, no one calls for help. We're in business.”

A cold sweat slid down my temples. It felt like the walls of the lounge were shrinking, like the glass around us was more than just a window—it was a trap.

This is it, I thought. I’ve crossed the line.

There’s no turning back now.