Chapter 1
The briefing room reeked of antiseptic and fear. Commander Alke Wren stood at attention, his black uniform pressed to military perfection, every crease a testament to the rigid discipline that had carried him through twelve years of service.
The holographic projector hummed to life, casting blue-tinged images across the sterile metal walls.
"Sit," Captain Helena Vex commanded, her cybernetic eye whirring as it focused on him. The red lens gleamed like a drop of blood in her pale face.
Alke remained standing. "Ma'am, I prefer—"
"I said sit." Her voice could have frozen plasma.
He obeyed, the metal chair cold against his spine. Vex slid a data pad across the table, her movements precise as a surgeon's blade.
The screen flickered to life, displaying surveillance footage that made Alke's jaw clench involuntarily.
Bodies. Touching. Writhing together in defiance of every law that kept Eden-9 civilized.
"Sector 7," Vex said, her tone clinical. "Three illegal establishments operating in the underground. Touch clubs, Commander. Breeding grounds for chaos and disease."
The footage shifted to a new location—dimly lit corridors, red silk curtains, faces twisted in what the government called "touch addiction." But Alke found himself studying those faces more carefully than protocol demanded.
They didn't look diseased.
They looked... alive.
"Your target," Vex continued, tapping the screen with one manicured finger, "is here. Velvet Eden. The largest and most dangerous of these establishments."
A new image appeared: a man with silver hair moving through crowds of people like liquid mercury. Even in the grainy surveillance footage, his presence commanded attention.
He was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous, forbidden.
"Laich Von Trossingen," Vex spat the name like a curse. "Age twenty-nine. Multiple arrests for unlawful assembly, conspiracy, and..." she paused dramatically, "administering illegal touch to youngsters."
Something cold settled in Alke's stomach. "Youngsters?"
"Touch addiction starts young, Commander. Trossingen preys on the vulnerable, the desperate. He's built an empire on human weakness." Vex leaned forward, her good eye boring into him. "Your mission is simple. Infiltrate. Document. Arrest. In that order."
Alke studied the footage again. Trossingen was laughing at something, his head thrown back, exposing the long line of his throat.
For a moment, something flickered in the commander's chest—an unfamiliar sensation he couldn't name.
"Ma’am," he said carefully, "wouldn't a traditional raid be more efficient? We could mobilize three squads, surround the facility—"
"These aren't common criminals, Wren." Vex's cybernetic eye clicked as it refocused. "They're organized. Prepared. Every raid we've attempted has resulted in empty buildings and vanished subjects. Someone's feeding them information."
The implication hung in the air like smoke. A mole in the force. Alke had heard whispers, rumors of officers who'd grown too sympathetic to the touch-addicted. Officers who'd been quietly reassigned to sanitation duty or worse.
"You're going undercover," Vex continued. "Your psychological profile indicates a complete inability to be swayed by... physical temptation. You're perfect for this assignment."
Perfect. Alke had heard that word applied to him before. Perfect soldier. Perfect record. Perfect example of Eden-9's ideal citizen—untouched, uncompromised, unbreakable.
"When do I begin?"
"Tonight." Vex stood, her uniform rustling with military precision. "You'll pose as a curious civilian. Document everything—faces, activities, financial transactions. Build a case that will shut down not just Velvet Eden, but every touch club in the sector."
She paused at the door, her hand on the scanner. "Commander? Don't let me down. The Council is watching this operation personally. Success means promotion. Failure means..." She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.
Alone in the briefing room, Alke stared at the frozen image of Laich Von Trossingen. The man's eyes seemed to look directly at him through the screen, as if he could see across time and space to this sterile room where his fate was being decided.
Alke's hand moved toward the holographic display, almost touching the projection before he caught himself. The light played across his pale fingers, creating the illusion of contact where none existed.
For twelve years, he'd never questioned the Touch Prohibition Laws. Physical contact led to chaos, disease, the collapse of civilization itself.
He'd seen the historical footage from the Chaos Years—cities burning, societies crumbling as people abandoned duty for pleasure, order for sensation.
But something about Trossingen's face nagged at him. The man didn't look insane or diseased. He looked... free.
Alke closed the file with sharp movement, the hologram dissolving into pixels. He had his orders. He was the perfect soldier for this mission.
So why did his hands shake as he headed for the door?
The corridors of Command Center stretched before him like arteries of chrome and glass, humming with the quiet efficiency of Eden-9's heartbeat.
Officers moved past him with mechanical precision, their faces blank, their bodies maintaining the regulation two-foot distance from one another.
Alke's apartment was waiting: four walls of regulation gray, a single bed with white sheets, a bathroom mirror that reflected his unmarked skin back at him every morning. Perfect. Sterile. Safe.
Tonight, he would enter a world where safety was a forgotten concept, where people deliberately chose chaos over order, pleasure over discipline.
Tonight, he would meet Laich Von Trossingen.
The thought sent an unfamiliar shiver down his spine—not fear, exactly, but something far more dangerous.
Anticipation.
Chapter 2
The underground tunnels of Sector 7 reeked of rebellion.
Alke pressed his back against the damp concrete wall, listening to the distant thrum of bass that vibrated through steel and stone.
His civilian clothes—dark jeans and a plain black shirt—felt like a costume, foreign against skin accustomed to military precision.
Every fiber of his being screamed that he didn't belong here, in this maze of shadows and sin that existed beneath Eden-9's sterile surface.
But that was exactly why he had to be here.
The scent hit him first.
Sandalwood and something else—something warm and alive that made his nostrils flare involuntarily.
It was the smell of bodies, of sweat and desire and the forbidden musk of human contact. His training kicked in, cataloging every detail: the moisture beading on the tunnel walls, the way sound echoed differently down here, the subtle vibrations that suggested heavy foot traffic despite the late hour.
He followed a group of three people deeper into the labyrinth, maintaining proper surveillance distance.
A woman with wild curls threw her head back laughing at something her companion whispered. The sound was... unrestrained.
Raw.
Nothing like the controlled, measured responses he was used to hearing in the upper city.
The tunnels branched and twisted, a deliberate maze designed to confuse law enforcement. Clever bastards.
Alke mentally mapped each turn, each landmark—a rust stain here, a broken light fixture there. He'd need to remember the way out when this mission went sideways.
And it would go sideways. They always did, down here in the dark.
The bass grew louder, accompanied now by other sounds that made his jaw clench. Soft moans. Whispered endearments. The wet slide of lips meeting lips.
Christ, were people actually—
A door materialized out of the shadows ahead. Massive, reinforced steel painted black, with no visible handle or lock.
The three people he'd been following approached it without hesitation. One of them—a tall man with intricate scarification covering his arms—pressed his palm against a scanner hidden in the door frame.
The scanner pulsed red once, then green. The door opened with a whisper-quiet hiss.
"Well, well."
Alke spun, his hand automatically reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. A mountain of a man had appeared behind him, silent as smoke despite his size.
Barrel chest, full beard, arms like tree trunks. But it was his eyes that caught Alke off guard—kind eyes, sad eyes, eyes that had seen too much suffering.
"You look like someone who's never been properly touched," the bouncer said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest.
Alke's throat went dry. "I'm sorry?"
The giant smiled, and the expression transformed his entire face. "Don't be sorry, brother. We've all been there." He gestured toward the hidden door. "First time at Velvet Eden?"
Play the part. "Is it that obvious?"
"You're wound tighter than a government-issue chronometer." The bouncer's eyes flicked to Alke's wrist, where his military timepiece sat like a brand. Shit. He should have removed it, but the thing had been part of him for so long—
"Name's Bear," the bouncer continued, seemingly oblivious to Alke's internal panic. "Marcus Kowalski, but everyone calls me Bear. You got a name, or do I keep calling you 'uptight government boy' in my head?"
Another test. Another trap. "Marcus," Alke said, using the cover identity he'd prepared. "Marcus Stone."
Bear's laugh was genuine, delighted. "Two Marcuses! What are the odds?" He clapped Alke on the shoulder, and the contact sent an unexpected jolt through his nervous system.
When was the last time someone had touched him casually?
Without rank or protocol or purpose beyond simple human connection?
He couldn't remember.
"Come on, Marcus-not-me," Bear said, turning toward the door. "Let me introduce you to paradise."
The scanner read Bear's palm, and the door opened again. But this time, Alke could see beyond the threshold.
Heat hit him first—not just temperature, but something deeper. The heat of bodies pressed together, of breath mingling, of skin finding skin in the darkness.
The air was thick with incense and something else, something organic and alive that made his pulse quicken despite himself.
Then came the sound. Not just music, though there was that—a hypnotic electronic rhythm that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. But underneath it, weaving through it, was the symphony of human pleasure. Soft gasps. Whispered names. The rustle of fabric being pushed aside, the wet slide of—
"Overwhelming at first, isn't it?" Bear's voice was gentle, understanding. "Your body's been starved so long, it doesn't know how to process all this sensation at once."
Alke forced his breathing to steady, maintaining his composure. But his eyes betrayed him, drinking in the scene before him like a man dying of thirst.
Velvet Eden was exactly what its name promised. Crimson silk hung from the ceiling in cascading waves, creating intimate alcoves and hidden spaces.
The lighting was soft, golden, casting everything in warm honey tones that made skin glow like polished amber.
Bodies moved through the space with fluid grace—dancing, touching, exploring with the reverence of people rediscovering a lost religion.
And through it all, threading between the couples and groups like a dark angel, moved the most beautiful man Alke had ever seen.
Silver hair caught the light as he turned his head, revealing a profile that belonged on ancient sculptures.
His skin was pale as moonlight, marked with intricate tattoos that flowed across his torso and arms like living artwork.
