Pugsley P. Pigram crushed his cigar between his tusks and grinned. The docks reeked of saltwater and diesel, but he didn't care. He was building something here—a smuggling empire that stretched across three sectors. The Moonslicer crew needed funding, and he had the connections to make it happen. Every deal brought him closer to controlling the underground trade routes. Nobody knew his real secret, the one that could destroy everything. He adjusted his spiked helmet and checked his watch. Time to make another fortune. The warehouse door creaked open behind him. Pugsley pulled out the handheld device from his jacket pocket. Blue light flickered across his red goggles as the holographic map burst to life above his palm. Stars and routes glowed in the air between them. He traced one line with his thick finger—a passage beneath the old transit station that led to the harbor tunnels. The underground network ran for miles, hidden from patrol ships and customs officers. This was how he'd move the next shipment without detection. The map showed seventeen access points across the district. He tapped the screen and the display shifted to show delivery schedules. Three runs this week would net him enough to fund the Moonslicer's next mission. His empire was growing, one hidden route at a time. A low hum filled the warehouse as the hover truck powered up. The black vehicle floated two feet off the ground, its smooth surface absorbing the dim light. Pugsley walked around it, running his hand along the matte finish. This machine could carry three tons of cargo without leaving tracks or making noise. Perfect for moving contraband between the ships and his hidden storage locations. He climbed into the driver's seat and gripped the controls. The truck responded instantly, gliding forward without effort. By sunrise, he'd complete another run and add more credits to his account. The Moonslicer crew would get their funding. His secret would stay buried. And his empire would keep expanding into the shadows where no one could touch him. The vault sat three blocks from the docks, tucked behind a row of abandoned factories. Pugsley had chosen it himself—reinforced walls, neon security panels, and enough space to coordinate his entire operation. He parked the hover truck outside and entered the code. The heavy door slid open with a hiss. Inside, crates lined the walls and holographic screens displayed incoming shipments. This was his headquarters, the center of everything he was building. From here, he could track every deal, every route, every credit flowing through his network. The Moonslicer crew would never know how he funded their missions. His secret would stay locked inside these walls. Pugsley lit a fresh cigar and sat down at the control console. His empire had found its home.