The First Penitatas
Chapter 30 - Shadows and Strife
Kadan had no need to be awake at such an early hour, but he was awake nonetheless. For the second time that week he woke alone. Skal had been exiled to Sam's bed again (though Kadan suspected the boy was quite happy with that arrangement) and now he rose with only a faint, lingering scent of the female who had been there the night before.
Ylari, wife of Taahl Tavik, a woman who by all rights was so far beyond his reach that even to fantasise about their rutting was likely a violation of some ancient edict. Yet the smell of her remained, as did the memory of her warm body against his, and the faint stains upon the bedding their forbidden passions had left behind.
He put on an old pair of pants and stepped out onto the landing. The rail took his weight as he gazed down at the entrance hall below. Silence. All the Correctors were either tucked away in their beds in the other rooms of the upper floors or in some other Guild-provided accommodations. He chose not to bother dressing and headed for his office.
The lighting hummed and flickered as he roused the office to life. Computer terminals whirred and screens blinked green and black, blue and black, before settling on dull amber. A paw stroked across a haptic interface caused a login window to appear, and a few taps of the board later he was reviewing his messages. Hundreds of them waited for him, many marked urgent. Everyone always thought their messages were urgent. He idly moved a few around into different folders, even conceding to read the contents of a few, but his mind was elsewhere. Specifically, it was back at the Guildmoot. "Why tell me about succession?" he asked the memory of the Old Labourer.
Another memory surfaced, even more recent. It was so deliciously vivid that Kadan could feel the pressure of Ylari's head resting on his chest, lulled to the edge of sleep by his purring heart. "You have a son?" she'd asked in a muffled voice, her words impaired by his chest-fur.
"I suppose I do," he'd replied. "Skal wanted a father, but I can't say I ever thought of myself as a parent. Why do you ask?"
She'd lay still for a time as if asleep, taking long enough to answer that Kadan wondered if she'd heard him at all. "I think," she said at last, "that you would do anything to keep your child safe. When all else is stripped away, that's all that matters; a willingness to give everything for your child, not matter what it costs you."
"Ylari, do you think your child is in danger?" she hadn't answered him then, and the memory certainly wasn't going to answer now.
Bloodlines, Names of Legend, heroes of Houses, Kyyreni of such renown that their deeds were to be etched upon the very identity of their children, grandchildren and all others who came after. It was all an elaborate game, the rules of which Kadan had never been taught, but was somehow important enough to dictate the entire direction of men's lives. Just thinking about it made him want a drink. Why was it important he know these things? What did it really matter which bloodline controlled House Vaskal, or if the Tavik line died away? It was as pointless as a City-wide weather report; something that mattered only to a distant minority.
He realised he'd been staring at the screen. Kadan turned away and the negative after-image of the mailbox interface ghosted across the office floor, lingering in his sight until his eyes readjusted. He'd been given a piece of a puzzle, but only a piece. Clearly, it was up to him to find the others. He decided to do the only obvious thing and send a request for information to the Arbitrators, seeking all records regarding the inheritance and succession of the Tavik bloodline, and the same for the Lord-Governor's line. He justified it with a vague, but ultimately honest claim that he'd been given a tip from a criminal informant of possible conspiracy against a Noble of importance. The moment he clicked 'send' he knew the request would come back to bite him in the arse.
He turned his attentions back to matters of the office. Not long after, the gentle creak of floor-beams warned him of a visitor. Haal, the medicalos walked in dressed for the day. His soft child-fur was brushed and groomed and he had wrapped his his tail in black cloth of colour and texture that matched his uniform trousers. Yet there was something subtly off about the boy that Kadan didn't pick up on until several minutes later; the boy's clothes were out of sorts. It was a minor scruffiness, a subtle improper trouser crease or crinkling of the shirt, the kind of little thing that Kadan himself was often guilty of and would never think to mention. Yet this was Haal, insufferably proper and obsessively exact. The boy did not suffer improper dress.
"Early start?" Kadan asked as the boy came to ease in front of his desk.
"I had trouble sleeping. It seemed pointless to lie awake in bed, so I decided to begin work early."
Kadan snorted, "yeah, same here. Fancy getting out and about today? We've got too much to be done and too few bodies to do it. Your choices are: four integration checks, a complaint from North Tenements of a quote 'Penny running wild on the streets at all hours', or one from the Lifters. They've caught wind of something fishy, a couple of rejuves involved in something called 'the play rooms'. Well, that's a fucking brothel if ever I heard of one."
"Given the seriousness of that infraction, I feel the brothel should take priority," Haal stated. Kadan glanced over and opened his mouth to ask if he was intending to sample their merchandise, but thought better of it. Haal didn't much like humour, especially at his expense.
"Alright, but there's no need to rush out. Take your time, get some breakfast first. These girls won't be working at this hour."
Haal accepted the advice with a sharp nod, turned smartly on his heel and departed from the room as if he were on inspection. More memories crept up on the captain as he watched the door swing shut. As much as we want to pretend we're still the people we used to be, rejuves and the people responsible for us need to accept our place as children. He'd learned that the hard way with Kas, and he tried to offer Haal the same leeway, but the old man wasn't having it. He was adamant he could carry on as before, never showing so much as a fleeting interest in toys or play, and despising anything that hinted he was anything other than the bitter old bastard he'd been before. "It won't end well," Kadan sighed, and turned his attention back to his terminal. 
The early morning rituals of renewal were still taking place across Vices as Haal walked the streets. Cleanup crews with pressure hoses and industrial scrubbers roamed about on low, growling vehicles, blasting away the spillages, waste and dirt that invariably collected from the previous night's drinking. The sluices gurgled, belching up a potent reek of cleaning chemicals, stale alcohol and spilt bodily fluids as he passed them. The stores, bars and entertainments added to the mix, scrubbing down their fronts and filling the streets with yet more puddles of water that left the whole district shimmering and turning the air stagnant. High above him, clinging to the dome skin, great rotor blades of the primary air-cyclers filled the air with a slow, steady thrum, thrum, thrum, like the heartbeat of some colossal beast.
He passed under the cover of an internal dividing plate. It made the streets no less bright, for the dome necessitated artificial lighting at all times, but the drastically lower ceiling made the paths feel all the more oppressive. The two-story buildings to either side scraped the underside of the foundation above, all but robbing the area of sky traffic. A conveyor in Lifter yellow was certainly willing to try. The Dawnsider driver was hanging out of the cabin, spitting insults at a ground-car below who was blocking his landing site.
The medicalos slipped down a side alley, passing under a public board proudly announcing a kingsball tournament from a decade ago. The footpath was pock-marked from lack of proper maintenance, with tainted water pooled in the knife-wound surface cracks. Haal turned his eyes upward, taking an old escape stairwell towards the back end of the building. It had likely once joined onto a rooftop balcony, but it now led to a side door. The extension was made of gleaming red brick that sharply contrasted the faded ochre of the original structure. A small, handmade notice had been gum-stuck to the door. PLAY ROOM.
Haal took a moment to straighten his shirt before entering. He was met at once with a waft of warm air that had a pleasant earthiness to it, and faint ambient music trilled quietly from a speaker hung on a ceiling beam. The boy made sure to wipe his feet before stepping into the thick terracotta carpet. "Hello?" he called out. "Corrector Haal, Office of Correctors! I am here on formal business!"
A door ahead whispered open to reveal a young Kyyreni female. She was universally grey, but the size of her eyes and shape of her muzzle made Haal suspect she was a Dawnsider despite that. She wore only a knee-length skirt, revealing the subtle firming of her breasts indicative of puberty. Eleven years old, Haal presumed, noting the subtle blend of follicle textures as her child's pelt was slowly being shed. The girl clasped her paws just above her tail and offered a pleasant greeting, "Welcome to the play room, sir. How may I help you today?"
"You are in charge here?" Haal asked. The girl nodded. "Then we can begin with your writ of commerce."
"Of course. Please, come this way?" She gestured for the medicalos to follow and headed into the building proper. It wasn't a large space, and after following an uncomfortably narrow corridor the two came into an office that felt more akin to a closet. As if anticipating this meeting, a physical document folder was resting on the table. The girl gave it to Haal, then summoned digital equivalents on her tablet.
"This says you provide 'entertainments'. I would like you to elaborate on that-" he glanced down at the document to check her name, "-Aydr."
"Of course," Aydr replied with practiced hospitality. Haal's neck prickled in frustration at her pleasant, cooperative tone. He had always felt the proper reaction to an Enforcer's questioning was fear. Honest people fretted over breaking the rules and the inadvertent consequences such mistakes would bring; only the guilty showed confidence in the face of the law.
Aydr led him to another, larger room. Inside were three other children, two girls and a boy. Those whose paws he could see all bore rejuve markings. The boy was a fellow medicalos, not that Haal felt a shred of camaraderie toward him; the youngest female, an obvious Dawnsider in the soft, brown fur of a six year old, had penitatas runes upon her paws. The last girl, a year or so younger than his guide, revealed herself as voluntaras when her paws came into view. "These are my colleagues. Leyl-" she gestured to the penitatas "-is mine, and I have the documentation to confirm ownership if you need them."
"And what services do these rejuves provide?" Haal asked, indicating his suspicions by the tone of his voice.
"Maybe you'd like to hear it from Leyl? After all, you seem to think I'm doing something untoward. Leyl? Show the Corrector your room."
The Penny gave an obedient nod and rose from her chair, leaving a well-thumbed book behind. She forced a smile and indicated a baby blue door with her name on it. Haal took the lead and turned the knob to reveal a caricature of a girl's bedroom. The walls were pastel coloured and scrawled with crayon drawings; an eclectic gathering of plushies were having a plastic meal at a plastic table; an indented closet was home not to clothes, but a cardboard fort painted in an infant's rendering of the Lord Governor's Palace. The shag carpet swallowed his footpaws as he stepped inside. The only other furniture was a tiny bed, barely large enough for the girl to sleep in, and a plastic tub of miscellaneous toys, all second hand at best. Haal stepped over to the wall and studied it carefully, noting the unexpected texture. He turned back towards the door as it closed and saw clearly the thickness of the wall and the black, rubbery padding on the inside of the door itself. "Why is this room sound-dampened?" he asked sharply.
Leyl forced a smile. "Because it's the only way to get any peace. You wanted to know what we do here, yes? Well, this is it."
"I don't understand," Haal said, tempted as he was to express his true opinion; that this was a Doll House, a place for the sexualisation of the young.
The Penny studied the medicalos for a moment. "Aydr says that most rejuves don't find it easy to act like children. They want to pretend they're still adults and carry on like nothing's happened. She tried that, it made her miserable. Then she figured if she wanted to be a kid sometimes, others would too. That's what the play room is - a place for rejuves to come and play. We're playmates for hire."
"Ridiculous!" the Corrector spat, but his thoughts swiftly betrayed him. He thought of Skal and his stupid model starships, or Sam and her endless desire to play games. He thought of the play-fights he'd seen between Skal and Kas, the same kind of rough and tumble all children engaged in - faux-fights to create a pecking order, or to bond, or whatever reason it was that drove youngers to pull each other's tails.
Leyl was left quiet by Haal's outburst, but not for long. The fleeting look of unease reformed into one of quiet revelation. "You think we're a brothel, don't you?"
"Yes I do, along with every other soul in the City who knows of your existence," the medicalos answered. A tiny voice in the back of his head cursed at how high-pitched and pathetic his voice was, and had been since rejuvenation. Small wonder the girl had no sense of awe when she stood before him; it took real effort not to sound like a petulant, whining brat whenever he lost his temper.
"I guess I can see why, but that's not what we do at all. You pay for time, not for a specific service. If we agree to what you want to do, then there's no problem. If people make the same mistake as you, we'll ask them to leave. If they don't... well, everyone in Vices has security, right?"
Haal's foot began to tap irritably, but the carpet smothered the sound. "Enlighten me as to what 'service' you might offer, then."
After a pause, the Penny girl went to her box of toys and pulled out a large plastic bag that clanked and clattered as she dumped it onto the carpet and began to fish out the contents. There was a castle of a sort, a squat lump of grey plastic that formed a trapezoid when viewed from above. It had two layers, with multiple orange platforms scattered about and spring-loaded bumpers on the front. Leyl placed it down along with two action figures and a pair of strange looking vehicles, then she went to acquire some cardboard to create a more even playing surface on the floor. Haal studied one of the single-seat vehicles. It was a grav-car, at least if you used a little imagination. There was a large cylinder on the back with a spring-loaded mechanism. Evidently, the child was meant to place some form of disc-shaped projectile into the cylinder, which could then be fired out of the front at the castle's bumpers. Sure enough, purple projectiles were issued. While the girl continued to find more accessories for the playset, Haal turned his eye to one of the action figures - a Dawnsider male with a disproportioned body. He wore an anachronistic suit of armour with a shield and lightning bolt heraldry on his chest. "Wait, I think I know this character... his name... it was Davaan, Lord Defender of the Sacred Band."
"My brother was obsessed with the Sacred Band growing up," the Penny said as she revealed more heroes and villains, along with another weapon system. "Every book he read, every toy he owned, everything had to be all about the Sacred Band. He even sewed that heraldry onto his clothes once!" The girl grinned, hoping to thaw the icy exterior of her guest, only to realise that he wasn't paying her any attention. The toy had transfixed him. He turned it over and over in his paws like it was some magical fetish.
"I always wanted one of these. I don't remember what it was about him, but I remember begging for one. My father... he told me that it was foolish to fixate on made-up heroes when there were so many real ones instead. I liked the stories of real heroes, but I still wanted this. When High Year came around my father gave me a gift - a toy soldier of Taahl of Legend. It wasn't a cheap thing either; he must have spent a good amount of coin to have it specially made for me. I threw a tantrum and broke it. It wasn't what I wanted."
"You can keep him if you like," the Penny girl suggested. This time, the smile on her muzzle was genuine.
Despite her kind intentions, Haal's head snapped up sharply, his eyes narrowed and teeth bared in a furious snarl. "You would do well not to attempt to bribe an Enforcer!" he spat as he let the toy drop from his paws and thud into the over-thick carpet.
"What? I-I wasn't!" the Kyyreni female stammered, and Haal took some satisfaction in her shocked reaction. That, at last, was a proper response to his authority. He rose to his full height and allowed his tail to flick up with confidence, dominating the exchange as best a seven-year-old could.
"Your lies do not serve anyone, least of all yourself," Haal said with a sneer. "Confess to me the truth of this sorded little operation, and I may consider leniency."
The Penny slumped into herself, as if she hoped to curl up so tight as to disappear entirely. "If..." she began, choking on the words she forced herself to say. After a struggled silence, Leyl rose from the floor and began to pull her shirt open with trembling fingers. Her teary, reddened eyes tried and failed to meet Haal's gaze as her thumb popped the button on her skirt and exposed her crotch to him. "Please... please just make it quick..."
Haal stood in awkward silence for far longer than either of the rejuves was comfortable with. The hot anger of his authoritarian impotence was replaced by an equally intense feeling of shame as the nude Penny shivered before him. "I... I suspect that I was mistaken," he said weakly. "I don't believe... ah... please get dressed?"
Only then did Leyl meet his eye. It was a brief contact, yet it said more than enough. The girl hastily made herself decent again as Haal fumbled his way through a further explanation. "I fear my experiences have made me jaded. I truly did not believe anyone would want a service as innocent as yours. Your reaction made my misunderstanding clear."
"I'd like to leave now, please?" Leyl whimpered, no less embarrassed now that she was decent.
"Yes... of course," Haal muttered, blushing hard enough that his muzzle burned. Leyl practically fled from him. Left alone in the tiny bedroom, Haal decided to put away the unused toys, reasoning the least he could do was leave the room tidy. the rejuve hostess was waiting for him as he emerged, stood in the hall with paws folded over her front. He glanced up at her, expecting anger but finding anxiety writ clear across her features. "Was there something you wanted?" he asked her bluntly.
Aydr's lip trembled as she answered, all her earlier smooth confidence long since vanished. "I am so very sorry about that misunderstanding, I'll make sure it never happens again."
Haal felt compelled to look away. "I wish you well with this business venture," he said quietly. "I hope that you find customers who understand what you seek to provide." Without meeting her eye again, the medicalos strode to the exit as calmly as he could manage, fighting the urge to flee from his humiliation every step of the way.

It was almost midday, and for the Sinking Light it was a chance to do a last-minute cleanup before the lunchtime customers trickled in. There were never all that many people who wanted to eat at that time of day, but they'd picked up enough familiar faces that it made it worth the effort of opening the doors and bringing in a cook. Eskal had volunteered to help stack the shelves behind the bar, partly because he had nothing else to do, but mostly so he could inspect the new wares. "New Valley scotch, eh? Twelve year old single malt, forty percent alcohol," he said as he inspected the dark green bottle in his hands, reading the information from the Panglish label.
"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Ivaka asked as she checked the taps on their local ales.
Eksal snorted as he found a place for the drink. "It would be if it were really scotch. The genuine article can only be produced on Earth, in a little island province called Scotchland. Everything else should be called 'whisky', even if it's made the same way. What we have here is an Icaran knock-off."
"Still tastes the same though, right?" the Nightsider said with a glance to her newly purchased counterfeit beverage. She caught the twinkle in Eskal's eyes and rolled her own. "Fine, open one. Pour a measure for me as well."
He did as told, finding the closest thing he could to whisky glasses for them to drink out of. The Dawnsider gave an appreciative sigh and smacked his lips as the fiery liquid coated his throat. "Oh yes, that's good. Certainly good enough for anyone who doesn't know the difference."
"Like you. Don't think I don't see through your façade, oh expert in all things!"
With mischief writ large upon his muzzle, Eskal toasted with an empty glass. "It worked, didn't it?" He got a punch for that, but laughed it off as he turned to stack the rest of the bottles. By the time he'd finished the Sinking Light had clients, including the new militia. There were two of them, wearing regal gold-trimmed crimson tabards over their wasteland brown fatigues and anti-ballistic armour. 'The People's Guard' they called themselves. Eskal hated them at first sight. The larger of the two had the fur around his left eye shaved off, leaving fresh surgical scarring clearly visible. The flesh was bruised and swollen, forcing the eye shut, but the wounds were the work of skilled hands, and it was safe money he'd keep the eye. Eskal forced himself to smile as he asked, "what battle did you earn that one in?"
"Oh, up north. Newtownship." the Kyyreni militiaman replied. Eskal nodded as if he'd heard that name before. "What do you recommend for a man with a fierce thirst?"
"Whisky. It's an off-world drink, but it bites like a bayyl."
The soldier snorted, "I'm no lover of foreign piss."
"Nor was I until I tried it. Go on, treat yourself! A war hero like you can charge it to his quartermaster, surely?"
Another snorted answered. "Gods, but you're a pushy git. Alright, make it two. Open a tab while you're at it."
Eskal nodded and poured the shots, letting Ivaka worry about the tab. With some safe distance between them, Eskal took a moment to study the second militiaman. He was young, only fifteen or so, and he carried himself with the false bravado common to young men who were desperate to appear strong. The boy snarled at the world, but his tail was firmly at his ankles at all times. The noble-turned-bouncer wandered the room for the look of the thing, giving smiles and nods to anyone who caught his eye, and sparing a few quiet words with a Nightsider rejuve who was shuffling cards with criminal intent. Eskal had watched the voluntaras fleece men of their pocket change for the better part of a month now, and had come to admire the boy's craft. The quiet stroll brought Eskal to a corner table that, in theory at least, was currently being scrubbed. He turned to the bored looking boy at the table and said, "I hate to break it to you, but staring at the cloth won't make it suddenly spring to life." Hafn jumped at the sound of Eskal's voice. He glanced guiltily at his unfinished chore and got back to work. Eskal slid into the seat opposite. "Still alive, Hafn?"
The Penny boy nodded glumly. "Mum said you'd be leaving soon. At High Year."
"Aye, if all goes well. Why? Going to miss me?" Hafn didn't speak, but the subtle twitch of his ears told Eskal what the boy's mouth did not. "Hey, no need to be glum. I'll be setting up attractions and a little out-building for guests to stay in. You can all visit whenever."
"I just-" the boy started, then halted his speech as his paws stilled with the table half-wiped. Hafn's muzzle dropped as he struggled to find the words he needed to explain himself. "I don't want you to leave. I never thought I'd get to be around a noble. You're everything I always wanted to be, but I don't know how to be like you on my own."
"Glass shines like diamond from a distance," Eskal answered with a sigh. "I know you don't see it, but there's the makings of a good life here. You just have to knuckle down and do the work."
The boy's grimace made it clear that wasn't the answer he wanted. Eskal decided to leave him to his ineffectual cleaning. The bouncer took up his usual table by the door and watched the largely empty room, listening to the murmur of voices while appearing to watch scrolling headlines on the screen above the bar. Official news was too edited to be trustworthy; words whispered over a pint glass were a far better way to judge the world. The militia ordered more drinks and Grandpa did the same, rinsing his mouth out with cheap, strong spirit and dappling a few specks on his shirt before wandering over to ask for an innocent game of cards. Without taking his eyes off the screen, Eskal let his left paw slip into his pocket and quietly eased a knuckle-bar into place.
The door rattled open beside him and the familiar, imposing form of Corrector-Captain Kadan entered, donned in the black fatigues and armour of his Guild. The Enforcer scanned the bar with the air of a hunter seeking a quarry before sidling over and speaking to Eskal through the corner of his muzzle. "I need to speak with you. Let's get a more private place to sit."
Eskal steered the Enforcer to a table where they could survey the room while they spoke. He chose Hafn's, ushering the boy off and telling him to bring a bottle of ourl and a jerky platter for the pair. Kadan held his tongue on the matter, mostly because of how Eskal smiled as he dropped into the cushioned seats. He'd spent enough time around criminals and con-men to know a performance when he saw it, and unclasped his armour for the look of the thing. "What do you know about these militia?" Eskal asked with an inconspicuous glance towards the pair he'd served earlier as Kadan made himself comfortable.
Kadan shrugged. "Nothing, but House Tavik vouched for them."
A sneer formed on Eskal's muzzle at the reply, "House Tavik? Not House Vaskal? I have to wonder who's running this colony."
"Is it really that strange for the Lord Governor to delegate?"
"In this case, yes. I constantly hear of what House Tavik is doing for the City and the planet, but the only time I hear of House Vaskal is when something goes wrong - that foul-up with the public punishments, for example. Lord Wokun doesn't seem to do anything to better the City."
"The boy's father died," Kadan replied, but his mind was already drifting. "Maybe it has something to do with why I'm here. I've been made aware of... well I don't know what it is. A conspiracy, perhaps? The mad old bastard who leads the Old Labourers wanted me to understand the laws of inheritance and succession, but Gods know why."
Something clicked behind Eskal's eyes. "Someone's going to kill Taahl Tavik."
The comment caught Kadan by surprise. "Are you certain?" he asked.
Eskal nodded, "He's made himself look strong by being proactive, associating his House and his name with things that benefit the people, while the Lord Governor is tied to unpopular and divisive measures. The planet's named after his ancestor, and with proof of popular support it'd be much easier for him to make a play to power. If he has the support of lesser Lords, all he need do is defeat Wokun. House Vaskal and their supporters doubtlessly know the challenge is coming, so someone must intend to move first - to deliver a blow so crushing that it will not only end Taahl's ambition, but mark them as ill-fated. How many successors does the line of Tavik have?"
"I haven't got a damn clue," Kadan growled in reply. "I filed an information request earlier to find out."
"Learn who else has that information. These 'Old Labourers', for example. Why would their leader have an interest in these affairs? Could they be agents in play, tasked with protecting the Tavik line? Or are they playing you to help bring the line low? If you don't know, assume they are an enemy and be ready for them to come for you."
A humourless smile played across Kadan's muzzle. "It would make all this much easier if they did."
The two drank together and ate their finger-food. It gave the Enforcer a chance to mull over Eskal's words. His tail thumped against the seat as he worked his mind over the problem. "What about the mercenaries who camped out in Vices? The Daysiders?"
"They've been oddly quiet lately, ever since the Guildmoot in fact. I still don't know what's keeping them here given how little work they've had of late. It's possible they have stayed at the behest of whoever is making this power play, providing extra muscle to ensure power transitions as intended."
"Do you ever get tired of being this paranoid?" Kadan snorted.
For a brief moment, Eskal looked unbearably weary. "It's a curse of the life I've lead," he muttered.
The doors to the Sinking Light whispered open to allow Corrector Haal's entrance. "That'll be my cue to leave," Kadan said as he downed his glass and rose to properly refasten his armour. Haal watched this display with a puzzled look upon his face, doubtless recalling some regulation the captain was breaking. With a nod and a brief hand gesture sent Eskal's way, Kadan joined his young companion and they left together. "You seem out of sorts, Haal," Kadan observed once they were onto the street.
"There was a miscommunication at the business. I am satisfied nothing inappropriate is happening there." There was an anxious pause from Haal that was almost physical. "There are aspects of the visit I would rather not include in my official report, Corrector-Captain."
"Such as?" Kadan asked with one eye on the boy.
"One of the girls believed I expected sexual favours in return for approving their business. I refused, naturally!" he added quickly.
Kadan snorted at the revelation, "Fucking hell, you haven't half fallen hard! If you were Kas I wouldn't believe you, I know what kind of man he is. You... I don't need gossip in my reports, Haal. I just need facts - is the Penny treated properly? Do they have their requirements met? Is proper discipline being provided in accordance with the Lord Governor's edict?"
Haal winced at the question. "I didn't think to ask about discipline. I was far more concerned with extracting myself from that situation."
The captain rolled his eyes, "Do you think we're good to leave the Penny there? If so, tick the boxes and give them the green light, otherwise report the action you want to take next and who you want to take it. Good enough?" Haal accepted the instruction with a nod.
As the pair made their way south through the ever-busy thoroughfares of Vices they became acutely aware of raised voices, something beyond the normal background noise of the district. At the next alley mouth, where a haggard shopkeeper stood, the buildings acted as a megaphone to direct the shrieking of a couple at the far end. The pair were nose to nose with one another, bellowing obscenities at deafening volume for all the world to hear. The shopkeep turned his muzzle towards Kadan and gave a wordless request for aid, to which the captain responded with a nod. With a paw upon his holster, Kadan headed to deal with the drama.
There were many who would say Kadan's penchant for violence was a character flaw, but in that alley it showed its worth. Three Kyrreni lunged at him without warning from concealment as he was halfway along the passage. The first was a Nightsider, smaller but more muscular than Kadan and with a long, curved blade in his hand. The captain's pistol was out and firing before the attacker reached him, the heavy round exploding the kneecap of the charging Kyyreni. It wasn't enough to stop the charge - sheer momentum made sure of that. The pair crashed together and Kadan staggered backwards as his opponent snapped at him with wild desperation. Kadan put a thumb into his eye and wrenched him aside, firing a point-blank shot into him as he fell. There was barely enough time to clear and raise his weapon as the second ambusher, a Daysider, tried his luck. A heavy round to centre mass staggered the orange-furred assailant. A second ruptured a major artery, spinning the youth sideways and leaving him sprawled, choking on the ground. It all played out in perhaps six seconds.
The third attacker was close to Kadan's age and a fellow Dawnsider. Before Kadan could get more than a glance at him the captain was slammed backward into the wall by a storm of automatic fire. Small rounds raked him from thigh to collar, leaving him sprawled against the far wall with ears ringing as his skull cracked against the brickwork. Raw, ragged pain pulsed up and down his body. There was a growing warm wetness trickling down his left leg and right shoulder blade. He took aim with his pistol, only to find the paw was empty - his digits twitched and spasmed of their own accord. The surging adrenal high was fading fast, replaced by a drunken fuzzyness. He wanted to sleep, but there was something he urgently needed to do first... he just struggled to remember what.
Kadan turned towards the Dawnsider facing him. The blond Kyyreni was slamming a fresh magazine into a home-made automatic weapon. The captain opened his mouth to speak only to find his muzzle was full of blood. His eyes widened as a cold, terrible clarity came over him, and he saw the skull-faced form of the Shepherd emerge from the shadows behind his killer. So this is how it ends, he thought.
A blade appeared at the gunman's throat. Seconds later he was on his knees, paws clutching at his neck in a futile effort to stop the arterial spray. Kadan blinked to try and clear the clouds from his vision and looked at the shadowy figure fleeing from the fight. It wasn't the Shepherd at all - it was a mortal Kyrreni. A Kyyreni in the uniform of the Old Labourers.
It was at that point Kadan's leg finally gave out, and without so much as a yelp he collapsed in a pool of his own blood as Haal's frantic screams for aid rang out along the corpse-strewn alley.

The Shepherd loomed over Kadan, his grinning skull peering down and whispering in an arcane tongue. He could feel the predatory spirits closing in, circling him at all times, hungry for his blood. The Shepherd was always there, warding them away. He did not understand why he was pinned in place - wasn't the Shepherd supposed to, well, shepherd him? He could see a light, sense the heat from it ahead of him. Vorhol's Forge. It had to be. Where else would he go?
Then he opened his eyes, and the light wasn't some divine smithy. It was just a light surrounded by grey, speckled ceiling tiles. Machinery beeped and whirred softly around him, and through stained glass windows he could see figures move back and forth. It had not been the Shepherd, he realised, but doctors in their traditional skull-hoods.
In the corner of his eye he spied a call button and reached for it with a paw laden with cannulas. Minutes later he was surrounded by nurses and Enforcers, all of whom exhausted him to so much he lost consciousness during their interrogation. When he came back to wakefulness he had a few familiar faces waiting; Skal, red-eyed and wet-muzzled, and Captain Bast.
"Glad you're alive, old friend," the captain said. Bast was smiling, but there was anxiety in his eyes. "You look terrible, by the way."
The tube in his throat prevented Kadan from replying. He let his eye drift to Skal, whom Bast had to hold in place to stop him running forward. "What happened?" the boy asked, his jaw trembling.
Bast gave the boy's shoulder a squeeze. "Let the old man sleep a little more, yeah? He's okay, and he knows you're okay. That'll help him get a good night. Anything we can do for you before we go?" With a grunt, Kadan pointed to one of the machines. Bast nodded in understanding, and a moment later a surge of opioids helped Kadan slip back into darkness.
It was hours later when Skal was allowed to return. Kadan's throat was clear by then, but most of the other tubes remained fixed in place, providing fluids and drugs to help the healing process. The Penny boy came in alongside Eskal. Shadows beyond the glass suggested Ivaka might have been waiting outside. "Hey," he rasped as the boy inched over, wanting physical contact yet clearly afraid to touch his adoptive father.
Eskal cleared his throat loudly. "I thought you'd want to know, there's a man from the Old Labourers here asking permission to see you."
A sudden flare of anger burned through Kadan's body, fierce enough to purge the daze of the sedatives. "I need to speak to him. Now." the captain whispered. "Skal, get me water?"
The Old Man wash ushered in soon after, seemingly alone with his nebuliser tucked under his arm and the mask held in place with rubber bands. His voice was muffled as he greeted the bed-ridden captain. "My lads told me about what happened. I'm glad you're alright."
"Funny how you turn up now," Kadan growled. "I wanted to speak to you."
"Of course. Perhaps you two could-" the Old Man began, but Kadan cut him off.
"They stay! You told me to look into the bloodlines of Tavik and Vaskal, and on the same day I submit that request I get ambushed. Am I supposed to believe that's a coincidence, when your men just so happen to be there as well? You knew someone would come after me. I just need to decide if you should pay for that!"
The Old Man eased himself over to a chair in the corner, breathing deeply of the fine blue mist as he did so. "Truth, then. You deserve that much. I did indeed know men would come for you, I just didn't know which men. There are shadow games, captain; games set in motion years ago, and now moving into the end phase. I first became aware of the plots after the assassination attempt against Watch-Captain Haal. I knew then that I was dealing with a skilled opponent."
"But Haal survived," Kadan replied.
"He did, but Haal was not the target - Tadr was. Watchman Tadr was the third successor of the Tavik line, him and his father of course. Even then I didn't initially notice, not until his father, Orzr, took his own life. A drug overdose, doubtless brought on by the grief of losing his only son. Such a perfectly fine explanation. But these deaths are not the first; last year, the first successors of House Wokun were lost when their ship was destroyed on the system's edge. Four men who could one day become influential in noble circles, all dead by 'accident' or random ill fortune? I am not allowed to believe in such bad luck."
"So you're a spy for... who?"
"House Vaskal," the Old Man replied. "From a certain point of view, I am of noble birth myself, though I have never officially lived under that roof. My duty is to watch from the outside, to follow the underworld and make certain that the House is safe from harm. It's hardly a glamourous duty - until a few years ago no-one, myself included, truly believed that I would ever do more than track down the occasional stolen trinket, or convince a whore to abort an ill-conceived bastard. This complacency is precisely why the conspiracy has been so successful - in our arrogance, we never imagined that a common whore would aspire to conquer a planet."
"Common whore?" the words were like lead pumping through Kadan's veins. "You're talking about Lady Sin."
"The very same. The men who attacked you today were in her employ. They didn't all die in that alley, captain. My men brought one to me under the belief that I'm crushing a rival who doesn't respect the rules of the underworld. My trusted interrogators drew a confession. Lady Sin and the Blighted Cult intend to take Taviksaad and remake it in their image. They have allies at the highest levels of power, waiting for the right moment to strike."
"Who?" Kadan asked.
The simple question made the old Kyyreni pause. "I don't know. Not within House Vaskal, I'm certain of that."
"Who would benefit from both Tavik and Vaskal falling?" Eskal asked.
"Hard to say," the Old Man answered with a shrug. "I suspect they hope to rise from the chaos. Regardless, I have my men hunting for Lady Sin as we speak, and I have passed word to House Vaskal that they must be on alert. For now, I must ask you all not to speak of this to anyone. We don't know who can be trusted, and we have already seen your Guild is compromised. Rest, captain, and trust in me."
"Easier said than done," Kadan growled as the Old Man rose from his chair with a groan and hobbled for the door. Once given something akin to privacy, the wounded captain turned his attention back to Skal. "Hey... how long have I been out now?"
"Four days," Skal answered with a tremble in his voice. "I really thought you were going to die!"
"Oh, I'm not dying any time soon. Not until I've had the pleasure of wringing the life out of Lady Sin!" he flinched as a wave of pain raced through his body. "Shit! Skal... I need more time to rest. I know you're worried, but I need sleep."
"I'll keep an eye on him," Eskal assured the Penny boy. "Best thing you can do now is help your colleagues run the Correctors smoothly until the captain's back on his feet."
Skal nodded, albeit with a clear reluctance. "I'll visit again tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay. Tomorrow." Kadan's eyes slid closed as he spoke. Skal held his paw tight for a moment, watching as his father grew still. He held his breath in terror, watching Kadan's chest rise and fall as if expecting his final breath to come at any moment. By the time he was pried away, the boy was weeping openly, despite every attempt to promise him this was not the end.

In a strange way, being shot was the best thing that could have happened to Kadan. He spent a week in hospital before being released to the care of his Guild, though despite every insistence from both medical officers and the heads of the Guild, Kadan wanted to go home. The car ride was tiring, and the effort to get upstairs broke him utterly. The pain and exhaustion of simply reaching his bedroom left him weeping, which proved to be only the first of the indignities he'd suffer during his recovery. He had no shortage of people willing to aid him, however; every Corrector was eager to chip in, not to mention the two penitatas who shared his roof. Kadan considered using the time to catch up on paperwork, but only briefly. He quickly settled on a far more appealing use of his time; settling into the play room.
It was a comfortable space, and while not always a peaceful one the distractions the rejuves caused were pleasant to experience. He had been Skal's master for closing on a year now, and a father figure for much less time still, but in all that time he rarely ever saw the boy at play. Now, he had time and excuse to not only witness, but participate. That was something Skal clearly wanted. For the most part they made do with Sam's games, favouring ones that Kadan could play without getting out of his chair or reaching very far. Kas came to join them frequently, but Haal rarely did so - the rejuve seemed to positively loathe the idea of 'play time'. After a few days, it became surprisingly easy to forget the shadow games of the Old Labourers, and the politics of the highborn. Up in the attic room there was a wonderful kind of peace to be had; a peace that the rest of the world seemed determined to shatter.
Lady Sin was nowhere to be found, nor were any of her closest aides. The Varangians had left Taviksaad behind and were Urokon bound. There were no answers to be had, only an ever growing list of questions. One piece of information Kadan kept close was the returns on his queries - according to the Arbitrators, Wokun was now the last of his bloodline, and the Tavik line depended entirely on Taahl and his pup, Orn. If they were ever in the same place together, one determined attack could end two lines forever...
He needed answers, but Kadan couldn't even be certain he was asking the correct questions.
A few weeks of rest gave Kadan enough strength to return to light duties, albeit with the aid of a walking brace. The mechanical whisper of the skeletal device was distracting at first, but it kept the weight off his wounded leg and that made it worth the minor irritation. His shoulder was another matter entirely; his bullet-pocked bones needed much more time to mend, leaving his right arm in a sling for the foreseeable future. Skal was ever attentive, sometimes overly so. As much as the captain had come to enjoy spending time with his adopted son, every unbidden offer to help with basic tasks grated on his nerves.
"It wouldn't hurt you to toughen up some," he said while preparing to answer the Lord Governor's summons. He couldn't wear his usual tunic or body armour, but a loose shirt half-worn and fastened with Corrector-yellow thread seemed good enough. He had to let Skal tie the threads.
"I was worried about you," Skal replied, clearly hurt by the unbidden criticism.
Kadan gestured at his wounds, "I'm not talking about this. I mean in general. When you thought you were losing Sam, you fell apart. I think you'd have fallen apart if you'd lost me, too. You can't do that, Skal. You have to be able to pack that shit up and get on with whatever's in front of you."
Skal growled at the advice and spat back, "so I should just drink myself stupid?" He flinched as Kadan's paw twitched upward, but the captain waved the comment off with a snarl.
"That lip's something else you ought to lose. Go get your girlfriend, I'm dropping you both off at the Sinking Light."
They passed through Vices in the early afternoon, when the streets were beginning to grow busy. Militia patrolled openly, waving the early drunks on their way or stepping in to deal with shouting matches between angry citizens. One such argument was over a heavy transport driver who had tried to steer his vehicle down a road much too small to take it. It was a ten-wheeler, no anti-grav, so the only way to go was back - and back was now a line of other grounded vehicles.
On entry to the Sinking Light, Eskal rose to greet the captain. "Kadan, good to see you! Fancy a quick one? I've got an extra special bottle of Icaran gin I think you'll love!" Kadan played along, sending the two penitatas on their way and letting the noble lead him upstairs. In Eskal's room he examined the 'gin'.
Kadan narrated his observations. "A 'militiaman special' thirty-three calibre handgun... no registration markings. twenty- forty- eighty rounds standard, and a box of explosive rounds? Where did you get those? And what's in these vials?"
"They would be combat stimulants. I mentioned to a local chemist I planned on killing some Varangians and he was happy to supply me. The 'poppers' are care of our friends, the Old Labourers. Colony war surplus. I have some ammunition for your weapon of choice as well." He fished out two boxes - one bright orange and full of explosive, and two greens to indicate 'shredder' rounds. Neither were permitted for Guild use. Kadan loaded his magazines, plus the spares Eskal had to hand.
"Any idea yet what's going on? It's been quiet," Kadan asked as he thumped a mag of shredders into the receiver.
"Not much. A few odd sightings of the Blighted Cultists, some street brawls, bodies turning up in the waste tunnels, that sort of thing. Nothing solid yet; we're all still chasing shadows."
Kadan swore at the statement. "Look after my lad for me. I know it sounds bad, but I feel better with him here than at home. You, at least, I can trust to handle yourself."
Eskal nodded in understanding and led the captain back downstairs. "I'll guard the boy to my last breath, you have my word on that."

Judging by the dull roar of air pumps around them, Lady Sin concluded they were underneath the main air filtration station in North Tenements. The store-room had an air of neglect about it that the hastily arranged furniture could not hide. Daysiders adorned in leather and tribal charms lounged on any surface that would hold their weight, or scrapped and spared like feral children in the corners of the room. At the centre was a folding desk with a tattered green cloth draped over it, and a brutish demon-thing squatting on a well-used stool. It stared at Lady Sin with a madman's gaze, and its lips parted in a sadist's grin. "Ah, there she is, the purveyor of perversions!"
"I was wondering where you'd been hiding," Lady Sin said with a smirk. Not that the scars around her lips gave her any choice in the matter. "Why did you send the bulk of your troops away?"
"Because I wished it," Haakyr said with infuriating vagueness. He was sat before a chequered board of ivory and ebony, carefully placing game pieces onto their starting tiles. "I think your plans have gone astray, whore."
"Astray? Not at all. Matters are in hand. True, we have been forced to ground sooner than anticipated, but my forces in place. Now, we need only await the catalyst, and Taviksaad will be ours."
Haakyr gave the vague nod of a man only half listening. "Do you play?" he asked without looking up.
Lady Sin glanced down at the board. "What is the game?"
"The only game. Reknlatn, vak'yet, ug udn, chess... the same game found in every species. The only game worth playing. The Game of Kings. Sit and play."
"I don't know the rules to this game," Lady Sin stated. The pieces were alien to her.
"Yes you do. This is the Game of Kings. How does one win?"
With a sigh, the scar-faced woman answered, "I suspect one of these pieces represents a king, and if you defeat your opponent's king the game is won."
"Just so. In this particular version of the game, victory is achieved when there is no move an opponent can make to prevent the capturing of the king in their opponent's next turn. You never actually make the killing blow. I rather like that; the vanquished looks upon the board and sees their death is inevitable, and rather than make some futile attempt to save themselves, the game forces them lay down and die in disgrace. Look here, and I shall show you how the pieces move." Haakyr moved his red pieces back and forth a few times, making a point to explain the special movement rules of the cavalry, and how the footmen could only capture on the diagonals to their front. With his tutorial finished he added, "white moves first."
"Why are we playing this?" Lady Sin asked with a hint of irritation. "We should discuss strategy."
"Are you so dull-witted that you cannot speak and play at the same time?" Haakyr's words had a barb to them. Lady Sin did not grasp why playing a child's game was so important to the berserker, but she humoured him. After studying the board, she moved a footman to allow a cleric and the queen to move onto the board.
Her participation seemed to calm Haakyr's temper. "How certain are you that the House of Vaskal will fall?"
"There is no doubt in my mind," Lady Sin replied calmly. "My men will set the City ablaze, the Enforcers will be over-stretched trying to retain order, and his ineptitude will be the death of him. Taahl Tavik will slay him, and then Taahl shall follow Wokun to the grave. It requires almost no effort from us to succeed. Even with your depleted numbers, you should be more than able to play your part."
"How easily you sacrifice your pieces," Haakyr purred. Lady Sin glanced up at the Daysider, then followed his gaze down onto the board. Lady Sin's opening moves had resulted in a rapid exchange that left her with fewer pieces than her opponent, but she had superior control of the board's centre. As she studied the arrangement, Haakyr casually reached over and plucked the white queen off the board.
"That is not how the game is played," Lady Sin said as Haakyr finally met her eye.
"Oh? Does the Game of Kings always play out in predictable ways? Can you still win if the piece you rely upon is removed?"
Smirking as only she could, Lady Sin replied by reaching over and taking the black king for herself. "Our opponents are bound by rules they cannot break, while we are unfettered. How can we possibly lose?"
With a thoughtful hum, Haakyr returned the stolen queen, and accepted the black king's return. Then he moved both king and castle together. "Breaking the rules again?" Lady Sin asked.
"Oh no, this was an entirely legal move I assure you. I simply failed to teach you all the rules of chess."
With a sigh, Lady Sin rose from her seat. "Well, this was a fascinating lesson, but I have more important things to do. Assure me you will be ready for the proclamation."
"You mean our performance at the Broadcast Guild? Absolutely." Haakyr purred in reply, but his attention had returned to his game. "I will remember your advice, oh fallen Lady. We do not play by any rules. Unfettered, as you say."
Lady Sin studied the brute carefully. Doubts were crawling through her mind, maggot like and rancid. She willed them away. Even under-strength, these 'Varangians' would be a potent tool, and Haakyr was a blood-thirster; peace gnawed at his already fragile sanity. She would offer him the slaughter of a lifetime, and he would do his part. Not caring to say farewell, she followed the tunnels back to her own encampment, leaving Haakyr to his games.

The heads of the Enforcers Guild were waiting for Kadan outside the Palace. They all wore dress uniforms and anxious faces, expecting the worst. Palace guards scowled at them in silence as they approached together. The lead guard raised a paw to block their way. "Surrender any weapons before entry," he ordered.
The Guildmaster and Border-Marshal began to obey, but Kadan shoved his way to the front of the group. "Is this a fucking joke?" he barked, ignoring the sharp reprimand from his Guildmaster that answered him.
"Orders from the Lord Governor," the guard said.
Kadan squared off against the young Dawnsider. "I have never, in all my visits here, been ordered to surrender my weapons. No Lord Governor has ever, or would ever disarm his Enforcers, so if you want our arms you can tell Wokun to come out here and give the order to my fucking face!"
The guard's eyes shifted to his ally, who shrugged. "Fine, fuck off then," he spat. The group entered unmolested.
They passed into the palace as a group to find Wokun and Taahl emerging from a side room. Taahl was quiet, yet composed; Wokun wore the same tired expression that had plagued his father towards the end. Their meeting, whatever it had involved, was clearly not a happy one. "Ah, you are on time," Wokun announced in acknowledgement of his Enforcers, and with a half-hearted wave of his paw he bade them follow into the main hall.
There were more visitors here; Kyyreni from Houses within and without the City, as well as two crimson-clad Arbitrators and their guards. The Lord Governor waited at the head of the gathering as the Enforcers found a place to stand and listen before he began to speak. "I am sure you have all been made aware of the growing instability within our city. I have listened to the guidance of my colleagues, but I do not wish to be rash. The attacks against my Enforcers, the whispers of armed insurgents in the under-city, all of this I take with absolute seriousness. However, we cannot lash out blindly. If this is an organised threat against our good order, we must have more information before we act. Therefore, I shall-"
The Lord Governor was interrupted by a muffled sound, like a distant thunderclap. He paused, listening in puzzlement for a moment before shaking it off. Before he could speak again, the gathering was filled with the urgent blips and buzzes of a variety of devices. Kadan and the other Enforcers, along with every guard in the room checked their messages. Beside him, the Guildmaster let out a shuddering breath. "Lord Governor..." her hesitancy was in part because of what she had read, and partly because fresh alerts were pouring in on her screen as she tried to read further. "we are under attack! The Billet and multiple precincts have been assaulted by armed insurgents!"
Taahl's senior guard added his own input, "the Broadcast Guild has been stormed by Daysiders matching the description of Haakyr's mercenaries." At the announcement, Taahl cast a narrowed eye towards Wokun.
On Kadan's own screen was a blinking video message from an encrypted sender. With it came a message: 'Took this off the Cult. You need to see it. Beware who you trust.'
Wokun did not surrender to fear or confusion as others did. Instead, he lost himself to rage. "Guildmaster!" he barked, and with only a subtle glance towards Taahl he pressed on, "it seems caution is not an option now. I want an end to this, do you understand? Retake the City by any means necessary!"
The Guildmaster hesitated. "My Lord? Are you demanding a Red Wall?"
"Yes! I am invoking the Writ of Red Wall! Any enemy of the City and my House is to be hunted down and slaughtered!"
"I think we have heard quite enough," Taahl Tavik growled. Wokun's muzzle snapped towards him in surprise as the Lord of the second House stepped forward. "In the name of this world, I invoke a challenge for the rule of this world!"
Wokun's maw fell open in shock. "You... you cannot be serious!" he gasped in disbelief. "Taahl, we are under attack! You yourself-"
"I am sorry, Wokun, but I cannot stand idly by while you slaughter our people in pursuit of an unseen foe. It pains me to do this, but I am left with no choice."
The Lord Governor fell silent. It was not a rageful quiet, but the sucking, drowning muteness of a man incapable of processing a trauma. Kadan's blood turned to ice; this was it. This was Lady Sin's plan. Taahl glanced at the Enforcers and said, "you will retire to the library. When this is settled, I shall have proper orders for you."
The officers of the Guild obeyed in silence, most of them confused or scared. It felt unreal to see reports coming in, and things were made all the worse by the frantic requests for confirmation or clarification from the precincts and departments not under threat. "Whatever happens, we need to contain this," the Enforcer-General growled. "We pull in everyone we can spare from the border force and the Watch, reinforce our positions. Kadan, what's happening to your Correctors?"
Kadan had paid no attention to Torn or Haal's communications. Safely out of the view of anyone but his colleagues, he had started to watch the video. What little he saw in the brief walk to the library doors had sickened him to the core. "You all need to watch this, right now. Close the doors."
His tone, soft and soul-wracked, convinced his colleagues not to question. He hooked his pad up to a screen set at the main office desk to allow them all to see, and started the file over.
Taahl Tavik filled the screen. "People of Taviksaad, I regret to inform you all that I have been forced to seize the throne of Taviksaad from Wokun of House Vaskal. Earlier today, in a fit of madness, Wokun called upon his Enforcers to enact Red Wall protocols upon the populace, demanding the slaughter of the guilty and innocent alike. I implore you, good people of Taviksaad, to look to the loyal militia who protect you in my name. If you have the courage, take up arms with them! Strike down the Enforcers! Together, we shall rid Taviksaad of the tyrannical House Vaskal and their bloodthirsty minions!"
"This... this can't be real..." the Guildmaster shook her head in disbelief. "We were just in there! We saw the Writ declared! He would have had to have made this ahead of time..."
Kadan shuddered at the very idea, but it all made too much sense. "Lady Sin has been with House Tavik since the start. Orn Tavik brought her in as an advisor. At the time he claimed to have no idea about her true loyalties, and she certainly didn't feel the need to hide them. Taahl has been against us since day one, and he's had Wokun's ear every step of the way. He's the one who picked which militias would be permitted to operate in the city!"
"Kadec Kyiyn!" The Enforcer-General cursed. "What do we do, Kadan? How do we stop this now?"
Before Kadan could answer, a terrible bang echoed through the library as three Dawnsiders of House Tavik stormed into the room. The Guildmaster turned, paws raised and frantic words of negotiation spilling from her lips. They fell on deaf ears; the roar of guns silenced her before she could scream.