"This is bullshit," growled Ruth, pacing across their new room with her arms crossed. "We can't just let them control us like this!"

Shooting Star Security Solutions - in a completely transparent effort to keep an eye on them - had provided the crew with new quarters located right in the middle of their corporate headquarters. Incidentally, that meant that the way to the exit was guarded by dozens of armed mercenaries at any one time. They'd been told they were free to come and go as they pleased, but Dragan personally didn't feel free when there were so many guns around, and so many of them were pointing in his general direction.

"It's bigger than our last room, though," said Serena. She was lying back on the soft floor, and kicking her legs in the air as she talked. "It's not all bad, Miss Blaine."

It was true - objectively speaking, the room was better than the last one they'd had. They had their own beds, for one, something Dragan had appreciated when he'd taken his first nap in what felt like years. The kitchen had been replaced with a simple food delivery chute, sure, but none of them had ever been the culinary type anyway.

Dragan watched the digital clock on the wall - it was the late afternoon now, and he assumed it would be dark outside if there were any windows. If Dir was right, the reporter would be at the niain at around this time tomorrow.

He glanced at Skipper, who'd sat himself down at the dining table and was devouring some kind of poultry the chute had spat out for him. It was truly awful to behold - like a lion eating a ferret.

"That taste good?" Dragan said, not even bothering to hide the disgust on his expression.

Skipper nodded, sucking a string of sinew into his mouth as he did so. Dragan narrowly suppressed the urge to be sick.

Ruth stopped her pacing in front of Skipper, arms still folded. "And you've got some explaining to do," she said, pointing an accusing finger.

Skipper had the audacity to look offended. "Me?" he said. "What did I do?"

The accusing finger became an outright hostile one, jabbing Skipper in the chest. "What you did," she growled. "Was get us all press-ganged into some shady cop shit! What the hell are these youthful indiscretions they've got you pinned for?"

The captain shrugged uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. His gaze settled onto a spot on the ceiling. "You know how these things are," he said. "They get you for anything these days - graffiti, kicking vending machines…"

Dragan spoke up, looking at Skipper intently. "You don't get thirty years hard labour for kicking a vending machine, Skipper," he said seriously. "And we're being blackmailed by extension here, too. I think we deserve to know what's going on."

Skipper sighed, flapped his arms, and looked for all the world as if he were going to launch into some story. Then he shut his mouth again and shook his head.

"No, no," he said quietly. "I really can't tell you. Sorry, kiddo. Let's just say it's Classified - and that's with a capital c."

Well, that actually narrowed things down a little for Dragan. Skipper had definitely done some kind of work for an official body, then, and it was the kind of job you weren't allowed to talk about afterwards. Wetwork, maybe?

Ruth didn't seem to agree. She just glared at Skipper, raised her finger as if she were going to jab it at him again, then threw it down to her side and stormed out of the room, grumbling.

The second she was gone, Skipper sighed again, rubbing his temples with his fingers. To tell the truth, Dragan had never seen him look so stressed.

"Is it safe to let her leave?" asked Dragan, glancing towards the door. "Won't the security forces want to keep us where they can see us?"

Skipper shook his head. "Taldan's got a very robust surveillance system. Once they catch a sniff of you, it's very hard to lose their attention."

Dragan leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms. "It's interesting how you know so much about it," he said suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

"It really isn't," snapped Skipper - with surprising ferocity. Dragan blinked, mumbled some half-assed apology. He still felt like he didn't know that much about Skipper, but he didn't want to piss him off.

"I get it," said Bruno, taking a sip of some tea he'd managed to procure from the food chute. "It's the same with me - I can't talk about a lot of the stuff me and Serena have seen. Security reasons."

With a sigh of his own, Dragan marched off to get himself a glass of water. Were he and Ruth the only ones in this crew without some kind of dark secret?

-

"A niain?" mused Atoy Muzazi, looking over the printout Petrio had given him. He was sat in a chair opposite the information broker's desk - behind him, the workers continued sifting through information, their labour punctuated by occasional anxious glances towards the man who had sliced through their defenses.

Across the desk, Petrio nodded. "That's correct," he said, curt. "Dragan Hadrien will be there without a doubt."

His pale blue eyes stared into Muzazi's placidly, a stark contrast to the criminal's white coat and black hair. Even as calm as those eyes were, they seemed to be the only thing about the man that were truly alive.

"And how do you know this?" Muzazi pressed, narrowing his eyes. Normally, he'd trust the strength he'd displayed earlier to prompt honesty, but this man reminded him far too much of Hadrien. There was a substantial risk that he was already seeking to trick Muzazi in some way he couldn't yet see.

Without breaking eye contact, Petrio tapped the screen of his script - and a holographic display popped out, straightening itself into a square in front of Muzazi's face. The display was from surveillance footage in a hospital - Hadrien and the dissidents he'd allied with walking through a hallway. Ruth Blaine was there, along with the nameless man he'd captured on Caelus Breck - Skipper, he had called himself.

"Are you familiar with this gentleman?" said Petrio, tapping the screen again. The image of the nameless man was highlighted with a red border.

"I am," Muzazi nodded.

"His name is unknown," Petrio went on, almost bored. "But he's referred to as Skipper where he appears in Taldan records. This man has been recruited by Shooting Star Security Solutions to assist them with an investigation."

Muzazi turned his nose up - this was typical UAP corruption. How could one hire a gang of criminals to pursue justice? The very notion was preposterous. "What manner of investigation?" he said, doing his best to hide the disdain in his voice.

"There's a gentleman calling himself the Citizen," said Petrio, steepling his fingers against his chest. "A revolutionary who has bombed buildings, assassinated businessmen, these sorts of things. Skipper's crew is to assist with the effort to track this Citizen down, as I understand it."

Muzazi stroked his chin. "I see. This Citizen - is he strong?" That would decide whether his cause was just or not. If it was, Muzazi could potentially ally with him, but if it was not then that was out of the question.

"I wouldn't know. He has never been witnessed."

A coward, then? That wasn't very promising. Still, he could just be skilled at concealing himself - that was a form of strength in itself. He cast the speculation from his mind for the time being.

"And they will definitely be at this niain tomorrow night."

Petrio nodded. "A vital witness will appear there - they'll expose themselves to try and take him in. That will be your window to act."

Before Muzazi could say anything to that, he was interrupted by a bump from behind - and before he knew it, Officer Hazzard had lazily draped her arms over his shoulders.

"There, you see?" she said, close to his ear. "Now we know where to find Hadrien, and you can stop being so damn moody."

Muzazi shrugged her off, cleared his throat in embarrassment. He had no reason to complain about Marie Hazzard's skills, but the physical familiarity with which she operated was somewhat … indecent, for lack of a better word.

His gaze settled back onto Aldan Petrio, and he looked deep into those dull blue eyes. They really did remind him of Hadrien. He'd been betrayed once - he wouldn't permit it to happen again.

"Why are you assisting me so readily?" he asked carefully, his grip tightening ever-so-slightly on Luminescence's hilt. Marie Hazzard's eyes flicked from it to Petrio.

His next words would decide everything - whether or not Muzazi would have to take steps to prevent future betrayal.

"Have you ever seen a corporate ant?" smiled Aldan Petrio, as if he wasn't one wrong word away from execution.

"I have not."

"I watched a documentary they featured in not long ago," Petrio went on - and as he talked, he was still working, one eye laser-focused on the script before him. "Unlike most species of ants, the position of queen is fluid in a corporate hive. The ants work hard to gather globules of honey all day every day, storing them in a small sac on their thorax. The ant with the most honey is treated as the queen by the rest of the hive."

Muzazi nodded. "Meritocracy. A fine system."

"Of course. It is, however, an…" Petrio searched for the right word. "Unstable system. Unlike among humans, there is very little strength disparity amongst ants, and so there is nothing stopping them from killing each other to ensure they have the most honey. The position of queen, as a result, changes by the minute. I believe some cultures call this species 'massacre ants' instead, for obvious reasons."

Muzazi frowned. He wasn't sure he appreciated what this man seemed to be trying to imply about the Supremacy. There was a big difference between the foolishness of animals and the wisdom of humans.

"What does this have to do with you?" Muzazi said sharply, narrowing his eyes.

Petrio smiled thinly. "Among the corporate ants, an interesting behaviour has been observed. Ants that seek not to attain the crown for themselves, but simply serve the reigning monarch. They defend the queen from threats, bring her food, and allow her to reproduce."

"And then?" Muzazi raised an eyebrow.

"And then they eat her eggs," Petrio said calmly. "From what I understand, these cannibal servants have a much higher longevity rate than any other members of their species."

"That's disgusting," said Marie Hazzard, wrinkling her nose.

"Yes," Petrio nodded. "I also dislike insects. However, you can't deny the wisdom of serving the strong and reaping the resultant benefits, rather than seeking strength for oneself."

Again, what Petrio was saying was the antithesis to the Supremacy's guiding philosophy - for society to advance and grow stronger, it's members must continually seek superiority over one another. Simply leeching off the strong made you no worse than a parasite. Again, Hadrien's face came to Muzazi's mind, and he gritted his teeth.

"You realize, of course," Muzazi said darkly. "That I have no reason to believe you. You could try to betray me later on."

Petrio leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled on his stomach. "For what reason?" he said. "Ambition? Mr. Muzazi, that is a weakness I purged from myself long ago."

Muzazi looked him up and down, stared into those infuriatingly familiar bright-blue eyes. Despite everything, this man seemed to be telling the truth. Like he'd said, his only desire was for things to remain as they were in the comfortable present.

It seemed he wasn't a liar.

But Muzazi had made that mistake before, hadn't he?

-

To tell the truth, Ruth was surprised they hadn't kicked up more of a fuss from her leaving the security complex. They were definitely still tracking her as she walked the city streets, but still. She'd expected at least a veiled threat.

It was good for them that they hadn't tried anything, though. With the mood she was in right now, she might have ended up busting some heads on her way out.

She marched through the streets with no real destination in mind, breath coming out in angry huffs, her hands balled into fists at her sides. She just needed to think, damnit, and walking was the best way to do it.

So Skipper had lied. That was no big deal, he'd lied before, but every other time his lies had helped, not gotten them into trouble. Even so, she could have accepted that. She could have accepted that if Skipper had just given her an explanation. Everyone makes mistakes every now and then, after all.

But he hadn't given her an explanation. He'd given her nothing - and so her anger had nowhere to go. Reaching a railing, she thumped her fist against it, a small growl escaping her throat as a few sparks of involuntary red Aether emanated from her hand.

She looked out over Taldan, over the towering spires, the spider-web of streets that went all the way down. At the darkness down below, where only a few stray lights showed that life existed there. For someone like her, who'd grown up in a relatively rural environment, the existence of a city as big as this was almost overwhelming.

A sigh quickly followed her growl. What the hell was she doing? It wasn't like she had anywhere to go or anything to do. She was just running away from her problems. It didn't matter why Skipper had lied: he just had, and now they had to deal with it.

But still … she was pissed the hell off. Her grip on the railing tightened slightly, and the metal bent in her hands.

"The niain tomorrow night, huh?" she muttered to herself.

That left her a whole day to get this thing out of her system - and a whole city to do it in.