Holt stares at Club Loveless's sign that dominates the neighborhood that its in while I park my car by the side of the road. Shutting off the car's engine, I begin rifling through the glove compartment for my investigation gear, finally scooping out a leather bound notebook and a badge issued by the Militia.

"Its always closed during the day." Holt murmurs hypnotized by the lights and the crowd that snakes down the road, "Never realized Loveless is this popular."

"A blight is what it is." I frown, "The Citadel would be better off if Loveless just disappeared. Anyway, has the Militia issued you a provisional inspector's badge?"

"No? That's even a thing?" Highest Scorer Ever turns to look at me with a surprised look on her face.

"Don't tell me you're going to flash your Yellow Rose ID about." I snort, "We wouldn't be able to do our jobs as watchers if people knew who we are. Do you have an investigation diary at least?" Holt taps her jacket and nods in the affirmative and follows my lead in disembarking from the car.

"Good." I affirm, "I'll introduce you later as my assistant. You familiar with police questioning procedure?"

"No?" Holt demurs, "I just joined the Yellow Roses not long ago."

"Uh, OK." I mutter taken by surprise that Highest Scorer doesn't know something covered in investigator basic training, "What did you study in the Academy anyway?"

"Law and political science." Holt answers proudly, "My essay on the significance of the Leader in social development was regarded as groundbreaking and published as part of a collection."

I sigh inwardly. Holt's high off her own farts again, but what she says makes some kind of sense. Law and political science is one of the most prestigious fields in the Academy. And it has some relevance to her job as a Yellow Rose as well, since part of our duties involve checking for political reliability. Highest Scorer would have been snapped up quickly by the Garden after graduation. Unfortunately for Holt, her expertise is going to be wasted in this investigation.

And that's a good thing for me.

"This is going to be a learning experience for you then." I tell Holt as we cut past the line straight towards the club's entrance, "I'll be off interviewing the owner of this place. In the meantime, go question the staff. Pump them for useful info."

"The Militia already questioned the staff." Holt objects unhappily, "Its a waste of time."

"They might have missed something, also," I level my gaze at Highest Scorer for emphasis, "you need to get some experience under your belt. You can't tag along as the lead investigator's shadow all the time."

Holt keeps her face neutral, but I can sense that she is still upset about the task I've given her. That's fine though. As long as I can justify what we are doing as part of the investigation, any complaint Holt makes against me won't hold water. We approach the club's bouncers and I flash my Militia badge in front of their faces.

"Militia." I grunt, "Need to talk to the owner and staff of this place as part of an investigation." One of the bouncers asks us to wait while his partner disappears inside the building. Behind us, the crowd of Valkyries begins to rumble with curiosity.

"Its a vice raid!"

"No its not, there're only the two of them."

"Raid? What raid? We should get out of here, I don't want to be sent to the brig!"

And so on and so forth. Some of the Valkyries take the opportunity to slip away into the night.

Holt and I stand about cooling our heels in silence. Minutes pass until finally Holt begins to lose her patience.

"What's taking so long?" she whispers to me, "Why're they letting us wait out here?"

"The Club's security is checking whether we have hidden a wagon nearby." I murmur back, "Once they've given the all clear, we will be let in."

"Wagon?" Holt repeats, not quite sure what I'm referring to.

"Right. You're new to this." I nod, "Wagon. Meaning a Militia truck used to transport prisoners. You'll understand once we're inside."

Highest Scorer settles back, naked curiosity all over her face. Soon after my explanation, the bouncer's colleague is back and ushers into the building. We step through the door and into a cloud stinking of cigarette smoke and alcohol. The thumping of bass causes the building to shake and I cup my ears in preparation for the incoming assault as we step into the main hall.

"Wow." Holt mutters as I cringe thanks to my organs reverberating due to the disco music pumped out at max volume from the club's speakers.

The party is in full swing and tonight's theme seems to be slave market auction. Drunk Valkyries are gyrating on the dance floor, accompanied by oiled and muscled beast men who serve as their companions. The beast men are dressed in leather bondage gear, conveniently topless and complete with shackles and large iron collars. In the center of the hall are a group of beast men on their knees, performing tricks as Valkyries throw beer snacks at them, pantomiming dogs being taught to beg for treats. The Club DJ hoots and hollers from his place of honor while another gaggle of Valkyries get even more drunk at the bar.

"Like what you see?" I ask Holt with a smirk.

"I ... No!' Holt quickly denies, her face red with embarrassment, "All this, the beast people they are all ..."

"Illegal immigrants." I complete the sentence for her, "Or at the very least, illegally working. The Club was afraid we were here to drag off their merchandise and clientele to prison."

The bouncer leads us past the bar and into the rear area of the club, away from the party. We enter what looks like a waiting room, with beast men lounging about on the chairs and sofas scattered about the area. A table located in the center of the room is covered in magazines and ashtrays, each stuffed to the brim with spent cigarettes. Some of the beast men are helping each other put on their slave bondage gear costumes while others work on their makeup using a pair of large dirty mirrors mounted on to the wall.

The bouncer bows deferentially at Holt and I before leaving the room. From the crowd of beast men emerges one with a lion's mane and tail. The lion man walks towards us, his slave costume emphasizing and drawing attention to his rock hard abs.

"Are you guys here about Jackson?" the lion man asks us.

"No." I shake my head, "We're actually here about another case. Could you show us to the manager?"

The lion man explodes in anger, "Jackson got beaten within an inch of his life by a client last night! Is anyone in the Militia handling that case?"

"Sir ..." I try to interrupt but the Lion Man keeps yelling.

"All you humans just keep covering for each other!" the Lion Man roars furiously, "No one cares about us! We can get beaten or killed and its all the same to you, isn't it?"

Holt begins to look about worriedly and slowly starts backing away from the raging Lion Man. I quickly grab Highest Scorer by her arm and force her to stay put. I agree that beast people have had a poor hand dealt to them. They face injustice daily. But that doesn't change the fact that beast people are at their core, savage barbarians. Holt and I need to establish our authority here. And there's only one thing a beast man truly understands.

Coercion and force.

"Sir. Are you telling me that this 'Jackson' was engaged in prostitution on the premises?" I ask coldly. The Lion Man falls silent, realizing where I am heading with this conversation.

"Do you want me to call vice?" I snap, pushing the Lion Man hard on the chest, sending him reeling backwards. The Lion Man steadies himself and looks down, defeated, all the fight leaving his body just like that.

"Take me to the manager. Now." I demand, "My assistant also has some questions for you lot."

I nod at Holt who has taken out her notebook and pen. But instead of leaping into action she just stares dumbly at the assembled beast people, not sure how to proceed. Leaving Holt to fend for herself, I give the Lion Man another push and he leads me down a corridor with an office located right at the end.

"There. Manager's office is there." the Lion Man says sullenly. I wave him away and he makes himself scarce.

After all these years, and the Loveless has not changed one bit. I scowl at the bad memories that I'd rather stay forgotten. I give the door a quick rap and open it without bothering to wait for a reply. There's a woman seated behind a cheap plywood desk in the office who acknowledges my presence with a friendly nod.

"Olivia my dear, its been such a long time." the manager says charmingly, "Tell me, how may Madam be of assistance today?"