Moloch watched Drydellia slide by. It was a level built with the gaudy vulgarity of a tourist trap. Casinos, taverns, and pleasure houses beckoned to passersby with cheap intoxication that promised a brief respite from the heavy burdens of a troubled past or the painful foreboding of a directionless future. These buildings were cheaply built up and around the original old-world stonework, and they were brimming with out of level tourists and Drydellian employees, in different states of inebriation.

As their traffic lane drifted over a large park-like space, he could see what seemed like a thousand beings mashed together and frantically dancing to music with a hard beat that came down from a floating circular platform above. Every so often the platform would spritz a blue colored mist down on the celebrants. It seemed to cause them to dance harder.

Moloch pointed it out to Salazaar. “What in the void is going on down there?”

“Ah, yeah those are employees who go back to work tomorrow. They are participating in a mandatory “dance release.”

“What is that platform spraying on them?”

“It's a cheap blend of euphoriants and speed.” Salazaar said.

“What is that supposed to do?”

“Some Drydellian big wigs decided that it would help the employees blow off much needed steam before their work week starts.”

“Does it help keep your population calmer?”

“It seems to work well enough. Crime has gone down significantly since the dance release was implemented.” Salazaar said.

The celebrants below began to undress each other, as their gondola turned a corner taking them out of sight of the tawdry display.

“What Constable Salazaar means, is that all members of the weak subspecies require regular cathartic release. Should they not receive it, they begin to harbor selfish, deceitful, and insubordinate thoughts. Through a great deal of research, we have discovered that “dance-release” provides the optimal amount of physical stimulus and mental drain. It improves our employee’s physical fitness and it is a very cost effective solution, not a cheap one.”

Supervisor Rofouscue said from his workstation, having put on a pair of gleaming aurial enhancers, that allowed him to eavesdrop on nearby conversations from the comfort of his bench. His reply came out of a small vocalizer built into the side of the transport gondola. His workstation was built in the prow of the gondola and was elevated over all the other seats, forcing their occupants to look up and face him.

“You’re pretty proud of yourselves, aren’t you?” Moloch said, unable to stop himself after looking at Supervisor Rofoscue’s smug face.

“Why shouldn’t we be? We understand the art of rulership. Our level runs as smooth as clockwork and is among the most prosperous in the seventies block. If we had been positioned higher in the pillar city our power and prestige would have been magnified even more!”

“You Drydellians and your operation would be subject to more scrutiny is more like it.” Krasus said.

Constable Salazaar instinctively shot him a look as if he wanted to warn Krasus against such antagonistic speech that might inflame supervisor Rofouscue’s wrath but then he thought better of it, shrugged, and took another puff on his cigar. It was refreshing for him to see another being give the supervisor the business.

Coming up before them was an expansive compound different from the rest, in that it lacked the garish cheapness of the buildings found in the other quarters of the city. This gleaming large structure radiated opulence from every aspect of its construction.

“Well, what do we have here?” Krasus said. “Did you lot accidentally hire an architect with taste?”

Supervisor Rofouscue pursed his lips, but Moloch could see from the way he gripped the plush handle of his workstation bench, the comment offended him.

“That Centurion is the Palace of the Royal House of Drydella.”

“Royal huh? I don’t seem to recall an entire level of Drydellians being conferred noble titles by the Emperor or the Senate. Be honest now, did you just start calling yourselves royal one day?” Krasus said, “You could have acted like proper nobility and received us at the royal palace, rather than forcing us to wait at the lift station.” Krasus said.

As they passed the palace, they saw that it was surrounded by a high wall, reinforced with members of the constabulary carrying high powered emitter rifles, and attentively scanning the surrounding area for threats. He could see in the expansive courtyard other beings dressed in the same robes as Supervisor Rofouscue, being waited on hand and foot by employees dressed in simple scarlet body suits.

“The Palace is not for the likes of you. It is off limits to all except those who carry the royal blood of Drydellia in their veins.” Supervisor Rofoscue said.

“What about all the non-royal servants scuttling around down there? I can see plainly that your kind is more than willing to make an exception for those weak subspecies beings.” Moloch said with a chuckle.

“Your incestious hive of “royals” don’t strike me as a capable group of doers; you strike me more like delegator whiner types.”

Krasus was grinning from ear to ear and pointed a gloved hand back at Rofouscue. “That’s right Moloch, rinse the haughty bugger!”

Supervisor Rofouscue stood up trembling. “All of your insolence will be recorded and submitted to your Praetor! I will see that you are demoted so quickly that you won’t be trusted to heat up your squad’s morning nutrient paste!”

Constable Salazaar stood up, using the headrest of the seat in front of him to steady himself against the speed and sway of the gondola.

“Supervisor, perhaps we should make a stop at the Royal Palace and let your highness disembark there. After all, the Hybrid den might prove to be a dangerous place, and I would be concerned that something could happen to your precious royal personage.” Salazaar said.

“Isn’t that what you are here for, you spineless dolt? You aren’t here to fight the hybrids; you are here to act as my bodyguard. If you think you’ll cover for your new legion pals by getting me to stay at the palace, so that I won’t record every one of their misdeeds in my report you are gravely mistaken, and you’ve severely underestimated my analytical abilities! The only reason you are concerned about my safety is that if I die, boom!”

He snapped his fingers to accentuate his point.

“We will pop your nape. Then your neck and half your skull melts, isn’t it?” Supervisor Rofouscue took a step forward pointing an accusatory finger at Salazaar. “I’ve half a mind to make an example of you right here and activate your termination clause in front of everyone!”

Supervisor Rosouscue brought up his intelor pad and held his finger to just hover above the screen, swirling it in a slow circle to lend a bit of unnecessary dramatic flair.

“Not so smart now are you Constable?” He said, the corners of his lips twisting up into a vindictive smile.

Salazaar bit down hard on his cigar but said nothing.

“Calm yourself, Supervisor.” Moloch said. “We just can’t guarantee the safety of your royal holy highness when the fighting breaks out.”

“Your insincere and patronizing tone impinges on my last vestiges of patience Centurion! For I am a Drydellian, I do not require your guarantees, only your service. I have sufficient means to take care of myself, should the situation nessiciate it.”

Supervisor Rofouscue began to pace the dais before him, his robe rippling dramatically in the light breeze generated by the other gondolas of the passing traffic.

Moloch watched as a speck detached itself from the darkness of the level's ceiling and from far above, it began to glide silently and rapidly closer to their craft. It seemed to be moving directly into an intercept course with Supervisor Rofoscue’s back.

“Once the seditious hybrid den has been annihilated, it will be my distinct pleasure to issue you all lifetime bans from Drydellia!” Supervisor Rofoscue continued.

Moloch drew his emitter pistol as the creature descended. Other Legionnaires had spotted it as well and began to stand, lifting their rifles to their shoulders.

“Oh, now you’d draw your weapons at me!? This is a clear violation of the sovereign level non-aggression treaty! I’ll have your crests of command for this offense!”

“Supervisor, get down now!” Moloch called out, but Rofoscue was pacing erratically around, waving his hands, and it made it too risky to take a shot.

The creature hit Supervisor Rofoscue hard, snatching him up from his workstation dais, and with a mighty leap backwards, it sprang off the gondola and up into the air, a large gaseous bladder extended from the creatures back, and together they began to slowly float upwards into the murky darkness.