They walked in silence along the deserted thoroughfare. The distant illumin points on the rock ceiling that served to illuminate this part of the level were mostly extinguished and only the odd one far above remained unbroken, giving only enough light to cast a gloomy twilight haze around the group.

The lack of light didn’t bother Salazaar who flipped on his nightshades, and Moloch had his helmet which had already activated his low light enhancements as soon as the sensors detected the darkness. The screen inside his helmet brightened up the surrounding area and gave faint thermal outlines of the other beings and heat sources around him.

They turned down an alley that was lined with shop doors and windows that had resisteel plates bolted over them. It was only wide enough to permit three of them to walk side by side.

“So, how much brain damage will Supervisor Rofoscue sustain from all those leeches?” Krasus said, breaking the long silence.

“Krasus, you can’t say that!” Moloch laughed.

“What? I’m just saying what we all are thinking!” He looked over at Salazaar to see his reaction.

Salazaar pointed up at the blinking camera stuck to his forehead.

“What a great guy that Supervisor Rofoscue is, I sure hope he fully recovers, and quick!” Salazaar mechanically said, but he had broken into a thin-lipped smile at Krasus’ remark.

Then he pulled out his intelor and plugged a small apparatus into a modified port. Then he made an input on his device. The apparatus gave off a sizzling pop near the camera, and light stopped blinking. Salazaar pulled off the camera and hefted it in his hand.

“A fellow can only take so much.” He spoke.

“Won’t tender young Jakob become displeased that he can no longer watch us from the safety and comfort of the gondola?”

“Almost certainly. But it's not my fault his cheap camera malfunctioned. But then it fell off and then it became broken in the raid.” He said as he crushed it in his fist and threw the pieces into a heap of litter that was pushed up against a shuttered shop entrance.

“I like your style, Salazaar.” Krasus said.

The constable touched the brim of his hat at the compliment.

“That is tough business, if what Jakob said about your wife is true.” Moloch said.

“It is. About a cycle ago, she reached her threshold of how much she could take from the Drydellians and made a run for it. When a smuggler finally had an opening, we decided that she should be the one who took it. Somehow the Drydellians caught her before the level lift doors closed, and the smugglers escaped with their massive fee.

I tried to reason with the Supervisors, I’ve even tried to take on her debt to pay it off before mine, but it wasn't enough to keep her out of cyro. The Drydellian courts ruled against her. Said she was a welcher, and that she broke her contract,by entering the lift without permission. Thus, she was sentenced to the ice. Now all that matters is getting her out before the cryo starts to deteriorate her condition.” Salazaar said.

None of the Centurions said anything.

“If this mission is a success, the Drydellians offered enough to blank out her debt and get her thawed out early. Then I’ll just be working off my debt, but at least she can leave.”

“I’m surprised they let you two marry in the first place. I’d be sure they would have a policy about employee relationships.” Krasus said.

“They actually encourage it, and I’m a textbook example of why. The older lifetime employees tell all the new people early on not to get too attached to each other, and for good reason. Otherwise, you just hand them one more way to hurt you.”

“By dropping the degrees on her cryopod?” Moloh said.

“For each infraction and mistake it is either fines or something worse. It seems as if they are always innovating

new petty torments for their employees.” Salazaar said.

“Don’t worry Constable. We’ve handled hybrid dens before. Just stick close and we’ll have you two reunited in no time.” Moloch said.

“I appreciate it, Centurion.”

They walked in silence, following the indicated route from Salazaar’s intelor until they found themselves stacked up in an alley across the street from a grimy habitation hive. The Legionnaires lined up behind them with silent efficiency. Across the street the habitation hive was carved out of the solid rock of the original mountain that served as the foundation of the whole pillar city. Originally this was a structure meant to comfortably house a thousand republic citizens, but now it had fallen into a state of utter disrepair.

“According to information relayed by Forrester that should be the place.” Salazaar said, indicating the shabby habitation hive.

“I doubt they would have gone to all the trouble to break all the illuminators around it if it wasn't. Also, since we entered this quarter, I haven’t seen a soul. Where are all the citizens?” Moloch said.

“Would you want to live here if you could barely see your hand in front of your face, while a pack of ravenous beasts roam the streets? Krasus said. Any decent citizens have fled this quarter long ago.” He checked his emitter pistol, before reholstering it.

“Yep, we’ve relocated all the citizens out of this quarter, who have put in requests for it. The constabulary hasn't been able to canvas the whole quarter to locate the den, given our depleted resources. Anyone left in the area is hiding in one of these sealed up buildings.” Salazaar said.

“The old-world craftsmanship is truly a spectacle to behold.” Moloch said, running a gloved hand over a dirty, but elaborately carved section of stonework. All the architecture around them had been attentively hewn out of the solid rock, with swirling patterns decorating monolithic columns that swept out and away into the darkness that seemed to seep in all around them.

“There was a time when this level was beautiful but look at it now. Tragedy is never more obvious than when beauty falls to ruin.” Moloch said.

Krasus held up a fist, indicating that the column of Legionnaires should halt. They did so quietly and crouched down to minimize their profiles.

“Legionnaires, we have arrived, make your preparations and be ready to enter the structure when we give the command.”

The legionnaires hit the “ready” button on their armor to silently recognize their affirmation of the order.

“Should we have the prisoner confirm that this is the right location of the den while we wait for Forrester?” Krasus said.

“Guardsmen Trench, bring up the snitch.” Moloch said quietly into his helmet comm.

Trench marched up the rat creature, his force restraints making a soft tinkling sound as he moved with difficulty fettered as he was.

“Now is your chance to be useful Screwtongue. Is this the right place?” Moloch asked.

“Oh yes, it is just as you say, a great one. This place is where the hybrids make their den.” Screwtongue said, as he scratched at a scraggly patch of brown fur that grew out of the skin on his shoulder.

“Make certain, Screwtongue for there will be no mercy for you should you try to mislead us.” Krasus said.

“Oh, there is no mistake, great ones, my nose can smell the truth. They are in there and I smell it to be true.” Screwtongue replied quickly.

“I’m surprised you smell anything after your performance earlier.” Moloch said.

“A performance that Screwtongue would be happy to repeat for you anytime that you desire it, great one!” The rat creature said hopefully.

“We can be sure that at least that is the truth.” Krasus said.

“You great ones must be certain that you kill the den master if you want to truly exterminate the pack; if not then he will just start over again and continue to steal and lie and rebuild. He will continue all manner of nasty deeds!” Screwtongue urged, his tongue licking around to moisten his dry lips.

“What a profound tactical insight, that was Screwtongue! But you wouldn’t be asking us to make sure we take him out for any selfish reasons, would you?” Krasus said.

“Of course not, Screwtongue only wants what is best for the great Centurions!” Screwtongue protested.

“Right...” Moloch said skeptically.

“Salazaar, Screwtongue is your responsibility now. You mind him while we are inside and keep him from causing any mischief or problems for us.” Moloch said.

“You can count on me, Centurion.” Salazaar said.

“Once Forrester gets back, we’ll make our move.” Moloch said.

“Are we thinking of the same Forrester? The one from the Beggars Guild?” Krasus asked.

“That’s the one.” Salazaar agreed.

“It comes as no surprise that the Beggars Guild could find them, as their spy network rivals our own.”

“Perhaps in the pillar cities, but for all of Maja? Who knows, which Spy-Ring is superior?” A reedy dry voice said from nearby, as a figure dressed in a gray patchwork cloak stepped out of deep shadows. He held a gnarled staff, made from metal and wood, and around his waist was a belt that held many deep pouches and individual compartments.

Moloch remembered that he had checked that corner of deep shadow with his thermal imaging, but no heat signature had registered on his visor. There was more to this shabby beggar than first met the eye.

The tall slender white-haired male pulled back the hood of his cloak and smiled at them. His smile was as white as his hair.

“Forrester of the Beggar’s Guild extends our warmest greetings to our friends in the legion.” He spoke. “It is good to see both Centurions Moloch and Krasus again and looking so hale and hearty. Has Centurion Krasus completely recovered from the Enchantress' hex of loin-withering?”

“Loin-withering?” Salazaar asked.

“I have made a full recovery, Forrester. No thanks to you.”

“How was I to know that the smuggling ring was just a front for a Dark Magi’s Sacellum? Besides, business is business. I’m sure you understand.” Forrester said with another one of his winning smiles.

“That is exactly the sort of thing a spy from the Beggars Guild would know!”

Forrester wrapped both his hands around his staff and leaned on it looking, giving Krasus a patient expression.

“Alls well that ends well, and I’m sure you were pleased you were able to retrieve the dark mistress’s orb of nightmares before she could use it to cause some real damage. So, it all worked out in the end.”

“Orb of Nightmares?” Salazaar asked again.

“For you it did! Krasus said, as he took a step forward towards Forrester. The beggar only smiled, and closely inspected his staff, rubbing a smudge on the metal part with the end of his sleeve. “I distinctly remember you and the rest of your grubby beggars descending and carrying off all of the smuggler's goods, while I,” Moloch cleared his throat at that. Krasus looked over at him and nodded, “Pardon, while we were forced to deal with the Enchantress and all of her initiates.” Krasus said, keeping his voice to a whispery shout.

“I had to live with that Enchantress' hex of impotence for over a month before it could finally be cured by a temple mender!”

“That is not what our fellow beggars hear from some of the ladies on surface city, who recently enjoyed your company.” Forrester said as he waggled his pinky finger at Krasus chuckling at him in a low tone.

“I have made a complete recovery!” Krasus said.

Moloch and Salazaar also chuckled quietly.

“One day Forrester, one day!” He said, shaking his fist at the beggar.

“But not today, Centurion.” Forrester said, tapping his staff on the ground in merriment and still smiling at Krasus.

“Today, you are here on other business.”

Moloch was smiling under his helmet.

“Yes, about that business, Forrester. What can you tell us about the hybrid den?”

“Ah, the ever diligent and work minded Centurion Moloch. Now you would be an excellent candidate for our order. Have you ever wanted to give up all your worldly possessions and pursuits and live a simple life of adventure and freebooting comradery, as a roaming beggar?” Forrester said, delivering his pitch with and smooth practiced ease.

“Uh, no, thanks. I serve the Legion, but I appreciate the offer.” Moloch said as Krasus crossed his arms, scowling.

“Well, you can’t blame me for asking.” Forrester said.

“What can you tell us about the hybrids, Forrester?” Krasus asked, unable to conceal the annoyance in his voice.

“They’re all in there.” He said, waving his hand at the habitation hive before them. “They have done some extreme renovations to the place, ripping out the floors and hollowing it out in the center, and have turned the place into one large chamber with a twisting maze of tunnels that surrounds it. Also - hybrids aren’t the best masons and builders, so nothing in there is up to code, and it is as rickety as a Swinefolk hog-cycle. So, I’d watch out for falling masonry and crumbling floors, that kind of thing.”

I’ve determined that the best means of access is a side loading dock, which will take you into the first level, then up some stairs and you’ll be on a mezzanine level that overlooks their central nest. That would be the perfect place for an ambush.”

“What are they all gathered in the central area?”

“Yes, they are in the center chamber conducting some foul ritual. There are a few roaming sentries about, but they shouldn’t pose much of a threat for the members of the Grand Old Legion.”

“What makes you say it's a ritual?” Krasus asked warily, subconsciously covering himself with his hands.

“I’m no expert on such matters, but they are watching half a dozen pulsating globs, with a pile of dead citizens in the middle of them. That stinks of ritual does it not?”

Krasus swallowed, casting a furtive glance toward the habitation hive.

“Is there anything else we should know?”

“Payment.” Forrester said, holding out his hand to Salazaar, who was the only representative of Drydellia present.

Salazaar held up both hands, I’m sorry sir, I’m not authorized to dispense payment. That is Supervisor Rofoscue’s domain, you’ll have to seek it from him.

“Yes Forrester, go and beg your payment from him. Given his generous spirit I’m sure that you will be well compensated.” Krasus said with a smirk, recovering a bit of his dignity.

Forrester frowned momentarily, but then he flashed them another smile by way of farewell.

“I see. Then I will take up the matter with him.”

Forrester turned to go, turning to walk down the dark street, pulling up his hood, as his beggars staff tapped in rhythm with his steps.

The cloak began to meld Forrester with his surroundings, and he called out to them.

“Mind you don’t get zapped in your groin again Centurion, I don’t know if your little legionnaire can take it.”

And then after a final chuckle Forrester disappeared as his beggar's cloak, totally concealed him in the dim light of the level.

“Bloody beggars!” Krasus spat after him. “I don’t see why he doesn't just join the Legion, or the Pathwardens and put his skills to use for something other than his own personal gain.”

The members of the beggar’s guild take a vow of poverty and service to each other and the less fortunate. All the proceeds from their work are donated to their guild and to charity. How does he stand to personally gain from his work?”

“It seems like all he does is benefit from begging.” Krasus said irritably.

Moloch smiled under his helmet. “Let’s not waste another moment, and if we hurry maybe we can stop whatever these hybrids are up too. Salazaar, you stay with Screwtongue outside. Keep out of sight and let us know if the situation changes out here. Also take this.” Moloch said as he held out a small intelor pad. “This is connected to our helmet feed, so you can stay apprised of our situation. Should something unexpected happen out here, contact us and let us know about it.”

“Consider it done, Centurion.” Salazaar said as he took the intelor and led Screwtongue over into the alley, where two legionnaires had almost finished erecting a dissimulation tent that would serve as their staging area.

Salazaar pulled Screwtongue into the tent when the legionnaires concluded their work.

“We will wait for you here Centurions. Good luck in there.” Salazaar said.

Screwtongue said nothing and looked at his feet quietly sniffing the air as he shuffled inside the tent.