It was overtly worded in a way that shifted the agency onto the crowd, no doubt to position Estoras as a servant to the people’s will even as he served up the location of those who would see him dead and Willowdale destroyed on a silver platter.

Not much new information was gleaned from the interrogation, brief as it was. Of the whole ordeal, the most interesting part was the fact that Estoras apparently possessed some essentech device that would prevent whoever it was connected to from knowingly telling a lie. It was contained in the gutted shell of an old typewriter, with the keys replaced by strange machinery and an elaborate cage for a person’s hands, with metallic contacts where the palms would rest. The first to be compelled to sit down and put his hands in the device was the older of the captives.

Before the device could even be used however, someone spoke out. The Mercenary, of all people, said he recognized one of the captives, saying that his name was Sheng Bao, and that he was a disgraced noble from a minor noble family. He went on to describe him as, “The worst zipperhead I’ve ever met.”

When questioned why that was the case, he laughed and added, “Smart enough to question the Emperor, but not smart enough to keep those questions to himself! Each time I’ve heard of him he’d been cast down from his previous post.”

With each word Sheng Bao shrunk in his seat, and by the time the Mercenary finished he had already placed his hands in the typewriter, stiffly awaiting what would happen next. He winced when the machine was locked around his digits and turned on, seemingly having expected pain. It just emitted a quiet whirr and sputtered thin ribbons of grey Fog.

And so the interrogation went. Sheng just answered the questions he was asked, and before the younger boy could even switch places with him in the hot seat, Estoras had already sent a few people in civilian clothes to “inform the public” of where the Mu and Zemin could be intercepted. One of them had an eyepatch from beneath which a brass eye just like Strolvath’s could be seen.

The boy - whose name turned out to be Zhuo Fu Kan - just completely broke down in the chair. He was found to have never been in actual combat and went on and on about the horrors he had both experienced and witnessed during his brief service. Estoras summarily declared him a ward of the state and plainly explained that he could be given a place in Willowdale, and that if he accepted, the only way to make it work would be to make him an example.

“A-an example?” Zhuo asked fearfully, tears already welling up in his eyes again.

Realizing just how easy to misinterpret his words were, Estoras quickly corrected himself by explaining further: “An example to show that your people are just indoctrinated, that it’s the Empire itself which is the problem. Your skin will certainly make life harder in many ways, but it will also open up many avenues unavailable to Ikesians or Grekurians… Should you have the stomach to go against your own countrymen.”

“I uh… I will need to think about it,” he replied, going quiet for a moment as he looked down in contemplation. “Are you saying I would have to fight against others from the homeland if I wished to stay here?”

The governor, effortlessly charismatic as ever, sat on his own desk and lit a thin cigarillo with a small blue flame from his thumb. What he said next sounded a whole lot more like he was talking to a son than a political prisoner.

“Soldier, beast-slayer, grocer, farmer, it’s not my decision to make. I’m just letting you know that the circumstances of your birth will make certain paths easier to step onto than others. Can’t say I’d expect you to eagerly step into the line of duty after experiencing the absolute nightmare that life as a Divine Army conscript must’ve been.”

Zhuo shook his head, “No, I… I know the armies of other countries are different. We once shared a trench with the Grekurians. They taught me how to play dice. How to make my rations better than just edible. How to…”

A darkness swirled in the boy’s eyes and his voice trembled with a mixture of bitterness and hate.

“How to make it look like the commissar had an accident and drowned in the latrine. I just wish I’d had the balls to cut his off before that whoreson died.”

He blinked a few times, shook his head, and smiled innocently at the governor, “Yes, I… I will need some time to think, but I would be glad to take your offer. I am already a dead man to the People’s Independent Volunteer Militia. I may as well act on my desire to enact retribution, isn’t that right, Ms. Zelsys?”

Zel couldn’t help but grin at that. He must’ve heard her screaming down that tunnel.

When all was said and done, Estoras ushered all but a small few out of his office. Zel, Zef, the Mercenary, among two other middle-aged men, one of which had the same facial scarring as Strolvath, as well as one rather short older woman. All three held themselves in a staggeringly similar way to Strol when the singer dropped his drunkard act.

Estoras turned on the sound ward generator and addressed them all at once, but he focused particularly on Zelsys and Zefaris.

“I understand that you might be eager to carry out justice on Luo Mu and Zheng Zemin…” he began, taking the nearly-finished cigarillo from his mouth and snuffing it out with a sigh. “But I must ask you to withhold.”

Instantly, Zefaris questioned, “Why?”

“Plausible deniability. You - all of you - are too closely associated with me,” he gestured to them. “Any of you being seen, or in a worst-case scenario, recorded at the scene is likely to elicit even more grave consequences for Willowdale than if I had simply taken this revolver to a senate meeting and shot both of the traitors dead.”