Above him, in the skies of Urokon, a hateful sun burned. Haakyr had never stood beneath it in the flesh, but it haunted his dreams. He knew its malevolence well; the unending heat of that sun had created an inescapable desert across a third of the planet, a wasteland known as The Desolation. It was on the periphery of this hellscape that his species, the Daysiders clung to existence... and 'exist' was all they did. It was all they had ever done. Some found shelter in the rain forest that bloomed between the boiling sea and the Dawn proper, others in similar woodlands whose ownership was constantly challenged by the Orahnaaj. For the majority, however, their fate was the desert. The same desert he had dreamed of every night since the crib. He knew its shifting dunes better than the corridors of his ship.
He was skyclad beneath his hateful god, his wolfish frame shielded from the sun and sand only by a course layer of orange fur. His thick, ruddy mane was peppered with scalding sand particles, his heat sense overwhelmed by the red haze radiating from every inch of the desert. Any other Kyyreni would die out here; only the Daysiders endured, and they did so as penance for their weakness. This was a place for the unworthy, for those cast out of paradise.
Haakyr was facing south-east, towards the island fortress of Utmaar. The ancient citadel of sun-bleached stone and red-hot iron stood vigil over an antiquated drilling station. Generations past, Utmaar had fed the Dawn's thirst for oil. Now it provided a glimmer of respite for whichever tribe was strong enough to conquer it. All this Haakyr knew with certainty, as though the memory of it was encoded into his bones.
Yet the old sanctum held no interest for him. He turned west, toward Paradise. Somewhere beyond the hellish heat and the shimmering ghosts it produced there lay a rolling land of hills, given over to the production of drugs and other comforts. Beyond those hills, where the sun at last began to set, Haakyr imagined endless fields of crops and grazing land, bordered by dark forests where a man might forage and hunt game to his heart's content. He conjured the great Yverien, a vast lake teeming with aquatic life to gorge upon, and with a lifetime's supply of cold water - the greatest luxury a desert people could ever imagine.
Haakyr wiped the sweat from his brow and raised his eyes toward the damnable Sun God. "One day", he swore, "All that shall be ours..."
A blaring klaxon dragged him from the torturous heat and into the cold, dark interior of his vessel. He rose from his sweat-soaked bed and stomped across the narrow chamber to the communications panel and beat it into silence with his fist, "What?" he barked into the black glass of the view-panel.
The face of his first lieutenant flickered into view, "Warmarshal, we have reached Taviksaad."
A cruel grin split across the Daysider's war-scarred features, "Fine news indeed. Dock the ships and begin unloading. There will be blood and flesh aplenty down below."
He shut off the link and turned his attention to the room's other occupant. She was smaller than he was, an alien dragged in chains from a distant world where cruel tyrants casually traded the lives of their citizens for the murder-making of the Daysiders. Her fur was an autumnal red, with a large white oval stretching from collarbone to crotch, and a white tuft at the end of her bushy tail. Her canid muzzle was shorter than that of a Daysider, and with a far less intimidating set of teeth. Not that she had any teeth left; Haakyr had ripped them out personally. She did not dare meet his gaze, for the slave had learned quickly that to do so would draw her master's ire.
"Meat, attend me," he growled, stepping forward and presenting her his crotch. With barely a whimper she obeyed, lapping at his member to draw out an erection that she dutifully took into her muzzle. He did not find the slave particularly attractive, but the power he commanded over her was the ultimate aphrodisiac. He savoured the sensation of her muzzle, allowing her to work at her own pace before gripping her tightly by the neck and throwing her into his bed. The slave cried out in pain at the impact, but Haakyr was upon her before she could regain her composure. He forced himself inside her, purring with cruel delight as his knot was shoved past her entrance and the slave gave a feral howl of agony. The coupling was less satisfying than with a true woman, but the meat sufficed. He drove into her, swiftly and without thought to her comfort until reaching his climax, then withdrew and forced her to lap up the mess from his twitching length.
Once she was finished, Haakyr dragged her to his side and pointed down at the sheets, "you have bled on my bedding, whore," he growled. "You will be punished."
The slave dared to bleat a cry for mercy, which Haakyr silenced with a fist to her gut. With a grunt he threw the slave creature toward a large metal box in the corner of his chambers with enough force to stun her on impact. As she struggled to come around, the Daysider opened the box and shoved her inside head first. More cries of pain followed as her limbs and tail were forced to contort to fit the punishment box before the lid was slammed shut, leaving her in near darkness. "I have business to attend below. Perhaps, if I am generous, I will have someone release you. If not, you will die in there. There are plenty of other creatures to replace you."
Savouring his own cruelty, Haakyr dressed himself and headed out toward the bridge. The final treat was the sound of sobbing coming from the box; the lamentation of the weak, and the acknowledgement of his absolute superiority.

Darkside was a sub-district in every sense of the word, one that the Enforcers hated to patrol. It was an enclave, a sub-city; to call it a ghetto would have been technically correct, but it implied a level of poverty or deprivation that was surprisingly absent. Darkside wasn't run-down, abandoned or crime infested; it was simply alien to most Kyyreni.
Kadan, with Kas and Skal in tow, moved through the near lightless streets with caution, his breath frosting in the unfathomably cold air. This far below the surface should have been a pleasant temperature, perhaps even uncomfortably warm given the amount of industrial machinery thumping away beneath their feet, yet Darkside was frigid. Steam curled from his nostrils as he walked, digitigrade legs propelling him down the ill-defined streets with false confidence. The three blond Dawnsiders stood out sharply here in the place of shadows, while the locals were visible only by the brightness of their clothing or the flash of their unusually large eyes.
After what felt like days, the trio came upon a tavern, a low building slotted into the gap beneath a transit tunnel that intruded into the build space. They found it by thermal sense care of a heated chevron framework beside the door, a common feature of businesses in Darkside. Kadan cast a glance at his two charges, both of whom appeared decidedly unhappy at wearing only a shirt and shorts. "You two hang back. This lot don't usually cause trouble, but that's no excuse to be careless."
Having issued his warning, Kadan turned back to the tavern and almost walked into the owner. He was a Kyyreni, as was to be expected, with an inch of height on Kadan and a comparable amount of muscle. His fur was jet black, his eyes over-sized and over-round, a trait common to his species. To a Dawnsider like Kadan, the man's features appeared childish, but when the man spoke there was no hint of stunted development.
"Ah, Enforcer. Thank you for being so prompt," the Nightsider said graciously as he awkwardly formed the sign of the Gate with his hands; fists to the breast, with the first two fingers of each hand extended to form a crude prism. It was not a natural gesture for a Nightsider to make, at least not one raised outside of a Dawn culture, but Kadan appreciated it nonetheless.
"What exactly is the problem here?" Kadan asked, peering over the man's shoulder into the black beyond. He could hear raised voices in an accent he didn't recognise; someone was having a good time at least.
The owner followed Kadan's gaze and said, "it's the mercenaries, sir. Their leader is getting rowdy and refuses to leave. Would you mind moving them along?" he looked at Kadan with puppy-dog eyes, and the bitter captain responded with a weary sigh. Mercenaries. Of course it was.
He'd expected a fight, but what he got instead was a half-naked female sprawled over a table doing what could only be called 'singing' by those of a generous disposition. She was a grey-furred woman, but the brown diamond on her nose, brown spots and brown 'socks' on her arms and legs marked her clearly as a Dawnsider. All four of her breasts had a piercing through the nipple, a choice that lowered her even further in Kadan's already minimal estimation.
"Hey! Closing time!" Kadan barked, kicking the table the drunkard woman lay upon. She yelped and lost her balance, hitting the floor with a graceless thud but bouncing up again almost immediately. She tried to adopt a fighting pose, but overbalanced and staggered into the waiting arms of her squad; a black-skinned Human and an orange-and-white Jalaxian.
"You got some fucking nerve mate!" the female spat, shaking off the men's hands and squaring off. Other mercenaries, of which around a third were alien and the rest Kyyreni, turned to watch the spectacle. Kadan tracked their behaviour out of the corner of his vision. Like their female friend, the majority of the Kyyreni were Daysiders, all males in varying shades of blond. They were itching for a fight. The other patrons, all Nightsiders, were quietly trying to shift towards the door without involving themselves.
"Who's in charge of this mob of yours?" he growled.
The drunkard gave a cheeky laugh, "that'd be me, love! Aki the Arsonist at your service! No, not your service, your bignob's service!" Aki gave a low bow, removing an imaginary hat as she did so.
Kadan bared his teeth at her, but survival instinct caught his anger before it could push him to act. He was hopelessly outnumbered, and the locals didn't look eager to jump in on his side. "There are other bars, lady. Go drink them dry. I hear Vices is open all hours."
"You know what else is open all hours?" Aki chuckled and parted her legs, her left hand rubbing the crotch of her flight pants to the dirty laughter of her crew.
The Enforcer paused, reading the tone of the room and guessing at an out, "Well, I came here intending to fuck you up, so I can settle for just fucking you if that's what it takes."
To his relief, Aki and the others responded with uproarious laughter. "You're alright for a cop!" Aki bellowed as she waved her men over. "Come on, ladies! Our lovely guests have asked us to skedaddle! Oh, and Mister... you. Tell them to turn the sodding head up, yeah?"
"I'll get right on that," Kadan muttered as he stood back to let the drunk mercenaries stumble past. When they were safely out of earshot he growled at their backs, "Gods, I hope you all die out in the dust."

Taahl Tavik, son of Orn Tavik, was lost in his own dour thoughts. Try as he might, he could not find peace with himself. His mind returned invariably to the events of the night before. He had been called to his father's room to find the old Lord stood at the window, gazing at nothing. Grey in the muzzle, his limbs stiff, Orn had nevertheless remained sharp of mind and quick to temper. Instead of the cantankerous firebrand, Taahl found himself looking into the eyes of a bewildered old man. It was almost enough to break him. "I feel the Shepherd's hand upon my shoulder," Orn had sighed, his voice so soft and feeble that Taahl had scarcely believed it was his father who spoke.
The day had been prepared for, although that gave Taahl no joy. Orn was an old man, set in his old ways, and he worshiped a warrior god. Kalkar, according to Orn, expected a man to die standing with a blade in hand. Taahl believed that Kalkar would know that a Lord who died in bed did so because only age could fell him, but the time for such theological debates had long passed. Orn wanted to die in battle, and he wanted his son to succeed. Thus, the grim pact had been made.
Challenges were always fought in bare fur. As they were often merely to a set number of bleeding strokes, clothing might obscure a wound and prevent a valid count. It also ensured fair play, preventing the combatants from concealing unsanctioned weapons or other tools to aid themselves. For that duel, it had also allowed Taahl to see for the first time just how cruel age had been. Orn's flesh hung loose on his bones, muscles built up over decades having silently wasted away without anyone's notice. They had faced one another, proper challenges made and accepted, yet Taahl had not raised his axe. He forced Orn to swing the houseblade and carve a bloody scar down his chest before accepting his fate. The resulting clash was as brief and merciful as Taahl could make it. He's knocked his father's sword aside, kicked his opponent's leg out from under him, and as his father toppled he brought the axe down in a killing stroke. Orn Taahl died with a sword in his hand, as he wished to. It was difficult to remember what happened after that. Most likely the Houseguard had proclaimed him Lord of Tavik. Taahl was confident he'd ordered a funeral pyre made for his father. He was certain he'd ordered them to burn the axe as well.
Now he stood alone, raging at the world that had the gall to carry on as normal, as though Orn Tavik still lived, as though the man's death were not reason enough for the world to stop turning and the stars themselves to weep in grief. How dare the universe be so indifferent!
He heard his door open and spat "Get out! I am not to be disturbed!" he expected the intruder to flee, but instead they drew closer, walking softly through the thick ochre carpet of his private chambers.
"Not even by me?" the voice was female, angelic in tone and laden with emotion. Taahl turned and looked into the eyes of Ylari. Her fur was woodland brown with the faintest hint of grey striping upon her arms and back. He could not see those markings, but he knew they were present, just as surely as he knew the base of her tail had a curious pale ring, or that her lips tasted more wonderful than any luxury served in the exotic restaurants she frequented. Her footpaws, grey to the ankle, crept carefully towards the heartbroken Lord who now made no effort to hide his sorrow. If anything, he became more remorseful, for Ylari was a bitter joy to behold.
"I came as soon as I heard. Oh, my Tavik!" her arms closed around him. The woman's embrace put pressure on the fresh wound running through Taahl's chest, a sharp stabbing alerting the man that the scar had likely opened. He did not care; he'd endure any pain to hold Ylari close.
When the two broke apart, Taahl dabbed the fresh blood from his blond fur with a cloth while he spoke, "you didn't have to come."
"I wanted to" Ylari answered. "My mother forbade me from seeing you, but I couldn't abandon you now."
Taahl brushed a hand over the fur of the woman's head, smiling softly as he looked into her eyes. Her very presence was soothing for the soul, not enough to inure him to his pain, but it eased considerably. "Stay with me," he whispered. "I have so much to face today, and I honestly don't know if I can face the world alone."
To his shock and surprise, Ylari leaned in and pressed her lips to his own. "It would be my pleasure, Lord Tavik."
Taahl chuckled, despite everything. Stealing a second kiss for luck, and holding Ylari's hand as he had done years before, the young Noble and the Lord Governor's Daughter stepped out of the cold, dark bedroom to face the world together.

Halfway through their patrol of Outer Tenement, the boys reached their limit. The district was a maze of cramped housing units inter-spaced with tiny islands of shops and services, and the trio had easily covered several miles as they wound up and down the twisting roads and walkways. For a child, such a thing was not easy, especially at the pace Kadan set. While Skal had long since resorted to quiet whining, it was Kas who openly voiced their displeasure.
"Captain! Can we go please?" he gestured to the fatigued Penitatas to his right, his voice rising to an overly childish tone.
Kadan stopped and examined the two. He'd brought Kas along mostly so the boy could be out on patrol, and Skal was there so he was out of trouble. However, there was little of value the boys actually brought to the duty. With a wave of his had he bid them leave, noting how Skal's tail flicked about briefly, yet giddily as he trotted after the Medicalos.
"So, where do you want to go? Off to see your girlfriend?" Kas asked as they wound their way through the low-end housing towards the nearest transit hub. Outer Tenement had pioneered a hanging monorail system, but the city architects had quickly moved on to other, grander designs. Despite this, monorail was still the fastest way in or out of the district. 
"Actually, I'd like to see if the Forge Shrine is still open. It used to be near here." Skal answered, taking in the buildings as he walked. He was intimately familiar with the sub-levels of the area, but the surface was a bit of a blind spot. 
Kas pointed down a side road, "It's that way. Why do you want to go there anyway?" 
"I just do." Skal replied defensively. Kas shrugged it off and led the way. 
The Shrine was unbecoming of its patron; where it not for the signs plastered on the walls it would likely be mistaken for a housing unit. Skal smiled at the sight of it, although there was a pain behind his expression. He stepped toward the door and paused, his hands rising to the collar on his neck. Suddenly embarrassed, he turned back to Kas, "can you help me take this off?"
"Removing that collar doesn't change the fact you're a slave, nor do you stop being a Penny just because of those gloves," Kas replied, but he regretted his tone upon seeing how dejected Skal looked. With a sigh he stepped forward and examined the collar closely, turning Skal around so the back could be examined as well before stepping back and admitting defeat, "Sorry, but I need a key to get it off. I'm guessing the Captain has it."
"Okay," Skal sighed, fidgeting with the overt symbol of his bondage. With a fleeting smile of thanks to Kas, he stepped into the shrine.
The shrine within was a dark, sombre space mostly given over to the dead. Hundreds of candles lit up the chamber that took up the entire ground floor, placed there to guide back any soul that had failed to find their proper rest. The run-off from the candles had formed stalagmites of yellowing wax around the perimeter of the room. What wall space wasn't occupied by candles belonged to strings of life rings, feat boxes and other creations that bore the lives and deeds of the departed. Skal made his way carefully to a wooden stand sprouting a dozen stumps, each large enough to hold half a dozen rings. The application and removal of the metal bands had worn the sealant off the stumps, leaving pale, bare wood showing through. He studied the rings, but they all belonged to strangers. He swept his eye over the looping ropes and secondary stands, brushing his fur dangerously close to the candle flames in search of a ring he'd recognise. 
"Boy!" the sharp tone made him snap backwards so fast he lost his balance and stumbled, banging into a candle stand. He turned in alarm as the tall sticks wobbled, only to be steadied by the grasp of a large man's hand.
"Were you never taught how to behave in a shrine?" the priest snapped. He was over six feet tall, making him taller than most Kyyreni, with a heavy set face and a short, tan beard growing along the length of his muzzle. His eyes were artificial masterworks of bronze and glass that whirred audibly as he focused on Skal. The priest's black robes barely contained the muscular frame beneath. He smelled faintly of sweat, fire smoke and machine oil.
"I'm sorry!" Skal yelped. "I was looking for my mother's ring! It used to be right there, I'm sure of it, but it's gone!" 
"Alright, calm down. What's her name? And what's yours for that matter?" 
"My name is Skal. My mother was Ayjr, daughter of Akr. She died-" 
"-That's alright, I know where it is." the priest cut in, his eyes purring as he recalled the information from some internal memory store, "If you are her son as you claim, then you must be a Rejuve? A Penitatas, no doubt, seeing as you wear a collar. Your mother's ring will be upstairs. This way."
The priest guided Skal up a narrow, creaking staircase to a floor comprised of a short, narrow corridor with several rooms radiating off, before looping back to another staircase. This too they ascended, after which the priest unlocked a door to a room containing large, tightly packed cabinets. A drawer was rattled out to reveal rows of trinkets, mostly made of iron, all packed into a soft green fabric. Without hesitation, the priest's unerring finger pointed towards one of the rings.
Skal wiped his fingers on his shirt before picking up the trinket. It was a simple finger ring of dull iron, devoid of any decoration save a simple runic carving. The runes bore his mother's name and a phrase: "Skal, my son. He is the best of me."
The ring was suddenly heavy in his hand. His world began to spin as the impact of the engraving struck home. A strangled sob, the first of many, forced its way out of his throat. Of all the things his mother could have chosen, of all her deeds to offer as an example of her worth, she chose him. He dropped to the floor in agony, unable to hold back the guilt and the grief.
The priest allowed Skal his pain. When at last the boy began to calm down a handkerchief was offered, followed by a few kindly words, "You have gone astray Skal, but you are not yet lost. You have a chance to do better. You have been given a road to redemption. It will be a hard road, but I believe you will come through it stronger."
His mother's ring gripped in numb fingers, Skal turned to the priest and offered up the token, "Is it okay if I keep this?"
"If you wish, then by all means. I hope it is a source of strength for you."
A few minutes later, Skal stepped back out into the narrow streets of Outer Tenement, much to Kas' impatient relief. The Medicalos noted the redness around Skal's eyes, and from there his attention was drawn down to the ring hung from his neck with black cord. "What's that you've got?"
"A promise," Skal replied, clutching the ring tight in his fist. "I'm ready to go now. I have everything I need." 

Taahl was not easily rattled, but he felt the need for caution in dealing with the Daysider brute who shared his planning session. Haakyr was every inch a savage, clad in battle plate stitched together from all manner of sources, both Urokoni and alien. His cloak appeared to be made of the same fur as belonged to the slaves that cowered behind him, their emaciated frames both familiar and distinctive at the same time. He carried a foreign energy weapon over his shoulder, and his hand rested always on the head of a simple, functional hatchet. 
The Dawnsider woman beside him could not have been more different. She wore a flight suit of alien design, but where Haakyr's attire was crude and slapdash, hers was of impeccable make. The suit clung tightly to her body, with haptic surfaces and data link ports to ensure optimal integration of pilot and craft. The elite suit was a sharp contrast to her flippant attitude.
The surface of the table flickered into life, projecting the northern polar region in stunning detail. Coloured overlays rippled across the scene, superimposing the most up to date information available onto the scene. "The Black Iron rebels appear to be forming a stronghold around the New Sea, with a headquarters in Meltwater. The town fell without resistance, so we must work on the assumption they have swayed the provost marshal. We have reports of civil unrest and raiding all along the shoreline, moving steadily westward. Their goal appears to be to surround and isolate the garrison here, at the terraforming station. Those men are under strict orders not to advance, for fear they are baited out and the station lost behind them."
"Sound plan," Haakyr growled in approval, "that is precisely what I would do if I were the aggressor."
"The Lord Governor wishes us to secure the region while keeping collateral damage to a minimum. With that in mind, I would like to hear your proposal."
Haakyr's torn, scarred lips parted to form a predatory smile. He tapped at the display, pinging Meltwater and the nearby towns believed to have fallen to the rebels, "airstrikes at these locations. Aki, I assume your moniker of 'Arsonist' has some meaning?"
Aki chuckled and nodded, "Oh yeah. Black Iron plus white phosphorous equals a plan I approve of!"
"I did specify keeping collateral damage to a minimum," Taahl reiterated, his voice calm but edged with annoyance.
Haakyr shrugged off the reprimand, "We do not believe in your silly rules. Wage a war, or surrender and die. There is no room for your childish morality. Aki, burn these towns, rob the rebels of any shelter. Drive them west into these areas, where the fighting remains. We will push them towards the terraformer and into open battle. There, they shall die."
The Daysider stood back, admiring the simple strategy he had spun into the display with his gestures. Taahl studied it carefully and found it wanting - it assumed too much. "What if the rebels flee south, or east?" he asked, maintaining an air of dismissive distrust.
"Harriers and Outrunners will drive them west," the warlord replied, "Those unaccustomed to war so often fail to grasp the power of a harassment force. We bleed them on two fronts and leave them only two choices; the sea, or the west."
Aki licked her thumb and stamped it theatrically against the shimmering images above the table, producing a glowing amber mark around two miles east of Meltwater and a mile out to sea. She crudely dragged the smudge into a curve, studied it briefly, then flicked the curve further out until it formed a cordon six miles out from the rebel capital, "That's a pretty little kill-line don't you think? We're strafe everything that gets close to that line, get the rebels to hunker down in Meltwater, then we'll bring in my new toys - the Dorjir. Heavy bombers, fresh out of the factory ships of the Free Armada. We'll deliver two hundred tonnes of incendiaries down their chimneys and use gunships on anything that survives. Quick and dirty, just like me."
Taahl tutted through his teeth at the proposal, fixing his eyes on the chuckling pilot, "At what point do you plan to listen to the Lord Governor's wishes?"
"At what point do we hear your wishes?" Haakyr spat back, folding his arms as he sneered at the young Noble, "Did the Lord Governor send a castrated child to speak for him, or are you able to speak on matters of war?"
"I want this war won," Taahl spat back, his temper finally slipping.
"Then stop crying about the cost! Anyone worth saving will have already died fighting. You're mewling over cowards, traitors and enemy combatants. Where do your loyalties rest, Noble? Who's side are you fighting for?"
The two men stared each other down, both knowing who was going to win that challenge. With a grunt, Taahl lowered his gaze and growled, "get it done. Secure the region, end the rebellion."
Haakyr threw a mocking salute. Aki purred like a prostitute who'd just seen a rich mark stumble through the door. Both looked at one another, nodded in agreement and walked away, exchanging channel codes and protocols with which to coordinate the coming massacre. Taahl waited until he was certain they were gone before swiping away the hologram and retreating to the side office where Ylari awaited him, head down over a display table containing minutes of meetings and communications between the Lords and their subordinate aides. She didn't notice him enter and startled when he appeared at her side. "My apologies," he said gently, "what were you studying?"
"The next matter of the day," she replied, leaning back so he could see for himself. The Rejuve question. Of course. The matter of their age, still floundering while kept aloft by a vague promise of progress. Well, he would bring progress.
"The bloody business is concluded," Taahl said to his wife to be, his hand coming to rest upon her shoulder. "Sadly, that was the easy part. Now, a much more difficult challenge awaits; to make the old order change their ways."

The two boys, Skal and Kas arrived in the pleasant street where Sam lived. Had they not been absorbed in a childish argument, the kind that came up over nothing and was perpetuated for conflict's sake, they might have sensed the tension in the air. Children weren't playing, adults stood and stared, and the road was occupied by an Enforcer rapid response transport.
The two returned to reality upon seeing the armed and armoured Guildsmen stood outside the Doland home. The front door was smashed in, revealing an interior of smashed furniture and every surface ruined with paint or corrosives. The faint, yet sinister tang of blood lingered in the air. 
"What?" was all Skal could manage before terror took his breath away.
Kas stepped forward, his training taking hold at once, "someone get me up to speed! What's happened, where are the occupants?"
The nearest Enforcer looked up from his device, tilting it slightly so Kas could catch a glimpse of security footage, "the latest youth activity. Eight fuck heads decided to smash their way in and go at the family."
"Where are they now?" Kas asked urgently, scanning the scene for signs of medical teams or victims. Neither were to be found. 
"Charity Hospice," the man replied. Anticipating the follow up, he waved over his pilot and pointed to the transport, "he'll get you there." 
With only a brief pause while the pilot made ready to launch, which Kas used to contact Kadan, the two boys were soon lurching skyward and headed for the hospital. The transport was a narrow machine, built purely for speed and agility. The pilot was crammed into a tiny cockpit at the nose, while up to four passengers could ride strapped into the back. It was a jarring ride, made all the more harrowing by the breakneck speeds the machine achieved while barely clearing the buildings below. The only mercy Skal had was that his suffocating fear for Sam's safety numbed him to the moment to moment terror of the transport.
When at last the craft kissed the rooftop of the hospital's North wing, the boy could barely walk. His mind was blurred, cogent thoughts slipping away before he could form them, leaving only the desperate, but impotent need to find Sam. Kas kept him close and did the talking, gleaming enough to guide the tearful, shaking Penitatas to a waiting area outside of critical care. They were barred from going any further, although a passing teenager in the Guild Prospector uniform told them that a human woman was being questioned.
It was only when Kadan arrived, sweating from exertion and looking murderous that they were allowed to go further. Four Enforcers in training were on sight standing guard, although lacking the armour and lethal weapons of a true street agent they lacked the intimidation factor. A true Enforcer, the only woman to wear the black that Skal had seen, was questioning Eve. The human woman was a mess, her face and arms discoloured from the blows she'd taken, her eyes bloodshot and tearful as she spoke. Skal couldn't hear what was being said. 
As bad as he felt for Eve, his primary concern was her daughter. Kadan led him to another room, one with a curtain pulled across the door to prevent the curious from observing. He was made to wait while Kadan consulted with the ward staff, ostensibly to make sure they had the right room. It took him a long time to return given the simplicity of the errand, but he returned with a sombre expression. "Skal, this won't be easy for you. She is badly hurt and came close to death. Brace yourself, alright?" 
Skal nodded, but even so Kadan made him wait a while longer before entering. Beyond the curtain was a medical bed surrounded by drips, feeds and monitoring devices. Sam lay in the midst of them, a cannula in each elbow joint and a third in the back of her left hand to pump saline and drugs into her system. A portable pump fed a strong sedative into her abdomen, while a box marked as a biohazard linked to an opaque tube snaking beneath her sheets. The girl was deathly still, with the only evidence of life the gentle shifting of the tube in her mouth that tapped against her teeth with every breath. Her face was shockingly swollen, her arms so covered in dressing scarcely any of her blonde fur showed through. All this Skal took in during the first few moments, for that was all he could stomach.
He fled the room and the ward, unheeding and uncaring of any pursuit. He reached the main corridor when his legs gave out and he crashed against the wall, curling into a ball and screaming out his anguish. All sense of the world, and even his own thoughts abandoned him. It was all consuming, a final blow that pushed him so far beyond his emotional tolerance that it shattered him completely. 
A strong pair of hands raided him up and settled him on a nearby bench. As sudden as the intense grief was, it dulled as quickly, leaving him in pain but cogent and able to rationalise his feelings. Kadan stroked the boy's head softly as he spoke, "she's going to be okay. She's through the worst of it, now she just has to heal. They're keeping her sedated until at least tomorrow, but she's going to need your help. Her father didn't make it." 
Skal listened as Kadan recounted what the medical staff had said. The triage teams had been delayed, unwilling to respond without Enforcers present. Henry Doland had tried to defend his wife and daughter from the invaders, and paid with his life. The hospital had a field rejuvenator, but hadn't thought to take it. He was dead before they arrived, and had been gone too long to be rejuvenated upon reaching the hospital.
"She doesn't know yet, nor does Eve," Kadan explained. "We will break the news." 
"Who did this?" Sam whimpered, feeling Kadan's muscles tense at the question. 
"There were eight of them; five men, three women. They hid their faces, but we have a few details to go on. We're going to find them, Skal. We'll find them and we will make them suffer. I promise you that."

Night fell, and in its wake came the customary thefts, brawls, assaults and murders that were expected of a night in Vices. 
The night was especially tense due to a raid on Ukoon's. A dozen masked Kyyreni, mostly black clad Dawnsiders smashed their way in and went straight for the staff. The night's Enforcers reacted as quickly as they were able, and the resulting brawl left three of the marauders dead to the cost of one badly wounded Enforcer. In the madness of the brawl, nobody noticed the Penny until it was too late. He lay with one hand at his severed throat, the other grasping towards the men who failed to save him.
While the Food and Board was awash with blood, the far side of Vices held a spectacle of its own. Daysider mercenaries held back from the northern offensive invited themselves into a bar run by the Talon Crew, a particularly viscous and vindictive group of men who were widely believed to have criminal ties. This was widely believed to be the reason the Daysiders laid into them with gun and blade, killing every man and woman in the building and claiming it as their own. The truth was much simpler - they simply wanted to kill, and the Crew were sporting victims.
In an unofficial dive disguised as an unfinished commercial unit, a grounded member of Aki's Arsonists took offense to the rigged card games on offer. The human pilot had left penniless hours before, returning with two of the ground crew at the peak of the madness. With the assistance of a generous local businesswoman, the trio smuggled a phyrrex bomblet to the gambling den, armed it and hauled it through an unboarded window. The resulting conflagration collapsed the building, burying the gamblers and their remaining patrons in a shower of liquid fire and molten metal. The few who survived the blaze would, by cosmic irony, be drowned by the excessive deluge of water directed at the ruin by those trying to stop the whole district from igniting. 
It was the bloodiest night since the uprising. In many ways, it was worse. In the midst of the carnage, the fear and the despair there was a single source of comfort: the grey robed priests of the Blighted Man, decrying the corruption so evident all around, and promising to guide all that would listen to a new, better future...

Skal hadn't slept. He was too stressed to sleep, and left at home with no-one to look after him he had done the only thing he could, and drank until he blacked out. He came round covered in his own sick, but it took the better part of an hour to regain enough motor control to completely clean himself. 
His miserable experience meant that he was awake when Kadan finally returned, reeking of smoke and blood. The haggard Captain barely acknowledged him at first, instead shambling straight for the kitchen in search of his usual solace.
"Kadan?" a timid voice called out, drawing his attention away from his dream of intoxication. Skal, still wet from the shower and shivering for reasons that had nothing to do with being cold, stood staring from the edge of the living room. "Can we talk? Please?"
"Can it wait?" he groaned in reply, rubbing his burning eyes. He longed for an escape, be it drunkenness or simple sleep, but he knew he wouldn't sleep sober. 
Skal pattered forwards, clutching at a ring hung round his neck. Kadan didn't recall where it came from, and with all that had happened he never thought to ask. "I... I can't take this anymore," Skal whimpered as he approached. 
Kadan slumped into his armchair as Skal approached, clearly the worse for drink, "You tortured me!" he snapped, "I have tried to be good, to do what you wanted and you tortured me for it! You beat me to death and had me brought back so I could suffer more! Why?" the boy's muzzle was dark with tears, his lower jaw trembled as he threw out his accusation. 
"What? I never killed you. Fuck... Are you talking about the lashing?" 
"Of course I am!" Skal roared, given suicidal confidence by dint of sheer terror, "I felt myself die!" 
Kadan stamped himself upright, "You didn't die you melodramatic piece of shit! No, shut the fuck up!" he thrust a finger into Skal's face as the boy opened his muzzle to speak again, "I am not doing this now, because I swear to the Gods you won't come back from it! I spent another night in Hell while the city burned, literally fucking burned, and I am in no mood for your shit! Your girlfriend isn't the only one who's dying!" 
The two stood frozen in the moment as the anger burned away. Kadan, his breath ragged, settled back into his chair and let out a breathless gasp of pure exhaustion. Skal merely trembled where he stood. 
"The Guild is my family," Kadan explained, his eyes trained on the ceiling, "I don't have a single happy memory from my life before. Everything I can remember I've spent a lifetime trying to drown in spirits. Once, it seemed like we were untouchable. Now we've lost so many, and we're losing more every week... I'm fighting as hard as I can to save them, but I can't..."
He returned his gaze to Skal, "I'm not the monster you think I am. I'm not going to beat you while you're scared shitless about your girl."
"You're not listening," Skal answered in a teary growl. "You tortured me. I did what I thought I was supposed to do, what I thought you wanted. I betrayed my Crew for you! You tortured me anyway..." 
Kadan buried his eyes beneath his hand and groaned, "what do you want from me? A fucking apology for beating you when you fucking ran away?" 
"No, because we both know you won't, and you wouldn't mean it if you did," Skal delivered his accusation with a hateful whisper, "I want things to change. This can't be my life now. I can't go through this for years and then.. What? You throw me back onto the streets when my time is served, with no money and no-one to help me?" 
"You get a stipend," Kadan grumbled, "a thousand coin minimum, more if I can manage it." 
"So two months at best, living in the worst part of the City, then what? Back to a gang so we can do this again and again for all time?" 
"Skal, please stop," the Enforcer groaned, "I will have this talk with you later. I hear you, I understand you are in a fucking awful place right now, but you are far from the only one. Tomorrow... Shit, today now you have to go see your girl, who's going to wake up to find out she lost her father. She was raped and beaten to the brink of death and she's got that to cope with as well. I know you feel like you can't take anymore, but you have to. That's life, Skal. It's fucking awful, but that's what it is. So you help her, I get to explain to the Lord Governor his city's gone mad again, and after that I promise we'll have this out. I swear to you Skal, I won't just throw you into the gutter when you somehow lose those Ps of yours. Okay?"
Skal shook his head, Hell bent on having it out there and then. Kadan stood up shakily and approached the boy, who stood his ground with teary defiance. Skal had expected a blow, but instead he was taken completely off-guard when Kadan stopped and knelt down in front of him. "That ring, it's a life ring? Who did it belong to?" 
"My mother," Skal replied, clutching it even more tightly. 
Kadan reached out, palm up towards the token. After a brief defiance, Skal opened his hand and let the ring fall into Kadan's fingers. He studied the engraving carefully before letting it thud against Skal's chest. "Now I understand," he whispered, his tone carrying such sincerity that it broke Skal's anger. He let Kadan pull him close and hug him, a hug that lasted far longer than expected.
When at last he was released, Skal received a gentle pat on his head, followed by a simple promise, "I'll make you a man she would be proud of. It won't be easy, but we'll do it together. You have my oath on that." 
As Kadan retreated towards his bedroom, Skal was left to bask in the surge of relief left in his wake. He had expected to be ignored, maybe even beaten, but instead he had an oath! The fleeting thrill gave way to crushing exhaustion. Dead on his feet, Skal shambled toward his bed, only to have Kadan reappear and tap him softly on the arm, "If you want, you can stay with me. I just thought you might not want to sleep alone." 
He must have nodded, because Kadan, smiling warmly lifted him up and carried him into the master bedroom. He was undressed carefully and eased beneath the sheets, even offered a pillow to curl around. Kadan settled in behind the boy and pulled him close. Skal lay with his eyes half closed, letting his fears and doubts flit through his mind, only for fatigue to chase them away again. As Kadan's breathing slowed, Skal dared to tuck his pillow back under his head and shifted a little, wrapping himself around Kadan's arm. Morning would see if the man's oath had value. For then, the promise of comfort would do.