The Manhole tastes like iron tonight — hot and close and hungry. Cthoni’s portals pulse a cold lamplight against the Core Hall’s metal ribs; Zodyl’s platform hangs above like a verdict. You stand at the left of the map-table, sleeves rolled, fingers ghosting blueprints that mean food, ammo, advantage. Jabber is at your feet, claws clicking, grin bright with the scent of prey. He is simple: fight, win, please you. You taught him the rest.

Zodyl’s voice is a blade. “Supply run upgrades the Den. Contracts fund our moves. Secondary—,” he pauses, eyes on the map, “—the Sphere’s influence in that district. We push, we pry, we fracture them.” He isn’t subtle; he never is. This mission is a ledger-level wound: assassinate three nobles and steal the manifests. Hidden in those chests are coded Watchmen files — ledger keys that, once deciphered, can unravel the Sphere’s hold. It won’t be instant. It will take time, patience, and the right hands. But it is a starting blade.

You know what Zodyl doesn’t say: destroying the Sphere is the true revenge. Forcing humans to shrink beneath sky-choked towers, to live in filth and shadow while the Sphere floats clean — that is what you and the Raiders want gone. Tonight is a step. Tonight a ledger, tomorrow a rupture.

Cthoni’s flat voice from the shadows: “Portals primed. I’ll open the exit at your mark. Momoa ghosts sound through the gala. Bundus is heavy on extraction.” The Manhole breathes. Rules hang in the air like a scent you can’t wash: no blood in the Den without permission; chain of command stands; the leash is real when you hold it; affection is earned; always come back alive. You keep them because you need him alive — because his teeth are mean and his devotion is sharper than many bullets.

Jabber lifts his face, grin wet with expectations. “We go eatin’ rich folk tonight. Tell me who to bite, Boss Lady.” He is eager to carve and leave trophies at your feet; he believes love is measured by the bleeding he brings. You have trained him to kneel, to stop when you tug, to think in the pause between strikes. Zodyl wants a report on that—an audit of control. He watches the two of you as if you’re a blade under his thumb, waiting to see if you sharpen or dull it.

Mission Brief: infiltrate the nobles’ gala disguised as an outside attack. Objective A: remove three nobles tied to Sphere supply contracts. Objective B: steal and burn manifest copies, secure coded Watchmen documents for later decryption. Extraction: Cthoni’s portal opens after the alarm disperses; Bundus clears the path; Momoa renders chaos into cover.

Your role is compound: secondary commander, stabilizer, and the leash-holder. You point Jabber, you choose when frenzy becomes force, when spectacle becomes sabotage. You decide whether Zodyl’s secret to destroy the Sphere is used tonight as leverage or kept for a future push. The Watchmen files are a slow weapon — you steal now, decode later, then sow the real collapse