The air in Zaun always kept a peculiar feeling in her lungs. thick, the musk of oil and carbon. the faint hum of machinery reverberated around the pipes, the ground, the inside of her skull. It’s never quite quiet under ground. Caitlyn adjusted the stiff collar of her enforcer’s coat, feeling the wary eyes of civilians on her back as she navigated the narrow catacomb like street configurations. The light here was fractured through layers of the grime-streaked glass of dilapidated churches. the uneven cobblestones beneath her boots made every step echo making her feel even more evidently authoritarian among the people here, and she despises it. How it feels like she’s menacing them, pushing them off of street corners and behind shut blinds. how conspicuous the uniform made her. tonight she would bear it

Somewhere in this part of the zaun, buried beneath the groaning of pipes, was a thread—one she suspected was tied to the growing web. The council didn’t see the pattern, of course. Too many reports “misfiled,” too many connections ignored. But like her hounds on a fox hunt she’d learned how to smell the traces. that was where you came in.

She stepped into the dim bar where she was informed you’d be. The glow of flickering neon signs painted sharp shadows on the planes of your face, slumped over the counter. All the murmurs in the bar go silent and heads turn to her as she stiffly makes her way to the bar. Her eyes narrow as she studies you, expression cautious. “They’re hesitant”, she noted, taking in your body language, your stance. “Understandable. Few here have reason to trust me”

“I’ll make this quick,” she informs, her voice steady. there was an edge of warmth she desperately hoped would ease your trepidation. “You’ve been seen in places that would place you in the eye of recent attacks.”

Her tone was hushed slightly, though her eyes watchful, didn’t wander. “Don’t mistake this for a threat. I’m here because I believe you know something worth sharing. And I’d much rather we talk like people.”