Nils had always been good at protecting his territory. He had lived his life as a succession of back-alley, bloody-knuckle brawls, fighting like a cornered animal with chains, broken bottles, a loose brick, or whatever else was to hand, his raw ferocity driving others to first fear, then respect him. He had never ceded an inch of ground, even at gunpoint. A dozen men had been unable to drive him out. He was unassailable.

Except, of course, for the dark-haired sniper girl who'd set up shop at his table.

She'd simply wandered over one day and taken a seat down the end of the table. He'd shot her a look, hoping to scare her off, but she'd simply stared coolly back at him until he was forced to shrug and return to his meal. They'd tried to ignore each other, keeping their eyes on their respective plates and staying silent. It had been fine, for a little while. But now he faced a problem.

The salt was down Marina's end of the table, well out of his reach. And the stew they were serving was so crushingly bland that Nils could hardly bear to take a bite. He looked up at the sharpshooter as she picked at her food, mentally weighing up the awkwardness of speaking versus the quality of the meal. He looked around at the bustling mess hall, the tables crammed with people engaged in pointless conversation. He'd been able to escape the noise at this table, but what if the sniper turned out to be talkative, just waiting for an opening? Then the floodgates would be open, and Nils would have nowhere left to go.

He reached for the salt, leaning over the table and stretching his arm out. It was just beyond his grasp. If he reached a little further…

"What are you doing?"

He started slightly at the unexpected voice. He looked up to see the sniper looking at him with one eyebrow raised, an expression of slightly confused annoyance on her face. Nils sank back into his seat, doing his best to remain composed. Stay focused. Don't look weak, or they'll think they can browbeat you into backing down.

"Um…" he began, looking for some terse but tactful method of both explaining himself and shutting down any further conversation. "Salt" he replied, motioning towards the shaker by Marina's elbow.

She looked askance at him for a few moments further, then returned to her meal as if nothing had happened. Nils shrugged, grateful that the situation hadn't gotten any worse. He was surprised when he felt something bump against his elbow. The sniper had slid the shaker down the table to him. He glanced up, only to find his eyes meeting hers. He nodded to her in thanks, and she coolly returned the gesture before she returned to her food. Neither of them spoke again. Lunch went on in silence.

It wasn't the worst thing in the world, Nils had to admit.

He looked up in annoyance, feeling a hand on his shoulder, only to find Rourke, one of his men, looking down at him. He shook hands with Nils, leaning in slightly.

"Boss-" he began. Nils held up a hand to stop him, realizing that Rourke and him were getting some curious looks from the 7s, no doubt wondering what Nils was doing talking with someone from another squad. Marina had no doubt heard the word "Boss", and Nils could feel her gaze on the back of his neck.

"Watch it. Not here." He growled, tilting his head towards their audience and motioning towards the parade ground. Nils quickly cleaned his plate, and the two stepped out into the deserted square. Nils pulled out a cigarette, which Rourke obediently lit. He took a drag and walked side by side with Rourke.

"Interesting news?" he began, silently rebuking Rourke for his lapse in discretion. The burly militiaman hunched his shoulders and looked down at his boots as he spoke. "I just thought you'd be interested to know that some goons have been hassling the vendors at Nijmegan Market."

Nils was silent for a moment as he thought over the news. Someone was trying to muscle in on his protection business. "Do the papers have any idea who these guys are?" he asked, taking another drag on his cigarette. Rourke shrugged. "Well, I heard-in the papers, of course- that the gang who runs that area bumped into one of their associates, and found out that they were working for the Salomon Family."

So, Rourke and the others had caught one of the rival extortionists and found out that they were from the Darcsen Mob. Nils stopped walking and ground out the cigarette beneath his heel. Rourke waited for Nils to give orders.

Eventually, Nils made his decision. "Y'know, a couple of guys doing stuff like that might end up in a bad way." He began, his tone deceptively casual. "Next thing you know, two or three of 'em end up dead in the river, and another guy winds up lying in an alley in the Darcsen Quarter with his knees broken."

Rourke nodded and began to pace back to the dining hall with Nils. "Say, the Darcsen guys are well-armed. It could be dangerous to start trouble with them." Nils grunted in agreement, an idea forming in his mind. "Good point. You know what the biggest problem with places like this is? Armories. With all these new rifle designs rolling out, all the old gear just sits on the shelves and rusts." He shot Rourke a meaningful sideways glance. "Then a bunch of opportunistic crooks come by and grease someone's palm with a few ducats, and then all those Mags M1s and GSRs just walk right off the shelves. God knows what gangs could do with that kind of firepower."

A light went on in Rourke's eyes as he imagined the possibilities, and he broke into a broad smile as he shook Nil's hand and turned to leave. "Yeah, all those guns on the streets. What a tragedy." He said, and started to laugh as Nils went inside to go back to his lunch.

AN: How's that, guys? I'm just trying to show how Nils sees Marina's intrusion into his usual routine, as well as setting up an important part of his backstory. More chapters coming soon!

As always, let me know what you think, and please review or pm if you have requests or suggestions.

See you soon!