Nikon woke up and immediately wished he hadn't.

He grabbed his leg as he felt the aches in it, noting that it had been wrapped in old bandages that appeared to have been washed and recycled continuously.

"Crap, hope I don't get infected," he grunted rubbing the sore spot, making sure not to rub against what felt like stitches along the cut.

He paused to look around the room, noting how it was dark save for a lantern on the wall. The room appeared to be in someone's basement, as judging by the hardened concrete walls, and it looked abandoned. There was debris everywhere, ranging from smashed wood to empty bottles, and it seemed more a ruin than an infirmary.

"Good Lord Nikon, what have you gotten yourself into?" whispered the doctor.

He stood up as best he could, noticing how someone had left him a cane to walk on. Next to it was a note, written in a decidedly unruly manner.

"When you wake up, head upstairs."

He set the note down, grabbing the cane and dreading carefully to the nearby door. It was the only door in the room, and it seemed a good starting point.

Nikon then realized that the room was pleasantly warm, a fact that surprised him. He listened intently, hearing the signature sighs and bellows of a whale oil furnace. Obviously this building was not completely abandoned.

He opened the door, noting a long hallway before him with a staircase at the end. The hall was lit by a few spare candles on wall-mounted sconces, though most looked homemade or recycled. He glanced at the other doors down the hall, each one marked with various words.

"Whale oil, armory, cleaning…" he read off, realizing that these must be designations for what each room contained. He glanced at his own door, noting the word Recovery etched into it. "Huh, a sick bay. Glad to see I'm the only one in it."

He reached the furnace at the end of the hall next to the stairs, a few spare tanks of whale oil nearby. It hummed and churned as it worked, pumping fresh heat into the home through pipes in the walls.

Nikon walked up the stairs carefully, each step a journey as he did his best not to put too much pressure on his injured leg. He gritted his teeth in agony as he reached a small landing around the middle of the staircase, the door to the first floor in sight.

"I am Doctor Nikon Luca, private physician to council member Kuznetsov…" he grunted to himself, taking in several deep breathes. "And I am not going to be defeated by a bunch of fucking stairs."

He struggled his way up the remaining stairs, gathering himself before opening the door. He had no idea what to expect past that old wooden frame, and so readied himself for anything.

He opened the door.

"Beg pardon, sir!"

Nikon barely avoided a bumbling bus boy moving past him carrying several trays of dirty dishes, the boy moving with lightning speed past him. Suddenly the noise of the room hit him like a truck, dozens of conversations flooding through his brain as he saw how large and full the room was, apparently having stepped into some kind of dining hall.

Counters and tables were full of patrons partaking in a breakfast meal, most enjoying a cup of pear wine with baked bread and fresh butter to go along with it. A choice few partook in some freshly caught fish grilled over a flame, picking the delicacy apart with their bare hands and dipping it in red sauce. The patrons themselves seemed to come from all walks of life, from nobles to nobodies, and each sat by another without complaint.

One particular man glanced at Nikon and stood, brushing down the front of his shirt of crumbs. The man was remarkably tall for a Tyvian, as was evidenced by dark hair and pale skin, and seemed to tower over those around him not only in height but charisma as well. His eyes in particular were fascinating, a light blue color reminiscent of ice that seemed to burn as they glanced at the doctor.

He moved over to Nikon, offering a small smile and shaking the man's hand. "Doctor Nikon Luca, a pleasure. I trust your leg is healing alright?"

Nikon wasn't so sure he could trust this man so quickly, but decided it would be best to be diplomatic. "Yes, it is. Tell me, where am I? Who are you? Why was I brought here?"

The man chuckled, as if he cracked a joke. "In time, doctor, in time. Before that however, please, have something to eat. It's not every day you cheat death, after all."

Nikon grew annoyed at the man's coyness, though he shrugged it off just as quickly. He was hungry, and he could probably coerce the man into giving away some details over breakfast.

"Fine by me," stated the doctor rubbing his stomach. "I feel famished."

The man grinned, waving at one of the people at the nearby bar. "Alexandra! A plate of breakfast for the good doctor!"

Nikon sat down at a table with four other men and this blue-eyed stranger, each of them dressed rather strangely. The first, the only woman, was dressed in an elegant black business suit with purple accents and seemed to have an aura of seduction about her, with her professionally-done makeup and small wink to the doctor as he sat. The second was a massive man clearly of Morleyan descent, his blond hair shaved short in a military-style haircut and his chest wrapped in a furry overcoat. The third barely seemed to look like a person at all, almost all of their body wrapped in bandages and dark brown rags akin to beggar cloth. The fourth was the most outlandishly dressed, wearing a fancy nobleman's coat with golden tassels and a golden mask over his face like those worn at masquerade parties, his in the design of a bird of prey.

"Nikon, these are my associates," spoke the blue-eyed stranger pleasantly as the same bus boy from earlier set down Nikon's plate of breakfast. "The lovely young lady is Miss Gretzky, the large fellow is Irving Boyd, the one in rags is Shrike, and the nobleman is Lord Alexey Urarov."

Nikon recognized that last one. He looked at Alexey, biting into a bit of bread as he did so. "Alexey Urarov? You tried to become a council member last year, if I recall."

"Yes, and failed by a rather wide margin," grunted the noble, stroking the beak of his mask. "Turns out they'd rather see that corrupt Menshikov in my place instead."

The blue-eyed stranger smiled. "Well, probably for the best then, as it led to meeting me. When all this is over my friend, you shall be a Secretary."

"I thought I was to be a Secretary," teased Miss Gretzky with a flirtatious smile.

"Oh but of course, my fine lady," spoke the blue-eyed stranger, words rolling off his tongue like honey. "I'd never deny you your rightful place."

Irving grunted but said nothing, downing the last few sips of his drink. From the look of it, he was drinking mead instead of wine, likely from his homeland.

Shrike glanced at the doctor, revealing that even their eyes were covered by a set of snow goggles. Their jaw didn't seem to move when they spoke either, as if they were communicating through an audiograph strapped to their face. In particular, Shrike's voice seemed especially high, like that of a child, and was hard to determine their gender through it. "Doctor, how did you sleep?"

"Unconsciously," jested Nikon smiling, biting into a fresh pear. "My leg hurts like nothing else, but I am doing well."

Suddenly he remembered a detail about his escape, one that hadn't come to mind previously. "Those two who rescued me, are they…?"

"Not presently here, doctor," spoke Irving bluntly, his accent thick and slurring some of his words, causing his r's to roll most notably. "I sent them off."

"They work for you?" asked Nikon curiously. He hadn't remembered either of the people rescuing him to be Morleyan or speaking in a Morleyan accent.

"Technically for me," argued the blue-eyed stranger. "Irving oversees most of our forces, however, so he is their direct superior. Good thing we had them scouting in that building too, lest we would've lost a key witness to another of the High Judge's actions."

He folded his hands up and set them on the table, a look of extreme focus appearing on his face. "Which gets us to why we rescued you, one of your first questions. We rescued you because we need to know what happened at Kuznetsov's manner. Do not spare any details, no matter how minor. Any suspicions of such an attack happening, any warning signs, things like that. If you describe it, I will answer your other two questions."

People began to clear out of the bar, and Nikon began to delve into the story. He started at the point when he saw Kalin's men approach the manor and finished right when he blacked out, making sure to go into as much depth as possible. He was only interrupted by Irving, to ask about the supplies brought by Kalin's men to assault the manor, and by Shrike, who questioned his hypothesis that Kalin's men were trying to capture him or Diana.

"They seemed like they wanted to capture me, anyway," argued Nikon shrugging. "No idea why. My research isn't that revolutionary."

"I've heard about it," spoke Miss Gretzky. "Organ transplants, fascinating stuff. Perhaps a whole new wave of scientific advancement can come from it."

"Assuming that Liang Yu doesn't figure out prosthetic organs first," argued Irving. "Heard he finally started making prosthetics for whole arms and legs, just as good as the originals. You can't feel anything with them of course, but they move and grab things."

"Ah, Liang Yu," reminisced Nikon. "Brilliant man, met him once at a social gathering. A bit aloof for my taste and had a nasty habit of talking about himself, but his research is revolutionary. A real shame his and mine might nullify the other's work."

The blue-eyed stranger frowned a bit, but did not comment.

Shrike leaned forward, tenting their fingers together. Nikon noticed that the ends of each finger was black, as if charred from fire, and the exposed bits of skin near the knuckles seemed to be suffering from some sort of chemical burn. "So they wanted to capture you for your information, and succeeded in capturing your assistant. Seems odd they were so interested in such a medical field."

Irving waved the comment away. "Whatever. Let's tell him now."

"Tell me what?" asked Nikon curiously, though he was sure he knew the answer.

"The answer to the other two questions," replied the blue-eyed stranger. He sighed. "I guess I owe you anyway."

He tapped the bar table. "Where you are, is the White Stallion Inn on the west side of town, just within the city limits but far enough to not attract attention. This is our base of operations for the time being, until we find a better location."

He pointed to the people at the table. "These people are my loyal followers, men and women who believe in my cause and wish to see my vision of the future come true."

He pointed to himself. "I am Prince Kallisar of Tyvia, rightful ruler of this island."

Nikon paused, digesting that nugget of information. He knew of Kallisar, everyone did really. He was the most vocal of the old Princes from before the island became a democratic republic, and easily the most troublesome in terms of stirring up discontent. He also had the greatest amount of followers among the old Princes, and was spoken in almost myth-like undertones.

But most importantly, Prince Kallisar was the subject of a rather scandalous play known as the Young Prince of Tyvia, a play where he engaged in heated sexual relations with various members of nobility from abroad, most notably Lord Nathan Bayle of Gristol, written during his height of power. Nikon had seen the play in person, and realized that the blue-eyed stranger did resemble the costumed performer he had seen that night.

Nikon blushed crimson, sipping his pear soda. "Oh? That's interesting."

Kallisar raised an eyebrow, as if he could see into his brain and determine exactly what he was thinking about, but continued regardless. "Not exactly the response I usually get. I guess you typically don't get involved with politics."

Nikon shrugged, pinching off a chunk of bread. "You saved my life, that's the important thing. And since I appear to be a wanted man, I am most likely broke. So now the important thing to discuss is how to repay your kindness."

Irving smirked, clearly pleased by the doctor's comment. "Respectful, a man who doesn't take things for free."

Kallisar leaned back in his chair, tucking a hand under his chin as if to hold it. "And how do you think you can repay my kindness, doctor?"

Nikon pointed to himself. "Well, I am a doctor, as you have mentioned. I am certainly the most qualified person in this building to perform any sort of medical procedures. Last I heard, revolutions typically involve a lot of injury. I don't have any of my gear, but I'm sure we can secure some substitutes if needs arise."

Shrike nodded. "Yeah, I can get my boys on it if you need anything, doc, but I think we have other plans."

Kallisar nodded, glancing at the doctor. "Dr. Nikon, we require your assistance, and not in the medical sense. We require good men such as yourself for our operations, and we'd be more than happy to accept your assistance as payment."

Nikon glanced at him with raised eyebrows. "I hope you do not mean combat. I'm hardly a soldier or assassin. I'm a doctor."

"You weren't always," interrupted Shrike, their voice low. "I remember you. Petty thief, last I recall. You were pretty good too."

Nikon turned to him, glaring at him intensely. "I am no vagabond. I did it to survive, nothing more."

"Lots of thieves are like that," grunted Irving. "Most I know, anyway. They don't exactly do it for the fun. What made you quit?"

"I got a job," snapped the doctor.

Shrike clearly wanted to continue, but said nothing more.

Kallisar smiled softly, though it was far from reassuring. "Well doctor, you and I actually have a shared goal. If you're interested, I will share it with you upstairs."

"Why not now?" asked the doctor.

"Too many eyes and ears. The less people know, the better. These fellows here understand that completely."

"Oh, but I am so curious," stated Miss Gretzky with an exaggerated sigh. She touched the doctor's arm, rubbing it slowly. "Tell me what secrets lay below that thick skin of yours, doctor. I promise to let you know plenty of what's below mine."

"Oh Lord, I'm going to vomit," grunted Lord Alexey rolling his eyes.

Nikon rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly mulling it over. "…Kallisar…why did you specifically select me for whatever this task may be? What skills of mine are you interested in?"

Kallisar grinned, this verbal game clearly pleasing him. "Your wits are sharp, doctor. I chose you because you have a knack for getting into places you shouldn't be."

The doctor sat there for a moment, then made up his mind. "Fine. Tell me what this shared goal is, then."

Kallisar nodded, standing up. "If you excuse me comrades, I must go upstairs. Please make yourselves comfortable in my absence,"

"Oh, if we must," stated Miss Gretzky melodramatically, winking at the doctor. "Go have fun, little doctor."

"Don't take too long," grunted Irving. "I can only drink so much mead before I lose my edge."

The doctor and the prince walked upstairs, Kallisar helping Nikon up the steps when he began to lose balance.

"Well it appears this task will have to wait a bit anyway," spoke the prince smiling.

They reached a private office room clearly assembled by whatever supplies they had nearby. Kallisar sat at a desk made of two barrels with a piece of wood stretched between, tapping a piece of paper on it. It appeared to be some sort of building blueprint, various notes sketched onto it recently.

"This is the guard barracks of Secretary Kalin," explained Kallisar. "Inside is one of our top operatives, a certain Florentina Gavrilov. She was captured last night, and is likely being held for questioning. She will not break, so they will most likely kill her after a few days."

"A rescue operation?" asked Nikon skeptically. "I'm not a soldier, remember? I may have been a thief once, but I can hardly steal a person."

"We don't need you to rescue her," argued Kallisar. "Once you get inside and free her, we will mount a distraction attack on the nearby city square to give you ample opportunity to escape."

"I still fail to see how our goals are entwinned," spoke the doctor. "I can see how this benefits you, but hardly how it helps me."

"Technically there is two reasons this helps you. The first is repayment of our kindness. Florentina is the woman who rescued you. The second is entirely of your own self-interest."

Kallisar pointed to one of the basement rooms, one marked as a holding cell. "We have reason to believe they have placed your assistant Diana here for the time being. They likely have confiscated your notes there as well, if you wish to collect them."

Nikon glanced at the map, visualizing Diana captive within it and how helpless she likely felt. He was confident she would've attempted escape already, but there was hardly anything to be done.

"…I'm going to need some gear," stated the doctor calmly, feeling familiar cogs in his brain beginning to turn. "Preferably something that won't kill, if at all possible. I dislike needless killing."

Kallisar grinned, the proverbial mouse getting caught in a trap. "Of course, whatever you say. We will discuss the plan in greater detail when you heal. We will accelerate the process as much as possible, of course. I dislike losing useful people, especially those who have done so much for me."

He walked over to a small box in the corner, picking it up before placing it on the table. He removed the components inside the box, setting each one next to the other.

"Short sword, wristbow, stun mines, pistol, and our newest addition to our arsenal."

He held up two grenades, one dark black and cylinder-shaped while the other was dark green and circular. "The black one is chokedust, a compound we got from Gristol. It blinds and chokes people, giving you a few seconds to escape or try to fight back. This other one is blightpowder."

Nikon glanced at him skeptically. "Blightpowder? What does it do, carry the plague?"

"No, we're not that crazy," argued Kallisar. "It's a compound we derived from the same plant that sleep darts are laced with. This works in a dust-based gas form however, and works over a period of a few seconds. To compensate for the slower effect, we made the grenade incredibly large in its area of effect. If you set this off right now, it'd fill this entire room and we'd pass out in about five seconds."

Nikon picked up the pistol, mildly concerned. "Hate to point out the obvious, but some of the weapons you've given me are remarkably lethal."

The prince shook his head, removing a few boxes of ammunition. "Normally, yes. However, we have developed a few ways to make them effective without killing."

He slid a bullet over the table, the actual bullet portion of the round split into pieces as if it was a fragmentary grenade. "This is a flash bullet, designed to emit a bright flash of light when you fire instead of launching a projectile. This will blind a person at close range and daze up to about five meters."

He picked up a few bolts, each one notably different from the usual steel. "The usual sleep darts used by thieves, howling bolts from Karnaca designed to blind people, stinging bolts also from Karnaca designed to make people run away, and incindeiary bolts to start fires. All useful, if you think outside the box."

Then he grabbed the sword, grinning as he held it up. "This sword isn't blunted, as you can see, so it is lethal. However, we added a little something that might help you out."

He twirled the blade in his handle before slamming the handle down hard in a punch, shattering the portion of the table into dust.

"The pommel is weighted," explained the prince. "If you smash that into someone's face, they'll be on the floor. You hit someone in the arm or leg, it'll shatter. Knocked down is just as good as knocked out, correct?"

Nikon nodded, examining his equipment once again. It was good stuff, but something was nagging at him. It finally came to light when he picked up the blightpowder grenade, popping into his mind.

"What am I going to do if this stuff goes off near me?" asked the doctor. "Seems a bit dangerous. I might end up knocking myself out."

Kallisar conceded his point, grabbing something else from the box. "Fair enough. That's why we decided to renovate this for you."

He removed the gas mask that Nikon had used earlier, though it had been repaired significantly since then. It had been dyed black with grey paint over the metal to make it non-reflective, the respirators on it replaced with fresh ones. Most importantly, the glass of the mask had been tinted so to not be seen through, obscuring his identity as well as his features.

"This will stop you from inhaling any of these substances, and maybe freak a few guards out," added the prince smirking. "You'll look like one of the Whalers."

"Who?"

"Oh, right, you never went to Gristol…uh…they're a sort of street gang of assassins. Really professional. They disbanded a couple years ago, but I hear they still have a fearsome reputation among the righteous folk."

Nikon slid the mask on, feeling how light and easy to breathe it was. They obviously had modified it. "Fearsome? I never thought that term would apply to me."

"Neither did I," spoke the prince, a fire behind his blue eyes sparking and immediately dying. "But that's irrelevant now. What matters is using the tools given to us to complete our tasks. So, Doctor Nikon, are you willing to use these tools to rescue one of my men and your assistant?"

Nikon glanced once more at the table of equipment, mentally going through the possible ways he could utilize them. He studied the map, noting three ways he could enter the building without being seen just from the blueprints. He looked at the prince, the man who had saved his life however indirectly.

"Yes. Let's do it."