32: The Chief

There was something inherently repulsive about this particular human, this Frederic Taft. Chief of the Colonial Enforcement Division of New Thebes, he operated from one of several smaller outbuildings within the administrative complex at the heart of the city. His office was plain with only some small personal touches, among them more than one framed photograph of Taft pictured shaking hands with various officials, as well as framed certificates that suggested Taft was an accomplished martial artist, athlete and well-educated. As for the legitimacy of some of these certificates, Colonel Venarus could not be certain. Human sports and educational institutions were something he knew very little of.

It was late afternoon. Venarus had been out of the bunker for about two hours now, and his head still pounded and his body still ached after what those military intelligence thugs had done to him. Even so, he was alive and free (relatively speaking), so that was certainly something to be pleased with. As it stood, he would have preferred different company but unfortunately his meeting with Taft was necessary.

Frederic Taft was a man well into his sixties, perhaps pushing seventy even now. He wore the blue and black uniform of a CED officer, one that positively struggled at the seams in keeping his bulk contained. The man did not so much as "sit" in his chair as he did appear to have been poured into it. His features were puffy, seemingly always portraying a countenance that one would be more likely to see on an individual suffering from constipation. His hair was pitch black, cut short and shaped into a widow's peak. When he spoke, his voice was low and raspy, and at times Venarus had difficulty making out what he was saying. At least this time around they had the benefit of actual close proximity, even if Venarus himself would have preferred to be well away from this man and this backwoods planet as a whole.

'You made it out in one piece,' Taft stated. Behind where Venarus was seated, two guards stood at either corner. Both watched the turian carefully, no doubt ready to act if he made any sudden moves.

At Taft's back was a window, through which the low afternoon light streamed in between a set of thin curtains. The central government district had been on a strict lockdown since the incident a few days before, the one that had seen the colony's Governor gunned down. For now, there was no clear successor, rather there were several officials squabbling amongst themselves as each made a go for that high office. There could very well be another armed conflict here on Anhur if order was not brought to affairs soon. Chief Taft was well-positioned to make a move for the office of Governor, and no doubt the man himself knew it.

'You sound pleased,' Venarus noted.

'Of course I'm pleased. You're paying me. A dead man can't pay his bills, you know?' Taft had a shot glass on his desk and a bottle of some expensive, potent liquor. As he spoke, he popped the lid on that bottle and poured himself a glass of the foul smelling, yellow-tinted liquid. The stench of it reached Venarus' nostrils, causing him to scrunch up his nose. Human liquor had always carried a certain stink to it that Venarus had never been able to cease being repulsed by.

'I need passage off of Anhur,' Venarus stated. Why waste time with small talk? 'I need it soon.'

Taft nodded his head slowly, as if in agreement.

'Where do you plan to go?' Taft asked him. This question caught the Colonel off-guard, if only because a man such as Frederic Taft should have known better than to ask such questions. It seemed the human had noticed Venarus' disdain for the question, judging from what he said next:

'Don't give me that look, Colonel. I know all about you being a fugitive. Your own people see you as a traitor, and even Alliance Intelligence is going to be looking for you now. We only got away with what we did at that safehouse because this is the Terminus Systems. And even that doesn't mean we're free from reprisal.'

Venarus did not reply, not then. He allowed Taft to continue talking, all while he mulled over certain details of his circumstances:

'You came to me six months ago with a proposal,' Taft said. 'A share of the profits made from your illegal enterprise, in exchange for protection. You could do whatever you wanted on this planet without having to fear being arrested and jailed for it. And I, as the enterprising man I am, happily accepted this proposal. And for a while there, things were good. Shit, they were better than good. You got what you wanted, and I got what I wanted. Now, though, things have changed.'

'The details of our deal have not changed, Chief Taft.'

The man picked up his filled shot glass and put it to his lips. He held up one finger of his other hand, a signal for Venarus to pause talking for the moment as Taft gulped down the potent liquor. As soon as he had sent it down his gullet, he set the glass back upon the table and locked eyes once more with the turian Colonel.

'That's just it, birdman. The details have changed, and the situation on Anhur has changed as well. You, Colonel, are my insurance against turian reprisal.'

Venarus' ageing features contorted into a scowl, and on a turian such a gesture carried with it something predatory, animalistic even. However, it faded quickly when he heard the two guards behind him step closer, as if anticipating him making a move against their boss.

'You're too useful for me to let you go,' Taft said. 'You will continue paying us as you have, thereby guaranteeing that we will continue protecting you. However, I will be placing you into secure custody. Consider it "witness protection".'

'You can't do this to me, Taft.' Venarus' indignation was clear. Taft, on the other hand, appeared to find some amusement in the turian's consternation.

'Sure I can.' Taft's puffy features seemed to light up with some hint of a smile. 'You can come here and wave your money around all you want. Thing is, the trouble you've caused me has finally reached the point where I simply cannot let it continue.'

'You're going to hand me back to the Hierarchy, aren't you?'

'Not at all. Shit, they're more likely to come here and try and kill your sorry ass. You know too much, and what you do know could damage them. It could damage the Alliance as well. Trust me, birdman, you're better off here.'

'This isn't the arrangement we had.' Venarus knew he could do little here. He was a turian without allies, for the handful of men whose loyalty he had secured were all dead. His own people considered him a traitor, and Cerberus was as determined to see him dead as the Hierarchy's own intelligence services. Even the Alliance would want him dead, as soon as they got wind that the information he held could damage them. His only ally in this whole sorry affair was this second-rate mercenary, a man whom he had little actual respect for and one he could not fully trust. Already, Taft had proven that he had ulterior motives, even if Venarus could begrudgingly understand those motives. In a situation such as this, information was power, and those who held it could barter it. Venarus was a commodity, one to be held onto and sold for the most gain at the most convenient time.

'Now, if you don't want me to hand you over to your people, I suggest you forward to the specified account the amount of three hundred thousand credits.' Taft pulled a credit chit from a pocket on his vest then, before he slid it across the table. 'The details are on the card.'

'Three hundred thousand?' Venarus could barely contain his disbelief. Taft narrowed his eyes behind those tinted specs of his.

'A security deposit,' he told the turian. 'A necessity, if you wish to be under our continued protection.'

Venarus sighed. He had money, certainly; most of it acquired from his dealing with Director Rickard. Three-hundred thousand was no small sum, but it would not break the bank where Venarus was concerned. It still hurt to pay, yet it was money he could afford to part with.

'You better fulfil your end of the bargain,' he warned Taft, as he picked up the chit and began to make the transfer. 'Or this is the last payment you'll ever get from me.'

Taft, his ageing, puffy features lighting up slightly, emitted a short chuckle that sounded more akin to a raspy wheeze, like two pieces of sandpaper being rubbed together.

'Hey, don't take it personally, birdman,' he said, between rasping breaths. 'I'm just trying to secure myself a real comfortable retirement.'

Sevarn was dead. He had died in her arms. A man she had come to care for deeply, more so than any other in recent memory, had been taken from her so soon after she had finally admitted her feelings for him. It was a cruel joke, played by whatever callous higher power was at work in the universe. She had made love to him only the night before, and now he was dead, as if that higher power was trying to prove a point: everyone who ever got close to her got hurt, or even killed. Perhaps she was supposed to cower, to be broken with despair in response to this latest loss; she certainly felt an emptiness, a hollowness that would forever remain within her. And yet, it was not enough to cow her entirely. If anything, it only further steeled her resolve to see those responsible dead.

Her hands were tied behind her back and she was feigning unconsciousness, the armoured carrier she was seated in bumping and lurching along the somewhat unreliable roads of New Thebes. She was surrounded by several CED troopers, including the batarian Sergeant who had led the attack on the turian safehouse. They were likely taking her to be interrogated and locked up. Perhaps they thought she would be useful as a prisoner, her being former Cerberus. She figured they would be disappointed, as soon as they learnt she was little more than a glorified security guard, now fugitive from her former employers. She was hardly a wealth of information, especially considering that her place of employment was a smouldering ruin.

She caught the batarian watching her. Lyssa kept her eyes half-closed, and every so often she would shift where she sat, especially whenever the vehicle bounced on a hump or the like. Nonetheless, she feigned being somewhat out of it, an attempt to place her captors into a false sense of security. At the same time, her thoughts strayed to Sevarn, to the young turian Lieutenant she had at first distrusted, then befriended, and then come to love. That was what it had been, there was no denying it. She had fallen in love with him, and now she would never be able to tell him the true extent of her feelings.

The mourning could wait. The grief would linger at the background, threatening to spill forth but always kept reined in. She had to remain strong, if she was to survive whatever came next. And what was coming, she knew, would not be anything pleasant. From the way that batarian Sergeant was looking at her, she got the impression that he was one to be careful around.

Sergeant Kern scrutinised the half-conscious woman, her outfit noticeably dirtied, as was some of her face. She was handcuffed and on her knees, having been shoved out of the back of an armoured personnel carrier. They were out on the gravel parade ground outside of the CED building within the administrative compound, a large open space that often saw CED troopers training and marching at various times of day. Taft's office was situated in the building nearby, forming the heart of the CED for Anhur.

Kern was not too much like some of his batarian brethren, in the sense that he did not have an outright hatred of humans. He worked more on a case-by-case basis; he had to, seeing that he was working among them. Taft was his superior, and he was reasonable and realistic enough to know that working for that human provided him a stable and sometimes enjoyable career. There was always something to enjoy, when it came to enforcing the law on a planet like this. And sometimes, he would come upon a good-looking woman such as the one before him, a situation made all the better knowing that he would have her alone and in his custody in short order.

'Wake up.' He grabbed the woman by the chin, forcing her to look up at him. She was fully awake now, and her eyes were visibly moist, as if she had been weeping recently. However, whatever had had her upset had not diminished her defiance, and she spat in the batarian's face without hesitation.

Kern wiped the globule of spit that had landed on his cheek aside with one gloved hand. He looked the woman in the eyes for a moment, seeing the defiance there and realising then that it was not the kind so easily defeated. Kern backhanded her hard across the jaw, drawing a small trickle of blood from one corner of her mouth.

'Your name?' Kern asked her. The woman had been cradling a dead turian when they had found her, which Kern had certainly found curious. 'What's your name, human?'

She did not reply. She simply cast her eyes downwards, keeping her silence. Kern sighed, and he motioned for one of his nearby subordinates to come over.

'Take her to holding,' he told the Corporal. 'Make sure she's secured.'

The Corporal and one other CED trooper moved in to pick up the woman. However, a voice sounded from somewhere nearby, causing them to pause.

'Wait, wait.' It was the Chief's aide, a young Lieutenant by the name of Royce Eckert. He stood just at the front entrance of the CED headquarters building, and he was motioning to Kern.

'What is it?' Kern had little patience for this upstart, weaselly Lieutenant. Eckert strode towards him, crossing the parade ground partway to close the distance.

'The Chief wants to see her,' he told the batarian.

'What for?'

'He didn't say. Just that he wants to talk to her, as soon as possible.'

Kern, feeling a little disappointed, turned his gaze to the woman again. She looked up at him, returning that gaze with some small trace of a smirk at her mouth.

'Looks like it's your lucky day,' he told her. 'But I wouldn't celebrate too soon.' He put a gloved hand to her cheek, running his fingers along the cheekbone there. She recoiled from the touch, but Kern was insistent, clasping a hand about her head and pulling her close. He leaned forwards, so that his breath was hot on her neck.

'I'll have you, soon enough,' he told her. With a shove, he let her go, before he directed the Corporal and his compatriot to take her into the headquarters. He locked his gaze upon the Corporal as he moved in to grab her.

'Make sure she's secure,' he instructed. 'I don't want you taking any chances with this one.'

Lyssa was escorted into the CED headquarters with two soldiers flanking her and her hands tied behind her back. They took her around the building to a rear entrance intended for use by authorised personnel, and presumably this was the entrance they used when bringing in prisoners. Even so, it seemed she was destined for the boss man's office instead of any holding cell, which suggested that someone higher-up considered her of holding some importance. This was a good sign, at least regarding her odds of getting out of this mess.

The plain brick corridor led through the rear section of the building, with a security checkpoint part of the way down. The guard here, a batarian Corporal in light armour, stood up as she was brought before the gate. The place appeared overall rustic, like something from a poorer part of Earth that had not quite caught up with the level of the late 22nd century. This was not atypical for a Terminus Systems colony, where cost and function often trumped keeping things state-of-the-art.

'Just bringing this one to the Chief,' the trooper standing at Lyssa's left said. The batarian Corporal frowned, gave the woman a once-over and in the process, made no effort to conceal the disgust he felt upon sighting a human woman.

'Keep her still.' He activated his omni-tool then, the stark orange overlay appearing over his left forearm. He was going to scan her. Standard procedure, and hardly an issue for Lyssa seeing as how she was unarmed. As he moved towards her, her gaze floated over to the desk where the batarian had been seated and subsequently to the neighbouring metal gate that barred any further progress down the corridor. Her keen eye searched for anything that might have offered her any sort of advantage. Nothing sprung out at her, and so she simply kept her head down and allowed the batarian trooper to run his scan and confirm that yes, she was not carrying any weapons.

The Chief's office was at the far end of the corridor. At his otherwise plain, unadorned desk sat the Chief's bulky, overweight frame, seated in a chair that Lyssa was surprised was still holding up.

The Chief, eyes peering at her through a set of orange-tinted specs, scrutinised her with something curious yet wary to his gaze. Then again, it was a little hard to read his overall expression, given just how puffy his features appeared. Just a side effect of his obviously overweight nature, or so Lyssa assumed. She was no expert on such things.

'I've heard about you,' Chief Taft said, as she was brought before him. He motioned for the vacant chair across the desk from him. The two soldiers escorting Lyssa stepped back and allowed the woman to take the seat at her own accord. It felt a little strange, being welcomed in such a way, but she would gladly go along with it.

'Lyssa Raine,' the Chief stated. He intertwined his fingers and rested them upon his bulky belly. He quirked one eyebrow, upon seeing the surprised look Lyssa gave him. 'Yeah, I know who you are. A lot of folks around here do, because you're something of a celebrity around here. Former Cerberus, for one. That paints a target on your back more so than a lot of other things, especially where the other species are concerned.'

'What do you want from me?' She asked him.

'Straight to the point, I like that.' Taft nodded his head in approval. 'No playing around. That's my style.'

'Is that so?'

Taft motioned to some of the framed photos that were on the walls about the office. Lyssa followed his motion, sighting more than a few high-resolution images that showed a somewhat slimmer Frederic Taft in various mercenary settings. From what she could gather, Taft had seen action in the Rebellions, although he did not wear the colours of the Eclipse mercenary group in any of those images.

'You're a former Marine,' Taft said, and Lyssa shifted her attention back to him. 'I was a corsair. You know them?'

'Vaguely.' The corsairs were a specialised Alliance military unit, but not one Lyssa had looked too deeply into.

'But it wasn't enough, you know? Then the situation here blew up and I felt drawn to it like a moth to a flame.'

Lyssa said nothing, she simply continued listening. She was distinctly aware of the two soldiers still loitering behind her. She could just make out their reflections on the bottle of liquor Taft had sitting upon the desk, just off to his left-hand side. It was something vintage, no doubt shipped over from Earth for no small import fee. As for why Taft felt the need to enlighten her, a complete stranger, as to the story of his life, she had no idea.

'This planet is like a gold mine,' he told her. 'A gold mine for enterprising individuals such as myself. I worked myself into this position because I knew how to game the system. You get the lay of the land, you find out who you should be paying off and before you know it, you're making six figures and doing fuck all.'

'Am I in trouble?' Lyssa asked him. Taft frowned slightly, perceiving the interruption as some sort of slight, no doubt. 'I mean, your guys raided a turian intelligence safehouse and you grabbed me. What do you want from me, really?'

'Well, I wanted to talk to the woman who broke in here the other day and caused a riot,' Taft stated. 'We identified you through our surveillance, after the fact. And then we learned all about your employment with Cerberus, not to mention that shit that went down at the metro station. It didn't take us long to source everything we could about you, and we do have some reliable sources.'

Lyssa supposed that this was not surprising. There were plenty of informants out there with access to information they should not have been privy to, and they were all too happy to sell it to the highest bidder. Taft no doubt had access to some sizeable funds, given his position and mercenary background.

'The Governor is dead because of you,' Taft stated. He did not sound particularly upset. If anything, he seemed pleased. Then again, it was a little hard to tell where he was concerned. His puffy features and his slightly squinting eyes made just about every expression on his face appear near inscrutable, resulting in a visage that barely shifted. His smiles were barely perceptible for that matter. Lyssa might have found the man as a whole near comical, given his weight and his rasping voice and his overall demeanour. Of course, her current mood and her situation hardly helped to bring on any laughter.

'I didn't kill him.' Lyssa was not even sure who was to blame for that. The Governor had been an unfortunate victim of stray bullets, so just about anyone could have shot him. 'If I did, it was accidental. I get the impression you don't much care about the Governor?'

'The man was a damn moron,' Taft said. 'But he was holding this place together. And that's why I want to talk to you, because his death has left a vacuum. A vacuum I intend to fill. And your actions these past few days have only made that vacuum bigger. Salak Vok was another figure who had a very particular place here. His death will have sent the batarian rebels into disarray. There will be chaos in the outer reaches of the colony. My people are going to have their hands full because of that.'

Lyssa frowned.

'My heart bleeds for you,' she said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.

'I'm not upset with you, not really. In fact, I wanted to enlist your help. You're a former marine and former Cerberus. You must have all kinds of juicy information stashed up in that head of yours. If you cooperate, I can make things very comfortable for you here.'

Lyssa should have expected as much. Killing her would be a waste. There was an out here, she could see that. Taft, despite his eccentricities, seemed a reasonable man. He was offering her a place here, even if it was little more than as a glorified trophy. A tool for him to make use of, whenever it suited him. In a way, Lyssa was insulted. She did not see much choice, yet it occurred to her that there was a reason why the CED had attacked that safehouse. After all, who had been in that place aside from her that a man such as Taft might be interested in keeping around?

'Where's Colonel Venarus?' She asked him. Taft's near-inscrutable face narrowed slightly. His mood had changed, and the previously hospitable demeanour he had portrayed evaporated in that instant.

'What concern is that turian to you?' He asked her.

'I want to rip his head off his fucking shoulders, that's my concern.' Lyssa did not conceal the venom she felt, and she allowed it to seep into her every word as she spoke of Sevarn's killer. 'You have him, don't you?'

'He's not here,' Taft stated, and his voice was firm. 'No need to go tearing up the place, Miss Raine.'

'You're that worried about me?'

'You have developed quite a reputation since this whole mess started up,' Taft told her. 'Let's look at it in perspective: you worked for Cerberus. You were an operative for them, working at their facility on Anhur. Turian Blackwatch come in, fuck the place up, kill your coworkers and then snatch you. And then Salak Vok and his boys move in, kill the turians, leaving you and another as the survivors. And then, after this, you got caught up with Vok, then some Alliance black op, and then the turians.'

'When you put it that way, it sounds almost straightforward.' Lyssa could not help but smile. She had had an eventful couple of weeks, after all.

'That's not mentioning the fact that it was Venarus who engineered the initial strike. I don't think he was counting on you and your turian friend surviving it.'

'And now?'

'Now Venarus is an asset I intend to make full use of,' Taft told her. 'And if you accept my generous offer, then you will have a life here and some level of protection from anyone who might come round and try to kill you.'

'Protection? By your second-rate mercenaries?' Lyssa scoffed, her derision clear. Taft seemed hardly fazed by this, and he offered her a smirk that was, again, only somewhat perceptible.

'It's better than nothing.'

'I'll take my chances, thank you.'

'You won't accept?'

'I'll accept, on one condition.' Now Lyssa leaned forwards over the table, as much as she figured she could risk without the guards behind her stepping in. She looked Chief Taft in the eyes, and she left him waiting a moment before she gave him her ultimatum:

'Give me Venarus and I'll tell you everything I know. I want ten minutes alone in a room with him.'

'And what state will you leave him in? Sounds to me you want to do something freaky.'

'I'll cut him to shreds and make him suffer,' Lyssa said.

'So, you'll kill him?'

'That's right.'

'I can't allow that.' Taft shook his head slowly. 'It's a real shame, Miss Raine. I was hoping you would cooperate. I do respect you. You're a woman of action, and I have always been a fan of the fairer sex.'

'I'm sure you have.' She saw him nod then, slightly. It was not to her, she realised. Rather, it was to one of the men standing behind her.

'Thing is, I can't let you go, either. And you don't strike me as someone who'll make for an easily contained captive. As it stands, Venarus wants you dead, and he's paying me a ton of money, so I feel like that's one request I can fulfil.'

There, in the liquor bottle upon the desk: she saw one of the soldiers move forwards, his footsteps slow and deliberate as to be as quiet as possible. A knife appeared in his hand, a standard serrated combat blade. He went to move forwards, to get her from behind. He likely intended some sort of quick and clean throat slit; either that, or he would simply stick it in her spine and paralyse her a split second before the blade sank deeper and killed her.

Lyssa reacted on instinct then, and she leaned back in her chair. She put a foot against the edge of the desk, kicking hard against it and in turn sending her falling backwards. This caught the soldier by surprise, and as she fell she brought up her bound wrists and swatted the knife out of the soldier's hands. The other man stepped forwards then, and Lyssa swept out a leg that caught him behind one knee and made him stumble.

She leapt up with an agility granted through a strict fitness regimen and state-of-the-art gene therapy. The knife had landed nearby; her hands wrapped about its hilt as she jumped up, and with a thrust upwards she plunged the blade up and through the bottom of his chin, behind the jawbone. It cut up and into his mouth, slicing through his tongue before it became lodged in the palate above. As he gargled about the intruding blade, stumbling backwards with his hands grabbing for it, Lyssa spun towards the other soldier and let fly with a potent kick that connected with his chest and sent him falling backwards.

Behind her, Tat shifted. He pulled open a drawer and withdrew from within a bulky Executioner model pistol. It was hardly a practical weapon, but for a man as overbearing as Taft it seemed strangely apt.

Lyssa kicked the second man in the face, shattering the visor of his helmet and sending more than one jagged piece of the transparent polymer cutting into his face and eyes. The man let out a pained cry, before Lyssa darted for the exit.

Taft had the gun in hand then, and he fired a shot that filled the room with a deafening thump. The armour-piercing slug slammed into the wall behind Lyssa as she ran for the door. The shot punched a fist-sized hole through the wall that was followed by an eruption of brick dust.

Taft sighed in frustration, having to eject the spent casing from the obnoxiously large pistol in order to slide a fresh slug into place. Lyssa had barged on through the door then, catching the soldier who had been about to open it from the other side off-guard. She kicked him in the groin, before she jumped up and tackled him to the floor. Her bound hands pulled the combat knife he wore from the sheath at his thigh, before she plunged it into the soft spot of the man's armour under the helmet and above the chest plate. With a slash, she had cut the man's throat open, blood gushing before she adjusted her grip on the blade and used it to sever the binding around her wrists.

Another shot rang out from behind her, but by that point she was already sprinting down the corridor, heart pounding. She needed to get out of here, but first she needed information.

Taft sighed. Sometimes, he felt like he was the only competent man out here. Looking to the three wounded men lying on the floor of his office, he felt little else than frustration. The barrel of the Executioner still emitted a trail of smoke, and he gave it a quick reload. All while, he simply shook his head in disappointment.

'Jesus Christ almighty, you guys really know how to test my fucking patience.' One of the men was less wounded than the others. Whereas the one with a knife stuck up into his head was no longer moving, as was the same case for the one with a slashed throat lying in the doorway, the third was still in some sort of living state. Sure, his face was shredded up with thick, jagged polymer, but he was sitting up against the nearby wall and breathing heavily and raggedly.

Slowly, and with the chair creaking loudly in protest, Frederic Taft rose to his feet. He was as almost as wide standing as he had been sitting. Gun in hand, he slowly strode around his desk before he stopped over the wounded CED trooper with the shredded face.

'How do you fuck that up?' He asked aloud. 'Now I have to get out of my chair, and you know how I feel about that.'

He aimed the gun at the wounded man, before pulling the trigger. A bloody, ragged hole appeared at the man's chest, blowing through where his heart was located. The man's moaning ended immediately, leaving the room mercifully quiet. Taft flicked the release on the pistol, before he slid another swollen armour-piercing round into the chamber. At that moment, two CED troopers appeared in the doorway, weapons at the ready.

'Don't just stand there, you morons,' Taft told them, frustration thick in his voice. 'She ran down the corridor. You're telling me you didn't see her?'

The way the two men just stared blankly at him spoke more than words ever could. Raine had probably gone another way than these two, but this did not make their incompetence any more acceptable in Taft's eyes.

'Put out an alert. I want this place locked down. That woman is going to cause a whole world of trouble if we don't intercept her before she's out of the compound.' If Lyssa Raine got into New Thebes proper and outside of the administrative district, she could disappear down a hundred different holes. The CED might have been the law enforcement here, but they could not watch every street corner or sewer grating or back alley. People came here to disappear, and Anhur offered plenty of opportunities for just that.