This fucking sucks.

  My face, which was now covered in soot and whatever factory bi-product I could find, no doubt reflected immense displeasure. I was outside the mess hall, waiting for lunch to end, so I could sneak into the other group.

  The factory's bell rang again, sharp, metallic, and almost painful to hear after the short-lived peace of the mess hall. Hundreds of workers stood and began shuffling toward the main yard, carrying the enthusiasm of sleepwalkers.

  I followed closely, staying low in the crowd, my newly soot-covered face helping me blend in with the other soot-covered men.

  We moved together through a corridor of steel pipes and cracked brick, the stink of smoke and oil clinging to everything. The sun above was a pale grey circle, barely visible through the rising smog and smoke. Coughs echoed all around me, like a sick choir pyed by struggling men.

  As I stepped into the new factory, something was up, as the men didn't immediately head to work. Instead of returning to work, the workers, who numbered probably a hundred, were crowding into the open space, forming a loose ring around a rge stack of crates. A man climbed onto the crates, he stood atop them, tall, young, charismatic.

  Hallrigg - The foreman of this factory.

  Probably early thirties. Sharp jawline under a beard trimmed just enough to show he cared about being presentable. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing thick forearms bckened by work.

  His posture was more rexed than the rest, but his eyes were far too alert for a regur factory worker, and he held himself in a dignified way, despite his lowly profession.

  He raised a hand, and the murmurs among the crowd died quickly. Seeing the crowd start to silence, Halrigg coughed quickly, clearing his lungs of any residue of smog, and started his speech.

  "I won't waste your time," Halrigg said, his voice booming in the enclosed space of the factory

  "We all know why we're here. They work us to the bone, raise quotas every month, and tell us it's 'for the Empire'. But when's the st time any of us saw a raise? When's the st time anyone here didn't cough up bck at the end of the shift?"

  Grunts of agreement rumbled around the yard, and I heard some men say some curses under their breathe.

  "They say loyalty is paid in legacy. That our children will live better than we do. But how many of you want to raise a child in this smog? How many of you see the conditions actually improving for us commoners?"

  Someone shouted in agreement. Hallrigg pressed forward.

  "We can't keep pretending this is how the status quo should be. We make the gears turn, yet we're treated like the grease put between them. We are indispensable, yet we are treated as if we are the lowest form of scum this society caters to. If things won't change on their own, we'll make them change. Together."

  No one said the word "unionization", I don't even think they knew what that meant, but the implication was loud enough to echo.

  "Some say the world's changing. That even the Emperor's chosen now walk among the common folk. In fact, I hear that one among us has awakened to the Emperor's power, and that the Almighty has deemed one of us worthy of the Divine Path."

  Well, here we go.

  "You've probably seen it, a boy named Damian, and an orphan nonetheless! That should both excite you and tell you something, shouldn't it? You don't need noble blood to be worth something anymore, to be the Almighty's 'chosen'. The world's waking up, and we'll be the first to rise with it, I promise you that, brothers."

  There it is.

  My eyebrow started to twitch in annoyance. All I could hope was the news didn't include a detailed portrait of my face, otherwise, it would be extremely frustrating to walk around anywhere without a good disguise. Though I had faith that Cassian wouldn't be that stupid, and would at least do me a favor it keeping that rescinded.

  The crowd cpped, and some cheered. Hallrigg stepped down, disappearing into the mass of men before anyone could question him. All the men started to return to their work stations, but I didn't move just yet. I waited, watching the group scatter a bit more.

  Then I followed.

  Blending into the stragglers as best as I could, I trailed Hallrigg as he started climbing up the stairs to the upper section of the factory, where I could see a door that led into the walls. Most likely towards his office.

  After watching him open the door, I waited half a minute before entering after him. I turned to the right, but it was too dark to see much, but from what little light there was, I saw him.

  He was already waiting.

  Back against the wall, arms crossed, a suspicious smirk on his face.

  "You're not one of mine", he said ftly.

  From behind me, I heard a soft click. A man in dusty workwear had stepped from the shadows from the left of the corridor, holding a small pistol at head level, just high enough that it was pointed against my trachea. The cold metal of the barrel could be felt pressed against the back of my neck.

  "You've got clean posture, clean breath, and too much calm in your eyes for someone working twelve-hour shifts. Who are you exactly?"

  I didn't move. My hands stayed down. He got up from the wall, and started to walk closer to me as he questioned me, confidence in his eyes.

  "Someone with clearance. Someone who's not here to waste your time."

  "So your one of the Watch's dogs, then?" he said, tilting his head. "Or something nastier, maybe a rat that hides in the sewers?"

  "Close enough."

  Hallrigg didn't flinch at my short responses and calm demeanour. If anything, he looked more amused. I didn't offer any amusing face, keeping it as emotionless as possible.

  "So what, you listen to me make a speech, tail me through the factory, snoop around in the soot, then pop in with vague threats? I've dealt with worse than the secret police."

  My small smile was now gone, repced with a more somber face as I kept direct eye contact with him, unblinking.

  "You've dealt with amateurs. I'm not one."

  I took a small step forward, the gun still following my every movement. I subtly shifted my coat just enough to reveal the faint shape of the revolver at my side. He noticed and gave it a quick gnce, but he was seemingly unfazed.

  "And you think waving a gun's going to scare me?"

  I shook my head, my smile returning. "No. But the people who follow me if I die? That should. Because than we go from asking questions, to taking answers."

  That gave him reason to pause. Not yet fear, merely caution. I continued, our battle of confidence escating to new heights.

  "I'm not here to bust your speeches or py moral police, that's not my job." I continued. "I need information, and now. Something deeper than workers' rights and missing pay."

  He stayed quiet, still staring at me, but now with eyes that showed he was thinking about what I was saying.

  "I know you've brushed shoulders with smugglers. Maybe even bought from them. To be brutally honest, I really don't care. What I care about is what else they've seen, or if you've seen anything."

  With a deep breathe, I continued, while staring him directly into his eyes, despite our differences in height.

  "I'm talking heresy, heretical movements, things along those lines. I'm not here to enforce the w, I'm here to investigate herecital incidents. And if you don't want my objective to change, you will tell me everything."

  His eyes seemed to waver slightly, but the same confidence did not leave. He motioned to the man behind me, and I felt the cold barrel leave my nape. I didn't offer a reaction, but internally I breathed a sigh of relief, and prayed that the cold sweat couldn't be seen in the dim hallway.

  "I don't deal in shadows," he said after a beat. He started rubbing his shaved beard, a contemptive gaze still adorned to his eyes. "But I've heard things."

  "Go on."

  He scratched at his beard, eyes flicking between me and his armed companion, and finally relented as a more serious gaze finally met his face.

  "There's been talk in the bck market, in the middle-eastern fringe of the Outer Rim. There's a rain drainage system under the city, which was abandoned after the purges four years ago. One of the smuggling groups was using it as a temporary storehouse and smuggling route, but they left quickly."

  Halriggs eyes had changed now, I could even see slight fear from talking about the supernatural.

  "Said the pce felt cursed. Carvings in the walls, noises at night. Said one of their guys started bleeding from the eyes and nose, screaming about being 'blinded by the bck light'. Creepy stuff, but didn't want to stick my nose where it didn't concern me"

  I nodded slowly, my eyes gaining some crity after that new information.

  That was definitely what I was looking for, but I'd rather find the smugglers first and directly question them instead, to make sure I wasn't falling for anything. Looking back towards Halrigg, I asked him one st question.

  "And if I wanted to speak to these smugglers directly? Where would I find them? Just for your information, if I find out even one bit of information you give or have given me is false, I will be coming back, and I won't be alone."

  I saw Halriggs eyes flicker, and I could tell my bluff had worked. He sighed this time, seemingly defeated, but the confidence in his eyes still remained, which made me slightly impressed.

  "You can find them also in the Market area, inside the underground market, near the alleyway next to the divine fortune teller, a crazy old dy with silver jewellery. Look for the third door to the right, knock in this pattern, and slip one silver coin through the opening under the door, then they should let you into the underground market."

  Halrigg knocked on the wall, in a complex and condensed pattern that would be easy to remember, yet hard to guess.

  The bck market huh... Well, I can tick one thing off my bucket list now at least.

  Reaching into my coat, I pulled out a small folded slip of paper and scribbled on it a bit, then handed it to him.

  He unfolded it silently, reading the short contents, eyes scanning it twice. His expression changed - not fear, not guilt - just awareness and weariness. He understood what the paper meant.

  "You're letting me go?"

  "Not really," I said, turning away for the door.

  "You're just not worth the paperwork. But don't push it."

  "Still going to report me?"

  I waved my hand in a nonchant manner, as if I was now tired of the whole ordeal.

  "Not unless I have to."

  He tucked the paper into his coat and exhaled, muttering something too quiet to catch.

  As I opened the door, I didn't look back.

  Hallrigg was already moving, fast and quiet. Packing, no doubt.

  Smart man. I had written down a warning, one that he had thankfully taken heed to.

  They might be listening. I will have to report you, so leave this city if you want to keep your head.

  Scratching the back of my neck, I secretly hoped he would escape. I was sympathetic to him, but what I was doing mattered more than some blossoming revolutionary. But if I could help him at least keep his head, my conscience would at least be a bit lighter.

  .

  .

  .

  .

  By the time I made it back to the Inner Rim, the smoot had thinned slightly, though it still clung to the edges of my coat like guilt. I climbed the steps to my apartment, already peeling off the ft cap and brushing soot from my sleeves.

  I craved a bath right now, and couldn't wait to change out of these clothes that had stuck to me like glue. But I still had to investigate the bck market, and I had only really come back to see if my orders had changed.

  "Well, maybe a quick bath wouldn't be a stretch."

  The apartment was quiet. Dust filtered through the window in warm light as the sun started to dim, indicating nightfall would be soon. Like the heretics, my original Divine Attribute thrived in the night, so I wasn't too concerned. Now that the Inquisition knew of my dark affinity, and had chosen to let me utilise it, I was less reluctant to use it now.

  I made sure to lock the door and walked to the table.

  There, waiting as I had left it this morning, was the bck envelope. The Inquisition's sigil was faint, but present.

  The mission remains the same.

  Not a new mission - just a quiet reminder.

  The Empire trusts only the unseen.

  And today, I had certainly been unseen.