It had already begun to rain by the time Savasa arrived at the decrepit excuse for a warehouse. The foundation was practically crumbling and the kartodyx siding was pitted from years of corrosion. The docks of Bisra were no stranger to the predations of sea-air, but regular maintenance was more-than-enough to ward off the visible passage of time. She dismissively jotted her remarks on her data-pad as she scanned the grimy windows and neglected façade. She felt a pang of disappointment as she completed her cursory assessment of the building’s exterior. Rydax could have, at least, tried to make it appear as though he was conducting a legitimate enterprise. Savasa had seen it all before. She could already tell that there would be no trouble in filing her report.

Dahkini were so predictable. She made an effort to prevent sterotypes from painting her interactions with the other species, but a Vortixx can only turn a blind eye to so many instances of the same experience. She began to replay conversations with past clients in her head, in order to prepare for whatever was waiting inside. More importantly, however, she remembered each of their pitiful excuses. “Good help is hard to come by!”, a club-owner claimed. “My workers are having trouble keeping up with demand!”, whined a planter. While each attempt was pathetic, she never got quite so angry as when they would have the gall to lie to her about a subject she was experienced with, of which there were many. A particularly incensing encounter with an industrial supplier seeped its way into her conscious.

“Do you have any idea how much protoiron costs these days?!” Her fist clenched at the memory of his voice. Of course she knew. It was her job to know. She had spent more time studying the stock market and predicting pricing trends than that buffoon had been in business. Characteristic Dahkini insolence in the face of blatant superiority infuriated her beyond restraint. Savasa paused mid-step as she ruminated on the memory. She found it odd that she neglected to tie her transfer to Bisra with his death until now. Perhaps she knew all along. She decided in that moment that she didn’t care. If the Bureau had wanted her dead, she would never have been transferred. Bisra has even more swindlers than Stelt, and Savasa had never been more busy. Clearly, her skill was being recognized.

With her composure restored, she entered the structure. The cool, blue light emanating from her eyes and the various vents and indicators on her body barely managed to supplement the dimly lit gloom that filled the space. The air was stale and stiff, seeming to resent here presence. The click-clack of her heels echoed off of the multitudinous shelves as she took note of their contents, or rather lack thereof. Rydax had shown a marginal degree of competence in ordering this much shelving. He must have known that doing so would give the impression that he expected to fill them. In most cases, attempting to ensure the investors’ confidence in this way would have been a clever move. Clearly, Rydax had not borrowed from a Xian bank before. The portions of the shelves that were occupied were littered with bottom-rack weapons and devices. Standard Steltian fare. Rydax’s file indicated ambitions of becoming a major warlord in Clan Foihau, which would require an immense store of weapons, not-to-mention bodies to wield them. Savasa attached her multi-spectrum lens before confirming what she already suspected.

Each shelf bore more of the same meager selection. Whatever Rydax had spent his investment on, it wasn’t here. She was about to add her findings to the report when a boisterous slam interrupted her train of thought. Setting her lens to infrared, she saw a bulky silhouette stomping toward her from a back office. The brisk pace and stiff arm movements indicated annoyance. Savasa feigned ignorance of his approach and pretended to peruse the shelves in an effort to capitalize on his frustration. “You lost or something?”, the Kumopak barked. His brutish demeanor suited his appearance perfectly. His frame was broad, even for one of his kind. His years of service were painted on his white and orange body in the form of rust and grime.

Savasa could feel his verdant ocular lenses burning into her skull. She returned his gaze with a languid glance before refocusing on the data-pad. While she had rarely had the opportunity to negotiate with Kumopoak, she was more-than-familiar with their brash nature, and she knew she had struck a nerve once she heard the tell-tale whine of servos as his body tensed. “None of this is for sale, y’know.” he spat, growing more irritated. “I should certainly hope not.” Savasa said coolly. “I don’t think you could give this trash away.” The lout effortlessly swung one of his apish arms and toppled a row of product as he closed the distance between them.

“58,000.” Savasa sighed. He stopped abruptly. His face suddenly became a palette of different emotions. In a matter of seconds, the aggravation that once characterized the lummox was coated with bewilderment, splashed with sudden realization before finally becoming awash with unbridled rage. He stood rigidly as his eyes locked with hers. Still maintaining eye-contact, his servos strained audibly as he stiffly lifted his left arm to his side before swatting another set of shelves down behind him. Answering his silent challenge, Savasa gave her best impression of a jaded statue as she tried to hide how much the sudden cacophony grated on her. It was only after the domino sequence of clattering flotsam finally ceased before Savasa shared her final tally. “219,000 widgets is a lot of money, even in the form of sub-standard junk.” she chided. “I thought that Rydax would have spent his money on something far more useful than a sad excuse for a front”.

hiss of steam being forced from his mandible vents