Despite Karolen living so close to her district's Portal Stone, the inauspiciously driving rain added considerably to her journey to the museum.

As she locked her front door, water poured down in sheets, turning the streets into a network of muddy rivers. All of those commuters who might usually have enjoyed a leisurely early morning stroll to work had instead decided a short, wet queue for mana transportation was preferable to a much longer mobile soaking.

Thus, when she arrived, there was an irritatingly large scrum of humanity waiting around the Portal Stone, all in various degrees of poor humour.

Karolen groaned in frustration as she joined the serpentine queue which wound its way down More-In-Expectation-Than-Hope Avenue and back up towards the street on which she lived, Contemplation Drive.

Of all the things she thought might go wrong with her assignment today, turning up both late and wet had not been in the top ten . . .

But there was nothing to be done about that now.

Having little else to occupy herself with until it was her turn to activate the Stone, Karolen spent the time amusing herself at the eclectic mix of professionals and . . . the less gainfully employed that were now huddled together under whatever ramshackle cover they could find.

At the front of the line stood a Level 18 Cloud Weaver looking particularly embarrassed at this state of affairs. The short, dark-haired woman was muttering incantations to ward off the rain that was, technically, part of their job description and ignoring the glares of everyone else who was getting soaked.

Beside her, a Level 7 Minor Drug Runner tried to shield his wares with an oversized raincoat, regularly checking the deluge wasn’t ruining the carefully organised powders. It was very much in keeping with the vibe of this part of town that he was doing a roaring trade with those who needed a 'little something' to cope with the wait.

Indeed, in a display of the entrepreneurial spirit for which Soar was so famed, he had teamed up with a Barista, smelling faintly of espresso and caramel, to offer an outrageously good value '2-4-1' deal. Thus, all the way down the line, people were balancing steaming cups of coffee in one hand and surreptitiously snorting something eye-opening off the wrist of the other.

There are going to be some buzzing people at their desks this morning, Karolen thought . . .

A little further back, a Level 24 Elemental Enforcer stood with their arms crossed, electricity crackling around their fingers whenever someone jostled them and repeatedly shocking themselves whenever rain fell on them. Call it an Auditor's instincts, but Karolen did not think there was much chance of the guy making it to Level 25.

Behind his ongoing suicide attempt, and repeatedly bumping into them, a Dog Walker wrangled a leash holding a pack of invisible, presumably wet, spectral hounds.

Or, Karolen supposed, it could just be they were an early-morning mentalist gearing up for some high-quality chicanery . . .

Watching the man with the leads collide with the shins of the sparking Elemental Enforcer again and again with the lead, Karolen thought it might be too early to make that call.

And all of this was set to the tune of a Level 11 Street Busker played a melancholic little tune on a waterlogged violin, adding a touch of musical whimsy to the dreary scene.

Despite herself, Karolen's lips twitched upward as she took in the patchwork scene before her. Young professionals—bright-eyed, overworked, and underpaid—crammed into spaces barely big enough to swing a Cat Familiar, their mismatched furniture and hopeful pot plants visible through uncurtained windows. It wasn’t hard to see herself reflected in them: striving, pragmatic, and just barely scraping by in a city that never paused long enough to let anyone catch their breath.

Among them, the more traditional residents moved with a stubborn permanence, their routines etched into the fabric of the streets like weathered carvings on ancient stone. It was a haphazard symphony of cultures, ambitions, and survival.

This was Soar at its finest, Karolen thought: a roiling, vibrant mess of humanity that defied logic and thrived in the chaos. It was the heartbeat of the city she wanted to protect, the reason she’d thrown herself into her latest jobs.

Taking down Grackle Nuroon wasn’t just about the ledger books or the whispers of corruption—it was about safeguarding this. The city’s drive. Its diversity. Its soul.

And then it was finally her turn. Pouring mana into stone and thinking 'Soar Museum', Karolen stepped through the shimmering portal and vanished.

*

Karolen had, of course, done her homework.

Her inventory was a tangle of page-upon-page of notes, questions, and outright accusations, a haphazard collection of potential bombs she intended to drop on the Museum Director once her investigation officially kicked off.

Every angle she had explored, every lead she had followed, was dutifully documented—except, of course, the nagging suspicion that it might all be little more than smoke and mirrors.

It had been so long since anyone remotely competent had been allowed to touch the museum's accounts, let alone investigate them properly, that Karolen had to wonder if what she’d uncovered during her long, painstaking hours of preparation was nothing more than dust-covered relics of an old, rotting scandal.

But she couldn't afford to back down now.

She had read enough to know that somewhere in the tangled mess of financial records, buried beneath layers of bureaucracy and decades of misdirection, there was something rotten—and it was going to be her job this day to dig it up, no matter how deep she had to go..

The level of 'creative' accounting, quadruple-entry bollocks, and general numerical sleaze she had unearthed in the previous audit was far from the kind of thing that could be brushed under the rug with a wink and a nod.

What she suspected was going on wasn’t a simple clerical mix-up or a couple of misplaced decimal points.

No, this was the kind of skullduggery that left fingerprints all over the books and a trail of smoke that would be hard to ignore. The sheer scale of the manipulation was enough to make her wonder if the museum's entire financial structure actually existed.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Whatever it was, it was not something that could be neatly resolved with a couple of hasty adjustments. Whoever was behind this knew exactly what they were doing—and Karolen had no intention of letting them get away with it.

From what she could tell, Director Nuroon was being a very naughty boy indeed.

There was a familiar rush of pressure, like a deep breath held too long, and then Karolen stepped out of the portal, her boots hitting the cobblestones just outside the grand entrance to Soar Museum.

To her left, a guard's station stood and to the right, was a dilapidated smoker's hut. Beneath its rusted eaves, five or six museum employees huddled together, trying to shield themselves from the relentless downpour whilst they sparked up.

Karolen couldn't help but smile at that.

There was something deeply satisfying about the sight. Widespread, wholesale financial fraud, it seemed, was one thing—an art form, almost—but even Grackle Nuroon had his limits when it came to Health and Safety legislation.

A long queue had already formed in front of the museum’s grand doors, a throng of impatient bodies braving the rain, most of them apparently made up by the members of a school trip gone wild. A clutch of harried Supply Teachers stood at the front of the increasingly impatient horde, clutching clipboards as they tried—and failed—to maintain order.

Without missing a beat, Karolen activated the camouflage function of her cloak, watching as the fabric shimmered and blended seamlessly with the background. The cacophony of the crowd of bored children faded into the distance as she slipped past them, unnoticed.

The noise became a dull hum as she neared the guard at the gates. He was a giant of a man, but his focus was lax, his attention scattered, only half-engaged with the crowd. He stood in his uniform like a piece of furniture, imposing in stature but entirely ineffective in presence. His eyes flicked back and forth, but they never really settled—more concerned with the occasional flicker of movement than any real threat.

The words Level 14 Unaffiliated Security floated above his head, of which Karolen made a mental note. Buried in the last set of accounts was a stream of payments for expensive, bespoke Museum Guardians. It may well be, of course, that some cost-saving measures had recently been instituted. However, she thought it more on brand for what she suspected that Nuroon was working with one of Soar's Gangmasters to invoice for one Class and receive another - splitting the considerable gold difference between them.

"Fuck off," the guard intoned as she switched off her camouflage. "There's a fucking queue."

"I'm Auditor Mehin. You should be expecting me."

"Are you deaf? Fuck off. There’s a queue." He jerked his thumb towards the school parties, his attention already back on his half-hearted duty.

Karolen glanced over just in time to see one of the groups enthusiastically constructing a makeshift crucifix with whatever they could scrounge up—sticks, bits of string, and a suspiciously large pile of discarded lunchboxes. They were in the process of nailing their hapless teacher to it.

"I tell you what, why don't we try all this again," Karolen said, triggering Mandatory Review and focusing it on the man blocking her way.

This Skill forced its target to undergo a thorough and invasive review of their abilities and actions, disrupting their concentration and reducing their resolve. It also silenced the man and prevented all spell-casting and ability use for a five-minute duration. In theory, Karolen would also gain increased power for each ability the target was unable to use, but it did not seem that this poor chump had many Skills at all to call on.

"My name is Karolen Mehin," she said, "and I was asked to attend a meeting this morning with Director Nuroon. It may well be that this message has not made its way down to you, for which I’m sure the Director will offer a most profuse apology when I mention it to him later." She let the implication linger for a few moments. "However, that doesn’t exactly help you out right now, does it, sir? Because, as of one minute ago, you made the poor life choice to obstruct an Auditor in the course of their lawful business."

She took a slow, deliberate step closer. "I’m sure you’re familiar with your responsibilities—having no doubt undergone thorough training in your role of standing still and looking menacing. What I’m certain you are less familiar with, however, is the fact that your little obstruction is now classified as a Stage Nine offence. A serious one. The kind that carries all manner of unpleasant consequences."

She let him consider her words for a moment before continuing. "These penalties are up to, and including, immediate incarceration for thirty years in the deepest, smelliest dungeon my office can find. And believe me," she added, "we tend to get very creative about such things when people get in our way.."

The guard opened his mouth to speak, but, of course, being 'silenced', no sound came out. His eyes bugged out pleasantly, though, Karolen thought.

"However," Karolen continued, "it's first thing in the morning, and I’m sure we’re all not quite at our best..." The dying screams of a teacher—whose cross had just been set ablaze by the kids—served as an impromptu soundtrack to her broader point. "Now, if you would like to reconsider the advisability of your current position—standing there, blocking my way and being generally obstructive—I’d be more than happy to start this exchange again. You know, in a polite manner that means we both probably come out of this alive."

She waited a beat, her eyes locking onto his, her posture still, every inch of her the picture of controlled authority. "So, nod if you think that would be a simply splendid idea."

A meaty neck bobbed enthusiastically up and down.

"Excellent," Karolen said, extending her hand, watching as the big man recoiled just a fraction. After a beat, he hesitated, then awkwardly extended his own hand to meet hers in what could barely be called a shake.

Karolen's grip was firm, but the gesture was all business. She held his hand for a moment longer than necessary, her gaze never leaving his face. "I am Auditor Mehin," she said, "And I would very much like you to inform Director Nuroon that I have arrived and am ready to begin today’s audit."

"As impressive as your little show of dominance is, my dear, perhaps we can stop intimidating the help and get down to business?"

Karolen whipped around, as the scratchy, insidious voice of Grackle Nuroon slithered into her ear. It was like the man had somehow materialised out of thin air. Her body reacted instinctively—every muscle tensed, and before her mind could even fully process the threat, she activated all of her defensive Skills.

The air around her rippled in a quicksilver display of energy. A low hum filled the space, as her cloak shone, and her aura flared with sudden, raw power. Even the teenagers—still distracted by their little sacrificial slaughter—paused mid-swing, momentarily subdued in awe.

The full arsenal of an Auditor was unveiled.

Grackle Nuroon, though, merely stepped back with an almost theatrical slowness, as he raised a single, ironic eyebrow at her. Karolen’s attempt to blast him away—every Skill she'd summoned in a rush of raw power—washed over him like an errant breeze. His expression remained unchanged, the same thin, amused smirk playing on his lips as though he had all the time in the world to watch her flail.

"I am sure my Secretary can find you a Mana Potion to replace all of… that," he said, the disdain dripping from his words like venom from a fang. "But,would you perhaps like a moment to freshen up before we begin? I do find discussions tend to be much more profitable without the stink of impotent Skill usage clogging up one's senses."

He stood there, waiting as though daring her to react. Karolen refused to let him see even a flicker of irritation, but inside, she was seething.

Grackle Nuroon was everything she had expected, his arrogance now a living, breathing thing between them. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing her discomfort.

Not yet.

Without wasting a backward glance, Nuroon passed through the now-open gates and into the museum beyond.

Feeling somewhat discouraged to have so manifestly lost the opening skirmish, Karolen moved to follow him.

And with that, a series of unfortunate events were set in motion.