Truth had his priorities straight. After zipping away from the Embassy of Siphios and the alarming number of recording talismans, watcher spirits and unmarked, windowless ‘delivery wagons' parked up and down the street, he followed the signs to the local supermarket.

He let his eyes go soft, trying to look with his peripheral vision. Taking long, slow breaths through his nose. The right target would have a specific aroma, more spiritual than literal. He would know it when he smelled it.

There!

He turned and quickly walked to the next aisle over. She was perfect. Gray hair verging on blue, gray sweatpants, off white sweatshirt with a picture of a kitten losing a fight to a ball of yarn on it. She was pushing a lightly filled shopping cart. Each and every item in the cart had an orange sticker on it, indicating a brutal, humiliating discount.

The Shopping Granny. God’s most perfect predictor. No near-expired set meal could escape her keen eye. No under ripe melon deceived her hands. The slow squeak of her orthopedic shoes inspired raw, animal terror in the hapless shelf stockers and cashiers. As it should.

Truth pulled on the persona of a slightly thick rural maintenance worker. The universe couldn’t have been more eager to support his vision. Swearing mightily but internally, he made his approach.

“‘Scuse me, Granny. I’m not from around here. Where’s a good food street?”

”EEEH?”

”I’m looking for a good food street, Grandma.”

”OH! Why?”

”Because I’m hungry, Grandma.”

”You don’t look hungry.”

”I am, though.”

”Well cook something!”

”I’m not from around here.”

She glared at him. “And what brings you here, hmmm? Don’t you know there is a war on?”

”I do, yes. Is there a food street near here Grandma?”

”Oh, why didn’t you ask? Yes, right out the door, second left, down about a kilometer, right for two more blocks, then you are there. If you see the building with the giant crab, you have gone too far.”

”Thank you grandma.”

”You are very welcome.”

Truth walked off. Noticing as he went that the granny had sped off to report the “spy” to the very patient looking security guard.

He put the odds about fifty fifty between an actual food street and the local headquarters of internal security. And since he was happy with either result, off he went.

The city was odd to his eyes- blandly modern with the same few mass produced buildings dominating the environment, and then, seemingly out of nowhere, some hulking monstrosity would loom.

An empty vertical square, with offices on every side. A building shaped like a rubbish heap, but built out of flat, irregular shapes in brushed metal and glass. The result was vaguely menacing. He had no idea what it was for. A big plaza with a big statue erected in the middle of it. It appeared to be a statue of… some guy. He wasn’t waving a sword or anything. He was just waving. Looked cheerful.

Truth felt a niggling regret that he wasn’t spending longer here. He had a sneaking suspicion that this was a city that hid its truly good stuff. Expensive stuff was on display. The good stuff? Strictly for locals and the initiated.

He started to comfort himself with the idea that he could always come back, see it another time, but… no. He couldn’t. Whatever came of the war, whatever came during the collapse, the Northern Capital of Onis would never look like this again. This was the last “good” summer, the last summer of magic.

This time next year, the buildings would have collapsed. The farms would be producing a tenth of what they were now, and there would be few, damn few, fit enough to to farm them. Everyone would be in pain.

He kept coming back to that. The pain. An entire world in agony. A generation of children growing up with the expectation of parents living in pain and trying to manage. The sheer violence of it. The global trauma, passed down through generations.

What would it do to people? What would the few survivors remember? Would it become a new religious lesson? Pride punished with pain, live humbly oh you peasants of the healing world! Only the chosen few mages, the elect, were spared. Proof of their fitness to rule over the forgiven masses.

He saw the crab. A giant glass thing, waving its pincers from the roof of the “Endless Blue Maritime Treasures Association.” He doubled back. He had underestimated Supermarket Granny. It was a food street, and half the people on it were wearing uniforms. His eyes slid over. There was a gated wall around a mid-sized office building. “Signal Company, 5th Division, Capital Guards Corps.”

Ah. Army snoopers. And unless things were very different in Onis, they specialized in counter-espionage. Was Granny a retired soldier? It would be hilarious if she was. Oh well. Whistling, he set off to do something he had always wanted to try.

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”Whsissp PSwissh. Wooooship. I’m Level Five and have truly profound body cultivation. I’m a Level Five body cultivator and I can’t whistle.”

”I’m sure the Omnipotent Magus is merely biding his time. At the opportune moment, your talent will explode and you will whistle like a songbird!” Thrush said, “loyally.”

”Screw it. I was going to let some of you go, but now? Now you all pay.”

Truth drew a cold breath, and let himself vanish. Pouring that Level Five cultivation into Incisive and the Blessing of the Silent Forest. Erasing himself totally from the awareness of everyone and everything on the street. With a firm step, he dove in.

His hands flashed. Steadily. Steadily. In and out. In and out. He had secured a trash bag to hold his collection. It filled rapidly. It became awkward, bulging and swaying as he moved. He refused to slow his hands. A gentle lift, a soft pull, and it was done.

He doubled back, making sure he hadn’t missed anyone. He hadn’t. He had even gotten the plain clothed cops. He grabbed a jug of fry oil and a rag. He quickly wrote out “How’s security at home?” Next to a seven pointed star directly over the Army’s sign. He then borrowed a lighter and set it on fire.

Total elapsed time- forty five seconds. He could hear the yells of outrage starting and rapidly swept through the street.

”What evil whoreson stole my wallet?”

”AH! When I catch that thief, I will sever the hands of their nine generations!”

”Run! RUN! The Army will find you anywhere!”

Was the sky extra blue today? Yes. It was. He had managed to pickpocket every cop on the street.

“I’ll have the fried dough, and three skewers please. Oh and a bottle of tea.”

”Oh, yes. Say-“

”Mmm? Oh yes, terrible. Nobody respects the Army these days. I really despair over the lack of patriotic spirit.” Truth shook his head. “We should all be doing our part, right?”

”Eh? Yes, yes, of course. Sorry, you do have-“

Truth offered a bill. It seemed to be enough.

“Sorry, here’s your change. I swear I didn’t see anything, did you?”

”A good citizen minds his business! I only look for spies and saboteurs, and which of them would dare come to the Capital?” Truth was very righteous.

”Yes, yes. Right. God, is that Captain Zhu?”

”Which, the one who hit that guy with a stool?”

”Err. No, that’s Captain Feng. Zhu is the one slapping the enlisted.”

”Reminds me of my old lieutenant. Maybe they are related. Well, good time for me to be somewhere else. Thanks for the food.”

”Sure sure. Ah, should we call the police?”

”Yes, of course. When there is a crime, a good citizen calls the police at once!”

Walking around money secured and the paranoia of the Oisin security services now sharpened to a monomolecular edge, he sat on a bench and enjoyed the skewers.

Some kind of chewy… something. Not bread, exactly, or meat, but not a vegetable he recognized either. It was closest to bean curd in non-flavor, but tougher and chewier. They came with a deeply savory, garlicky sauce, however, so he was prepared to cherish them. The fried dough was only okay. Shame.

He quickly sorted through the wallets in case there was something juicy in there. There probably was, but nothing immediately leapt out. An imp of mischief tugged at him to deliver the wallets to the Siphios embassy. It was ignored. Nothing good came of listening to imps.

Instead, he found a hardware store, grabbed some spray paint and a bucket of industrial adhesive. He went back to the square with the statue with the waving man. A few passes with the glue, and the ID’s of every snoop and cop on the street was stuck to the pavement. In two meter tall red letters, he sprayed on the ground-

”Never Forget The Honorable Dead! Internal Security Stands Guard Against Foreign Murderers, Pays the Ultimate Price!”

There. Spontaneous citizens memorial created. Oh! Not quite.

He zipped off and grabbed some flowers from near a subway stop, as well as a pack of cigarettes. The flowers were scattered around the ID cards. Three cigarettes were glued upright behind them, and lit.

There. Now THAT said “spontaneous outpouring of civic grief.” He gave it only a few minutes until internal security turned up to cover everything up. Naturally his beautiful creation couldn’t be hidden behind a security cordon. Back to the subway.

“I think it’s so brave, that memorial for internal security.”

”Everyone is hunting cops these days. It’s open season out there. I don’t feel safe.”

”Oh, they cover it all up, but my cousin was there- blood all over the streets. They are going directly at the internal security service. They say it’s Jeon but I don’t know.”

”Obviously nobody has any time for rebels! Nobody! I one hundred percent support our brave soldiers on the front. Defeatists should be hung! Even if the rebels are killing all the cops and internal pacification forces! A good citizen doesn’t need a cop around to behave properly.”

”All those broadcasts from bunkers, or with obvious illusions for backgrounds. What do they know that they aren’t telling us? Are we really winning?”

He rode the subway three stops, found an interchange, spread the good word a bit more, then doubled back. He hoped no one ticketed his ride.

Any nation this focused on order would be very touchy about internal security and controlling rumors. Something like this, right under their noses?

Ah, even the pollution haze couldn’t hide the perfect blue of the sky. Truth hadn’t liked cops ever since he was a kid in the slums. The last few months hadn’t improved his opinion. Today was a good day.

Good deeds done, he loaded up on supplies, hopped on his iron horse and started making his way back towards the border. It was a long ride, but he was prepared to enjoy it.

There were barricades across the highway. Serpents snaked through the air, sweeping up and down the kilometers of practically parked carriages. It seemed they really didn’t care for his prank.

He sighed. Nothing for it. He could drive past the queue, but even with the sheer number of levels he had over everyone, that would be pushing it. Instead, he found an articulated wagon, popped the doors open, threw his ride inside and hopped in after it.

Onis had its own search spells, but they didn’t have those watcher things. He pulled a pillow out of his spatial ring and lay down. Time to get comfy. He set out some snacks and the bottle of tea. Time to act like the newly minted Level Five he was. He would let someone else do the driving. Time to find out how they wrote romance novels in Onis.