I was annoyed. Partly at the instructor crumpled under my knee and partly at how effective Epswitch’s pep talk had been. I had been sleepwalking through my training thus far. No one had set goals beyond show up and don’t sleep through class. Without obvious tests, timed runs, or competitive trackers, I had defaulted to the easy path. I had met all the bars they set before me, but now it was obvious how intentionally low they had been.

That was unfair to myself. I was just trying to survive. I wasn’t told to be top of the class and make Eternal Affairs. I was told to die or join the military. So Epswitch’s motivation was probably half the culprit for my new fire, the other half was a target.

The vicious ambition made me feel both more like myself and like a complete stranger. The urge to prove myself had always been strong, a jagged edge of my psyche. Broken off by my father and honed so sharp it hurt to touch, but no part of me wanted this Empire. Now my previous goals of living in my quiet corner of the world were a distant past. Now I demanded the Empire’s attention and approval despite my unchanged hatred.

It didn’t hurt that I wanted to shove the minister's dismissive tone down his throat. I felt like I was living, breathing, and acting purely through spite. Previous almost mechanical impassivity found itself imbued with resentment, my iron guts dripping with acrimonious lubricant.

Just like stepping forward to face the sergeant on the sparring grounds, I was hunting for opportunities to show off. In the long days they felt few and far between. What made someone worthy of fabled Eternal Affairs?

I didn’t feel like I could catch Sergeant Hughes’s gaze. Since he had walked me to and back from my meeting with Epswitch, he seemed to aggressively avoid giving me any attention. The second I felt like I was being impressive in some way, he was off scolding some other trainee. The snub was quickly becoming obviously intentional. Had Epswitch said something that didn’t sit right with him or had my hot-tempered outburst soured him completely to me?

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Rhys seemed to throw his lot completely with me. That was a half truth, I was quickly leaning on him as much as he did me. While I did not go into many specifics, I shared my thoughts deeply with him. In turn, he did the same. Constantly we’d be butting heads on hypotheticals and potential outcomes.

“Reds totally make better instructors than yellows,” I had claimed from my shallow anecdotal evidence.

"Everyone studies the blade with such intensity, but they ignore the millions of shallow graves filled with empty bellies,” Rhys exasperatedly took the opposite end. Often our disagreements were out of boredom, but sometimes they were legitimate divisions. This was a little of both for me, “More men and women have been struck down by poor camp logistics than by steel."

“I knew you’d go straight to body count,” I goaded him, I knew he had a fixation on organization and structure.

“You’re accusing me of using results for my answer. You need to provide some evidence for your thesis rather than attacking the ‘moral character’ of mine,” he was a little huffy. I expected it since he had a tendency to get defensive when I painted him as the ‘end justifies the means’ proponent.

I leaned back on the edge of the bed, “I criticize your spreadsheets that ignore the emotional angle. Even if I agreed that yellows were the most important members of the military, that doesn’t mean they have the best temperament for dealing with trainees. Reds have experience managing soldiers being bored as they wait for excitement and with people under heavy stress. I propose their history of emotion management makes them the best instructors.”

Rhys rubbed his temples, but was still smiling. He seemed to revel in the conflict as much as I did. Even when I was being antagonistic, which I’d be the first to admit a querulous mood, “Might as well consider the entire training pipeline to be long-term babysitting if you think stress management is the most important factor. We’re talking about an organization that recruits, trains, and coordinates practical job placement for more people than any other in the Empire. If that isn’t yellow territory, what is?”

“Have you seen these kids, babysitting is the correct terminology,” I deflected. This question had no empirical answer so I wasn’t taking it seriously. I was mostly using it as a vehicle to harass and I knew there was nothing more aggravating than putting the question in Rhys’s mind and then sidestepping his logical proposals.

“You’ve met people in two tabard colors and have decided the best way to reform the entire military. Sounds like you’re upper leadership material. Shall I let Sergeant Hughes know you’re ready for your gold trim?” Rhys had figured out my game and threw a low blow. I hadn’t yet confided in my frustration, but my attempts to get noticed had been pretty obvious.

“Two tabard colors and an Eternal Affairs agent,” I snipped back. The sore nerve caused me to try and show off. I felt silly as soon as I said it. Rhys was one of the few who didn’t seem to balk when we were being watched by Agent Eberly.

“Watch it, Vidal. You’re dangerously close to revealing some of your dark and mysterious past,” he chided light heartedly. I had been tight lipped about any stories that would implicate me, that had put a lock on most of my history. Rhys had been kind enough to leave enough alone, but sometimes he would poke at it, testing the boundary. I didn’t blame him as I did the same. Rhys had no last name, but seemed well informed and educated. He had the softest deflections to direct questions, but that just proved he was adept and experienced with such interrogations.

So we had a truce. While we would often send scouting queries across our unspoken demilitarized zone, we never pressed the second they were shot down.

“What do you know about the agents?” I asked. It was a deflection and counter accusation rolled into one. It felt graceful especially next to my lashing out.

“You mean the loosely corralled cats pretending to be spooky accountants?” It was Rhys’s turn to be cagey, but even in his joke, he gave away quite a bit. He had an opinion, a strong one, and some understanding of them.

“Not a fan of our masked watcher?” I pressed. I was curious if he knew Agent Eberly. I felt very in the dark about my ordered advocate.

“I don’t know them, but the organization as a whole leaves me queasy. Every agent is a force unto themselves. Every decision might be reviewed by other agents, but the lack of standardization gives too much room for personal bias and proclivity. Agents even get to choose their investigations. I can’t imagine how such a system isn’t instantly corrupted by people following their bigotry and ignoring the less interesting cases.”

I was awed. Rhys spoke with a casual authority. I couldn’t imagine what books he had gotten a hold of with such good information. To be fair, Mason owned an agent’s journal and he lived on the outskirts of imperial lands. Rhys had already admitted an ongoing affair with a vampiric noble. He had found a way to get into some high end circles.

Trying to figure out the best way to exploit this new found inroad, I carefully measured my words, “Is that something Lady Eleanor let you in on? I hadn’t heard much more than ghost stories of the organization.”

Mentioning Eleanor was a known weak point in Rhys’s impressive informational blockade. While he would talk little of his family or history, he was deeply excited to speak of her, “Nah, she’s avoided any run-ins with them. She’s too politically savvy to draw any real attention to herself.”

“Other than getting involved with you,” I instigated. It was the most indirect way I could ask for the story. While he would talk at length about her, their relationship was a mystery other than reciprocal.

“We all have our weaknesses,” and like that I had lost him. The vague response joked off was one of his go to exits. His open grin instantly turned into a more of a smirk. I could tell I touched a nerve. It was an occupational hazard in our hapless investigations.

“I guess taste in men is the first thing to go with money and power,” I tried to diffuse the situation and signal my retreat from the line of questioning.

Rhys stifled a laugh like he found the joke funnier, than I intended, “You’ve talked at length about some of your previous proclivities. Quite the way to admit to a high born status.”

I felt caught. At first I tried to think of an excuse, but felt resigned. It wasn’t dangerous to know this small piece, “A previous life, long past. Did I make it that obvious?”

“I mean you’ve used the word ‘lackadaisical’ correctly in a sentence. That’s just someone who was forced to read as a kid trying to flaunt. Plus there’s your arrogance, obviously cultivated at an early age for a very specific reason.”

The words were cutting, but the tone was not. Like someone reporting what they saw when they looked at a painting. In fact it felt reassuring, like someone enjoying your company for who you actually were, not what you showed off.

The next day had the normal run, food, class, but instead of the sparring ring we marched to another nondescript building. I began to truly wonder about the architect of these structures. Their lack of design created a style quite onto themselves. Did someone specialize in this work or was this the by-product of military “efficiency” that if there wasn’t a quantifiable value, it wasn’t worth adding on.

Luck of the draw had me one of the first inside through a hallway, and into a great room. The building shared the same off white walls of the classrooms. There were no chairs though and the large area felt foreboding with a single set of doors on each wall. My sense of direction felt skewed despite walking in a straight line to get here.

In the middle of the room stood a uniformed man, well half man. The minotaur’s great bull head was menacing. Red beady eyes stared each of us entering in turn. He looked like he was hunting someone specific, but they never stopped moving. His uniform was pressed and immaculate and his tabard was gold trimmed. Twin horns looked polished and I wondered who on staff was assigned to that job.

The monstrous figure had struck our cluster dumb and it wasn’t until there were layers of people to hide behind did I hear slight murmurings from the back. Standing in the front with Lyle and Rhys, we waited at first with interest, but then dwindling annoyance with the slower moving members of the group still funneling in.

Strike that, Rhys and I matched looks of boredom, though his was punctuated with a bemused smirk. Lyle was just as silent, but he appeared to be in awe of the white and black furred beast. I think it was one of the first times he ever had to look up at someone.

“Greetings, Trainees,” His voice boomed. It was odd to hear the word trainee without the dismissive spin the sergeants gave it or the self-deprecating snark we used on ourselves, “I am Lance-Castellan Vogt. I am here to introduce you to the representatives of the sections of the military. You will be given the next couple hours to meet two of your choosing. Afterward you will make a list ranking of your preferred order. I have no doubt your Sergeants have told you these lists don’t matter, but nothing could be further from the truth.”

I glanced back to see Sergeant Talbot looking a little sheepish, while Sergeant Hughes floated so he was a full head above those in the back and wearing a large grin. I almost caught his eyes on me for a moment as he glanced down from the minotaur, but it seemed more like he was looking near me.

My frown deepened and I rolled my neck to focus on my next steps. Only getting to experience two of the options offered meant I had to make my choices carefully. I knew what my end result would be, but now was both an opportunity to get more information and show off for those judging me. Did choosing to talk to red point towards violence? If I talked with green did it make me seem like a good supportive team player? Obviously one of my choices had to be the Eternal Affairs agent, but did I go there first or second?

Lance-Castellan Vogt offered the door behind him, “In this hallway you’ll find the rooms labeled with the section's name. Simply choose your first one and someone will come around to let you know when it's time to swap.”

I followed the slow shuffle forward. My thoughts hadn’t resolved around an answer. The petty part of my mind wanted to not choose Eternal Affairs first. To assert my independence from the path put ahead of me. The fact I was pushed away from them for small emotional reasons made me feel resigned that I had to see them first. All my talk of being in control of myself, I had to pretend that was true.

Looking down the hallway, I saw fixed little signs with things like “Logistics” written on them and below “(Yellow)”. Seems like they were trying to make the system idiot proof. I noticed I had slowed down as people started to pass me. Some seemed to rush, others just barely inching past me.

I watched Lyle walk into “Necrology (purple).” I was surprised, he hadn’t expressed any interest in them. My lessons in reading felt as much as therapy sessions for self-confidence as anything else. The very little description I’d had on the necrology section made them seem one of the more cerebral.

A slew of trainees moved into the Eternal Affairs office. This generated another urge to avoid the room. The other rooms caught the overflow in pretty much equal measure. As the hallway started to thin I felt pressure to make a decision.

I watched Rhys follow Lyle’s footsteps. He looked back and gave me a ‘come on’ nod and I happily offloaded the decision. If the Minister was to be believed, my future was decided. This could be an opportunity to learn about the section I knew the least on.

The combat reds were self explanatory, logistical yellow moved things from point A to B, green support had a lot of options, but all boiled down to making life easier from cooking to handling finances, the real question was how did purple assist with frontline necrology?

I had heard of the necroists working from the capital. The ability to raise the dead to follow simple commands. These zombies held none of the memories or intellect of their host body. It seemed a horrid business, even worse when you understood the power that kept the mythics near immortal was used to power the zombies. Their use was directly powered by the death of people.

I felt a downward tug on my lips, but took a deep breath. I was trying to show off as a good little servant of the Empire. I would not cause issues because I was disgusted. That wouldn’t serve me at all.

A pale woman of average height stood in the front of the crowded room. Red hair was pulled low and clashed with the dark purple trim around her tabard. She was taking a deep drink from a large jug of water.

I took it all in, but my mind was completely lost on her arms. Her sleeves were rolled up in an officially allowed way, but our instructors told us to not even try till we weren’t in white trim. Just below the rolled sleeves were two of the most muscular arms I had ever seen.

Her mesmerizing arms showed no strain as she placed the jug down on her desk. The room was silent other than the slight jostling of water. Our host had a bored look.

“I am Sergeant Master Chakan.” she half waved to our collected group. She frowned for a moment at the ten people surrounding her desk in a half circle, “You all seem surprised.”

I glanced around quickly and saw entranced looks on everyone in the room. Even Rhys’s smile took back seat to a cocked eyebrow like he was trying to math out something that perplexed him.

“This is your opportunity to ask questions. Don’t let me get in the way,” Sergeant Chakan nonchalantly said.

“Ma’am, Trainee Rhys presenting,” he said, his quizzical look never wavering, “From my understanding the inhumanities and their necroists are very focused on mental pursuits, it was my belief that the necrology section follows that design.”

“There wasn’t a question in there, but I’ll see if I can infer. Why do I put your instructors to shame physically when I belong to the section with the highest testing requirements?” Rhys paled as his diplomatic question was shredded to its core. She continued without pause “It’s a reasonable question. The answer is both are highly required for our job. We work with some of the greatest minds and they demand the same from us. On the other hand, where they have multiple assistants in a controlled environment, we have to do the same by ourselves on the frontlines. Moving and manipulating bodies requires a lot of upper body strength. On average we see the most combat, more than the reds. Many of them can hide out guarding doors and caravans. There is always a combat operation in need of a dash of necrology.” There was no shred of offense in her tone.

I was impressed. She was impressive. She had an air of known superiority. Very aware of herself and her abilities. I felt myself getting distracted, but refocused myself. This was my chance to learn something I knew nothing about.

“Ma’am, Trainee Vidal presenting,” I still felt silly saying it, even with how second nature it was, “Zombies require living sacrifice like any mythic. Considering the cost, what makes them worth using over more soldiers?”

Sergeant Chakan leaned a little straighter, “That’s a good question. Killing our own people to go kill others, sounds counterintuitive on the surface, but there are three major factors that make our section in such high demand. In battle, you’re always going to lose guys, you’re trading yours for theirs, so this becomes more a direct form of that. Second, it takes a fraction of the blood to maintain a zombie than it does feed a mythic. Zombies are amazingly cost effective shock troops. Third, we don’t have to use our side’s blood.”

I was suddenly aware that she might in fact be the most dangerous person I had met in the imperial army. The idea of her being on the front lines made complete sense.

“Ma’am, Trainee Lyle presenting. You talked about high test scores. Can you go into that?” he spoke almost a full octave lower than he normally did. I did my best to keep my face steady to not give him away. I hear a chuckle disguised as a cough by someone in the back.

“Indeed. You have to remain up to date on the latest studies of necrology as well as be able to adapt to the constantly shifting situation that is combat. Also the after-combat reports you write up will be exceedingly valuable to the study of the inhumanities. It was our department that found out that blood is less effective when it is contaminated with dirt or even debris from the body itself. It was originally thought that viscera wouldn’t lower the quality, but we proved that the best effects come from effectively drained blood. Add butcher onto the list of skills you have to master in our department.”

She continued by describing the best way to hang and drain bodies. It sent a shiver down my spine imagining what it must look like once she was done, a forest with bodies hanging, arteries cut open and the bodies completely dry.

Nine of our group had a shiver run up their spine. All except Rhys, he looked even more enthralled. I could see him taking mental notes.

“Ma’am, Trainee Deck presenting. Why are you so pale?” he asked, but quickly tried to backtrack the random thought into a coherent form, “You’re the second member of your section I’ve seen and both of you appear more pale. Is that an effect of necrology?”

There was a bemused smile that she didn’t try to hide. I think she enjoyed making trainees feel uncomfortable with no effect, “Not directly. Necrology isn’t magic, it’s simply using the science that powers the body to power other objects. Bodies are stored though in dark cool places. A majority of our job is preserving these bodies during transport, that means many hours without sunlight as you try to maintain what nature is trying to reclaim. It’s a waste of blood to keep the zombies online constantly, so you’ll be spending a lot of your time in the meat cart with them.

I took a second to mentally thank the fates that Epswitch did not say that this was my future. It was beyond extraordinary, but I hated the idea of being surrounded by the dead constantly. The idea of sitting in a covered cart with bodies on hooks seemed like a worse way to spend a trip than the cage and chains that brought me here.

"You said it's a fraction of the blood to make zombies. What does that mean volume wise?" Rhys asked. His excitement moved faster than his presenting statement, "I mean, ma'am, trainee…"

Sergeant Chakan waved away the rest of the sentence and started answering, "Let me put it in perspective, it's functional bodies, not blood that limits the number we can field. Zombies follow the same rules we do, a sliced achilles tendon means no walking for them as much as us, worse still is zombies lack the natural healing we take for granted. Field surgery is yet another skill you need to have. Half the job is applying tourniquets to stop blood loss, well solution loss. A majority of the fluids being pumped in them is a combination of preservatives and saline."

I didn't share Rhys’s exhilaration, but there was a grim compulsion to learn more. This was the latest science. Extremely in vogue with imperial backing. While physics, biology, and other sciences had massive funding as the humanities, the inhumanities were a scientific and political force unto themselves.

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The secrets of the mythics, the power in sentient blood, and now corpse reanimation, these all fell under their purview and wealthy patrons gave away fortunes for their scientific pet projects to be the next cutting edge, often literally. I had no stomach for it. It was a macabre play where every actor from the grave robbers, humorously called resurrectionists, that sourced the bodies to the patrons of the dark arts took on a sinister aspect. It seemed comically villainous. Every step being as vile as possible because of a cruel twist of fate and the monsters that funded them.

There was a knock on the door as Sergeant Talbot poked his head in, “Time to choose your next section.” All of us left with completely different feelings. Rhys brimming with giddy energy, the bounce in his step finding an extra spring. I felt like I had just stepped into a muddy puddle much deeper than originally expected. I didn’t know the bottom of the necrology pit and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

Lyle had a scowl. I had no idea his values on the field. He didn’t seem pleased though, “That was something, huh?” I asked, happy to share in the sullied feeling.

“Yeah…” he sounded distant, his voice returning to its normal pitch. There was a brief pause, “How high do you think they meant for testing? Like I probably won’t make it in, right?”

I was taken aback. His sorrow wasn’t for any high minded philosophical disagreements, but purely practical and personal. I was surprised, “I’m sure you could make it,” I tried to be supportive, that’s what teachers did right? “Really impressed in there?”

“Nah, I mean yeah, she’s amazing, but there’s a lot of money in that field. If I decide to leave the military, there’d be a lot of options for me.”

I was impressed with the forethought. I wondered how Lyle’s life would’ve been if it didn’t start on a neglected farm, “They’d be lucky to have you.” I said more honestly this time.

Lyle gave a halfhearted smile that said he was thankful for the comment, but not convinced he’d make the cut. It was fair, I wasn’t sure either.

We parted as he made his way into services. The crowd funneled out of Eternal Affairs and I waited for them to finish. Rhys took a spot next to me, “Shooting for the top, Vidal?”

“And you’re following me.”

“You followed me into Necrology, seemed only fitting I returned the favor,” he said with a shrug.

“Don’t want to investigate your actual second choice or is it really all or nothing for Necrology for you?” I was actually curious. Lyle’s life plans made me very aware that I knew very little of Rhys’s planned future.

“Oh, I knew my list going in. This is just a nice break from getting tossed around in sparring.”

“I saw you take down Rothen the other day. Got a win on the books.”

“Yeah, he faced me after you destroyed him. I know you haven’t been holding back lately, but you’ve been brutal. Not that I’m complaining about your sloppy seconds if they make me look good.”

I cracked a smile as we moved into the office. Instantly I was assaulted by color. I didn’t realize how monotone my life had been until I stepped into the office. The walls were draped with fabrics of every hue. Their fabrics dampened the lights making a violent rainbow.

Paradoxically the room contained the same desk and furniture as Sergeant Chakan, their dulled and basic presence standing out against the clash of color.

On the desk sat a hooded man. A silver theater mask, half smiling and half frowning, was obscured in fantastical colors from his cloak. I had expected Agent Eberly since I had seen him watching once. This multicolored malefactor investigator was a surprise in many ways.

His long legs draped over the desk and tapped against the wood. There was a hum behind the mask as he seemed to wait for us to come in. It seemed those interested in the novelty of an agent and were brave came in for the first group. Now it was just me, Rhys, Deck, Mulegan, and another trainee I had marked down as unimpressive a while back and had no interactions with.

“Welcome, I am Agent Faughn. Guess this is everyone. Not surprising, the second group is always smaller, which works well for me. Before we start, do not do your presenting statements every time you talk. I find them incredibly obnoxious. Who wants to begin?”

Trainee Deck took a step forward, “I’ll start by saying I don’t know anything”

“Self-awareness is good,” Agent Faughn cut in.

Trainee Deck paused at what to do with the joke, “About Eternal Affairs. What do you, as a section, do?”

“Why everything!” the agent’s head tilted towards the smiling side. It was the most absurdly melodramatic use of their uniforms I had seen, “Our purview is everything and we decide what we want to investigate. There are numerous requests to our section from everywhere as well as our own curiosities. I’m here because I was checking out the quality of the recruits we were getting versus other sections. I discovered my presence increased the ranking of the trainees we received, so I stayed permanently.”

I started to think about if an agent had taken the case on the werewolf I had killed. No need for a mob or for all of them to die. Just one person to confirm it and then bring the weight of the entire empire down on him.

“So, the military was corrupt,” The harsh line brought me back to the room, but what really surprised me was its speaker. Rhys who had taken the company line at every opportunity had interjected in the most direct way.

“‘Unobserved’ is the better term, well, the official term,” The agent made no change in tone at the accusation, “Statistically, organizations that aren’t being checked on tend to allow things to slide. Normally this is low level fraud, someone does something and no one has the combination of time nor power to waste correcting the small offenses. People get comfortable with the status quo and it takes a lot to start official investigations. That’s why we allow the Eternal Affairs office as a dumping ground for grievances. Sometimes they’re petty and small bribery accusations based on who was chosen for special duties, sometimes they’re wide ranging conspiracies of true malfeasance. The most humorous are nobles looking to try to embarrass rivals only to find themselves being grilled for the false report. Our extreme oversight allows us any topic we choose. I know an agent who only works on farm related land disputes.”

It was a powerful position. It made me think of Epswitch and his demand that I become one. I tried to think of what he had in store for me when I made the rank. What did he think he would get from me, who would stop me if I couldn’t say no? “What’s to stop agents from abusing their power?”

The agent clapped their hands, “The perfect question. The answer is other agents. The only thing we don’t have control over is our assigned partners. These can cycle frequently or not depending on a slew of politics. The only time you’ll see an agent without a partnering agent is during special duty assignments, like the one I’m on now. Even if somehow you convinced your partner to join you in crime, every case is reviewed by another set of agents. The harsher the punishment or disruptive the verdict, the more agent review there is. There is a tax case in the works right now that is on its sixth set of agents. Catching an agent abusing their powers or simply being incompetent is the best way to strive for promotion. My last promotion was directly off of finding out a previous agent was just signing off on investigations without doing any of the legwork.”

I thought of Agent Eberly again. He was alone while we traveled to the capital. Was working with Epswitch a special duty or had the minister pulled some strings? It wasn’t a hard stretch to imagine him playing on the politics of the agency.

“There are different ranks between the agents?” Mulegan asked. Her eyes were narrowed. Her apprehension made sense since the rest of the military wore their rank on their chest. I didn’t know how I was supposed to compare Faughn versus Eberly.

“Indeed, though we don’t use or talk about our rank outside of organizing events and pay. The goal of Eternal Affairs is for the truth, that can come from the newest or oldest members. That makes it important that everyone feels as equal as possible to speak up. A flat structure allows us to question each other without silly hierarchies to give people pause.”

I tried to imagine telling Sergeant Hughes his work was poorly done and saw the logic in their reasoning. I was impressed by the organization. It tried to cover its bases and protect people. There was one problem itching at the back of my throat.

“You mentioned the farm agent,” Rhys spoke with a smile, but there was venom, “Seems like you’d constantly have cases fall to the wayside or be over investigated due to bias. Is there someone investigating city real estate complaints with the same fervor? What if I hated an organization and spent all my time investigating only them?”

“What happens in any other organization with bias?” Agent Faughn’s tone finally responded to the hostility. Without moving her head, there seemed to be a focus on the other side of his mask, “You avoid the work you don’t believe in, put it off, and find a million other priorities. We embrace bias because it is true. The hope is the passion we gain by allowing agents to choose their own work offsets any blindspots we have. The system isn’t perfect, but it’s not meant to be, we’re supposed to be a weapon of last resort. A final safeguard to catch the issues that slip through other organizational protections. You are right to ask about harassment, that is something we look out for when reviewing cases. Agents can be banned from investigating certain people, organizations, or types of industry if they’re proven unreliable. This is rare because if their judgment is so compromised, they tend to be removed.”

Rhys nodded a smile, but I felt a seething. I don’t know if the agent noticed it, but it was obvious to me. He accepted the answer, but he wasn’t happy with it. I wanted to dig into it more, but my mind kept coming back to what I would be doing as an agent. Were there any cases I cared passionately about? Would there be a topic I threw my heart and soul into? Most importantly, what did Epswitch want? It nagged at me. Being indebted and expected to pay an unknown fee for life. I thought of myself looking out the window and weighing the choice. If the decision was between death and Epswitch’s wishes, where would my morals fall?

Embroiled, I was barely listening when the unknown trainee spoke up, “Who decides on your uniforms?”

It felt absurd and petty. We were talking to arbiters of death and justice and this trainee wanted to know who decided what clothes they should wear?

I had to know. The question had been poking at me. Small enough that I thought I could ignore it, but I was just as curious. The violent differences between the two agents I had seen was such a departure from everything else I had seen in imperial structure that it demanded attention.

“I get to decide on what I wear,” Agent Faughn said proudly, “We are supposed to have a combination of a mask and cloak when we are officially working. This allows us to cultivate the mystique that opens as many doors as our authority. It also helps cultivate relationships with different organizations that we deal with often and subtly imply what worked when talking to one agent may not work on the next. It’s important to keep people off-kilter when cross examining them.

He then started to remove the mask and pulled the hood down. Long brown locks fell around his green eyes. His cheeks were almost plump that reiterated the story he told of a field agent now tied to a desk. He had a twinkle in his eye as he continued, “They are not a requirement though. As many doors as our authority can smash open, sometimes it’s important to not be identified as an agent. Every investigation is different and the uniform allows us to move conspicuously or inconspicuously as we need. The ability to completely change our appearance by removing our cloaks allows us a level of privacy for when we’re not working, plus we agents are a flamboyant bunch.”

There was a knock and Sergeant Talbot’s head appeared. I was surprised since it felt like we had just started. “Trainee Vidal, can you follow me to the finance office?”

He spoke it casually, but I felt my face harden. I tried to show nothing, “Yes, sir.” I followed him out the door. I was annoyed to see Epswitch again and his haughty attitude. I was doubly annoyed to be taken by Sergeant Talbot, it felt like another slap from Sergeant Hughes. His campaign of ignoring had just taken a new level and I had yet to understand its true purpose. I felt the comfortable venom of rage start to pump through my veins.

I was angry, but I felt righteous in my fury. Still, I tempered it the best I could. The last meeting with Epswitch had changed the trajectory of my future, just like the meeting before. I had no reason to believe this wouldn’t follow suit.

The path was the same as last time, though I tried to not take strong notice of it. It was Sergeant Talbot’s job to ferry me to and fro. No reason to focus on memorizing my way there. Still I couldn’t help myself marking a statue here or road shape there. I think I did it mostly to distract myself from the room I would soon be in.

Sergeant Talbot showed me to the door and opened it for me. I walked in and he closed it behind me, leaving me in the paper crowded room standing across from the seated Epswitch. Every paper in the room looked like it had moved since the last time I had been in here.

“I see you’ve been doing better since our last conversation. Planning on thanking me or punching me?”

Smug was yet another annoying flavor from the Minister. I gave a slight pause before my measured response, “I could do both, I’m complex.” There was no threat in it. I was playing nice, joining in the manufactured comedy he offered.

“True, but you’re becoming exceedingly predictable,” his blue eyes cast over me and I felt apprehensive. His look was different from normal, predatory.

“From anyone else, I’d say that’s an insult,” I riffed off our few earlier meetings. Mostly I was looking to delay till I got firm footing.

“And from anyone else it would be. Good to see you’ve been paying attention,” his face adopted a smile that didn’t quite fit, “Let’s put that to the test.” I had become used to sudden tests in my training from various people in authority, but this one had a much more vicious air. It wasn’t from rank though, but tone, “Talk to me about my investment.”

It was a loaded question, but I refused to give him the pleasure of a pause, “You saved me from certain death and pushed me to be selected as an agent for Eternal Affairs.” It was just a summary. I was treading water trying to find the answer he was looking for.

“Potential agent, trainee,” Epswitch noted.

“I was looking ahead, you wouldn’t make the decision if I wouldn’t make the cut,” Epswitch nodded his approval which emboldened me, “You already have agents that seem to answer directly to you, despite the notorious independence of the agency. There are others who would make the rank and would answer you without the fuss of going head to head with Governor Briggs.”

I paused waiting for a correction or comment, but Epswitch remained silent. I took it as confirmation.

“So there’s something special about me and my appointment. Something only I can do,” Epswitch raised a single eyebrow, “No, that’s arrogant. Something only I would do.”

Epswitch smiled, “It can be both, you are complex.” It was a mockery, but it was playful.

“It could be,” I trailed off, his comment derailing my thoughts. Finally the gears caught again, the pieces he’d scattered everywhere, “But you’re simple. Your comments have a purpose. You don’t randomly do something… like which school assignment you berate me over. My class assignment about… removing the sovereign.”

There was a quiet understanding. He had gone through a lot of steps to push an assumption. It felt wrong to state it outloud.

Epswitch’s stretched smile settled into a comfortable smirk, the corners of his eyes crinkled with the movement, “And I didn’t even have to give you the last piece of the puzzle.”

I was cautious. This felt very close to genuine praise and made me feel just as uncomfortable as anything else he had said, “And what would that be?”

“Every new agent gets a private meeting with the Sovereign.”

I had spent all night mentally munching on the plan. It was ambitious, as I assumed all violent overthrows are. I kept replaying the conversation in my head as the Sergeant in the front of the class talked about the importance of cleaning up after oneself in every situation from administration to field work. I was just the knife in the situation according to Epswitch. The perfect weapon important enough to get into the room alone, but small enough to disappear after the deed was done.

Most importantly, he didn’t have to ask if I wanted to do it. With my oaths of vengeance and a history of opportunistic violence, I felt hand-crafted for this. Epswitch was a unique harbinger of justice. He noted a complex plan years in the making waiting for the moment. I tried to understand if retribution or greed drove his strategy or maybe some combination.

There was a slight tapping next to me. I looked down at a sheet of paper Rhys had scrawled on, “If you’re going to daydream, at least do it looking towards the front. The instructor is starting to glare.”

“Thanks,” I quickly wrote back before turning my eyes to a convoluted system of figures that, if I understood correctly, included moon phases. I knew I was distracted, but apparently topics had shifted violently since I disassociated.

Rhys seemed excited to take advantage of the new communication channel. A bit more tapping brought my attention back down, “Food, sex, or world domination?”

“What?” I wrote back, annoyed at how much longer it seemed to take me to write much less neatly.

“I know tax law tends to not hold your attention, but you’re even more distracted than normal. I’m guessing food, sex, or world domination.”

I was quickly finishing my scribble of “the third” when a shadow loomed over us.

“Since we’re taking such good notes back here,” the sergeant’s voice was loud enough to reverberate off the walls, “I know you two can tell me how many liters a large town is due at the end of the fall harvest.”

I couldn’t parse his words as an actual sentence. Any guess I took would be comedic if the subject matter wasn’t so macabre.

“Sir, Trainee Rhys presenting, using the historic formula you’ve given: 15 liters,” as Rhys’s face tried to accommodate a broader grin, “But modern revisions recently put through the court would lower requirements from towns to 10 liters that season, while increasing city requirements to make up the difference.”

“And you were going to give the same self-satisfied answer, I presume?” the sergeant asked, turning to me.

“Yes, sir.”

“Your esteemed trainee coconspirator is correct. Though he must have worked as a council stenographer before joining the military. Two months ago the formula was changed. Unsurprisingly your study material normally isn’t updated until after the ink is dry and the law goes into effect. Trainee Deck!” Deck’s short bald head turned quickly. The sudden movement caused his wooden seat to make an ungodly noise as it adjusted to the sudden assault, “Let’s say, gods forbid, you’re put in charge of a garrison. When you get there you discover that the memorandum with the tax changes was never distributed out, they had been collecting based on the previous and heavier requirements. In the face of conflicting laws, what are you supposed to do?”

Deck didn’t have Rhys’s smile nor a quick reply. I saw him actually pause and swallow hard. It was the opposite of his normal chatty responses, “Sir, Trainee Deck presenting, take the latest legally confirmed orders as fact.”

The sergeant pressed on, “And in this case the conflict in the law has caused a body to be laid at your feet. Your men collected 5 liters extra, that’s a whole person. What do you do?”

Deck began more confidently, “The empire’s soldiers are held to a higher standard. Ignorance of the law is not an allowed excuse. They would be held culpable for unlawful damages.”

“A good answer, a textbook answer. Make sure that’s how you mark on your tests,” the sergeant started, “That is my official answer to you as well, but the more true answer takes into account that the world is a lot messier and your textbook will rarely serve you perfectly. The men, women, and creatures you will be administering law and justice to are flawed, good and bad. Some will make honest mistakes, some will attempt to wriggle through the system. A more important lesson than this tax law, which is already out of date as trainee Rhys so gleefully pointed out, is to never give up your humanity and humility in administering your duties. It can feel good to follow righteous fury and it can be easy to just go by the book, but the best solutions tend to have elements of both. Know the rules, but also know the whys behind them. That way you know when they should apply and when they shouldn’t.

The sergeant’s monologue left me a little stunned. I felt like he was speaking directly to me despite never once glancing at me through the entire thing. I wondered if it was a speech he gave to every cluster of trainees or had we spurred him to exemplarily cover the concept of true integrity.

I appreciated it. I still felt the weight of a world’s future. What would my assassination lead to? My personal grievances felt small when I considered the effects of my decision. My mind tried to map out what would happen next as I absentmindedly marched back to the barracks. The second-nature forced walk took me back before I was ready for distractions.

Even in the shower my mind crunched scenarios of a fracturing nation. Peaceful coexistence and violent conflict playing out in equal measure. I truly did not know enough to even guess all the factors.

The steam of the showers hadn’t even dissipated from the barracks before Rhys found me and continued where we left off, “Alright, more important than jelly tarts and casual sex, do I get to survive the coming revolution?”

I tried to dry my hair as I picked one of five completely identical tops from my trunk. As much as I wanted to match Rhys’s jovial tone, I felt pressure to choose my words exactly, “Just thinking about my place in the world.”

Rhys sat down on my bed. Legs crossed and brow furrowed, the corners of his mouth still tugged up as if his lips hadn’t gotten the same message as the rest of his face, “Oh, we’re being serious. What is the decision you have to make?”

His attempt to be helpful could not have stressed me out more. As much as I truly wanted his advice, I had put no thought into any way to get it without revealing too much. Rhys was smart and I knew even a hint would give away everything. I could handle the embarrassing confusing mess of my past slipping out, but this unstable future felt so fragile it had to be protected with every ounce of my being.

I slowly tugged on a shirt and spent extra time straightening it out, hoping the extra seconds readjusting the sleeves would give me time to think of a satisfying answer.

“Apricot,” He blurted out.

I blinked at Rhys, “For my serious problem, you’ve decided the answer is apricot?”

“No, don’t be absurd. You didn’t look like you wanted to answer, so I changed the subject.”

My entire body untensed. I wasn’t aware how high I was holding my shoulders, “And for the new subject is that the best or the worst jelly tart flavor?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it. That’s why when we graduate together, we should celebrate with apricot jelly tarts. The new phase of our life will begin with a new love or new knowledge of what to avoid. It’s a win-win situation. Plus they’ll be in season, so there’s no better time.”

I sat down next to Rhys. The old and worn bed sagged and moaned under the combined weight. His sandy hair was shorter than when I had first almost met him in the auditorium. A military special, it didn’t appear the barber gave much thought to the word gentle, “So sure that we’ll graduate together?”

“Well, your deep life decision notwithstanding, between your combat prowess and my imperial knowledge, we’d actually make a halfway decent whatever we’re assigned to be,” this was a new smile from him. A grin that was slightly too big for his face, so much so it made his eyes squint just a little. I noticed the little needle about my decision. A small pester I could respect since I would’ve asked the exact same way.

I resolved how I’d get his input. “And you’d be happy?” my voice darkened with grim resolve, “Happy to enforce the system as is, presiding over blood and bodies?”

The smile broke.

Instantly I wanted to take it back. To go back to talking of pies and fruits or ask about what his vampiric lover’s favorite flavors were. I wanted nothing more than to not be the one responsible for the look on his face. The first time he wasn’t smiling since I had met him.

“I’d be happy to forever be on guard duty with a good book,” he said the sentence with such conviction that I almost questioned every word he’d ever said before, “The laws are easy to remember and spit back in the classroom when it’s black ink and white chalk, but I know out there, they’ll be written in blood. I am constantly oscillating between never wanting to forget that and doing everything I can to push it from my mind.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I didn’t know what to do with his sudden explosion of honesty. My world ending scenarios took a back seat to a friend in pain.

“Don’t be, it feels good to say,” he looked back at me, but his smile didn’t return. His look was softer as he continued though, “it’s a thought I’ve been sitting on for years. Putting a voice to it seems to have given it less weight rather than more.”

I found myself consumed by envy. I wanted to scream about the dagger that Epswitch had secreted away. Rare and powerful in ways meant to pierce the Dark Sovereign’s armor. To shout about escape tunnels in the sovereign’s room that Epswitch had overseen the construction of. It was an escape route that would be used by her killer rather than herself. It took everything to hold myself back from shrieking the definitive plan to break apart this entire dark kingdom.