We finally make it—yay! A putrid smell of burnt sulphur and something else—is that mustard I smell? Mould, sulphur, and mustard. Interesting. Seems to be the Watch's dumping area. The only clear space is five desks, two filled with paperwork, and the other—is that a lab? Something catches my eye. A blur of motion around a table filled with glass containers and strange liquids. All of a sudden, the area explodes in colours I cannot even name.

Stillwater yells, “WayWocket! What have I told you? No experimenting during office hours.”

A small Gnome with bright green-blue hair turns and smiles. “Without sight, no seeing, Dawn has just arrived,” he says. Picks up a phial and downs it. “More, mmm, just more.”

Her voice softens. “Way, it is mid-morning now. Dawn has come and gone.”

“No, no, no. Dawn is here. Can't you see? Dawn will lead to—”

I watch him drink some weird concoction. So, he is interesting.

“—back to—”

But I cannot make out what he is saying.

So where is this Gunnar? I see a pile of rags surrounded by a mastiff, giant rat, and a patchy-haired cat.

“Gunnar.”

Is Gunnar one of these animals? Excellent, might even be lower than the worm faeces.

“Are you awake? We have a new member for the Rejects.”

Gunnar and WayWocket. What am I going to be doing? If it is cleaning up after these 'pets', then nope. “Officer Stillwater, what do you need me to do?”

I see a figure emerge from the pile, a dwarf with a knotted beard and equally tangled hair. His face is a mess of dirt and scars. I have never seen a dwarf look like this before; they are always immaculate. The only thing remarkable about him is his piercing green eyes.

Gunnar smirks at me. I have a feeling we will get on like a house on fire. With a gravelly voice, he says. “Boss, who's the half-breed?”

“He is our new squad member; part of the Commander's Initiative.” She looks at me. “Where is the rest of your Charter?”

“Rest of my Charter? Nope, it is just little old me—Lone Solo.” Stillwater shakes her head at me. “Is something wrong?”

“I don't like Zlata interfering with my squad, but you are here now, Solo.”

Solo? You think that is my name? Better than sieve-for-brains or dung-head. Not like my real name has any importance.

“Gunnar, take him through the ropes. Oh, and also keep your opinions to yourself. I'm heading back upstairs. Solo, do whatever Gunnar says as if it has been ordered from me.”

“Righty-o.” So I have to take orders from a pile of rags.

With Stillwater gone, guess it is Gunnar's time. “Okay, Gunnar, what do you need me to do?”

“What would I want with a white-bred? Don't need my toes licked clean or my arse crack wiped. Nor the other way ’round either. What else are you miserable she-bops useful for?”

Think of the money, even if he deserves it. “Well, I can be of service, Master Dwarf.” It is so hard not to stab him right now. Money. “Could I fetch you something to eat or do some filing?”

I have no idea what Watchmen do, but I see they file papers and stuff. “Hmm, okay, white-bred. First, refile that pile.” A vast assortment of folders and papers—looks like fun. “After going over that, go up to the mess hall and grab my pets some food scraps.”

What am I going to do with this? First, sort them in order and then by thickness?

“Where do I put these files?”

Gunnar snorts at me, and a little bit of snot shoots out onto the floor. “Bloody typical. White-bred, do I have to tell you everything?” Stops and looks over at the weird Gnome. “Ask him, I'm busy!”

Doing what—chewing your nails or rubbing your pets’ bellies? Don't care, not the worst treatment I have ever received from a Dwarf.

Wander over to WayWocket. “Hey, where do I file these?”

With dopey eyes, he stares right through me. “Ah, room.” Yes, the filing room. “Follow the way to the chamber. Only if you know where the room is.”

That is what I am asking you! Calm. Remember the money. Hear Gunnar chuckling.

“Yes, WayWocket, where can I find this room?”

“See. See even the deadest end will locate the truth. Ooo, that potion has given me—” Looks at me, all spaced out. “Lone Solo, your name doesn’t need to hide. Embrace yourself. Here, drink this. It makes you feel better. Yes, better.”

I look at the flask he has in his hand. No bloody way will I ever drink some random non-beer drink! The best way to deal with this is to let him down gently. “Thanks, but I have to say no. I am on the clock.”

“You will find the contents as exciting as a duck on a pond. You will want this drink. It is a suitable elixir. Look at me. Very concentrating.”

How is finding a dead end or drinking a mysterious flask going to help me discover the file room? Gunnar is just laughing at me. Deep breaths. He is not worth it.

Gunnar comes over, his green eyes drilling into my soul. “What are you doing, white-bred? Those files need to be gone through first before you file them.”

You did not say that beforehand. Treat Gunnar like that stuck-up Sergeant. “I am sorry, sir. Is there a particular thing I should look for?”

“What, I have to tell you everything?” Well, that would be a start. “Murders.” He lazily points to a pile of mess. “Robberies, unsolved, here. Petty crime can be filed straight away. Any type of assaults or unregistered weapon carries, really not worth our time. That is for another department.”

So, three piles: murders, robberies, then everything else. “Can do, sir.”

Okay, let's look at these things. Yep, random murder, and on and on. This is some depressing stuff. I did not sign on for this. Can I tell them that I am just here for the Duke’s visit? Mr Grumpy is looking at me. Back to the grind. Hey, I think I know something about this one. Nope, just another really dull thing, and it was dated more than a year ago. I think I was up north, digging a latrine.

Murder, robbery, murder, assault, assault, pickpocket, petty crime, murder, shakedown, and five unregistered weapon carries. Here is rape—wonder if that should go in the discard or significant pile? I think it is a little higher up than a bashing. New stack. Not many though. Shoplifting, more assaults, and another murder. Bet that most are in Malik's circle.

Best thing is to skim read these reports because those animals are looking pretty hungry. Faster, faster. I do not want to be their dinner or lunch. What is the time? I feel like I have been here for ages. I cannot believe how long I have been here.

Gunnar dumps another load of paperwork on me. “Here you go—another pile.”

Really? Just got through that one. Keep your feelings to yourself; this guy does not care much for people like me. Six more assaults, five murders, twelve unregistered weapon carries two rapes, twenty petty crimes. Looking over all this makes me believe that something needs to happen. All these killings, assaults, and rapes. In the end, remember: not my problem.

“Oh, come on. I am just here for a short time. This does not matter in the long run. To the Abyssus with all this paperwork!”

“What you say, white-bred?”

Seems like Gunnar is in a mood. “I said, what is the point of doing paperwork? Isn't a part of the job to do something about this, or do you just fill in reports?”

The dog jumps up, hackles raised. Gunnar just pats it. “So, you think this is a waste of time?” Watching Gunnar walk over to the piles. “Hmm, let me see. Ah, yes. Meh, it is a white-back murder, plenty more around.”

‘Justice’ at work. “Here we go. Human female found down by the docks, naked and—oh, that’s interesting—she had several organs removed, then was stitched back up. Evidence found at the scene, none. No blood wiped clean—a professional, it seems. She didn’t die there, was moved. This is a fundamental case we see all the time; a nobody who has slipped through the gap of society and ended up on the wrong side of things. What do you think of that, white-bred?”

“Sad, but it happens. My mum left my sister and me on the steps of a Trinity orphanage. So I have seen the underbelly of society. No silver spoon has touched these lips. What do you want to do—right all the wrongs? No, all you can do is just live out the day! Nothing more.”

“Boohoo, cry me a bloody river. We all had a hard slug in life. WayWocket was disowned, and I was saved from the streets by the boss. I know desperate, but I keep on a-chuggin’.” He really has the crazy eyes. “So you see, we are all broken. Just do what I have asked, and you’ll be alright.”

I need some air. Turning the other cheek is starting to wear thin. “So, you need me to gather some food for your pe—I mean, companions?”

Snorts through his nose and coughs up a little phlegm. “Yeah, but I want you to finish that pie—” Did he say pie or pile? “—she-bop.”

Goes off, grumbling to himself about lazy half-humans. Only another twenty files to go. No more reading, still want an appetite once I am finished. Murder, murder, murder. Rape, assault, weapon carry, pickpocket slash petty crime, more death. Three killings in the same area, within a week of each other. Robbery, another robbery. Assault, three more petty misconducts, and to finish up, weapon carry.

“Done, sir. What should I do with the piles?”

“Put murder and robberies here.” Points to the cleanest desk in here. “The rest, upstairs in the file room. Once you have done that, bring back some food from the mess hall.”

So that is where the filing room is. Should I even bother asking these two where the mess hall is? No point. “Any particular foodstuff you need?”

“Use your brain for once, Truth-spawn. Dog, cat, and vermin, what do you think they eat?”

“Got it.”

“Oh, yeah.” Yanks something out from under the mastiff. “Here, wear this.” Chucks a piece of clothing over to me. It smells like dog and dung. It is a Watchman's tunic, dirty but wearable.

Yeah, thanks. “Thanks for this.”

“Just be quick. No lollygagging.”

Trust me that will be the first thing I will do.