In the following days, Inspector Lue had considerably thinned, finding himself stretched far and wide over the Fortress of Rim. Six warrant officers were not only killed in a veil of secrecy with none the wiser, but their commanding officer, a Junior Lieutenant, had his neck slid in the dead of night.
"Bloody Hells." Lue Mclare felt his blood run cold, standing over the icy body of Junior Lieutenant Jor Silmar in a pool of his own making. His neck slit from one end to the next with cold practiced precision. The cut was made with a single stroke, without an ounce of hesitation.
He sighed. "Where is Altair?"
"Per your order, we have been monitoring him." A young ensign said. "He's not left his living quarters in two days. And none of our sensors picked up any large spacial disturbances."
"..."
Again, Lue sighed. "And Hilda?" he shook his head. "Never mind. You are dismissed."
