You've settled into a routine, one you're very comfortable with in fact, and that should have been the first sign that something was wrong. You're sitting in your office toward the end of a fairly quiet night when your phone rings. The caller display shows the Prince's office and you pick up the receiver expecting another dreary assignment.
"Ms. Maier? What can I do for you?"
"Agad the Imperishable, I'm glad you're there. Excellent." She sounds unusually stressed despite her formality. "I have unfortunate news. I assume the blinds on your windows are closed?"
What a strange question. You inherited Corliss's favored ghoul's corner office, but when you're immersed in your work you often leave the blinds closed so you aren't distracted by the city's stream of constantly shifting constellations of tail lights, late-night meetings, and flickering street lamps. "Yes they're closed," you reply. "Why?"
"You might want to open them and look out the window to your right. I'll wait."
You pull open the blinds and look out over the street below, shocked and repelled by what you see. "Fires…" you gasp. "Rioters marching in the street!"
"Yes," Vivian says. "A mob whipped up against us." A rock smashes up into the window below you. Someone must have quite an arm to hurl a stone that high. Your private security forces are beating the mob back, but the agitators are showing no signs of dissipating. "I've used government access to trace social media chatter," she says. "Cutting ourselves off from online communications may have slowed the Second Inquisition, but it's also left us blind. They've been coordinating this for weeks in private groups."
"Who?" you ask. "Who's behind this?"
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