Part III: Pathways and Roles

Word on the street... Another blood-caked dawn in Hathian, and the whispers run like cheap whiskey through the gutters. Word on the street is the pawn shop turned into a warzone—officers left battered, dragged from their own stronghold by a pair of shadows quicker with fists than conscience. They say a redheaded fugitive vanished into the alleys, wanted for more than just bruises—there’s talk of a missing soul, and her name’s wrapped tight around it. Meanwhile, a rare Porsche carved chaos across Berthier, a swinging bat leaving an officer crumpled while the driver sped into legend. Survival’s a crooked game here—yesterday proved just how many are willing to cheat.

Whispers in the bayou... Another night slid through the rotten teeth of Laveau, and the bayou whispered secrets between the slick brick alleys. Word dripped from the marina that someone snuck illicit cargo off a battered trawler—boxes that glowed faint in the dark, guarded by men who didn’t blink at gunfire. Meanwhile, at the Barracuda, an argument between a wildcard regular and a Syndicate hardcase left a shattered glass and more than one black eye for the floor to clean up. And atop the old jazz bar’s balcony, a shadow broker met with desperate souls, peddling rumors that the Penitentiary’s silence is about to break. Watch your back—Laveau’s hungry.

Rumors on campus... They say Columtreal University wears its history like a mask—old brick and moss concealing the whispers beneath. Yesterday, the ivy seemed to clutch tighter, listening in as a certain faculty member lingered on the quad after dusk, trading secretive words with a hooded visitor outside the old asylum’s shadow. Get Woke’s regulars claim a cryptic flyer appeared on their bulletin, hinting at an illicit masquerade brewing somewhere past the dorms. And at Murphy’s Pub, a brawl erupted over a missing set of keys—though some insist it was just a distraction for something far more valuable slipping out the back door. Keep your ears sharp, and your secrets closer.