Word on the street... The streets of Hathian never sleep, and last night they boiled over with chaos. Word drifts that a standoff at the pawn shop turned feral—officers stormed in, only to meet fists, flying debris, and the frantic spark of a near-blaze lit by desperate hands. The precinct’s holding cells throbbed with tension: bruised bodies and sharper tongues left wounds of their own, while rumors swirl that someone’s crooked loyalty to the badge might have steered events from the shadows. And somewhere in a forsaken warehouse, blood was dragged through the dust—no one yet agrees if it was cold murder or a botched cry for help. Trust, as ever, evaporated by dawn.
