Dusk.
No matter how bustling the national festival in November makes the city-state look, no one notices that deep underground, an ancient city beyond old times is slowly operating.
If granted permission by the elusive forces that be, one could traverse the long and shadowy path straight to the deepest black palace.
"Strange, where did my ID go?"
A man muttered to himself.
He was dressed in a slick black leather jacket, its shiny buttons glistening under the blood-red sky.
Maquiel couldn't understand how his ID from the Empire's Special Operations Department could have just vanished into thin air.
Having ruled out the possibility of misplacing it himself, he would only ever hang his jacket in his office, rarely out of sight, and no one apart from him could open his office, not even Nikola could sneak in there.
