King Wissel of Doschia and President Jozef of Lubska looked over the green field. A hundred men stood there, all muscled, a few scarred. All stood in formation, a gap between them, encircled by a thick cordon of Lubska's riot police. "Awful, the lot of them." Jozef said. "But if you want awful people who know how to fight, I couldn't think of a better option."
"Where did you even get them?"
"Piotrkowa Prison." Jozef replied. "And yours?"
"Same thing, Schwalmstadel." Doschia's maximum security prison. For those who were deemed to be worse than the worst.
"We need arms for them."
"Artois is working on that one."
