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Serena's paws ached. Her ankles did too. The she-wolf admitted to herself that really, the problem was everything from her lower back down. Today's shift had been very long, and she had to skip her lunch break. This meant that she had been standing, walking or even jogging for nearly ten hours straight.

She was exhausted. Serena stared into her reflection in the mirror embedded into the door of her standing locker. Her blue eyes looked baggy, her features worn and her ears sagging. Her thick, wavy hair was still pulled back into a loose ponytail, though many strands had come free, giving her a very frazzled look.

Even her pink floral scrubs were wrinkled, and even stained in places, with everything from her sweat and applesauce to blood and... worse things. It wasn't easy, being a nurse. Not in city 103.

Thankfully her shift was over at last, and she hung her ident card on a hook within her locker. Next to where she hung the slim piece of technology, a still-frame image hung. In the image was none other than her ambitious boyfriend. He was smirking, in the image, his crimson-dyed hair ever covering his right eye, light glinting from his many piercings. The Faraelyan hybrid was so often a pain in the ass, but he was a damn good man, and she loved him dearly.

The nurse sighed, completely exhausted as she reached for her civilian clothing. Simple jeans, a T-shirt bearing the logo of her favorite band, and a badly needed extra pair of socks. Briefly, she wished she had thought to pack an extra pair of underwear, but she figured the pair she had on would be fine until she got home.

The door to the locker room popped open, admitting a familiar male wolf with dark fur, and clad in light blue scrubs. He nodded briefly to Serena on his way to his own locker.

"You look like hell, nurse," Jethro commented, though not as a jab. "You still aren't getting enough sleep, are you?"

"Heh, like it's ever stopped me before," she answered tiredly. "I'm still damn good at my job."

"So I've noticed," the male offered a small smile as he placed his thumb against the reader of his locker door. "And so have a lot of others. Makes me wonder why you haven't advanced to my level."

"Too much responsibility," Serena shrugged, elbowing her locker closed with arms full of clean clothing. "It's a long story."

"I do hope it's a good one," the general surgeon said, back now facing her as he also dug out his civilian attire. "This hospital needs more good doctors."

"And so does every hospital in 103," Serena grumbled. "Besides, I'm needed elsewhere."

Her back now rested against her locker as she studied the surgeon. Mostly, her attention was focussed on his legs. She knew enough about Jethro now to know that beneath the surface, the surgeon had cybernetic implants. Nothing too crazy, or extravagant. No, his implants mostly just assisted him in being on his feet for extended periods of time. They helped take the weight off of his joints and the pressure off of his muscles. These implants had helped Jethro slog through fourteen hour shifts with minimal fatigue.

Serena sighed and looked down at her own feet, clad in squishy-soled orthopedic shoes that were supposed to perform a similar service, but it was obviously nowhere near the same thing. Not for the first time, she considered getting the very same implants that Jethro had, maybe even going so far as to extend those implants to her lower back. Or hell, maybe even a breast reduction, that would solve half her damn problem. But once more, she dismissed all of these ideas before truly considering them. Elective surgery wasn't for everyone, after all.

"Working for another hospital?" Jethro asked after closing his locker, and turning to face her.

"Ehh," Serena shrugged. "I guess you could say that?"

"And that's why you aren't getting enough sleep," the doctor remarked, nodding in understanding. "To be honest, I thought it was just that boyfriend of yours."

Both of them shared a chuckle, followed by a brief period of silence. Serena found herself wondering just how much Jethro could be trusted. She had worked with him on numerous occasions, and he had proven himself to be a damn good surgeon. He seemed to be a pretty stand-up guy, with a good head on his shoulders and a decent heart in his chest. Outside of that, she really didn't know all that much about him, or his life. She chewed on her lip as she considered.

"You got any plans for tonight?" she asked after a time.

"Are you asking me out, nurse?" he wryly retorted.

"Not exactly," she answered. "I want to show you something."

"Well," he thought for a moment. "I didn't have any concrete plans, no. Not outside my usual ones, anyway."

Serena nodded, and pulled her comms slate from the pocket of her scrubs. She found his contact information within, and sent a message to his own slate. The male wolf checked the message, seeming confused.

"I don't know this address," he remarked. "I know it's not a hospital or clinic that's in our system, anyway."

"Go ahead and get cleaned up," Serena said, already on her way to the employee showers. "Meet me there at about... oh... eight? Or is that too late for you?"

"Eight works," Jethro shrugged, rubbing the fur at the back of his head. "What's this all about?"

"You'll see," the nurse explained as she wandered away; admittedly, it came out more ominously than she intended. The last thing she wanted to do was scare him off before she could even show him what her other job was all about.

She shrugged mentally, disappearing into one of the shower stalls. He would show, she was sure of it.

---

Just a couple of hours later, Serena was leaning against a light post, now dressed in her jeans and simple shirt, complete with a grey zip-up hoodie. She was idly watching the magway as various vehicles hovered by. The street she found herself waiting on was always so colorful at night, all sorts of signs and billboards brightly lit up with LEDs and other intensely colored illumination. While it was certainly no Main Street, it had definitely come a long way since the Derrigans had come to this part of town.

She remembered parts of her childhood, her parents driving through this area with her in the backseat. Back then, the place was a dump, full of gangs, mobs and drug dens. Any time the Ryder family had to travel through, it was always with locked doors and higher than normal speed.

Nowadays, the place that used to be called the "Poverty District of city 103" was a place of booming business, with record-low crime rates. It had gone from slums for the undesirable or extremely disadvantaged to a haven for the poor, the underprivileged and the downtrodden. Yet, even as it catered to those that society seemed to forget about, it was also a desirable destination for most other people as well. It had all begun with the Derrigan twins, several decades ago. It made her proud to think that she managed to land a Derrigan boyfriend from the following generation.

Serena's passive watchfulness of the magway was interrupted by the sight of the one she waited on. Jethro was now clad in slacks, a long-sleeve button-up shirt that looked pretty expensive, but seemed to eschew any sort of paw wear. Though it wasn't uncommon for Terrans, and certainly not Faraelyans, to walk around with bare paws, Serena never could fully understand it. She knew how filthy the sidewalks and pathways could be. Either way, he would stick out like a sore thumb.

"Polaris?" he asked as he approached. "I heard about this place, never got around to checking it out."

"Ah, so you like nightclubs, huh?" Serena smirked.

"Why wouldn't I?" he smiled, still studying the outer facade. "They're a lot of fun. What, because I'm a doctor I shouldn't be partying?"

"I didn't say that," she grinned, leaning away from the lamp post and heading for the entrance. "Come on, it's fucking cold out here."

The she-wolf flicked the cigarette she had forgotten about away into the sidewalk and shouldered her way through the front door, holding it open for Jethro to follow. The pair found themselves in what looked like half lobby, half dine-in restaurant. The staff there immediately recognized Serena, and paid her no mind as she led Jethro to a set of double doors on the other side.

"This is..." the male said thoughtfully. "Different. Haven't seen a club with a diner in the front before."

"You'll be noticing a lot of shit that's different here, doc," she explained.

Once through the double doors, the pair of Terrans found themselves in a long and wide hallway. The rhythmic thump of bass notes were now reaching them, ever the anthem of a typical nightclub. At the end of the hallway, above another set of double doors, an eight-pointed white star shone brilliantly, being the only source of illumination.

"Ha, Polaris," Jethro chuckled. "The North Star. Interesting choice of name, for a nightclub."

"It'll make more sense soon," Serena explained just before pushing open the final set of doors.

Once through to the other side, the loud electronic music now bombarded them openly. The massive room beyond was dimly lit, save for better illumination in some corners and along walls. Colored laser lights streaked through the dusky area, strobing beams of light dancing in patterns amidst throngs of dancing bodies.

"... Huh," Jethro mused aloud, almost inaudible over the music. "I'd have never guessed that Faraelyans liked night clubs."

"Why not?" Serena countered. "Music, food, drink, dancing, socializing... these are a lot of their favorite things."

"I've just never seen one in a club before," he mentioned as she led him toward one of the bars. "Let alone so many of them."

It was true. Many of the club patrons, be they on the dance floor or seated at the various tables, were those wolves with black sclera, muscular forms and quite often body paint to showcase which of the Seven Clans they originated from. Many of these Faraelyans were also in various stages of nudity.

Serena caught Jethro watching, and staring at some of the natives. It wasn't an uncommon response, most Terrans didn't get many chances to meet one. Following his gaze, however, she deduced that his attention was mostly toward the males. How interesting, she thought.

Serena lowered herself onto a barstool, wincing a bit as the weight shifted off of her legs, feet and back. She swore to herself that she would demand a good massage from Connor later that night. A moment later, Jethro took a seat beside her, seeming intrigued by the club already.

"So this place is sort of a melting pot," he thought out loud, still surveying the massive expanse. "A place where Terrans and natives can hang out, learn about each other."

"Oh it's a lot more than that," Serena smiled nervously; she was about to let him in on a pretty big secret, and still wasn't sure if it was the right decision. "Stick around long enough, you'll start to see it. Also, hey Staelqa."

"HO fu--," Jethro flinched at the sight of the bartender. "That's uhh.. You're... pretty damn tall."

The male cleared his throat roughly as he took in the sight of Staelqa Gorbeljin, the resident Dawnrunner bartender. A Faraelyan female who was just shy of seven feet tall. Her rich chocolate brown fur was, as always, mostly exposed, save for the hide skirt and tubetop-like wrap covering her chest. Her long, silky white hair framed her ever-grinning face and flirtatious bright yellow eyes.

Sometimes, the woman revelled in sneaking up on the unsuspecting, particularly when they didn't know her. The reactions people often had to there suddenly being a gigantic Faraelyan woman silently standing beside or behind them amused her greatly.

Serena grinned as Jethro attempted to collect himself, the male unnecessarily smoothing his shirt and nodding a greeting to the bartender.

"How are you doing?" he asked politely.

Staelqa's only response was to sassily shift her weight from one hip to the other, and flutter her eyelashes at him.

"Don't expect to get much of a conversation going with her," Serena warned. "Or really, any natives wearing yellow paint."

"What?" Jethro asked, head cocked slightly. "Why?"

"Relax," Serena's grin widened. "They're not dangerous or anything. Dawnrunners just don't talk very much, unless they have to. You have to know how to read them, or you won't really get anywhere."

Staelqa nodded softly, and pat Jethro on the cheek, the male stiffening a bit at the sudden contact. The Amazonian bartender then turned toward Serena, once again shifting her weight.

"What's the word, Staelqa?" the Terran nurse asked.

Staelqa shrugged, a clear message that not much had changed.

"Alright, well," Serena rested her arms on the bar counter, suddenly feeling much more weary. "How about a drink then? Doc, the first round's on me."

"Alright, I'll have, uhh..." Jethro scratched his chin, his yellow eyes studying the various drinks on offer behind the bar, both domestic and very foreign. "Tell you what. I've never tried real Faraelyan drink. How about something to really get this night started?"

Staelqa grinned mischievously, turning to grab a plain-looking brown ceramic jug from the shelf behind her. She filled a shot glass with some of its contents, revealing the drink to be faintly green in color, and powerfully aromatic. The Dawnrunner slid the glass toward Jethro, who eyed it warily for a moment. The Terran sniffed the shot, his muzzle wrinkling at the scent, but shoots it nonetheless.

Barely a moment later, the doctor was coughing and wheezing, clutching both his throat and stomach.

"Oh my god," he reaped with a soured look on his face. "What the hell is that shit..?"

"Myngandr venom," Staelqa uttered in her oddly melodic and smooth voice.

"Are you serious?" Jethro asked with widened eyes. "What even is that?"

"Large sea serpent," the bartender answered curtly, replacing the cork in the jug.

"Relax," Serena chuckled, amused by the reaction. "It isn't actually venom. Clan Tideroar just calls it that. It's a booze they make that actually doubles as sanitizer, and somehow helps them fight off diseases and infection. It's neat shit."

"It's strong shit..." Jethro coughed, though he slid the shot glass toward Staelqa.

Surprised, the Dawnrunner fills the glass a second time, before turning toward Serena with an expectant look.

"Pint of draft for me, doll," the nurse said, with a touch of flirt in it. "Light, please."

Staelqa nodded, reaching for a frosted mug from an icebox beneath the counter. She placed the mug under a nozzle, pulled the handle atop the nozzle down, filling the mug to the brim with golden, frothy goodness. Serena nodded in thanks, and took a long drink, pausing to wipe the suds from her muzzle as she chose her next words carefully.

"There's something else you should know about this place, doc," she rubbed her eyes with her free hand, drumming her claws against her mug with the other. "Take a good long look at these people, everyone here."

"Alright?" Jethro did as asked, shooting his second beverage and wincing as he spun on his stool. "What am I supposed to be seeing, exactly?"

"Look closer," the nurse instructed as she also faced the rest of the club. "Look in the corners, near the doors, anywhere you wouldn't expect to see a party person."

After a moment or two, Jethro became a bit more serious, and a lot more apprehensive once he noticed. The surgeon was now acutely aware of how well defended the place was, armed guards in nearly every corner of the place, Faraelyan and Terran alike. Most of the Terrans carried small arms; a mixture of sidearms and compact rifles. The Faraelyans by contrast carried only melee weapons.

"Okay..." Jethro muttered quietly. "What's with all the security? Seems pretty overkill, even for a nightclub."

"Look at the bars," Serena pointed out. "And the tables on the second floor."

Jethro again followed directions, growing more and more leery of the situation. This time, his yellow gaze narrowed at the sight of people seeming to weep into their drinks, either alone or in the comfort of company.

"That table," Serena tilted her head to one of the tables on the second floor balcony. "See those three up there?"

"Uhh..." the surgeon searched, but only for a moment. "I think so, yeah."

"Dallas Callahan," she explained, pointing to a young man with brown fur and hair, blue eyes and a sympathetic expression. "The other two are barely legal to be in here."

"Callahan..." Jethro mused. "Oh yeah, I heard of him. He runs that youth center not far from here, doesn't he?"

"That's the one."

"Alright, so what's he doing here? Why are you showing me this?"

"The other night..." Serena's eyes narrowed at the other two seated with Dallas, biting her lip as she decided how much to say. "Let's say tragedy struck those two. Their dad was bad into gambling, lost a lot to the wrong people. More than he had to lose. The people he owed money to weren't good people, either."

"I think I see where this is going..."

"Maybe," the nurse grinned. "Finally, the other guys got tired of waiting for him to pay up, and took his wife hostage. Well... he had to find a way to get the credits, and fast. He uhh... got desperate. Real desperate. Started holding people up in dark places, forcing them to give him their credits. He got caught, and the hearing's in a few days."

"Heard about that one, too..." Jethro nodded solemnly. "That one was in the news. It's not often you see criminals like that in these parts."

"Apparently it used to be," Serena explained, and took another long drink of her beverage. "And not that long ago, either. Anyway... since their dad got locked up, he couldn't pay up. So they uhh... well... they killed his wife. They sent a message to him yesterday that they're gonna get the payment from his kids instead."

"Fucking Christ..."

"So they came here," Serena said evenly, a serious look on her face as she shot him a sidelong glance. "Told us their story. The law can't help them, because there's no way to prove foul play, and the dad won't tell the police a damn thing. He's too scared. So... what do you do when there's bad guys coming after you and the law can't stop it?"

"You hide?" Jethro asked dryly, crossing his arms.

"You ask someone else for help."

Jethro rubbed his chin as he considered the implications of what she was explaining.

"And by 'help,' you mean..."

"Not me," Serena shook her head. "Around here, I'm the doctor. That's my 'second job.' But... there's a number of people here who do take matters into their own hands."

"Vigilante justice..." Jethro rubbed his eyes as he took it all in. "Isn't that illegal? Like, really illegal?"

"Normally, oh hell yeah," Serena grinned and spun back around to lean against the bar. "But not for us. See, umm... let's call him... our leader. Our leader has permits, licenses and certifications that allow him to run his own private military contracting firm."

"So it isn't vigilante justice," the surgeon surmised on his own. "These people pay for contracts."

"In a sense," the nurse confirmed. "As long as the contract gets officially sanctioned by... well, I don't know who actually approves the missions, but depending on what the client asks us to do, it's all legal. The guards here? They're protecting victims from the people who'd come after them. The assholes that come back for revenge, or to settle a debt."

"So what's a contract for protection cost?" Jethro asked, bemused as he studied Dallas and the two young adults. "I can't imagine most of these people being able to afford the talents of a PMC."

"Again, it all depends," Serena wet her throat with another gulp of frosty beer before continuing. "Sometimes they pay us a lot of credits when they can. Sometimes they pay us with information. Sometimes they pay us by working for us."

"Sounds oddly convenient."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when your leader's a Faraelyan. It's not about getting paid, it's about making sure everyone's taken care of. It's about family, and communi--"

Serena stopped dead in the middle of her sentence, the widened and stern eyes of Staelqa fixed on her own snapping her out of her thoughts. She knew that look.

Something was wrong.

"What is it?" Serena asked sharply, all business.

"Wounded," Staelqa replied quickly, consulting a dataslate.

"How bad?" the nurse demanded, already shrugging out of her jacket.

"Bad."

"Where?"

"Bay three."

'Well...' she thought, giving Jethro a careful inspection. 'Here it goes...'

"You need to go?" Jethro asked, seeming uncertain of his surroundings.

"Actually..." Serena sighed. "I'm pretty beat. I could probably use your help with this one."

"Are you serious..?" the surgeon asked, seeming to be in disbelief.

"Dead serious," the female responded. "Come on. We're gonna make some overtime."