The man sitting in front of him was everything Dross thought of when hearing stories about the Wildcard. The first thing he noticed was how young Furor looked, based on his face he couldn't be much older than 35, maybe 40, but that didn't match up with the stories. Back when Dross was still a child, 40 years ago to be exact, the name Furor Opilio was in everybody's mouth in the cathedral of knowledge. At that time a priceless artefact got stolen out of the museum in the lower level; a jewel called the "Red Plague". Nobody could deduce how it got stolen; all that got found were traces of copper splinters inside the showcase. The glass got neither scratched nor the display harmed; the gem vanished with the cushion and that at daytime when hundreds of visitors admired the collection. They tracked down a janitor, who left the country the night before; that man was the last, who cleaned this particular showcase. Sniffing out the abandoned room of this person, the police found a hidden calling card. One just like the one, Dross carried currently inside his pocket. But Furor's hands were beyond clean. They neither succeeded to prove, that he and the janitor ever met, nor had success in finding the gem in his domicile in Old-Scamall. Not soon after he got dropped as suspect, but Dross never doubted his involvement. He even secretly admired that mysterious man, who was now in the same room as his . . . looking still the same as back then, he hadn't aged one day it seemed.

Furor shoved a few critical looking papers to the side to symbolically tell Dross, that he had now his undivided attention. He folded his hands and looked directly towards Dross; the metal was scratching against the leather of his left hand's glove:

"Welcome to my office, dear customer. A few things in advance before we start getting down to business. My name is Furor Opilio, well-known under the codename 'The Wildcard'. I am a very influential mercenary and assassin with ties to nearly everywhere, but not a miracle-worker. Remember that! You want somebody gone from the face of Prius? Consider it done. Stealing an item, no matter how heavily guarded; An easy job. Shifting the scales of balance in your or your party's favour? My favourite! Making somebody fall undyingly in love with you? Reluctantly, but doable. If you are ready to gamble, I will do nearly everything for you. But I can't bring someone back from the dead!", Furor started mumbling seemingly annoyed, "You can't paint yourself out how many cases of mourning I had to dismiss because of that. Love is a tricky business."

With an energetic motion Furor slams his flat hands on the desk:

"So what will it be, mister -?"

"Hegraven. Silent Watcher Dross Hegraven. Glad, that you had time for me, Mister Opilio, and no, I am not here for any resurrection purposes."

"Splendid!", Furors face lighted up, "And please, just call me Furor to simplify it. May I call you Dross, Mister Hegraven?", a nod, "Perfect! So, my dearest Dross, how may I be of your service? Please tell me what a Watcher could desire?"

Dross let out a deep sigh and started organizing the words in his brain. He felt Furors eyes piercing and scanning him through and through; from this distance, he could make out that the heterochromia was not natural; Furor's left eye was mechanical. He readjusted his shirt's collar and set up a cooperative smile.

"I would like to hire you, Furor, to acquire me something special a normal citizen, like me, couldn't acquire by normal means. I need genetic samples of a wonderful species roaming the realms of Prius. A Drago, just like the one I met on my travels.-"

Suddenly Furor started coughing in surprise, he held up one finger in disbelief and pointed it at Dross:

"Wait, wait, wait! One moment, please! You met a DRAGO on your travels!? When? Where? Excuse me for my interruption, but this is important."

Slightly irritated by the sudden interruption Dross fingered a small section of his Travel notices out of his coat, laying it on the desk and presenting it to Furor:

"I met her roughly a year ago; she was getting chased by men in black. She didn't see me but saved my life, noticing me, she coordinating her repercussions to avoid hitting the panther hiding in the bushes. Here on page 3, I drew her afterwards from memory."

The Wildcard ripped the booklet out of Dross' hands in a quick motion. His motion was, however, uncoordinated, unsure. He was seemingly concerned about something. Seeing the drawn image, he let out a repressed curse. One deep sigh later, Furor gave the booklet back, pressing his fingers against his temples, massaging them:

"Well, Dross . . . I have a good and a bad message for you. Let us begin with the good first. As luck would have it, a few days prior a Drago got captured by a group of slavers under the commandment of the automaton Ettora. I do still have a few favours open with her so it wouldn't be an issue to get you a genetic sample . . . for reasons unknown; I didn't even know about you Watchers dabbing into science stuff, you learn new things each day. But now the bad news;", Furor pointed at the booklet, "The Drago you met and the Drago down in the underground . . . they are the same. The pattern and the horns match perfectly. That means sadly that another of these majestic ladies will live from now on in slavery. It is a cruel world . . . cruel world indeed."

Furor closed his eyes; he suddenly looked like as if he had aged tremendously in the last minutes; as if such a thing happened before:

"I would have asked you to delete any traces of her for her sake, but that would be now not necessary anymore. And before you ask. Yes, I have ties to them, but greed is far more powerful than any of my schemes: This Drago is lost, like many before her already. But that shouldn't matter for you, science-guy. May I ask, why you need a sample of hers, or is that of no concern for me? Of course, it is of no concern for me, who am I kidding?"

Realising what Furor just said, Dross' mood dropped tremendously. He thought to himself before; that taking over the identity of a, to him unknown Drago, would be no big deal, but this was something different. But he wasn't born yesterday; based on his knowledge about the arcadian Drago, such an opportunity, be it as morally grey as it was, wouldn't happen again in the near future. If he truly desired that gene-sample for protecting Raja, then he would have to make an exception. For the woman, he felt oddly attached towards, despite knowing her only for a few weeks. That desire was more potent than anything he ever felt before, way stronger than the connection he had towards Minaera or any other member of his deceased expedition crew. With shiny yellow eyes, Dross focused Furor; the determination was oozing out of every pore of his body:

"I need the genetic code of a Drago to protect the woman I vowed to keep save from any harm. Our coming expedition to Squa'osa will be a success and I am ready to do anything necessary to make that happen.", Dross lowered his voice, "I feel terrible having to hear that she failed after all to escape her tormentors, but that doesn't change my goal. I need that sample, and I am ready to gamble for it; 'Wildcard'."

Barely noticeable Furor grumbled something in his non-existent beard, such silently, that Dross was unable to witness it:

"So it is about love, who . . . would have guessed. But who am I to judge?"