“You always take things too far, in exactly the way I want.”

Ed had told this to Amelia once, just an offhanded comment based on some event she could no longer remember. Maybe she had cooked a meal too fancy for no special occasion, or maybe she had slain a wildebeest and taken the whole thing back to the house to skin, or maybe she had just destroyed a training golem with enough power to surprise her. It could have been any of those things, or all of them.

But while those events have faded away into Amelia’s memory of their years together, she certainly did not forget the words. Ed herself surely meant nothing by it but to flirt, but the words struck her on a deeper level because they were fundamentally, absolutely true.

Amelia was not one to make half-hearted measures and dilly-dally all day. She was not one for getting a job done in the cleanest way possible. No, she took things too far, and she always would.

Case in point: This afternoon.

On the advice of that orcish shopkeeper, she had come to the Red Light District near the Coliseum. The place where johns and janes came for pleasure of the carnal variety, and those associated vices that came along with it. Officially illegal, but tolerated as long as it was contained. And the district had shrunken in recent years in favor of the high-rolling party streets in the Manadhmeth Dungeon’s first floor. And she entered the district in her favorite recent outfit—jacket, with a hood over her head, a mask over her mouth, and sunglasses. It was hardly suspicious in the winter, but here, even less so; half the people in the neighborhood darted around like getting spotted would end their existences.

For what it was worth, Amelia noted the Red Light District was no dirtier, no less inviting than anywhere else in Fleettwixt. Highden might have been filled with all the shiny white buildings, but the crowd was immense, anonymous, and lonely. The Red Light District had flashing signs and friendly workers on every street corner, bright and colorful even as the sun still stood in the sky. If Amelia had come here for the intended purpose, she might have even fallen for its charms.

But she did not come here for sex. She came here for a good time.

The shopkeeper told her to go to a place called “Margaret's Secret.” With all these ragged bars and beaming brothels, she assumed she would have searched for an hour before she found it. That was until she looked up at the towering, six-story structure with a gold dome roof and radiant neon lights flashing in pink and yellow. On the logo, a naked lady danced in a martini glass.

That was the place, then, Amelia thought to herself.

A lone golem, a lowly guard, scanned the horizon as it stood on the street corner near the brothel. Its head followed Amelia’s body as she passed it by. City police did not come around this area, so golems were the only protection anyone here received. Probably a good thing, considering how corrupt the Fleettwixt police were known to be.

She entered Margaret's Secret.

Automatic doors, pleasant indoor heating. And, as soon as she entered, she noticed the entire staff of this establishment consisted of shirtless women, prancing around in lingerie like something out of a teenage boy’s fantasy.

Clean floors, walls with paintings hanging on them, poppy music playing on the speakers. Red velvet carpet and a glass elevator that went up the whole height of the building.

Brothels were never supposed to be this well-maintained, Amelia thought. Fleettwixt really did have everything.

She approached the service desk, manned by a woman of ambiguous race—mixed elf and orc perhaps, maybe a touch of faun in there?—who sported a thong as the only clothing on her entire body. The woman looked at Amelia with eyes so seductive it could only have ever been mastered through dutiful training.

“Good afternoon. Welcome to Margaret's Secret,” she said. “A wonder emporium for life’s stimulations.” She eyed her closely, her vision not slipping into that sense of pity that so many others did when they first saw her. “First time, isn’t it?”

How did she know—

On some unknown cue, a line of women in all shapes and sizes, in at least six different races, gathered. That included three different felids standing next to each other and twitching their tails in excitement. The entire group sported breasts of statuesque shapeliness.

“What interests you?” the woman at the service desk asked. “All our ladies are very friendly and very helpful, if you’re new. If you just want to talk, they’re there too. Aren’t you, ladies?”

Scattered, cheery noises of affirmation from the whole line. Amelia wondered if they were going to make her rank them next.

“You’re a big girl,” the woman said, coming around the service counter and putting her hand on Amelia’s fleshy left arm. She squeezed it a few times to make sure the muscles were real. “Why don’t we take that jacket off and get you comfortable?” The line of ladies took that as their signal to surround Amelia and began trying to rope her into their scheme as fast as possible. Someone’s breasts pushed against her back, and a pair of arms wrapped around her stomach. Her jacket slipped right off.

She swatted everyone away and growled, “It would be very painful for you to continue this.” They backed away. She softened up a little when she realized these weren’t actually her foes here. “I’m not here for you. Sorry.”

All the ladies’ inviting expressions vanished completely, and they left to whatever areas they came from. The service counter woman, the only one left, asked, “Do you have a reservation with someone?”

Amelia shook her head. “I don’t want sex. Or company. Not interested.”

Her face darkened. “If you’re here to cause trouble, then—”

“I’m looking for a fight, but not with any of you,” she said. “I hear this place has a grudge against synth.”

At that final word, ears perked up throughout the floor. The disinterested ladies suddenly made their way back over.

“Don’t you get started here,” the woman whispered. “We won’t have it.”

“You misunderstand.” Amelia took the opportunity to put her jacket back on, but not before stopping for a moment to let everyone around get a good look at her imposing figure. “I want to help you.”

The woman shook her head, then pressed a button on the service counter to activate a radio. “Madame Margaret, will you come down here?”

To that, a voice from behind them answered, “Already here, Lilian.”

A middle-aged human in a translucent pink robe came into view and clasped her hands together. A sense of serene power exuded with every step she took. Madame Margaret, she presumed. “I saw this woman outside the building and I knew something was going to happen.”

“I mean no harm,” Amelia said. Then she corrected, “To you. I mean great harm to others.”

“And synth is involved?”

“Synth is a scourge. I want to take it off the streets.”

Madame Margaret laughed bitterly. “What, are you going to wish it away? Synth isn’t being taken off the streets by anyone but the police, who just turn around and sell it back to the suppliers.”

“I can’t bring down the whole system. Not yet. I’m sorry. For this afternoon, just some synth. I hear the Red Light District is suffering.”

The service counter woman, Lilian, looked at Madame Margaret pleadingly. “Madame, can we get back to our jobs and stop humoring her?”

The response was an eye roll. “It’s not like there’s anyone else coming in right now. Let’s hear this fine specimen out.” She gestured to Amelia. “The Red Light District is suffering, all right. Drug dealers are hiding out in every alley and bar, and they’re distributing their product so fast they’re running out. I don’t know what’s going on, but they’re smuggling it all in with those soul gems, or something. The quality is horrible, but it’s so addictive that people can hardly stop. Half the time, a user inhales it, and then they just go into a berserker rage for an hour.”

One of the felid ladies stepped into the conversation, her tail swaying rhythmically. “Just last week it happened here,” she told Amelia. “A young woman, a regular, came in to visit me. During foreplay she stopped and went to use the restroom. By the time I realized something was wrong, she was already convulsing. Too far gone to save. She died right in front of me. I even know her dealer.”

Amelia put her hands on her hips and leaned her head in closer. “Who?”

Just that word was enough to make the felid’s eyes light up in inspiration. “A faun by the name of Vino,” she said. “He’s hung around these parts for years, terrorizing prostitutes and harassing every woman he sees, but he just got into synth dealing.”

“Okay. Tell me where he is, and I’ll kill him.”

Madame Margaret said, “Who are you, little girl?”

“I’m not little. I just want to take some drugs off the street.”

“I believe you.” She smirked.

The felid put one hand on Amelia’s stone shoulder. “He’s at that tavern across the street. They won’t serve him anywhere else.” She paused before adding, “Kill that man, and I’ll give you a year of free service. Or something. Just, please, make him suffer like my client did.”

Amelia nodded. “I won’t take you up on the offer. But he’ll suffer.”

And with that, Amelia had all she needed to know. A deluge of drug dealers sowing poison around the Red Light District, and one really good example to set.

If there was one good way to draw Ed out from wherever she was, it was making a big display of things. Taking things too far in exactly the way she wanted.

Today would not be that big display, but it would be the start of things. It very nearly put a smile on Amelia’s face to think about it. All she needed was the setting sun, her fists, and a target.

She entered the tavern, not even stopping to look at the name. The smell of booze and loud masculine voices was all she needed, and the damp wooden floors that greeted her just accentuated it. This was the place you went when you had nowhere else left to go. And, seeing as it was the middle of the day, only those with nothing else to do, too.

Naturally, the tavern was crowded with men and the women they had picked up. No fauns in sight, either. A bit of beer from a nearby patron sprinkled on her shoes, and she did everything she could to stop herself from beating the person’s face in.

There were two floors above the tavern, presumably for quick sex rendezvous. He might have been in there, in which case she would have a hell of a time kicking in every single door.

But there was a much simpler option, one that would leave a whole lot of doors intact. She went over to the bartender and asked him, “Where’s Vino?”

The bartender merely pointed, and then Amelia saw him.

Head bobbing, thin beard, one leg crossed over the other, a putrid smugness in his smile. Two empty glasses on a small table in a crevice in the corner of the tavern.

“Hey, Vino, you ready?” Amelia asked, walking up to him with the stagger of a valued friend, and raising her hand as if she expected him to stand up and embrace her. Instead, he just stared, caught completely off-guard.

“What’s going on here?” he asked. He sat up straighter and put both hooves on the floor. “Did I forget?”

“Just want some synth,” Amelia said. “We set this whole thing up.”

Vino stood up and began backing out of the crevice, closer to the stairs. “No, no, no,” he muttered. “I don’t set deals up like this. No damn cop is arresting me. Not in your life.”

“I won’t arrest you. I’ll just kill you.” She clenched her fists.

Vino’s eyes blinked rapidly, and he darted up the stairs as fast as he could.

Unfortunately, Amelia took things a little too far, because the rest of the bar had heard everything she said. And they certainly were not on her side.