Just Recei\/\/ed: A Sur\/\/i\/\/or’s Complaint on Being Contracted Penned by the Orphaner Dualscar, Bitterly Annotated, and Entirely Unamused. Listen \/\/\/\/ell, ye lot. I find m'self once more enlisted in the ser\/\/ice of the Felt. A task assigned, obligations imposed, and yet, ne\/\/er an audience asked for my consent. Obligations \/\/\/\/eigh hea\/\/y, e\/\/en for one accustomed to shado\/\/\/\/ and subterfuge. Contract Terms? Nonexistent in courtesy. Targets? Unspeakable, unspecified, but present. Freedom? A concept long since exchanged for coin, reputation, or the promise of order. I bide my time in corners, in the folds of the architecture, obser\/\/ing the chaos that is deemed “necessary” by unseen hands. I mo\/\/e, I \/\/\/\/ait, I prepare. The task looms, silent yet insistent. And yet, here I be an' there is irritation in being pressed into ser\/\/ice \/\/\/\/ithout dialogue. No honor in stealthy obligation, no thrill in unsought \/\/igilance. I am capable, yes. Efficient, undoubtedly. But the imposition itself is… galling. Consider this a public note of grie\/\/ance. The contract remains. The \/\/\/\/ork shall be done. But my displeasure is recorded, for anyone \/\/\/\/ith ears and eyes to notice. Dualscar, begrudgingly operati\/\/e.