Sous walked across the cracked earth with a steady stride, her shoes cutting through loose gravel and dry patches of grass that had long given up trying to grow back. The air smelled faintly of smoke from distant fires that never stopped burning on the outskirts of this part of the world.
She followed the long path leading north toward the centaur ghettos, a place fenced in by rusted towers and concrete barriers that rose like blunt teeth against the horizon. Everyone who traveled through this region knew that once you reached those towers, you were no longer walking among the free.
She preferred to travel alone for missions like this, not because she distrusted her comrades, but because moving alone made her think clearly. There were no distractions, no sudden voices trying to shape her focus. The only sounds were her footsteps, the scraping of stone beneath her soles, and the increasingly tense wind that seemed to warn anyone heading toward the ghetto that they should turn back before the guards caught sight of them.
Sous never turned back.
She had heard stories since this all started a year ago about the centaur ghettos. They were not simply holding areas or camps. They were designed as cages for an entire species considered useful only for labor.
Centaurs were known for their strength, their endurance, their ability to run across the plains faster than any vehicle without fuel. To Apex and the regional militias, that meant they were resources. To Sous, that meant they were prisoners who had been made to forget their own dignity.
Every place had its own brand of suffering, but something about the centaur ghettos left a sourness in her jaw. She had never seen them herself, not until today. She had heard about the chains bolted into their stable yards. She had heard about the guard towers where men sat with rifles always pointed downward.
The road bent toward a shallow ridge that overlooked the first section of the ghetto. Sous climbed it without slowing down.
When she reached the top, she saw the expanse spread below her. It was larger than she expected. The perimeter fence ran for nearly a mile, reinforced with concrete slabs and fortified wire. Watchlights stood on poles that had once been used for city streets before the wars.
The light cast harsh angles across the shanty structures inside the fence, creating shadows that reminded her of broken limbs reaching toward nothing.
Centaurs moved within the enclosure in a slow rhythm that was not natural to their kind. They were built to run, yet here they shuffled. They were built to breathe fresh air, yet here they lived among grime and exhaustion. Their human torsos sagged as if carrying weights on their shoulders. Their equine bodies bore marks of labor that had not been earned but forced.
Sous descended from the ridge. There were three entrances to the ghetto. The guards believed them secure. They believed their numbers made a difference.
They believed the surrounding towers provided protection, and that the height gave them an advantage. Sous had faced similar structures before. She understood where they hid their weaknesses.
Two guards stood at the nearest checkpoint. They wore mismatched armor and carried rifles slung across their chests in a relaxed fashion, humans of course.
Their posture suggested boredom rather than readiness. When Sous approached, they stiffened, their hands drifting toward their weapons, though not quickly enough to show real discipline. She stopped a few yards from them and allowed them to take in her presence.
"This area is restricted," one guard called out.
"I didnt ask for entry," she responded.
Step, step!
They exchanged glances, unsure how to interpret her tone. She stepped forward.
"We said stop," the second guard insisted, raising his weapon.
Sous studied his face long enough to note the nervous twitch under his left eye. She stepped again.
The first guard opened his mouth to speak, but he never finished. Sous seized the end of his rifle, spun it out of his hands, and drove her foot into his chest. He flew backward and landed hard.
Thud!
The second guard fired, but she had already moved. She closed the distance, gripped the barrel, and shoved it upward so the shot hit the metal pole above them.
One twist and the rifle clattered to the ground. She struck him once with her elbow and he collapsed unconscious.
She dragged the bodies out of sight.
Inside the ghetto, the centaurs startled as she stepped through the checkpoint. She understood their fear. A lone Alpha walking into their enclosure was not a sight they encountered often.
Most Alphas who came here did so for inspections or punishments. Sous approached slowly, her hands relaxed at her sides.
The first centaur to meet her eyes was tall, with broad shoulders and a scar that crossed from her brow to her cheek. She carried a bucket of water balanced against her arm, though her grip trembled. Sous stopped a respectful distance from her and lowered her voice.
"Im not here to harm you," she said.
The centaur did not answer, but her breathing changed slightly. Others gathered behind her, forming a cautious cluster. Their eyes darted between Sous and the entrance gate as though expecting more guards to burst in at any moment.
Sous gestured toward the far watchtower.
"How many guards patrol the inner yard at night?"
The centaurs exchanged looks. They hesitated. Sous took a step back to show she was not demanding compliance through threat.
"Im here to break this place open," she said. "Not to take anything from you. Not to force anything on you. I need information."
The scarred centaur finally spoke. Her voice was low, shaped by exhaustion. "Six guards move through the main yard. Another four on the towers. They rotate every two hours."
Sous nodded. "What about the lock on the east gate?"
"Reinforced with metal plates," another centaur said. "But the bolts rusted through last winter. If you pull them hard enough, they give."
That was all what Sous needed.