[ The irony isn't lost on Fenris; he's not quite so controlled as to have an assigned handler, but then, the Company knows that isn't necessary. He belongs to them, and he has nowhere else to go. Nowhere else to even think of going. The collar is figurative, but its effects are literal enough.

The bartender brings him a glass of hokk--the rich red stuff, the kind he prefers--and he takes a sip with a shrug. ]

This is what I make of it. We are in a filthy place with worse people, restrained only by their own fear. It is not to be celebrated. Only endured.

[ He taps his glass. ]

But the drinks suffice.