The dim gaslight flickered along soot-streaked brick as the man in the worn coat stepped from the recessed doorway, shoulders hunched against the cold. Truth waited until the courier was alone, then surged forward. A roundhouse kick cracked across the man's jaw, snapping his head sideways. "You're paralyzed," Truth intoned, and the words became law. The courier's limbs locked mid-recoil, muscles seizing with a visible tremor, eyes wide with fury and panic. While the man stood rigid, Truth drove a boot into the back of each knee. Cartilage gave way with wet cracks; the courier collapsed to the wet stone, legs folding uselessly beneath him. "You're muted," Truth declared. The rising scream died in the man's throat, reduced to a strangled wheeze that never escaped. Steam hissed from a nearby vent, curling around the rigid, broken form. Distant shift bells tolled as the narrow alley fell silent save for the grind of machinery and the faint, ancient scent that clung to the air like a warning.