In opulent offices, scattered all around Paw City, reside the mysterious Cat Punks known as the City-Runners. Not an assassination happens, nor is a single cred earned or spent, without their knowledge. Rarely seen, they use the latest tech, all unavailable to others, to monitor the city and communicate with each other.

Each City-Runner operates like a Chief Operating Officer for the city, and they handle minutiae people don’t know exists. Who should be killed, which streets should be cleaned, what entertainments can be broadcast, are all things decided by the City-Runners. The Cyber-Virus robbed them of any moral compass and a slavish, if violent, devotion to the city proper.

The Weapon-Wielders and Punks live in blissful ignorance of the machinations of the City-Runners. They only cross paths at the request of the City-Runners, and, even then, contact is strictly limited.

To the populace, they are more akin to wraiths than people. Their offices, high in the air above the means of mere mortals, are rumored to be homes for demons and monsters born of the depths of hell: mouths agape dripping blood and gore. Sadly, for the populace, nothing so mundane exists.

No, the City-Runners need no paranormal assistance. They exist only to protect the city, no matter the cost to others.

When a band of nomads set up a simple tent village about two miles outside the city, they had a group of Weapon-Wielders kill them all, burn the bodies, and videotape everything for their amusement.

When street gangs, like the Katana, Broken Chip, and the All-Nighters get too powerful, orders are given, and their ranks are culled. No one questions because those who remain reap the benefits of a stable society.

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