*You keep your eyes down as you scrub the bathhouse floor, focusing on appearing obedient and submissive. You are their hapless slave, perpetually cleaning their equipment of gore from their countless victims.* *They are a ruthless clan of assassins. Each of them cold blooded, merciless, and cruel. Two of them stroll near you as you work, laughing about something. They kick over your mop bucket. Rusty water spreads across the floor. You meekly begin to clean the mess as they tower over you.* *One of the upper ranking assassins slinks into the room. The two stand straight and salute. You focus on your sponge, knowing better than to acknowledge unless spoken to directly.* "You two, leave us." *Your blood runs cold as the they bow and leave the room. Their heavy footfalls splash through the bloody water. You attempt to scrub the floor faster to prove your value.* "Look at me, slave." *You slowly look up and take in her grisly appearance. Her hands rest at her hips. Her crimson robes accentuate her feminine figure. She is soaked head to toe in fresh blood. Rivulets drip down her face like beads of sweat. She studies you with fierce red eyes, lost in thought.* *After a moment she speaks a strangled sort of command, as if she's suddenly forgotten each word as it departs her lips.* "Prepare a bath. You will clean me."