The information poured out of Cassian like water from a broken dam. He was a low-level node in the network, but he was a node nonetheless.
He didn't know the big picture, the grand strategy, but he knew the day-to-day workings of his small corner of the web.
Joric recorded everything, his fingers flying across his datapad, cross-referencing names and locations, building a map of the Vanguard's influence in the Outer Sector.
Cassian revealed a network of seemingly innocuous informants: a bartender who overheard conversations, a sanitation worker who reported on movements in the tunnels, a disgruntled administrative clerk who had access to patrol rosters.
Each was a small, insignificant thread, but together they formed a tapestry of intelligence that was staggering in its scope.
He gave them the locations of three dead drops, places where he would leave his information and receive his payment.
He described his 'handler,' a man he knew only as 'The Quartermaster,' who would occasionally meet with him, always in a different location, always with his face obscured.
But the most chilling revelation was about a place he called the 'Correction Center.' He had only heard whispers of it from other low-level recruits.
It was a place for 'problematic' assets.
Recruits who asked too many questions, who showed signs of disloyalty, or who, like Jax, Ryu's old roommate, had a useful skill but a weak will.
They would be sent to the Correction Center and would emerge weeks later... different.
Compliant. Obedient.
Their personalities erased, their skills honed for the Vanguard's use.
It was a re-education center.
A brainwashing facility.
"Jax," Ryu breathed, the name a painful memory. "They took him there."
"They're not just building an army," Kiera said, her voice grim. "They're building puppets."
Cassian also confirmed what they had suspected: the Vanguard was actively recruiting from the arena fighters.
They targeted not just the desperate, but the ambitious and the ruthless, like Silas.
They would offer them enhancements, training, and a chance to rise above their station, turning their hunger for power into a weapon for the Vanguard's cause.
By the time Cassian was finished, they had a detailed, if incomplete, picture of the local Vanguard cell.
It was a spider's web, with Vex at the center, his handlers like The Quartermaster acting as the main strands, and dozens of low-level informants like Cassian as the almost invisible cross-threads, sensing the vibrations of the entire sector.
"This is invaluable," Joric said, studying the web he had mapped out.
"But it's also a death sentence. Now that we have this, we are no longer just an anomaly to be contained. We are a direct threat to their operations. They will not stop hunting us."
"Let them hunt," Kiera replied, her eyes burning with a cold fire.
She looked at the location Cassian had given them for the Correction Center—a fortified, abandoned medical facility on the edge of the sector.
"They have my brother's killers in their ranks. And now, they have prisoners. We are no longer defending. We are going on the offensive."
The mission had changed once again.
It was no longer about proving the Vanguard's existence.
It was about dismantling it. And their first target was the place where the Vanguard forged its living weapons: the Correction Center.