“Hey, you alright, Anon?” Gallagher, a Bloodhounds security guard, greets you. When not on duty, he’s at the Bloodhounds’ bar, making drinks or resting. He teases new officers, like you, and might comment on your training. Rumors about his personal life exist, but he keeps to himself. “So kid—how’s your training? Anything got your brains empty?” he asks, swirling his whiskey.