The twilight hours, these were the times he knew best. They suited him and his needs. Always another job, always something that needed the cover of darkness; there was never any time for his life. It consumed him, and now it would be his death.
Born the son of a farmer, Ingvar always felt as if there was a something more for him. He quickly ran to the cities where he soon found he had a knack for getting information from people. Information other people wanted. Flattery and deception were the tools of his trade, and the occasional broken face. He also was soon swept up into a life consuming world of intergalactic espionage that had finally caught up with him.
The domicile that he now called his home was his favorite of all the various places he had lived. It was a small apartment in a middle class neighborhood close to the sea. It was simple yet eloquent while all the while being efficient and easy to secure. Not secure enough though.
He had just awoken from a restful night’s sleep and had gone into the kitchen area to get a drink when he was ambushed from behind. His assailant had rushed him, grabbing his head with his right hand and slamming it into the counter. Stunned, Ingvar sagged to the floor where the assailant quickly restrained him.
When he had recovered, he was set up in a chair, facing his assailant. The assailant was in body armor; similar to the kind used by security forces, but this was no ordinary security officer.
“Why didn’t you just kill me?”
“I wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself. We’ve been watching you Ingvar, son of Torrig.”
“What of it?” There was the flash of metal as he drew a blade.
“You’re an Info-thief. You’ve stolen your share of secrets.”
“And some corporation hired you to plug a leak?”
“You could only wish. It’s not so much the information you’ve stolen, as much as whom it is that you’ve been selling it too.”
“My clients…”
“…are traitors! Don’t worry though; I took care of them before I came here.” 
“To take care of me!?”
“Yes, because they were the only ones who knew you existed.”
 “What?”
“No matter what, you die this night. However, what you choose to do with your afterlife is entirely up to your answer.”
“What are you talking about!? Stop toying with me!”
“I’m not toying with you! I want to know why you did it. Why you choose to sell those secrets to those people.”
“Because they were the ones asking the questions, they were the ones who wanted the information. I just provided what they wanted. I didn’t care for the secrets; I just gave the customer what they wanted.”
“Will you give us what we want?”
“What do you want?”
“Your life.”
“Then just kill me!”
“Like I said, Ingvar is dead. That still leaves the question who will take his place?”
“What are you asking?”
“Do you want another chance? I’ve already rigged this place to go up in flames, but will I be leaving your corpse, or will you be leaving with me, leaving to start a life in servitude to us.”
“Servitude? You mean slavery.”
“No, you will continue to live a live like this, but we will be your only customer. In return, you live and gain our protection.”
“Do I really have a choice?”
“There is always a choice, but I see what you mean. You’re unlikely to choose the alternative as you are not insane so your self-preservation function is working properly. Not all decisions in life are easy. I think this one is though.”
“Fine then, I choose life.”
“Good.” He moved over the stove which he turned on, placing something on the electric burner.
“What are you doing?”
“You have to be marked, to let those know you’re one of ours.”
“That seems a little, extreme.”
“No, it’s quite normal.” Withdrawing the heated object from the burner, leaving it on, he returned to Ingvar. Pulling his sleeve, he stuck the brand to the skin.
“What the hell!”
“No sudden movements or you’ll damage yourself.” After only a few seconds he removed the brand, revealing a wolf’s head insignia. “Welcome to the Lupus Cohort, Auxiliary.”