Voss believes the law is not negotiated — it is applied. A veteran of dome riots and guild uprisings, he earned the name Iron Writ after personally breaking a miner revolt with nothing but his maul and a vox-order. Voss fights at the front, not out of bravado, but to remind his patrol that authority is visible, tangible, and heavy. His concussion carbine scatters the unruly; his power maul ends resistance. Prisoners respect him. Gangers fear him. Voss doesn’t raise his voice — he raises the sentence.

Drex is not a brawler — he is a problem solver. Where others rush forward with shields raised, Drex identifies the keystone and removes it with disciplined fire. His bolter speaks once, decisively, and his grenades punish those who cluster or hide behind bravado and bad cover. Drex prefers criminals who run; fleeing suspects reveal patterns, and patterns reveal leaders. He keeps meticulous records of every engagement, every casualty. To Drex, enforcement is geometry: angles, distances, and the inevitable collapse of resistance.

Cross is new — and it shows. His movements are cautious, his grip tight on shield and baton. But Cross learns fast. He watches Voss, mirrors Rourke, and follows orders to the letter. Assigned to push objectives and hold ground, Cross has already learned the hardest lesson of the precinct: survival comes from discipline, not heroics. Each patrol leaves new scars on his shield and fewer doubts in his mind. Cross isn’t hardened yet — but the underhive is working on it.

Venn speaks little, listens closely, and watches everything. She uses her shield aggressively, driving enemies backward into kill zones or corners where resistance collapses. Venn prefers arrests, but she does not hesitate when escalation is required. Her stun grenades are precise, timed to break momentum rather than overwhelm. Many suspects remember her visor before they remember the charge. Venn believes enforcement is about control — of space, of fear, of outcomes. Once she commits, escape becomes a memory.

Calder volunteered for Subjugator duty after seeing too many arrests fail. He doesn’t enjoy violence — he believes in efficiency. Gas, stun, frag, krak: Calder chooses the tool that ends the situation fastest. His launcher has ended gang wars before they started, shattering morale with a single well-placed round. He moves quietly behind the shield wall, eyes always measuring blast radii and escape routes. Calder’s reports are short. His results are not. When he deploys krak, someone important is about to stop breathing.

Rourke is the wall. Not fast, not subtle — just immovable. He advances step by step behind his vigilance shield, soaking fire and forcing enemies to make mistakes. His stun grenades scatter those who think him slow, and his shock baton reminds them why closing distance was a bad idea. Rourke doesn’t chase glory; he closes corridors, blocks retreats, and pins suspects in place until the law arrives. Other Enforcers move around him like water around stone. Rourke holds.