But there were times - rare times - when she sent him back into the city.
Sometimes he went on his own; on those occasions he would take his paints with him and slather them on the walls of the abandoned buildings and the offices and the cafes, stamping them with anti-Nega propaganda as much as he could without being seen. Thankfully he'd had many years practice in sneaking around.
This night, however, was not one of those nights. Celsus was sitting at the top of a tall office building, cape drawn around him in a somewhat inefficient way of keeping the wind off of him. His narrowed eyes roamed the streets below him, careful to keep himself half hidden in the shadows so that anyone looking up would not be able to see him.
So far nothing of consequence had happened, but it was still early.
Saint Sergio