The moon began its ascent, casting long shadows over the dilapidated oil tanker where I perched, my feet dangling. Below, Brakstone City churned, a cauldron of smog and despair, its sky devoid of stars. I felt nothing—no joy, no sorrow, just an unsettling emptiness. My phone rang, a brief distraction.

“Babe, where are you?” I asked, my voice feigning concern, as a familiar truck rumbled past my hiding spot. My eyes, narrowed to slits, tracked its movement.

“Luna, I can't come to you right now. Something came up,” Nic's voice came through, crisp despite the wind. He offered excuses, promises of making it up to me, but I already knew. This was our last call. After a moment, I snapped out of my daze. It was time to move.

The stench of death hit me like a sledgehammer as I descended, the hood of my jacket falling back to reveal the blood-soaked cloth wrapped around my head—a constant reminder of who I was. I walked briskly through a busy alley, a hive of addicts and prostitutes, keeping my head down. Brakstone City, barely breathing, was a canvas of crime and corruption. I stopped, my head cocked, observing three men enter the meat shop, oblivious to the predator lurking in the shadows. The shop, supposedly closed, was a front, its underground basement a perfect lair for illegal activities. A triumphant smile touched my lips. They’d walked into a trap. And the fun was about to begin.