Dragon's Fang Port, temporary housing district. Inside a crude shack converted from an abandoned shipping container.
Blood Shadow, also known as Mo the Third, was holding a whetstone, methodically sharpening a rust-spotted kitchen knife.
Under the dim yellow light, his expression was indistinguishable from any of the port's downtrodden masses, worried about their livelihood.
There were three other people in the shack.
One sat in a corner, using a tattered rag to wipe down a cold, mechanical prosthetic limb. His disguise was that of a retired veteran.
Another, a buxom woman, was mending a child's piece of clothing with her head bowed, playing the part of a widow who had lost her husband.
The last person stood by the door like a wooden post, serving as a lookout.
"Boss, the rumors outside are running wild."
The veteran polishing the prosthetic spoke in a hoarse voice that had a metallic, grating quality to it.
