I navigated through the labyrinth of concrete brick pathways, my single eye scanning the architectural layout of Carcaka. The town felt heavily advanced yet choking on its own progress, dominated by massive, smoking industrial buildings that belched dark soot into the night sky.
As I walked, my mind cataloged a crucial piece of regional intelligence regarding the town's geography. Right alongside the main sectors of Carcaka lay an abandoned, historical mint industry structure. That sprawling complex was originally known as the Ford Industry, established generations ago before falling into complete decay. Now, it served as the fortified primary base for the arms trafficking guild I was hunting. The dark irony of the name wasn't lost on me; the Ford Industry belonged to the lineage of Harold Ford, the notoriously greedy tax collector back in my hometown of Town Allure, who was currently living it up in luxury within Caria City while his family's old factories birthed black-market weaponry.
I pulled my heavy traveling cloak tighter to conceal the stolen dress beneath it, searching the storefronts for any sign of life. Unsurprisingly, almost every single establishment was completely blacked out and shuttered. It was midnight, the hour when honest laborers slept and only predators or syndicate patrols moved through the shadows.
Just as I was preparing to track down a black-market fence or break into a warehouse to steal clothes, I spotted a single, dim lantern flickering at the edge of the commercial strip. A shop was in the middle of shutting its heavy wooden doors for the night. Standing outside the entrance was a woman, her hands tiredly adjusting the iron bolts, surrounded by five quiet children ranging from a teenager to a small toddler.
I paused in the shadows, my predatory focus locking onto her face. A massive shockwave of recognition hit my memory matrix.
I knew this woman. I had crossed paths with her files and her past back during the chaotic unrest in the Town of Tata. She was Clara Becker, the former maid who had been trapped in the squalor of the Tata slums, smuggling livestock mush from the Callus Manor just to keep her family breathing, before she was broken out through a hidden drainage tunnel beneath an old tannery.
Now, here she was in Carcaka, operating a small, independent tailor shop, desperately trying to build a clean life for her five children far away from the iron grip of the Callus Empire.
I stepped out from the darkness of the brick wall, the heavy fabric of my cloak shifting slightly to reveal the massive frame of the Death Chant Shotgun strapped to my back. My single eye locked onto her.
Clara flinched slightly at the sudden appearance of a lone, one-armed hunter at midnight. She instinctively stepped in front of her children, shielding them from view, though her voice remained tired and polite.
"Sorry, ma'am, but the tailor shop is closed for the night. We're just locking up."
I quickly reached into the folds of my cloak with my right hand, pulled out my charcoal pencil and a scrap of paper, and scribbled a brief note:
"Clothes for men, a gift."
I slid the parchment toward Clara, utilizing the exact same psychological misdirection trick I had pulled back in Lulu City when I bought the clothes for my Keane Leon disguise. By framing the purchase as a simple gift for someone else, a lone woman buying heavy, rugged male attire wouldn't raise any awkward questions or suspicion. I needed these clothes immediately to build my Luke Granhart identity and gain entry to the Ford Industry base.
As Clara looked down at the note, the ambient light of the lantern caught my features. One of her eldest children suddenly squinted through the gloom, staring intently at my silhouette.
"Wait… I know that girl. She was in Tata. The one who rescued us." the boy whispered, his eyes widening as he tapped his mother's sleeve.
Another child stepped forward, looking up at me with a mixture of shock and awe.
"Yes! She was with the cat demi-human! I think her name is Roxy!"
Hearing them suddenly utter my old underground nickname, *Roxy*, sent a sharp jolt through my calculated demeanor. I was genuinely struck by a wave of doubt… I had no idea the children from the Tata slums would still vividly remember my presence or my actions from those dark days.
Since it was the dead of night and the deserted street was entirely clear of Bureau guards or syndicate patrols, I decided it was safe to lower my hood. I reached up and pulled back the heavy fabric, letting my true, scarred face, my single eye, and my tanned skin show clearly in the dim lantern light.
Clara gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she looked past the scars and recognized the gaze of the hunter who had stood by her in the trenches of the lower district.
"Wait... you're the girl, Roxy, It's... it's so nice to meet you again." Clara said, her voice trembling slightly with profound gratitude and relief as she stepped forward, a warm smile breaking through her exhaustion.
Clara quickly unlocked the heavy wooden door, swinging it back open to invite me into the warm, fabric-scented interior of her shop.
"Come inside, Roxy, we will prepare some clothes for you. You must be pretty exhausted by the 'gift' shopping at this hour."
It was a striking demonstration of how karma operates in the underworld. Because of my calculated kindness and tactical intervention back in the Tata slums, Clara and her five children didn't hesitate for a second to reopen their business at midnight just to accommodate my needs.
Once inside the neatly organized tailor shop, I pulled out my charcoal pencil and scribbled a more specific directive on my parchment notebook:
"Polo and trousers."
I needed a crisp, professional shirt and rugged, form-fitting pants that would perfectly mirror the sharp, practical style Luke Granhart wore as an elite Mafia apprentice.
Clara read the note and gave a warm, reassuring nod.
"Sure, Roxy. Give me just a few minutes to pull the right sizes from the back."
While Clara disappeared into the storage room to carefully match and select the perfect masculine attire, I found myself left in the front room with her five children. Dropping my usual cold, S-rank predator demeanor for a brief moment, I sat down on a low wooden stool and decided to play with them. The kids… no longer cowering in the mud-slicked alleys of Tata… smiled and laughed, showing me small fabric scraps and simple toys they had made. It was a bizarre, quiet peace, a stark contrast to the blood-soaked infiltration I was about to execute at the Ford Industry base.
A few minutes later, Clara returned, carrying a neatly folded package containing a dark, high-quality polo shirt and a pair of durable, dark trousers that would perfectly fit my structural matrix once I shapeshifted into Luke.
I took the clothes and immediately reached into my leather purse, pulling out a handful of silver coins to pay for the premium textiles. But as I extended my hand, Clara gently pushed my silver away, her eyes shimmering with genuine emotion.
"No worries, Roxy, you completely changed my life out there. Now, me and my kids are living a peaceful life here in Carcaka, rather than staying trapped and starving in the Tata slums. Consider this a small token of what we owe you. Here, take it for free."
Realizing that refusing her hospitality would insult her pride, I gave a respectful nod. I slid the silver coins back into my purse… keeping my savings perfectly secure at 84 silver coins and 21 bronze coins… and tucked the heavy male clothing securely under my traveling cloak next to my hidden shotgun.
I offered Clara and her five children a silent, grateful bow of my head, pulling my deep hood back over my scarred face. I stepped back out into the chilly, industrial midnight air of Carcaka, the heavy door clicking shut behind me. I had the gear, I had the shelter, and I had the motivation. The countdown to Don Anthony's demise had officially begun.