A young woman stood before a dark concrete wall, situated atop one of the many dilapidated edifices of the Free City of Rooksbury. Her dark curls, tied into a high ponytail, lightly grazed her shoulders. Her brown leather jacket protected her from the cold morning wind with a familiar warmth. Her skin was the color of caramel, and she carried a slight smile on her face.
She put down the bag and opened it, retrieving her sketchbook and a few spray cans of paint. She flipped through the pages of the sketchbook, analyzing each drawing until she found one she liked. It's been too long, she thought.
She picked up a spray can and shook it, the rattling sound it made bringing memories upon memories. As she prepared to start the outline, a buzzing sound emanated from her pocket. She sighed and grabbed her phone, no longer smiling. She pressed play on the voice message she'd received, and the gruff voice of her fixer was heard.
"Alex. It's Nick. Got a job for you. Drop what you're doing and get to the southeast headquarters. The client wants this done quiet, so details are in-person."
Fuck.
Alex put her spray cans and sketchbook away, and left the rooftop through a tag-covered stairwell. She walked out into the streets, the asphalt occasionally giving way to patches of gravel which crunched beneath her sneakers. She passed many people---elves, faeries, humans and dwarves. She took care to not approach the rocky shores, as she'd heard something had aggravated the sea monsters.
Eventually, she reached a colossal bridge of towers and cables, that connected the northern and southern parts of the city. She briefly recalled its history. It was built during the Imperial era of Rooksbury, as was the case for much of the city's infrastructure. After the Republican Revolution, a flag was planted atop the bridge's highest beam, and after the collapse of the Republic, it was less than a month before someone stole that flag and presumably sold it to a collector.
Alex approached the bridge, and two men armed with halberds stopped her. They were dressed in blue, had rounded ears, and had tattoos of hydras covering their skin. There were several other people, all similarly clothed and armed, lining the entrance to the bridge.
"Ey," one of the men spoke up. "Seven creds or twelve marks."
"Seven? Chainz charged five," Alex complained.
"So? This side a' the bridge is Hydra territory now, and we charge seven," the other man explained.
Alex rolled her eyes and handed a few bills to one of them. They allowed her to pass, and her mind began to wander once more. The fortieth anniversary of the collapse was this year, she noticed. Forty years of anarchy, forty years of gang rule...
Alex reached the other side of the bridge, then walked a few more blocks, and reached her destination. It seemed to be an innocuous alleyway, covered in trash and superseding gang tags. There was a wooden door on one of the walls, and Alex approached it. She gave it three knocks, pausing between the second and the third.
"Password?" asked a grainy voice, audibly coming from a low-quality speaker.
"The deadly trade," Alex responded, as she had so many times before.
The door slid open, revealing a thick layer of steel behind the wood. Alex walked in and nodded to the doorman, then turned to the large hall before her. There were many long tables, soundproof booths embedded in the concrete walls, and even a bar. Mercenaries conducted their business all around, and the smell of whiskey filled the room.
Her eyes scanned the room and eventually met with Nick's. He was an older man with a long, well-groomed beard and graying hair. He wore a black denim vest covered in patches, the larges among them being the Skulltrader symbol---a skull with coins in its eye sockets. She approached the fixer, and he handed her a file before returning to his drink. She read it. The target was a black van carrying spell components for the Shademen. The client wanted the transporters dead, and the cargo destroyed. Alex knew she wasn't supposed to ask questions, but she didn't care, so she asked:
"Who's the client? Rival gang?"
Nick downed the rest of his drink, then responded:
"Snow elf with Ashway tats. Didn't give us a name."
"The Ashway? Must be preppin' to take over the rest of Blackhill..." Alex pondered the implications of that. If the Ashway took the Shademen's territory, they'd form a frontier with the Jackals. The resulting fight wouldn't be pretty. She then inquired about the most important part of any job:
"What's the pay?"
"Six hundred creds, flat," Nick responded, his expression neutral as ever.
"That's it? Ya want me to wipe out a whole caravan fo' two months’ rent!?"
Nick remained silent.
"...Fine, I'll do it. Only 'cause the market's dry, tho."