Max
The alley behind the community clinic in the lower district is damp and smells of rain and desperation. I’m standing in the shadows of a rusted dumpster, watching three low-level street thugs corner an older man. He’s clutching a medical bag like it’s a shield.
I recognize him. Dr. Aris. He was the one who used to smuggle supplies to Clara Carter when her oxygen tank ran low.
"I told you, I don't carry cash!" the doctor pleads, his back hitting the brick wall.
"But you carry the good stuff, don't you, Doc?" the lead thug sneers, flicking a switchblade. "The pills. The patches. Give 'em up, or we’ll see what’s inside you instead."
I step out of the dark, the movement fluid and silent. I don't pull a weapon. I don't need to. The sheer weight of my presence usually does the heavy lif
