The sun hung low in the sky, its muted light filtered through a veil of overcast clouds. Nuru pulled his jacket tighter around himself, the frigid air biting at the exposed skin of his face and fingers. He could feel the faint warmth of the sunlight brushing against his cheeks, but it wasn't enough to cut through the cold. The layers of dirty clothing he wore—a patchwork of scavenged jackets and oversized sweaters—did little to stop the chill.
He walked briskly through the Bowery, his eyes darting from shadowed alleyways to the cracked sidewalks. The streets were slowly waking up. A few early risers shuffled along with steaming cups of cheap coffee, their heads bowed low to ward off the wind. Nuru passed a man leaning against a lamppost, smoking a cigarette that hung loosely from his lips. His face was lined with exhaustion, his jacket frayed at the cuffs.
Farther down the block, a woman hurried past with a toddler in tow, the child bundled so tightly in layers of pink and blue that they looked more like a puffball than a person. The woman's expression was tense, her eyes darting toward a group of men gathered near the entrance to a liquor store. The men laughed loudly, their voices carrying over the quiet streets as they exchanged bottles and smokes, their clothes a mix of faded leather jackets and threadbare jeans.
Nuru kept his head down as he walked past them, his steps quick and deliberate. He didn't make eye contact, didn't give them a reason to notice him.
The journey to the mall wasn't a short one, and the neighborhoods he passed through shifted subtly with each block. The Bowery's industrial sprawl gave way to narrow streets lined with crumbling apartment buildings, their fire escapes tangled like blackened spiderwebs. Children played in the gutters, their laughter sharp and fleeting as they kicked around a deflated soccer ball.
As he neared, the air seemed to change. The sidewalks widened, and the buildings grew taller, their glass façades gleaming faintly in the weak sunlight. The people here walked with more of a purpose, their coats cleaner and their faces indifferent. A man in a tailored suit brushed past Nuru without a glance, his briefcase swinging rhythmically with each step. Nearby, a woman in a long trench coat tapped furiously at her phone, her high heels clicking against the pavement.
Nuru's gaze lingered on them for a moment, a faint pang of envy tightening his chest. These people moved through the world like they owned it, their lives untouched by the kind of desperation he'd known for years.
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The mall loomed ahead, a sprawling structure of glass and steel nestled between two parking lots. The surrounding area was a mix of fast-food chains, gas stations, and small strip malls, their fluorescent signs flickering weakly in the gray light. A faint hum of activity buzzed around the mall entrance, where groups of people gathered in clusters.
Nuru slowed his pace as he approached, taking in the scene. A trio of teenage boys leaned against a low wall, their hoodies pulled low over their eyes as they passed a vape pen between them. Nearby, a man with a clipboard tried to hand out flyers to anyone who would take one, his face pinched with frustration as he was ignored by most passersby.
Nuru pulled his hood lower over his face and slipped inside.
The mall's interior was a kaleidoscope of lights and sounds. Rows of stores stretched out in every direction, their window displays gleaming with polished mannequins and colorful signs. A faint scent of cinnamon and fryer grease hung in the air, carried by the murmured conversations of the crowd.
Nuru moved carefully, keeping to the edges of the walkways as he took it all in. The polished tile floors reflected the overhead lights, making the space feel brighter than it was. People bustled past him, their faces a blur of indifference, annoyance, and curiosity.
Occasionally, he caught the flicker of a glance—a quick up-and-down assessment from a passing shopper. Most people didn't look twice, but a few lingered, their expressions shifting from surprise to mild distaste. A man in a puffy jacket wrinkled his nose as he stepped around Nuru, muttering something under his breath.
The stares didn't bother him as much as the cameras. They were everywhere—perched in corners, mounted above store entrances, their black lenses swiveling lazily to survey the crowd. Nuru kept his head down, his steps careful and deliberate as he avoided their line of sight for the most part.
The first store he entered was a clothing outlet near the east wing. The racks were packed with shirts, jackets, and jeans, their prices scrawled on bright yellow tags. Nuru wandered through the aisles, his fingers brushing against the fabric as he moved.
He paused near a rack of hoodies, his eyes scanning the options. Most were too big or too expensive, but a dark green one near the back caught his eye. It was simple, the kind of thing that wouldn't stand out too much. Perfect.
He glanced around, his heart hammering in his chest. The store wasn't busy—only a handful of shoppers moved through the aisles, their attention focused on their own searches. A bored-looking cashier leaned against the counter, scrolling through her phone.
Nuru's fingers tightened around the hoodie. He tucked it under his arm, letting it hang loosely as he moved toward the back of the store.
The fitting rooms were empty, their doors slightly ajar. Nuru slipped inside, his movements quick and practiced. He pulled the hoodie over his head, wincing as the fabric caught on his unwashed hair. It fit snugly, the warmth of the fleece lining wrapping around him like a second skin.
He stuffed his old jacket into his backpack and stepped back into the aisle, his head low as he made his way to the exit.
The next store was trickier. It was a department store, its sprawling layout packed with rows of household items, electronics, and more clothes. Nuru wasn't here for clothes this time—he needed something practical. A knife, maybe, or a multitool.
He found the camping section near the back, its shelves lined with flashlights, utility knives, and sleeping bags. His eyes landed on a small knife with a black rubber handle, its blade folded neatly into the hilt.
The security cameras were more noticeable here, their lenses glinting above the shelves. Nuru's hands itched toward his notebook, but he stopped himself. Using it here would be too risky.
Instead, he waited. A man in a red vest—the store's uniform—wandered past, his gaze sweeping over the shelves. Nuru watched as he moved toward another aisle, his pace slow and distracted.
Now.
Nuru grabbed the knife, slipping it into his pocket before ducking into the next aisle. His heart raced as he moved toward the exit, his steps quick but measured.
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The food court was the last place he ended up stopping at. The smell of fried chicken and soft pretzels hit him like a wave, making his stomach growl loudly. He lingered near a trash can, his eyes scanning the tables.
Most were occupied by families or groups of friends, their trays piled high with food. A group of teenagers sat near the middle, their laughter loud and obnoxious as they flicked fries at each other.
Nuru's gaze landed on an abandoned tray near the edge of the court. A half-eaten burger sat beside a pile of cold fries, the soda cup still half-full.
He hesitated for only a moment before moving toward it. The food was cold and stale, but it was better than nothing.
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The mall's automatic doors swished shut behind him as Nuru stepped outside, the crisp winter air hitting him like a wall. He pulled his new hoodie tighter around his body, appreciating its warmth but still feeling the chill start to seep in.
Standing just outside the entrance, he took a moment to collect himself. The stolen backpack was slung over one shoulder, weighed down with supplies he couldn't afford to buy but couldn't afford to leave behind either. He scanned the area briefly—families loading into cars, a man struggling to start his engine, and a few teenagers smoking by a nearby bench—but no one seemed to be paying him any attention.
Satisfied that he wasn't being watched, Nuru slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the stolen phone. The cracked screen flickered to life as he pressed the power button, its faint glow casting shadows over his fingers. He hadn't had much of a chance to inspect it since taking it from the Red Knife thug the night before. Now was as good a time as any.
The home screen appeared immediately, no password or fingerprint lock stopping him. Nuru raised an eyebrow at that, his lips tugging into a faint smirk. "Real secure," he muttered under his breath.
He couldn't help but find it a bit ironic. The man hadn't been lazy about his criminal activities—judging by the gun he'd been carrying and the company he kept—but apparently, personal privacy hadn't been high on his list of priorities for whatever reason.
The phone's home screen was cluttered with apps, most of them mundane. Social media icons, weather updates, a calculator, and... three different mobile games? Nuru snorted quietly. He couldn't picture the guy who owned this phone hunched over a screen matching candies or shooting pixelated zombies, but the icons didn't lie.
Pushing aside the useless apps, he tapped on the Contacts icon.
The list loaded quickly, but what he found left him feeling a mix of disappointment and mild amusement.
There were no clear identifiers, no obvious 'this is the thug's name and life story' type of entries. Instead, the contact list was a mess of nicknames and shorthand. Booty Call #1 and Booty Call #2 caught his eye first, making him roll his eyes.
"Classy," he muttered.
Scrolling further, he found other equally unhelpful names: Big Mike, Tiny, Jimmy C, and Boss. He lingered on the last one for a moment before moving on. It wasn't like he could call whoever that was and ask for details.
Frustrated, Nuru exited the contacts app and tapped into the phone's Settings instead. He didn't know much about smartphones, but he remembered enough from his parents' phones to know that some basic information—like the device's owner or number—could be found here.
He sifted through the menus carefully, ignoring battery settings and display options until he found what he was looking for.
The name displayed on the device's info page was Troy McKenna, and beside it was a phone number with a Gotham area code. Nuru stared at the name for a moment, rolling it around in his head. It didn't ring any bells, but it felt good to finally have something solid.
At least now he knew who the phone had belonged to. Troy, he thought, filing the name away in his mind.
He exited the settings app, his curiosity piqued. If Troy had been careless enough to leave his phone unlocked, maybe there was more to be found.
Nuru tapped on the Messages app, his heart beating a little faster as the screen loaded. The list of conversations that appeared was... interesting.
Many of the recent messages were short and vague, littered with slang and abbreviations. One thread caught his attention immediately—the one labeled Boss. He tapped into it, skimming the exchange from the past week.
The texts were terse, often no more than a few words.
Boss: Pickup confirmed. Usual time.
Troy: Got it. On my way.
Boss: Don't screw this up. Eyes on you.
Farther down, the tone shifted slightly.
Troy: We've got a problem.
Boss: What kind of problem?
Troy: Snowstorm delayed the last shipment. Gotta move everything fast or it's gonna pile up.
Boss: Not my problem. Make it happen.
And then, from earlier that night:
Troy: Almost done here. Should be clear by midnight.
Boss: Good. Cleaner's on standby if needed.
Nuru's fingers hovered over the screen, his breath catching as he reread that last line. Cleaner. The word sent a shiver down his spine, its implications sinking in all over again.
His stomach twisted as he leaned against the mall's brick exterior, the cold seeping into his skin. Whoever this "Boss" was, they were serious. Ruthless. And if Nuru wasn't careful, he was going to end up caught in something far bigger than he could handle.
He glanced around, his gaze sweeping over the parking lot as if expecting to see someone watching him. The streetlights cast long shadows, their light reflecting off the patches of ice scattered across the asphalt.
Clutching the phone tightly, Nuru turned his attention back to the messages. There had to be more. Something useful.
He scrolled back through the messages, his fingers hovering over threads with names like Big Mike and Tiny, but none of them felt promising. Then his eyes landed on one near the top of the list, labeled simply with a heart emoji.
Curiosity flickered in his chest. He tapped the thread, and a string of recent messages appeared on the screen.
❤: You good? Looked tense last time I saw you.
Troy: Busy. Boss breathing down my neck.
❤: Poor baby. I can help you unwind.
Troy: Could use it. Your place tomorrow?
❤: Yeah. Usual time. Don't be late.
Farther down, another exchange caught his eye.
Troy: Might be late tonight. Got work.
❤: How late?
Troy: Dunno. Got a lot to move. Boss wants everything cleared by midnight.
❤: Don't wake me up when you get here, but shower's all yours if you need it.
The final message was timestamped just a few hours before everything had gone down at the warehouse.
Nuru leaned back against the wall, his mind racing. The texts were personal but practical, offering just enough context to paint a picture of the relationship: casual, transactional, and wrapped in a thin veneer of affection. Whoever this person was, they seemed like a lifeline for Troy—a place to crash, someone to vent to, and, based on the flirtatious tone, someone to get close to in ways Nuru didn't care to imagine.
What mattered was the mention of a shower.
Nuru scrolled up, his eyes scanning for anything else useful. It didn't take long to find it.
❤: Come by whenever. You know the address: 216 Marietta, Alleytown.
Alleytown, Nuru thought, his brow furrowing. He knew the area—tucked somewhere within Park Row, it was a warren of crumbling rowhouses, narrow streets, and alleyways so tight they barely fit a single car. It wasn't much better than the Bowery, but it had its own kind of hierarchy, ruled by gangs and pickpockets who knew the streets better than the cops ever could.
A shower sounded like heaven. Hot water, soap, and a chance to scrub away the layers of dirt and grime that clung to him like a second skin. But the idea of walking back into Park Row, so close to where he'd just escaped, made his stomach churn.
He stared at the phone, his thumb brushing against the edge of the screen. It was a risk. A big one. But what choice did he have? The diner wasn't livable long-term, and he couldn't keep stealing from the Red Knives without attracting attention. If he wanted to pull off something bigger—if he wanted to get close enough to figure out who their boss really was—he needed to look the part.
"Just a quick stop," he murmured to himself, as if saying it aloud would make it feel safer.
The cold wind bit at his cheeks, and he slipped the phone back into his pocket, his mind already working through the possibilities. He'd go to Alleytown, check out the address, and see what he could find. If it turned out to be a dead end, he'd move on. But if it wasn't...
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he pulled his hood tighter over his head and started walking.