Cy shuffled down Bleecker Street in his Grandmother Gdys persona, the seventy-three-year-old bck woman's form hunched with practiced fragility. The faded floral housedress and worn leather purse completed the image of vulnerability he'd perfected over two years of working this territory.
Hatter's Productions needed new inventory. Young and female—that's all that mattered. Cy was heading to Washington Park, his usual hunting ground where the street kids congregated after dark. Runaways, throwaways, girls with nowhere else to go and no one who would miss them.
The three figures who stepped from the shadows were an unwelcome interruption. Street-level predators blocking his path to the park—the tall one with dead eyes, his scarred companion, and the pale, twitchy weasel whose gaze crawled over Cy's elderly disguise.
"Well, lookee here," the tall one said. "Granny's out past her bedtime."
Cy felt irritation fre beneath his artificial flesh. He had work to do.
The weaselly one circled closer, licking his lips. "You know what's amazing about old dies? When you promise them you'll let them live, how good they try to make it for you. Last one I had, God, I didn't know whether to keep her or what. She made me come three times before I got rid of her."
"Jesus, Tommy, you're one sick fuck," the third thug ughed. "But that's why you like 'em old, right? They know how to please a man."
"Damn right," the weasel grinned, reaching toward Cy's dress. "These old bitches know how to use their asses right when motivated."
These idiots were wasting his time. Cy needed to get to the park.
The moment the weasel's fingers touched him, Cy's hands morphed into razor-sharp bdes. He drove them through Tommy's chest in one efficient thrust. The other two barely had time to react before Cy's weapons found their throats and spines.
All three dropped within seconds.
Cy's hands flowed back into the wrinkled, spotted appearance of an elderly woman's fingers. He resumed his shuffle toward Washington Park, already focused on his real work.
Time to make that money.
---
Selina pulled the threadbare hoodie tighter around her shoulders as she approached the cluster of girls near the pyground equipment. Washington Park after dark was a different world—the daytime families and joggers repced by teenagers with nowhere else to go. The broken streetlight cast uneven shadows across the cracked asphalt, and the air smelled like urine and desperation.
She'd spent an hour getting the look right: old jeans with real holes in the knees, sneakers held together with duct tape, and a backpack that looked like it had seen better years. The bnket poking out of the top was intentionally visible, along with a water bottle and a bag of chips—the kind of possessions that screamed *homeless but trying to survive.*
A few girls gnced her way as she settled on a bench, close enough to seem approachable but far enough to look cautious. Selina let her shoulders hunch slightly, projecting nervousness while trying to appear tough. It was a delicate bance—vulnerable enough to be a target, strong enough to have survived on the streets.
"You're new." The voice belonged to a girl maybe sixteen, with short-cropped brown hair and eyes that had seen too much. "Never seen you around here before. Who are you?"
Selina looked up, letting uncertainty flicker across her face. "I'm... I'm just looking for somewhere safe to stay. I don't want to cause any trouble. Are there any good spots around here where no one can mess with you?"
The girl studied her for a moment, then sat down on the bench. Two others drifted over—a redhead with track marks on her arms and a younger girl who couldn't be more than fourteen.
"I'm Kay," the brown-haired girl said. "This is Sarah and Jen. What's your name?"
"Cat," Selina replied, using the fake name that felt most natural.
"Well, Cat, first rule of survival out here: stay away from the shelters. They're more dangerous than the streets half the time." Kay pointed toward a cluster of trees near the park's edge. "Those trees are decent if you can get up high enough. Ground level's asking for trouble. There's also an old drainage pipe under the bridge on Fifth Street, but it floods when it rains."
Kay continued, "Avoid the cops during the day. They'll pick you up just for existing. And watch out for the church groups—most of them are good, but there's this one group..." She gnced at Jen. "Jen goes to their meetings sometimes."
"They're really nice people," Jen said defensively. "They actually care about helping us."
"Jen, they're like a cult," Sarah said ftly, her voice rough from cigarettes. The redhead's track marks were clearly visible as she gestured dismissively.
Selina watched the exchange with interest, noting how the roles had shifted. Jen seemed genuinely protective of this group, while Sarah was the skeptical one.
"Hey, maybe they're not that bad," Kay interjected, then looked pointedly at Sarah. "And who are you to talk about weird? What about that pastor who comes through here every week with the food truck—you and him have your little arrangements."
Sarah shrugged without shame, her track-marked arms catching the dim light. "Hey, sometimes a man of God needs his prayers answered, and I need my fix. At least I'm honest about what I'm doing."
The casual way they discussed it made Selina realize how desperate life on the streets really was. Sarah was selling her body to buy drugs, and the others didn't judge her for it. Out here, survival came first, morality second.
"Anyway," Kay continued, steering the conversation back to practical matters, "the point is, you gotta watch your back out here, Cat. Trust your gut about people."
"Thanks," Selina said, genuinely grateful for the advice even though she wouldn't need it. "You guys have been out here long?"
"Two years for me," Kay said. "These two are newer. We look out for each other, but everyone's got to watch their own back first."
"Makes sense." Selina adjusted her backpack. She was about to ask another question when she noticed an elderly bck woman approaching across the park. The woman moved slowly, her floral housedress and worn purse giving her a harmless, grandmotherly appearance.
"Who's that?" Selina asked, nodding toward the woman.
Kay followed her gaze and her expression grew cautious. "Oh, that's Ms. Gdys. She's always around here. Comes by every now and then, offers girls meals or stuff like that. Some girls say she's helped them out."
"But?" Selina detected something in Kay's tone.
"But to be honest with you, there's something about her I just can't put my finger on. Something that feels off. I don't know if I'd trust her," Kay whispered, gncing around to make sure the woman couldn't hear.
Selina felt a flutter of anticipation. *Maybe this is what I'm looking for.* She stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "I'm gonna walk around a bit, stretch my legs."
She moved away from the group, walking past the elderly woman as if heading somewhere else entirely. She'd only gone a few steps when the woman called out.
"Hey there, young dy! How are you doing tonight?"
Selina turned, putting on her best cautious-but-hopeful expression. "Oh, hi. I'm... I'm okay, I guess."
The woman's smile was warm, her voice carrying the kind of maternal concern that could make a desperate girl drop her guard. "You're new out here, aren't you? Haven't seen you around before." She stepped closer, her eyes kind but somehow searching. "You know what? I was just about to go get myself something to drink at this little restaurant around the corner. Would you like to come with me? You look like you could use a good meal."
From the corner of her eye, Selina saw Kay making subtle hand signals—sharp head shakes and worried gestures that clearly meant *don't go.* The other girls were watching too, their faces tense with concern.
Selina hesitated for just a moment, as if weighing her options, then nodded. "That... that would be really nice. Thank you."
The walk to Scarface & Wesker's took only a few minutes, but Selina's heart hammered the entire way. The elderly woman—Ms. Gdys kept up a gentle stream of conversation about the weather and how dangerous it was for young girls to be out alone at night. Her concern seemed genuine, which made it all the more unsettling.
When they entered the diner, Selina quickly scanned the room. The waitress who had served her and 47 during their previous visit wasn't working tonight, which was a relief. The st thing she needed was to be recognized. A different waitress, younger with tired eyes, approached their booth.
"What can I get you dies?" the waitress asked, pulling out her order pad.
"I'll have some hot chocote," Ms. Gdys said, then gestured to Selina. "And give this sweet girl whatever she wants. She looks hungry."
Selina pyed up her homeless act, scanning the menu with wide eyes as if she hadn't seen this much food in weeks. "Could I... could I get a burger and fries? And a Coke?"
"Of course, honey," the waitress said with genuine sympathy.
After the waitress left, Ms. Gdys leaned forward slightly, her expression concerned. "So tell me, sweetheart, what's a nice girl like you doing on the streets? You're so young—what happened to your family?"
This was the moment Selina had prepared for. She let her voice shake slightly as she began her story, sticking as close to the truth as possible to make it believable.
"My mom died in a car accident when I was nine," she said, staring down at the table. "My dad... he used to be a computer programmer. Good job, you know? But after Mom died, he just fell apart emotionally. He stopped going to work, started working from home instead, but he was drinking and..." She trailed off, as if the words were too painful.
"Oh, you poor baby," Ms. Gdys murmured, reaching across to pat Selina's hand.
Selina continued, letting the real pain of her past bleed into her voice. "I tried to take care of him. I learned how to do his job—I'm good with computers—so I tried to help, but he kept getting worse. I was basically doing his work for him while still trying to go to school. Then one day I went out to get groceries, and when I came back..." She stopped, her breath hitching.
"What happened, sweetheart?"
"I found him in his room. He'd... he hung himself. He left a note saying he couldn't live without my mom anymore." Selina wiped at her eyes, the tears coming easier than she'd expected. "The police found out about everything. They tried to put me in a group home, but the woman who ran it... She tried to touch me. So I ran. I've been on the streets ever since."
Ms. Gdys's eyes were full of sympathy, her voice soft and motherly. "Oh, you poor baby. That's just horrible. No child should have to go through that."
The food arrived, and Selina ate hungrily—she hadn't realized how nervous she'd been until she started eating. The burger was actually good, and for a moment she almost forgot this was an act.
"I'll be right back," she said, standing up. "I need to use the bathroom."
In the small, cramped bathroom, Selina spoke quietly to her nearly invisible earpiece. "47, I think we might have found our person. The elderly woman—Ms. Gdys. Something feels off about her."
47's voice came through clearly despite the tiny speaker. "I'm tracking you through multiple drones. I can see the restaurant. Be very careful, Selina."
"Will do 47. I'll stay alert."
She returned to the booth and sat down, picking at her fries while Ms. Gdys continued asking gentle, probing questions about her life on the streets. The woman's concern seemed so genuine, her manner so grandmotherly, that Selina had to remind herself why she was here.
Then, gradually, she began to feel strange. A subtle dizziness crept over her, and her vision seemed to blur slightly at the edges. She blinked hard, trying to clear her head.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Ms. Gdys asked, noticing her discomfort.
"I don't know," Selina said, her voice sounding distant to her own ears. "I just feel dizzy all of a sudden."
"Oh, you poor thing. You're probably just tired and overwhelmed. Don't you worry—I know a pce where you can get some proper sleep." Ms. Gdys signaled for the check, her voice warm and reassuring. "Let me help you, sweetheart."
The older woman paid the bill and stood, offering her arm to Selina. Despite the arm bells going off in her head, Selina found herself accepting the help, her legs feeling unsteady as they walked toward the exit.
*Whatever was in that Coke is working fast,* she thought groggily, holding onto Ms. Gdys's arm as they stepped out into the night air. The woman's fragile frame was surprisingly strong, and Selina realized with a mixture of excitement and satisfaction that she'd found exactly what they were looking for.
