After several long, claustrophobic, exhausting minutes, I finally crawled through the last of that disgusting, viscous, puss-like gel, out to the other side, into blessed, relatively open air.

  I could now clearly, unmistakably, hear the distinct, comforting sounds of distant construction machineries, a faint, thumping bass from some faraway music, and other, more normal, reassuring city noises.

  I dragged my bag the rest of the way through the narrow opening and quickly, thankfully, put it on my aching back.

  Then I looked around, my eyes blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the sudden change in illumination and atmosphere.

  I appeared to be in a filthy, overflowing, trash-strewn alleyway, tucked away in some unfamiliar, grimy residential neighbourhood.

  I walked straight out into the bustling, noisy street, and in such a short goddamn time, my ragged, blood-soaked, and generally disreputable appearance attracted a few openly curious, and distinctly hostile, stares from various prim and proper passers-by.

  I looked right and then left, my head swiveling like a nervous bird, trying to figure out where the fuck I actually was in this sprawling, indifferent city.

  I had no fuckin' clue, none at all, but it was crystal clear, from a single glance, that I was somewhere deep within the affluent, well-policed Conquest district.

  This was obvious based on the imposing, well-maintained buildings, the clean, perfectly paved roads, the almost breathable, relatively unpolluted smell of the air, and the expensive, fashionable clothes worn by the people that hurried past me, pointedly avoiding any eye contact, their faces masks of disdain.

  fuckin' luxurious, a whole different, alien world compared to the shit I was used to.

  I didn’t recognize a single damn landmark here, not one familiar building or street sign, and I sure as hell didn’t dare try to approach anyone to ask for directions; that would be suicide.

  Best case scenario – some nosy, public-spirited fucker would immediately report my suspicious ass to the local policemen or, even worse, Enforcers.

  They would then undoubtedly proceed to beat me up for their own amusement, drag my sorry carcass to their station, before finally, magnanimously, telling me to bail myself out with some of my hard-earned, precious shits.

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  And the worst case scenario – some local, territorial street gang would immediately realize what I am, a vulnerable, out-of-place outsider, clock my obviously loaded backpack, and then quickly find a quiet, secluded way to corner me before beating me senseless, robbing me blind of everything I had, and then, quite possibly, fuckin' killing me just for the hell of it, or to make an example.

  I just walked slowly, deliberately, along the edge of the side-walk, trying to blend in with the shadows, my eyes darting around constantly, looking at addresses posted on the buildings and the names on the street signs, desperately trying to read the unfamiliar, complex Kanji.

  I did this for several tens of agonizing, frustrating minutes, basically just going to and fro aimlessly on that same, alien stretch of side-walk, feeling more lost and exposed with each passing moment (it was bloody fuckin' confusing, and I was getting absolutely nowhere fast).

  As I trudged by a certain fancy-looking, brightly lit shop that I was depressingly sure I’d already walked past at least twice before, a stern-faced, bald old man, wearing a clean, crisp, white apron, suddenly walked out from its entrance and directly up to me.

  He asked, his voice soft, almost gentle, yet with an undeniable, steely undercurrent of harshness and suspicion, “What you doin’ hangin’ around here, kid? You lost or somethin’?”

  I instinctively gripped my backpack strap tighter, my knuckles showing white, and quickly, covertly, sized him up with a practiced, wary eye.

  This motherfucker, despite his age and seemingly benign appearance, might just be lookin' to try something funny, something predatory.

  Crooks and assorted other lowlifes, after all, do come in all damn ages, shapes, and sizes.

  He was also an Evolve, he felt noticeably weaker than me, as an Evolve.

  I decided, fuck it, to just walk right on by the nosy old idiot and continue what I was doing, minding my own damn business.

  “Boy, I don’t care what you think you have in that bag there, or whatever the hell is going through your fuckin' little gutter-snipe mind right now.

  I just want you to get the hell out of here, right now.

  You are scaring away my paying customers,” he said, his voice now laced with open irritation, as he gestured sharply with his thumb back towards the brightly lit shop he’d just emerged from.

  I glanced over to where he was pointing and saw that there were indeed about half a dozen well-dressed people inside the shop, all now openly watching us, their faces a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity, as the old man talked to me.

  Some of them even appeared to be holding up their fancy, expensive phones, their screens glowing, while pointedly staring right at me.

  They wanted me to know, the smug bastards, that they could call the police or summon the goddamn Enforcers in a heartbeat if needed.

  I looked back at the old man, my face a mask of indifference, and said coldly, my voice flat, “I’m trying to get back to Downtown Sumiyoshi.”

  “Not surprised in the least,” he whispered, more to himself, underneath his breath, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, before finally speaking up, his voice all business now.

  “Then what you should be doin’ is this – you will go straight down this here road, then cross over to your left at the next major intersection, and go straight down that new road.

  After you pass two more main street entrances, cross over to your right and then walk down just a little bit further.

  You will see a station where you can board a train to Abeno-East terminal station.

  From there, you will then need to take another train to Abeno-South 1st metro train station.

  Then, from that station, you can finally board the train that’s heading directly to Sumiyoshi train station.”

  He said all that in a rapid-fire, no-nonsense tone, making sharp, precise gestures with his hands as he spoke, presumably to help me understand the directions better, as if I were a complete fuckin' moron.

  “Should I say all that shit again, or maybe write it down for you, boy?” he asked, his voice now dripping with undisguised annoyance and impatience.

  “No,” I replied curtly, my own patience wearing thin.

  “Okay then. I don’t want your thanks, or any of your gutter trouble. Just get the hell out of here… Your very presence is disturbing, bad for business,” he said dismissively, using his hand to wave, to shoo me away like I was some stray, diseased dog.

  I just looked at the gawking people still peering out from inside his shop, then back at his stern, unforgiving face for a long moment, before finally turning and leaving without another goddamn word.