For the past few months, Grym had been living in the shadows, laying low and passing the time much like she was doing now. She sat inside the Monero, a car with a long history, currently working on reupholstering the worn seats. The scent of old leather and motor oil surrounded her as she worked, the familiar smell of her beloved car. The vehicle was her constant companion, and she had poured countless hours into rebuilding it over the years. As she stitched and hammered, she couldn't help but think that one day she would be buried in this very car, perhaps going out in a blaze of glory or sinking to the depths of a lake during a daring chase or run.
She navigated through the cluttered warehouse, dodging boxes and tools scattered on the floor. At her workstation, an old laptop sat next to a pile of leather scraps. She had to special order the leather for her project and have it delivered to a nondescript pick-up address. Grym didn't have an official residence, so she avoided receiving mail. After all, with no surname to use, who would know where to send it?
It seemed the package was ready, so she wiped off her hands with some mineral spirits to loosen the grease under her nails and prepared to go. A thought crossed her mind. Almost no Atharim crossed her path and few left her messages. She was pretty much a lone wolf in Prague, but in Moscow, she knew few in the ranks anyway. Just as she suspected, there were no messages. It was radio silence out there.
She shrugged on the leather jacket and drove to the city. The warehouse was outside the Third Ring Road in a defunct industrial district. There were no residential areas, and most of the buildings were gated, locked, chained, and boarded up tight. Most didn't have electricity, and she only did because of old wiring still powering the bone black incinerators. It made for an eerie drive back, but Grym liked the solitude. She had to fend off homeless or vagrants once in a while, but word spread to avoid her building eventually. At this point, she only had the stray monster to worry about. Except right now, she realized she had absolutely nothing to eat for dinner.
Sighing, she rerouted toward the nearest market. Finally, she reached her destination - a small corner shop with its bright neon sign flickering in the cold winter air. As she parked her car, she noticed a group of gopniks huddled together, their puffed up coats and hoodies shielding them from the biting cold. It seemed they had been there for a while, but unless they made themselves her business, she didn’t care about theirs. She only spared them a brief glance before diving into the shop, eager to find something warm and filling to appease her grumbling stomach.
She navigated through the cluttered warehouse, dodging boxes and tools scattered on the floor. At her workstation, an old laptop sat next to a pile of leather scraps. She had to special order the leather for her project and have it delivered to a nondescript pick-up address. Grym didn't have an official residence, so she avoided receiving mail. After all, with no surname to use, who would know where to send it?
It seemed the package was ready, so she wiped off her hands with some mineral spirits to loosen the grease under her nails and prepared to go. A thought crossed her mind. Almost no Atharim crossed her path and few left her messages. She was pretty much a lone wolf in Prague, but in Moscow, she knew few in the ranks anyway. Just as she suspected, there were no messages. It was radio silence out there.
She shrugged on the leather jacket and drove to the city. The warehouse was outside the Third Ring Road in a defunct industrial district. There were no residential areas, and most of the buildings were gated, locked, chained, and boarded up tight. Most didn't have electricity, and she only did because of old wiring still powering the bone black incinerators. It made for an eerie drive back, but Grym liked the solitude. She had to fend off homeless or vagrants once in a while, but word spread to avoid her building eventually. At this point, she only had the stray monster to worry about. Except right now, she realized she had absolutely nothing to eat for dinner.
Sighing, she rerouted toward the nearest market. Finally, she reached her destination - a small corner shop with its bright neon sign flickering in the cold winter air. As she parked her car, she noticed a group of gopniks huddled together, their puffed up coats and hoodies shielding them from the biting cold. It seemed they had been there for a while, but unless they made themselves her business, she didn’t care about theirs. She only spared them a brief glance before diving into the shop, eager to find something warm and filling to appease her grumbling stomach.
‡‡ GRYM ‡‡
