A new mask and a new suit.
'A new goal too,' Dasha thought to himself.
The rooftop was crooked, a slab of rusted steel and scavenged brick overlooking a network of tight, crisscrossing alleyways below. Pipes groaned in the walls. Smoke hissed from somewhere far off. The Underground didn't allow for beauty. Just function, ugly, necessary function. It didn't matter the neighbourhood.
Ahead of him loomed the structure known as the Auctioneers' Guildhall, headquarters of the most infamous thief guild in this subsection. He caught whispers. He asked his child spy network. He wasn't able to glean as much as he liked.
It was massive. Not tall, but broad, sprawling like a crouching beast. It was built low, using overlapping walls of scrap metal and fortified blackstone. Not a single window in sight. Just walls and slit-like vents that looked more like scars than openings. A dozen chimneys fumed silently, puffing out slow, poisonous curls of something not quite smoke.
