West adjusted the mask on his face as he approached a building.
His disguise wasn't extravagant but it gave him the anonymity he needed. In this part of the city, anonymity was currency.
The location he'd come to was infamous in certain circles. It didn't have a flashy signboard or neon lights announcing its purpose. From the outside, it looked like a rundown warehouse wedged between two abandoned buildings with rusted metal panels, faded graffiti and windows too grimy to see through.
But everyone who mattered knew what went on inside.
This was where gang trades happened.
Where items salvaged from ruins changed hands.
Where relics soaked in unknown energy were exchanged for cash, favors, or information.
