I stand on the roof of the dilapidated building. It is dark in the city and the wind is raging against my body. I take in a deep breath of noxious fumes and the smell of distant salt water. The cool air is sharp in my lungs. The scents empower me. This is my city -- every urchin, cracked window, graffitied wall, abandoned motel. They are all mine.
I pull my hair out of my face and into a long ponytail. As much as I love to look more animal than human, a black mane obscuring my face, there is business to attend to. I have to take care of my city now, as it has taken care of me. I finger the glock on my waist appreciatively. This is my best friend.
I jump down a hole in the roof and land on the top floor. It isn't much different in here than it is above. The smashed windows that aren't boarded up let the air rush through. The place is filthy and reeks of mold. Cracked glass crunchs loudly beneath my shoes. I must work to be more quiet. They are listening for me, after all.