The Lord of Lower Town and the Flash of Shifting Sands
The rain outside the abandoned warehouse didn't just fall; it hammered against the rusted corrugated iron roof like a frantic drumbeat. Inside, the air smelled of ozone, stagnant puddles, and old grease. A young Storm Rider stepped through the shattered frame of the entrance, his hover-skate boots clicking softly against the grime-crusted concrete. He blinked into the gloom, his eyes tracking a flicker of blue static cutting through the shadows. "Are you one of the wizards? Akira of Team Behemoth?" the Storm Rider asked, his voice puzzled and echoing slightly in the vast, hollow space. From the darkness, a figure stepped forward, adjusting a heavy, high-tech Caster gun strapped to his hip. It wasn’t Akira. "Not even close, kid," Gene Starwind said, pulling a lighter from his pocket to spark a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his sharp features and wild hair. "But you’re in the right place. Assuming you're here for the heist of the century....