"Timmy, keep up!" she barked over her shoulder. "We need the Assassins’ Guild. And where do assassins live? Correct—where there are no streetlamps and it smells of cats."
Timmy trudged behind, his legs like lead. The sword on his shoulder felt even heavier after those two rolls (Kary had generously shared the leftovers).
"Milady..." he puffed. "Are you sure about this? These lanes look... less than reputable. Even the rats here look like they’re carrying shivs. And I heard the Assassins’ Guild only takes those who can kill with a look. Or at least a fly mid-flight. And you... you’re far too gorgeous for that!"
Kary stopped and gave him a reproachful look. Dronny immediately buzzed closer, catching a close-up of her face, which was a picture of condescension.
"Timmy, you’re thinking in clichés. An assassin isn't necessarily a grimy bloke with a knife. It could be an elegant lady with poisoned lipstick. Or a stiletto heel sharpened into an actual stiletto. Besides, I need that lad in the latex. I’ve got to ask him where he gets his skincare. And... well, maybe kill him. I haven't quite decided yet."
They turned into a narrow lane where the houses leaned over each other so closely they blotted out the sky. Mud squelched underfoot, and the walls were daubed with strange symbols—which Kary mistook for local street art. Suddenly, a group of small figures darted out of the shadows. There were about ten of them. They barely reached Kary’s waist. Clad in rags, with hoods pulled down over their noses.
"Oh!" Kary cooed. "Kiddies! Timmy, look at the little darlings! Probably playing hide-and-seek. Or cosplaying as dwarves."
"Milady..." Timmy grew wary, trying to shield her with his body—and the sword, which he held like a barrier. "Those aren't children. Look at their... feet. Look at their feet! They’re hairy!"
The creatures surrounded them in a tight circle. Their hoods fell back, revealing cunning, beardless faces with pointed noses and shifty eyes. They were hobbits—but not the cuddly little fellows from the films; these were wiry, filthy city rats. Giggling and whispering, they reached out toward Kary with their small, grasping hands.
"Aunty, spare a copper!" "Aunty, what a lovely dress! Let us feel the velvet!" "Aunty, what’s under your skirt? Smells lovely!"
One of them, the boldest of the lot with a nasty smirk, suddenly dove straight under the wide hem of the 'Necromancer’s Widow' gown.
"Oi!" Kary shrieked, jumping in place.
The skirt flared up like a black dome. Dronny, reacting instantly, dove down toward the ground, trying to catch the "money shot." The lens captured slender legs in stockings, the blur of the hobbit's filthy hands, and...
[Chat_Bot] [Panty_Raider]: OHO! UPSKIRT! [Simp_King]: Move that midget! He’s blocking the view! [FBI_OpenUp]: Call the vice squad!
"What do you think you’re doing, you little pervert?!" Kary screamed, trying to kick the rascal, but he dodged with the agility of a mongoose, continuing to rummage through the folds of her clothes. "Shoo! Get out from there!"
The hobbit yanked something, giggled, and shot out from under her skirt like a bullet. In his hands, he clutched a weightless, transparent scrap of fabric.
"Silk! Magic!" he squealed joyfully, waving his loot. "Warm!"
"Magic?!" Kary barked, not immediately realising what had happened. "Clear off! Or I’ll call the guards!"
The crowd of small-fry suddenly burst into a din, swarming around them like a plague of locusts. Kary felt dozens of hands touching her dress, tugging at her chains, and slapping her thighs.
"Stop it! That tickles! Timmy, do something!"
Timmy tried to swing the sword, but in the narrow alley, it was impossible—the blade would have stuck in the wall. "Begone, demons!" he wailed, waving his free hand. "Do not dare touch the sacred! I’ll tell your parents!"
Suddenly, someone whistled from above. And the whole lot of them dissolved into the shadows as quickly as they’d appeared. They jumped into manholes, darted into cracks, and vanished around the corner. The alleyway fell silent again.
"Phew," Kary exhaled, fixing her hair. "Kids these days. No upbringing at all. I hope they haven't dirtied my hem."
She reached for her belt to find her mirror and check her makeup. Her hand met empty air.
"Erm..." She patted her sides. "Timmy? Where’s my bag of gold?"
Timmy went pale. He felt his belt, then his shoulders. "Milady..." he whispered in horror. "My purse... and your backpack that I was carrying... it’s become suspiciously light!"
He took the backpack off. The bottom had been neatly slit with a razor. It was empty. No Ghost King gold. No spare shoes.
"They... they’ve cleaned us out!" the page wailed, falling to his knees in the mud. "Lock, stock and barrel! Oh, woe is me! I failed to protect your property! Execute me! I am unworthy of life!"
Kary froze. But the most terrifying discovery was yet to come. A gust of wind wandering through the alley slid under her dress. And Kary felt a strange, unaccustomed chill. A chill far too strong. Right where it shouldn't be.
She slowly, with horror in her eyes, opened her inventory. The "Underwear" slot was empty. The 'Ghost's Touch' set had vanished.
"My..." she whispered, turning a shade of red visible even in the dim light. "My knickers..."
Dronny, sensing a sensation, flew closer and focused on her face, then tried to dive down again to confirm the hunch.
[Sherlock_H]: Hang on. That little git was waving something transparent... [Pervert_lvl80]: NO WAY?! THEY NICKED HER KNICKERS?! [Simp_King]: Kary’s going commando?! I’m selling the car and donating everything! [System_Alert]: Warning! Eroticism level critical! Character status: "Commando".
"Aaaaah!" Kary screamed, clutching her skirt and trying to cover what was now protected only by the velvet of the gown. "They nicked my knickers! Straight off me! How?! That was epic gear!"
"They... they’ve robbed us blind!" Timmy continued to wail, oblivious to his mistress.
"Timmy!" Kary barked, kicking him—now she felt the touch of the fabric against her skin with painful clarity. "Get up! Stop whining! They’ve taken everything! My shoes... my makeup... and my knickers! I’m out here... airing out! It’s a disgrace! A scandal!"
Kary’s eyes filled with berserker rage. She slowly turned her head in the direction the thieves had fled.
"It was the hobbits! Tiny, hairy, beardless perverts! I’ve read about them! They steal anything that isn't nailed down! But to lift my knickers off me... This is war."
[New Quest: Recover the Plunder (and your Honour)] [Objective: Find the Thieves' Guild hideout] [Special Objective: Recover the 'Ghost's Touch' set before the wind picks up] [Reward: Your belongings + moral satisfaction + restoration of 'Proper Lady' status]
"Get up, Timmy!" she commanded. "We’ve got a new quest. Operation 'Hobbit There and Back Again.' Only they won't be coming back! And don’t you dare look at my skirt when it gets breezy!"
"At your command, my Nemesis!" Timmy jumped up, grabbing the only surviving item—the 'Dragon Slayer'. It had clearly been too heavy even for the hobbits. "I would follow you into hell! We shall reclaim your honour, even if we have to shake it out of Sauron himself! Though I don't know exactly what they took, I can see by your face—it was something intimate!"
They set off on the trail: sweet wrappers, small coins, and... alas, no sign of lace. The tracks led down. To the Slums. This part of the city was a world away from the centre. Here, the houses seemed to be held together only by a wing and a prayer and the magic of snot. Rotting planks, rusted iron, rags instead of windows. The buildings loomed over a murky sewer-river, connected by rickety bridges and clotheslines with laundry in every shade of grey.
The stench was unimaginable.
"Oh god." Kary pinched her nose—her handkerchief had been nicked too. "It smells like... like a men’s locker room after a marathon! Dronny, don’t you dare film me from below! I’m serious! One frame and I’m selling you for scrap!"
She stepped onto a rickety bridge, clutching her hem with one hand and her nose with the other.
"Timmy, you go first," she commanded. "If the bridge collapses, I want you to serve as my cushion."
"It would be an honour, milady!" the page replied, cautiously testing a rotten plank with his foot. "I shall be the bridge for your step!"
They ventured deeper into the labyrinth of the slums. Life bustled all around, but Kary walked as if to the gallows, expecting a treacherous gust of wind at any second. A beauty in a velvet gown with a thigh-high slit—under which there was now nothing—and a youth with a giant sword looked about as out of place here as a ballerina in a slaughterhouse.
"I can feel them," Kary hissed, squinting at the sun. "My intuition tells me we’re close. Tremble, hobbits. Kary is coming for her things. And she is very, very cross. And very, very breezy."
Finding the hideout, as it turned out, required not so much detective work as the ability to deliver a quality threat. Stone Hill’s slums lived by their own laws: they didn't like strangers here, especially pretty, clean ones. But Kary quickly found a universal language.
"Tell me where they are!" She pressed her heel against the throat of some grimy bloke who’d been unwise enough to whistle at her. "Or I’ll give you a piercing. Free of charge. And very deep."
The bloke’s eyes darted to the sharp toe of her slipper, then to Timmy, who was struggling to keep the massive sword upright, trying to look menacing—though he looked more like a coat rack about to be blown over.
"There!" the local rasped, pointing a trembling finger at a jumble of rotting rafts and jetties in a dead-end of the canal. "'Lucky’s Shelter'! Just don't hit me! I’ve got an allergy to steel!"
"That’s a good lad." Kary retracted her leg, wiping her sole on the guy's rags with a look of pure distaste. "Timmy, follow me. And hold that sword like you actually know how to use it, not like it’s about to flatten you."
"I’m trying, milady!" the youth puffed, dragging the Dragon Slayer across the sodden planks. "Your resolve is an inspiration! You knocked the truth out of that rogue with one elegant flick of the ankle! It was... poetic!"
They moved across a rickety boardwalk that groaned ominously and buckled under every step. Ahead, in the centre of an improvised square made of slapped-together crates and barrels, lay the "base." It looked like a tip that someone had tried to jazz up with colourful rags, stolen lanterns, and various shiny trinkets nailed to the wood.
And right in the middle, on a raised platform, stood the Throne. Nailed together from rough timber, wonky and lopsided, but slathered in cheap gold paint that was already flaking off. Upon the throne sat a Goblin.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Name: Gryzl Goldtooth Level: 12 Status: Leader of the 'Nimble Fingers' Gang
He was green, big-beaked, and decked out in a garish waistcoat clearly fashioned from someone’s drapes. On his head sat a large tricorne, likely nicked from a fleet admiral; it was so oversized it practically rested on his ears. Around him, the beardless hobbits were scurrying about, sorting through the day's swag: purses, apples, someone’s boots.
But Kary’s gaze didn't fix on the throne or the gold tooth glinting in the leader’s mouth. Her gaze, full of horror and fury, froze on the goblin’s finger. Gryzl was vauntingly reclined, one leg crossed over the other, lazily twirling a weightless, transparent scrap of fabric on his index finger. The 'Ghost's Touch' set. Her knickers.
"Ooh, what a delicate little cobweb," the goblin croaked, hooking his crooked nose into the lace and sniffing deeply. "Smells of... lavender? And dosh. Lads, we’ve hit the jackpot! This isn't just a pair of knickers; it’s an artefact!"
[Chat_Bot] [Cringe_Level_Max]: URGH! REVOLTING!
[Simp_King]: KILL HIM! KARY, ANNIHILATE THIS PERVERT! HE HAS DEFILED THE SACRED!
[Tactician]: He’s got a high dexterity stat. It’ll be a nightmare to hit him with a sword.
Kary felt her face flush. Not from embarrassment—from pure, unadulterated rage.
"PUT THAT DOWN!" she shrieked, so loudly the seagulls on the rooftops bolted into the sky. "That’s mine! You tiny green fetishist!"
She snatched the sword from Timmy’s hands. Freed of the weight, the boy straightened up and immediately took the stance of a breathless sports commentator.
"Oh, look!" he cried out to the invisible audience (and the bandits). "The Goddess’s wrath has awoken! Her eyes are shooting lightning! Now she shall punish the wicked! Tremble, for she is magnificent in her fury!"
Gryzl stopped twirling his trophy and stared at Kary.
"Oho, the owner’s turned up," he smirked. "What are you so touchy for, sweetheart? Want 'em back? Then buy 'em. Five hundred sovereigns. Or..." He gave a leery wink. "...show us what’s left under that dress. We’ll compare the goods to the packaging, eh? Heh heh!"
"I’ll show you! I’ll show you 'Game Over'!" Kary screamed.
Forgetting all about tactics, the dress, or the fact she was going commando, she lunged forward. The massive Dragon Slayer soared through the air.
"DIE!"
She brought the blade down on the golden chair. But the goblin was already gone. With incredible speed, Gryzl leaped aside, tucked into a roll, and ended up on a stack of crates three metres away. The sword smashed the "gold" chair into splinters with a horrific crash.
THWACK!
The shockwave kicked up a cloud of dust and sawdust. The hem of the 'Necromancer’s Widow' flared up from the momentum. Kary desperately clamped her left hand to her thigh, trying to hold the fabric down.
"Don't look!" she shouted. "Dronny, look away!"
The drone, naturally, did not look away. Like a true professional, it dove low, capturing the long, slender legs, the tensed thigh muscles, and the fact that the mistress was indeed completing the quest on "hardcore mode"—without a safety net.
[Chat_Bot] [Panty_Free_Zone]: Aaaaah! Almost saw it!
[Physics_Teacher]: Inertia is a heartless bitch! Just a bit more!
[Donator_Rich]: 10,000 for a gust of wind! Let the wind blow!
"Missed by a mile!" Gryzl cackled, perched on the crate and still twirling the knickers. "You’re too slow, long-shanks! Sword’s a bit heavy, is it? Bottom getting chilly?"
The hobbits were leaping about him. Like a pack of monkeys, they raced around Kary as she struggled to pull the sword out of the wreckage of the throne.
"Oi, catch!" one hobbit shouted and chucked something to another... her shoe.
"Oop!" The second caught the shoe mid-air and tried to wedge it onto his filthy, hairy paw. "Tight! Not my size!"
"My shoes!" Kary wailed, finally wrenching the blade free. "Don't you dare put those on your flippers! You’ll stretch the leather!"
She spun around and delivered a horizontal slash, trying to catch the little vermin.
WHOOSH!
The sword sliced through the air with a whistle. The hobbits, laughing, ducked. The blade passed an inch above their heads but caught a clothesline. Sodden sheets and someone’s bloomers collapsed onto Kary, entangling her.
"Aaaah!" She thrashed about in the strange laundry, waving the sword like a fan. "Get this off me! It reeks of fish!"
Timmy stood to the side, hands pressed to his chest, enthusiastically narrating the scene:
"Look at how she battles the superior forces of the enemy! She’s using the environment! Tangled in the sheets like a nymph in sea foam! What drama! What passion! Milady, strike the one on the left! No, the right! Mind the skirt! Oh, what a view... ahem... sorry, I got distracted by the aesthetics of combat!"
Kary cast off the rags. She was panting heavily. Her chest was heaving in the corset, and sweat was beaded on her brow, matting her hair.
"I... I’ve had enough of you lot!" she rasped.
Gryzl hopped onto a roof beam.
"Oi, lads!" he shouted. "Let’s play fetch! Catch!"
He hurled Kary’s makeup bag to one of the hobbits.
"Catch the lipstick!"
"Got it!" the little thief shrieked. "Now to me!"
He tossed the bag to another. Kary dashed between them. She’d run to one—he’d chuck it to the other. She’d spin around, swinging the sword—they’d scatter like cockroaches when the light’s flicked on.
"Give it back!" she screamed, lunging.
The dress slit flared open. Dronny buzzed, the viewers went wild, but the combat efficiency was zero. The Dragon Slayer was built for lopping off the heads of giant lizards, not chasing nimble runts in a cramped yard. It kept sticking in planks, knocking over barrels, and smashing crates, but never once touched the enemy.
"Heh heh heh!" Gryzl swayed on the beam, holding her lingerie. "Well now, tired yet, princess? How about a striptease? For every bit of clothing you take off—we give you one back! Let's start with the dress!"
Kary stopped. She leaned on the sword, panting. Her legs were shaking. Her arms, unaccustomed to such a load, were throbbing. The dress was askew, her hair was a mess, and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She could feel the sweat trailing down her back. But above all, she felt the humiliation. She, Kary, the top streamer, the Level 10 Destroyer, couldn't handle a pack of street urchins!
"Timmy..." she exhaled, unable to lift the sword. "Help..."
Timmy, hearing the call, snapped to attention.
"I am here, my Queen! I am ready! I... I shall psychologically crush them with my contempt!"
He took a deep breath and shouted:
"Oi, you! Scoundrels! Have you no shame?! You’re exhausting the lady! You’re making her sweat! It’s bad form! Return the knickers this instant, or I shall... I shall write a scathing ballad about you!"
The goblins and hobbits froze for a second, processing the threat, before bursting into such a roar of laughter that tiles fell from the roofs.
"A ballad!" Gryzl choked. "Oh, I can't breathe! Hold me! He’s going to write a ballad! 'Ode to a Pair of Knickers'!"
Kary closed her eyes. This was the end. A total wipeout. She hadn't the strength to run anymore. She stood in the middle of the wrecked yard, leaning on a useless hunk of iron, in a dress that hid nothing in the slightest breeze, surrounded by the jeering of a mob of freaks.
"I hate this quest," she whispered into the drone camera, which hung right in front of her face, capturing every drop of sweat and the tear of frustration in the corner of her eye. "I want to go home. I want my mum. And I want to kill this goblin. But I’ve got no mana... and no strength..."
She let her head hang, allowing her hair to fall over her face and hide her shame. But the stream continued. And the show had to go on, even if the heroine was utterly spent.
Kary made one last, desperate attempt to save her honour and her wardrobe. Gripping the hilt of the 'Dragon Slayer' so hard her knuckles turned white, she lunged forward with a battle cry that sounded more like the squeak of a squashed mouse:
"Give... them... back... you toerag!"
But inertia is a heartless bitch. The heavy blade overbalanced her exhausted body, and her stiletto heels skidded across the rotting planks of the boardwalk. Kary flailed her arms, trying to catch her balance, but gravity won the day. She went down. And she didn't just fall; she sprawled across the filthy boards in the pose of a starfish washed up after a storm.
The 'Necromancer’s Widow' gown rode up right to her waist, and now nothing—absolutely nothing—shielded her thighs or the place where the 'Ghost’s Touch' set had recently been from the world and the drone’s camera.
Dronny, like a vulture to the feast, dived down instantly, hovering a mere ten centimetres from the floor. The angle was lethal: long, slender legs spread wide, and the velvet of the dress barely veiling the most private of areas.
[Chat_Bot]: [Pervert_Legend]: THIS STREAM IS GOING DOWN IN HISTORY! [Simp_King]: Kary! Cover up! Or don't... actually, don't! I’m conflicted! [Admin_Bot]: Critical levels of exposure! Ban-hammer in 3... 2...
"Oh, heavens!" Timmy cried, dropping to his knees beside his mistress, yet not daring to touch her or block the camera’s view. "Look at her! Even in defeat, she is magnificent! She hasn't fallen—she has embraced the earth, gifting it her grace! She rests like a lioness after the hunt, allowing us mortals to admire her perfection!"
Kary lay there, staring at the grey sky of the slums. She hadn't the strength to move. Shame burned her cheeks while the draft chilled her skin.
"Right, that’s it. Career over. I’m lying in the muck, commando, in front of a million people. I’ll be stacking shelves at Tesco by Monday."
Suddenly, the soft whistle of slicing air came from above. A soft, springy thud against the planks. And then, a sound that made Kary’s heart skip a beat. A creak. A delicious, expensive creak of taut leather.
Kary turned her head with effort. Right in front of her face, at eye level, were boots. Black, perfectly polished, with predatory buckles. Her gaze travelled upward. Powerful calves clad in matte material. Thighs bound with straps holding throwing knives. And... Them. The buttocks. Firm, sculpted, encased in latex so tight you could study anatomy. They loomed over her like two hills of hope.
[Chat_Bot]: [Gay_Panic]: OH MY GOD! IT’S HIM! [Ass_Expert]: My deepest respects. 10 out of 10. [Kary_Love]: Kary, get up! Your man’s here!
The stranger—the very Assassin who’d nicked her loot and her heart—straightened up. A graveyard silence fell over the slums. Gryzl, who a second ago had been mocking Kary, turned an even deeper shade of green. His smirk slid off his face like old plaster. The hobbits froze, dropping their plunder.
"Boss!" Gryzl shrieked, jumping off the beam and snapping to attention.
The entire gang—goblins, hobbits, even the rats—lined up and saluted. Sharp, military-style. The Assassin didn't even look at them. He was looking down. At Kary. His grey eyes through the mask’s slit remained cold, but something like recognition flickered within them.
He extended a hand. The black glove hovered before the girl’s face. Kary, forgetting she was sprawled in an "all-access" pose, reached out a trembling palm in return. With a light tug, he hauled her to her feet. She stumbled toward him, and her chest—praise the dress’s push-up—pressed into his solid torso. He smelled of leather, steel, and a men’s fragrance that felt like Dior Sauvage with notes of blood.
The Assassin remained silent. He turned to Gryzl and opened his palm demandingly. The gang leader, shaking with fear, scurried over.
"Here! Sorry, Boss! We didn't know! We thought she was just... some random poser! Didn't know she was your... er... acquaintance!"
The goblin placed that weightless scrap of fabric into the Assassin’s hand. The 'Ghost’s Touch' lace knickers. The Assassin picked them up with two fingers. He brought them to his face (was it Kary’s imagination, or did he actually inhale the scent?), then turned to the girl. He handed the lingerie back to her. Personally. Hand to hand.
"Oh..." Kary exhaled, taking back her property. Her fingers brushed the glove. A spark—static electricity or love?—shot right through her. "You... you brought them back. You touched my knickers..."
Timmy, standing nearby with his mouth agape, found his voice:
"Oh, what a gesture! The knight returns the lady’s honour! He touched the sacred, but only to restore it to its rightful place! This is a scene worthy of an opera finale! He is silent, but his actions scream of passion!"
Meanwhile, the hobbits were frantically piling up the rest of the gear: the shoes, the makeup bag, the comb.
"There! Everything’s back!" Gryzl rattled. "All in one piece! Didn't even open the lipstick!"
Kary clutched the lingerie to her chest, her eyes misty as she looked at the Assassin.
"Thank you..." she whispered. "You’re my hero. Maybe now you’ll tell me your username? Or at least take off the mask? I’ll buy you dinner..."
The Assassin tilted his head. His gaze slid over her figure, lingering on the dress’s slit—Kary made sure to strike a pose with her leg. Then, he stepped toward the pile of returned items. He picked up the bag of gold. The very gold Kary had looted from the Ghost King. He tossed the bag in his palm, weighing it. He gave a satisfied nod. Then he tucked it into his belt pouch.
"Oi!" Kary gasped. "That’s my money! For the spa!"
The Assassin didn't answer. He turned, took a step, and... vanished. He dissolved into the shadows, leaving behind only a slight ripple in the air and the creak of leather.
[Chat_Bot]: [Money_Lover]: Hahahaha! He did it again! [Sigma_Male]: Proper sigma. Returns the knickers, keeps the cash. Respect. [Sad_Girl]: Well... robbed again. But so stylishly!
Kary stood there, clutching her knickers in one hand and empty air in the other. She didn't know whether to sob from frustration or shriek with delight.
"He... he robbed me again," she murmured, a silly smile spreading across her lips. "But he returned the lingerie. That means he cares about my comfort! And the money... well, that’s just a service fee. He’s so practical! Providing for the household!"
"Exactly, milady!" Timmy chimed in, handing her her shoes. "He took a protection fee! It’s a noble racket! He’s showing you that your safety doesn't come cheap!"
Kary quickly stepped into her shoes and, turning away from the camera using Timmy as a screen, put her lingerie back on. Her sense of security returned along with the lace. She walked up to Gryzl, who was still standing at attention.
"Listen, ears. Your boss... does he come around here often?"
"The Shadow?" The goblin wiped sweat from his brow. "He’s everywhere. He’s from the Guild."
"Which Guild?"
"The Assassins, obviously. The 'Black Hand'."
"And where do I find a recruiter?" Kary loomed over him, adjusting her neckline. "I need to join. Now."
Gryzl snickered, but remembering the Boss's heavy gaze, he turned serious.
"At 'The Dancing Dagger' tavern. Ask for Crooked Mark. Tell him you want to sell your soul. Или buy a death. He’ll understand. Now leg it, sweetheart. While we’re feeling generous. And while the Boss is far away."
Kary tossed her head back proudly.
"I’m not legging it. I am making my exit. Timmy, follow me! We’re going to 'The Dancing Dagger'. I’m going to be an assassin. And then... then he definitely won't be able to ignore me. We’ll go on hits together. It’s so romantic!"
She turned and marched toward the exit of the slums, swaying her hips with renewed energy. Timmy, hoisting the sword, trudged after her.
"The romance of death..." he muttered. "Milady, you terrify me. But you are so magnificent in your madness!"
Dronny soared upward, capturing Kary’s receding figure against the backdrop of the grimy slums. She was heading for her goal without a penny in her pocket, but with an inventory full of hope and her knickers back where they belonged. The stream continued.