London, United Kingdom – 1920.
London is the biggest city in the world.
To people on the outside, it's the city of dreams.
So many come here to live and work.
It's crowded, packed tight, and the air is thick with smoke and grime… honestly, it's not as wonderful as people think.
Crime runs high, jobs are hard to find, but one thing makes it bearable: the people here are so easy to trick.
Wingsley Street, 17 October 1920
I wake up, drag myself out of bed, and get ready for the day. The morning is bright… I quickly wash up and put on my dress. Honestly, I don't like this dress much.
"Why do dressmakers always make the back stick out like that? It's strange."
Still, it doesn't matter. This dress is perfect for my kind of work.
I step out of my apartment. The old lady who owns the building greets me.
"Good morning, Emma!"
"Morning, Mrs. Watson! Baking cakes for your husband again?"
"Oh yes! I almost forgot!"
I laugh. "Haha."
I head toward the busiest part of town. Why? Because that's where I do my job.
East End
The East End—the most crowded district in the city. I actually like it here. It's noisy, full of people, almost impossible to move without brushing against someone.
I slip through the crowd. It smells awful, it's hot, it's suffocating.
"Wait… my wallet!" a man shouts.
"My bracelet!" "My ring!" "Who took it?!"
People start yelling… Good thing my hands are fast and gentle. No one notices, do they? Their carelessness makes this place feel safe for me.
Everything I take, I hide inside this big, bulky dress of mine…
Let me introduce myself.
My name is Emma Sterling. I'm a pickpocket. Twenty-one years old. And London is my home.
I walk calmly toward a quiet alley to get out of sight.
Suddenly I crash into someone and fall. Feels like… a huge guy. Muscular. This is annoying.
"Hey, little thief… we need to talk," he says.
His voice is deep and rough, like something out of a horror story. And his body matches it.
The difference? He's completely human.
"I don't have any business with you, Leonardo. Move," I say.
That's him—Leonardo. The muscle for one of the worst gangs in the city. His right arm is mechanical, his build is enormous. I can't fight someone like him.
I try to slip past, but more men appear—five of them, blocking the way.
"Come on! You guys still can't forget about me? Am I that unforgettable?"
"You think you can just walk away after crossing our people?"
Our people? Please—they're just street gangsters.
"Maybe we can talk this out? Calmly?"
"Calmly? Don't—"
I swing at his face, but he doesn't even blink.
He grabs my arm—hard. Not the gentle way you hold a woman.
"OW! Let go! That hurts!"
"Stupid… a girl trying to hit a man like me? Pathetic. I didn't even need to use my Warp."
His grip tightens. He yanks me forward and slams me against the wall. The pain is sharp.
"AGH!"
In the blur, I whisper…
"Someone… please…"
They laugh, pleased with themselves. Leonardo steps closer.
"Boys," he says, signaling them.
The five of them move in. They take everything I stole. One of them brushes my thigh—disgusting.
They laugh again… I hate them. I hate their greed, their lust, their filthy looks.
I hold back tears… until—
"That's enough." A calm voice comes from the end of the alley. I don't know it.
"What? You telling us to stop? Do you know who we are?"
"The real question is… do you know who I am?"
I look up slowly. The man is dressed sharply.
Black fedora, white tie, grey shirt, black suit—and he's holding an umbrella.
Who carries an umbrella in summer?
I can't see his face clearly yet.
"How dare you?!"
"Warp! Heavy Lifter!"
Green energy flares from Leonardo's mechanical arm. That's Connect.
Connect—or Connection Energy—is this strange power people can draw from objects. The object has to have reached its "potential" first.
I still don't completely understand it…
"Boys! Show him who we are!"
They all summon their energy. Swords, knives, even a pair of scissors glow.
"Come on!"
They rush him. Oh no—he's going to get killed!
"You really don't know who I am, do you?" the man says quietly.
He removes his hat. For a moment, I see a spark of energy from his hand… something feels different.
He throws the fedora at Leonardo. It hits his face, knocking him back. The hat bounces and strikes the others too.
He calmly picks it up again. Then, with his umbrella, he strikes one man's leg—dislocating the knee.
"AAH! My leg!"
He points the umbrella tip at Leonardo.
"One against one. Or are you cowards? Only brave enough to pick on a woman? Typical."
"Damn you!"
Leonardo swings a huge fist. The man dodges easily. While Leonardo stumbles, the man unleashes his own Connect. Energy surges from the ring on his finger—powerful.
"Warp… Force Connection!"
He drives a punch into Leonardo's stomach. A burst of light explodes. It blinds me.
I can't hold on—I black out.
Some time later, I faintly hear his voice.
"She has a serious head injury—back of the skull, probably parietal, heavy bleeding. Pulse is still there. She might pull through. Get a doctor, quickly."
"Sir… are you sure you want to pay for this woman?"
"Stupid question."
[A few hours later]
I wake up in a strange bed. My head is wrapped in bandages, still throbbing. My arm is bruised, but nothing broken.
"Feeling better?" he asks.
"Ah… yeah."
"Good. Here's water. Drink."
He hands me a glass. I take it and sip.
"Thank you… for everything."
"No trouble. Just doing what's right."
He has messy black hair, brown eyes, a sharp nose, pale skin…
"By the way… what's your name?"
"Miss… may I have yours first?"
Right—if I'm asking, I should give mine. But I'm a thief. Real name could be risky.
"My name is… Rachel. Rachel Bou—"
"Your real name, please."
I freeze. How did he know? I try to play it off.
"Emma… Emma Sterling."
"Nice name. I'm Mortigan Ashcroft. Call me Mortigan."
Mortigan? Unusual.
"I'm a private detective."
Detective?! This is bad—he could turn me in!
"Let's be direct. I know you're a thief. I haven't told the police because I have an offer for you."
Tch. Probably just wants something else from me.
"What offer?" I ask, annoyed.
"Become my assistant. Help me with cases."
"Wait… what?"
"My assistant."
"I'm a criminal."
"That's why I'm asking. Prison, or work with me? I'll cover your expenses."
"Can you… not talk like that? It's too stiff."
"Fine. So, what's it going to be?"
I'm torn. Me? A thief? Working for a detective?
My head hurts just thinking about it.
But if I say no, I'm done. No real choice.
"…Okay. I'll do it. I'll be your assistant."
He smiles.
"Good. Looking forward to working together."
"Yeah… same here…"
To be continued.