Two aging apartment blocks faced each other across a courtyard of cracked concrete.
Calling them apartment blocks was almost generous. Each floor was little more than an exposed outdoor corridor lined with identical metal doors, a dozen cramped units packed side by side. Rust streaked the walls beneath exposed pipes and utility meters. Old air-conditioning units clung beneath small windows, their housings yellowed by years of sun and neglect. A corrugated metal roof sagged above the upper walkway, while a narrow steel staircase climbed along the far wall.
Near the bottom of the staircase, something vaguely motorcycle-shaped sat beneath a faded gray tarp.
The courtyard belonged to the tenants.
In practice, the gang had claimed most of it for themselves.
Two men occupied the bottom steps, passing a drink between them. Another leaned against the railing on the walkway above, only a few steps from one of the identical apartment doors.
Drinks, cigarettes, and someone's keys had accumulated on an upside-down plastic crate.
At the center of the gathering, Bash sat shirtless in a camping chair, his tanned back partly turned toward the stairs. A pair of enormous tattooed wings spread across his broad shoulders, shifting with the muscles beneath them whenever he moved.
A thick stack of banknotes rested in one hand. He worked through it bill by bill, occasionally flattening a bent corner against his thigh before adding it to the counted pile.
A few steps away, Vicky and Himiko squatted by the stairs like they had been there all afternoon, hunched over Vicky's phone.
Her blue-green hair, broken by broad streaks of dark pink, had been pulled back loosely from her face.
Vicky's thumb stopped mid-swipe.
She shoved the phone in front of Himiko's face.
"See? Look! How come it always looks so good on her?"
She scrolled to another post, then another.
The clothes changed each time. The woman wearing them did not.
"Damn… I bought the last three outfits she presented."
Himiko studied the latest photo. Above the dark mask covering the lower half of her face, her expression barely changed.
"…Hot."
Across the courtyard, banknotes continued passing through Bash's fingers.
"Seriously, don’t you have anything better to do? Stalking people on your phone all day…"
He tapped the stack against his palm, forcing the edges back into alignment.
"Talk about a gang."
Vicky spun toward him without bothering to stand. Her loose tank top shifted with the movement, baring more of her shoulders above the roses and winding thorns tattooed along both arms.
"What do you even know about style?! You’re always shirtless!"
Beside her, Himiko gave a slow, solemn nod.
The money stopped moving.
Bash looked down at his bare chest, one hand still resting against his thigh, then looked back at the two women as though the accusation required serious consideration.
"It’s practical."
Himiko nodded again.
This time, toward Vicky.
One of the men sitting on the steps failed to contain a laugh.
Bash looked at him.
The laugh died immediately.
Vicky raised her phone beside her face, displaying the latest photo like evidence before a court.
"This is practical. You buy one complete outfit, everything already matches, and you don’t waste time thinking."
Bash returned to his money.
"You bought three."
"So I save three times as much time."
Himiko considered this.
"Efficient."
Bash's eyes lifted from the bills.
"You’re both idiots."
"Jealous."
"Of what?"
Vicky's attention dropped pointedly toward his camping chair.
One of its aluminum legs had sunk into a crack in the concrete, leaving Bash noticeably tilted to one side.
"Your sophisticated lifestyle speaks for itself."
Somewhere along the upper walkway, one of the aging air-conditioning units rattled violently against the wall.
Nobody looked up.
It shuddered for several seconds before settling back into its usual mechanical hum.
Bash finished counting the bundle in his hands, secured it with an elastic band, and dropped it into the open metal cashbox beside his chair.
Only then did he give Vicky's phone more than a passing glance.
"Who is she, anyway?"
Vicky slowly lowered the screen.
For the first time since the conversation began, she looked genuinely offended.
Himiko turned her restrained gaze toward Bash, long black hair falling against the shoulders of her dark clothes.
Even one of the men sitting on the steps looked over.
"You seriously don’t know Layla?"
Bash continued arranging the money inside the cashbox before reaching for another bundle.
"She's, like, all over Insta right now. Do you live in a cave?"
His complete lack of concern only widened Vicky's grin.
"Oh, right. She doesn’t post bikini pictures, so obviously you wouldn’t follow her, huh?"
A couple of the others snickered.
Himiko slowly shook her head.
Bash looked from one woman to the other.
"You’re supporting that joke?"
Himiko gave him one final, deliberate shake of her head.
"Unbelievable."
Beyond them, the courtyard opened onto a sunlit residential street.
A solitary figure passed the entrance.
Black gloves covered her hands. Dark fabric concealed the rest of her body, and a mask hid her face beneath the shade of an open parasol. Against the pale buildings and washed-out afternoon light, she was little more than another covered figure moving through the neighborhood.
Bash happened to glance toward the street.
He gestured at the distant figure with the bundle of money still in his hand.
"And you’re asking me what I know about style?"
Vicky followed the gesture.
Himiko turned as well.
"Fashion is getting ridiculous. Look at that."
The woman crossed into the courtyard without paying them any attention, the black parasol obscuring most of her profile.
"Dressed for a funeral during a biological attack."
Vicky looked at the fully covered woman in the distance.
"That’s not fashion. That’s a resident trying not to be identified by satellites."
Himiko also watched the black silhouette for another moment.
"…Committed."
Bash pointed toward her.
"Careful. You’re two accessories away from joining her."
Himiko's eyes moved slowly back to Bash.
From the mask to the rest of her carefully coordinated streetwear, Himiko had dressed almost entirely in black, as usual.
Vicky looked Himiko over, then glanced toward the distant umbrella. She seemed to consider the comparison seriously.
"No. Himiko has coordination."
Himiko nodded.
Bash stared at both of them.
Behind him, another gang member laughed into his drink.
By the time Bash looked toward the street again, the woman had reached the steel staircase and started up. The parasol closed before she climbed beneath the corrugated roof, disappearing from view as she reached one of the upper walkways.
Vicky's attention had already returned to her phone.
She scrolled to the next post on Layla's page. A video. Layla, perfectly composed, presenting another outfit.
"Anyway, look at this coat on her."
Himiko immediately leaned closer.
"…Hot."
Bash shut the metal cashbox with a sharp click.
"I regret asking."