Winda Wilow sat on the couch in Cal Faros’ mansion, twirling a lock of her blonde hair as she sipped a Cal Cola. She wore a tight red dress, her legs crossed as she looked at Cal—no, Kestrel. She only called him by his real name when they were alone, but tonight, they were talking business.
“You know,” she said casually, “I almost got tricked into stripping for one of Mr. Clown’s clubs.”
Kestrel, lounging in a chair, raised an eyebrow. “Tricked? How?”
She sighed. “Some guy approached me, real charming, said he had a modeling gig. He set up a meeting, promised big money. When I showed up, it wasn’t a studio—it was a club. Before I knew it, they were trying to pressure me into signing a contract. I barely got out of there.”
Kestrel’s eyes darkened. “Where was this?”
“One of Clown’s spots in the East Sector. I think it was called The Painted Smile.”
Kestrel nodded. “I want you to show me exactly where this happened. And we’re going to try something.”
The Setup
Later that night, Winda stood outside The Painted Smile, wearing the same red dress. She leaned against the brick wall, her arms crossed, waiting. Kestrel, now in his dark outfit and eye bandana, crouched on the rooftop of a nearby building, watching through a pair of binoculars.
The plan was simple: Winda would linger near the club, pretending to be interested in work. If the trap was still active, someone would approach her. Kestrel would wait in the shadows, ready to strike.
Minutes passed. Then, a man in a dark coat walked up to Winda. He looked confident, like he had done this before.
“Hey there,” he said smoothly. “You got the look. You ever think about modeling? I got connections.”
Winda played along. “Modeling? Like… fashion?”
“Exactly. Big money. But first, you need a little ‘trial run’ inside. Just to see if you’ve got the moves.”
Kestrel tensed. The same trick.
Winda hesitated, then let the man lead her toward the club. As they neared the entrance, Kestrel leaped across the rooftops, keeping his eyes on them.
Suddenly, the man grabbed Winda’s wrist. “Come on, sweetheart, no need to be nervous—”
Before Winda could react, a shadow dropped from above. Kestrel landed between them, sword in hand. The man cursed, pulling a gun—
Kestrel was faster. His sword slashed, knocking the gun away. In the dim light, Kestrel got a clear look at the man’s face.
A D.E.C. soldier.
The Confrontation
Kestrel pressed the tip of his sword to the soldier’s throat. “You work for Clown?”
The man smirked, unafraid. “We all work for someone.”
Kestrel narrowed his eyes. “D.E.C. soldiers shouldn’t be running sex trafficking scams.”
The soldier chuckled. “You don’t understand, do you? Clown’s got the D.E.C. in his pocket. We make sure his clubs stay full. Girls don’t sign up? We make them sign up.”
Kestrel’s grip tightened on his sword. “You picked the wrong girl tonight.”
The soldier lunged suddenly, reaching for his knife—but Winda was ready. She kicked him hard in the gut, sending him stumbling back.
Kestrel didn’t hesitate. He knocked the soldier unconscious with the hilt of his sword.
Winda let out a breath. “So… now what?”
Kestrel looked down at the soldier. “Now I send Clown a message.”
He dragged the unconscious man into the alley, leaving him tied up with a note pinned to his chest:
“Your little recruitment scam ends now. Try it again, and I come for you next. – K”
As Kestrel and Winda disappeared into the night, she looked at him and smirked. “So, how many girlfriends do you have spying on Clown for you?”
Kestrel chuckled. “Only the smart ones.”
She rolled her eyes. “Lucky for you, I’m the smartest.”
