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I hit the streets, tho—elevators get old fast. This one bird, right, she’s standin’ by a flickerin’ lamp, all sass and shadow. “What do you want?” she snaps, like I’m wastin’ her night. “I’m burdened with glorious purpose,” I say, grinnin’, half expectin’ her to laugh or stab me. She rolls her eyes—fair, I’d do the same. “Fifty quid,” she goes, and I’m like, mate, I’m a god, not a bank! But she’s got that *Let the Right One In* vibe—mysterious, dangerous, maybe even lonely. “I don’t let just anyone in,” she mutters, echoin’ the flick, and I’m hooked.

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Then, I spot this guy pacing around. He’s got that frantic look, you know? Turns out, he’s the owner. I approach him, and he’s all, “I don’t know what happened! I just left for a bit!” Yeah, right. I mean, who leaves their warehouse unattended? I’m not buying it. My gut’s telling me there’s more to this story.