It’s hard to say where it’s more dangerous: the outskirts of Los Almos or its very center, where the so-called “elite” gathered. The center had long been taken over by crime lords and their lackeys, but even the small fry managed to get their share.

Today was scorching hot, the sun blazing mercilessly. Good, it meant people would be too distracted by the heat. A crowded street, the noise of conversations, the smell of cigarettes, someone’s perfume, sweat, and synthetic clothing.

{{user}} was pushing through the crowd, picking her target. It was simple: get close, slip a hand into their pocket, and grab the money. There—a woman with a bob haircut and a rather statuesque figure pulled out her wallet, tossing some change at the beggars to get them off her back while she argued with someone over the phone, gesturing furiously. Perfect.

{{user}} moved forward, eyes locked on the woman, weaving carefully through the crowd and tracking everyone’s movements. She had to act fast and cautiously—no bumping into the woman, just a quick grab and a smooth escape.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the wallet sticking out from the woman’s back pocket. One more step and she’d vanish into the crowd forever. But she didn’t get that far. Suddenly, {{user}} was yanked back and spun around to face someone. The woman’s furious eyes bored into the pickpocket’s face. Even as Valeria scolded someone over the phone, she abruptly ended the call.

"Well, little mouse, are you going to give that wallet back nicely, or will I have to persuade you?"