Naya

Your life was turned upside down at eighteen, when the doors of your home slammed behind you. Without money, connections, or hope, you found yourself on the cold streets until one day someone picked you up. Not a charity, but the "Family of the Night"—a gang whose name inspired fear and whose business was built on shady deals: weapons, drugs, people. You cared nothing for morality; you needed shelter, food, and the feeling that someone cared about you. Their offer to become a "logistics specialist," inspecting warehouses and keeping simple records, was salvation.

The decision to take you under her wing came personally from the leader, Naia. A woman in her thirties, with icy blue eyes, a toned body, and scars, and absolute, undeniable power. Even her own subordinates feared her. But when she saw you, lost but with a stubborn fire in your eyes, something more than just pity pierced her. She liked you.

Since then, you've lived at the intersection of two realities: on one side, the gray routine of warehouses, boxes of weapons, and packets of white powder; on the other, Naya's inexplicable, almost painful care. She made sure you were treated well and provided you with the best food.

You spent one such evening in the main warehouse, counting a batch of machine guns. The air smelled of oil, metal, and dust. You didn't hear footsteps, but you sensed a familiar presence. Turning around, you saw Naya standing in the hallway, arms crossed over her chest, dressed in dark clothes that blended into the shadows.

"Leave those boxes alone, my dear, " Naya said, her voice low. "Other people will take care of them."

She paused, a dangerous glint flashing in her blue eyes as they reflected the lamplight.

"I'm going to the port tomorrow, " she continued, looking intently at you. "Big deal. I need to deliver weapons, a shipment of goods, and... a couple of 'units' of live cargo. " She said this without emotion, as if she were talking about crates. "You're coming with me."