Editing Getting the Band Together (section)

====Observations====
Gadget walked back into the square with her loot, the familiar rhythm of the park unbroken by the earlier scuffle. People moved about as though nothing unusual had happened, their lives tuned to a frequency that filtered out the kind of trouble she'd just witnessed. 

She’d seen this before in other cities: a practiced indifference to the small tragedies that played out in the corners of urban life. The regulars had walked past the shakedown, unconcerned. Not their problem. Not worth their notice. Even the lack of music didn’t seem to faze anyone. The world kept spinning, and the square moved with it.

Her first stop was a liquor store tucked into a crumbling block of mismatched businesses. The door jingled as she entered, and she felt the clerk’s eyes snap to her immediately. His stare followed her down the rows as she browsed. Gadget ignored him, picking out a flask-sized bottle of whiskey first, then a larger one to refill it. She added a handful of tiny bottles at the register, their colorful labels gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light. 

The clerk leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his expression dripping with disdain. “Are you high or just stupid?” he sneered. “Alright, let’s do this. Everyone sing along— *La la la! I have to see some ID!*” 

Unbothered, Gadget pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from her pocket and laid it on the counter, meeting his gaze with a calm, steady intensity. “Even if I kept the change,” he added, “it’s not worth it without ID.”

She sighed, pulling a slim wallet from her jacket. Opening it just enough for the clerk to see, she watched his eyes widen. The disdain melted into something closer to disbelief. 

“Ah... really?” he asked, his tone shifting.

She tilted her head slightly. “I can depend on your keeping it a secret?”

He nodded quickly, his earlier bravado gone. He took the money without another word, bagging the bottles with a newfound precision. Gadget took the bag without a thank-you, already moving on.

Her next stop was Little Caesar’s, the faint smell of grease and cheap cheese filling the air before she even entered. The bored teenager at the counter barely glanced up as she ordered four $5 pizzas. She stacked the boxes into her canvas bag, not bothering to align them perfectly. As the bag settled on her shoulder, the pizzas slid, the cheese and toppings undoubtedly pooling at one end of the boxes. She didn’t care. These weren’t about taste.

The park waited as she walked back, her steps deliberate and her mind turning over what came next. Her earlier encounter had shown her more than she expected—not just about the park’s pecking order but about the invisible lines drawn between those who were struggling to survive and those who chose to ignore them. She wasn’t sure yet where she fit into this city, but she’d carve out a place soon enough. 

The liquor and the pizzas? They were tools, not comforts. Small investments in goodwill, in leverage. She wasn’t here to play by the rules. Gadget didn’t play by anyone’s rules but her own.

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The alley is narrow and quiet, save for the distant hum of city noise. The faint tang of rust and damp concrete fills the air, mingling with the aroma of greasy pizza wafting from the canvas bag Gadget left on the ground. Her ears tingle with the primal electricity of the moment, a sensation she's come to trust. The hunter has become the hunted, and she is more than ready.  She sets down her guitar and her bag.

Waldo strides into view, his swagger full of self-assurance, the kind that only comes from countless successful shakedowns. He grins as he sees her, his eyes scanning her up and down like she's already his.

“Well, I didn’t think taxing you would make me rich! Booze and food. Fork it over. And any cash you got,” he says, closing the distance without hesitation.
Gadget steps toward him calmly, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t flinch as he reaches for her with both hands, his grin growing wider as he adds, “Maybe a kiss or a fu—”

The rest of the word is swallowed by a sharp, guttural cry as Gadget grabs his wrists and drives the steel toe of her boot into his groin with the force of a sledgehammer. The sound he makes is almost pitiful as he doubles over, but she doesn’t stop. Another swift kick sends him crumpling to the ground like a ragdoll.

Before he can recover, she shoves him onto his back and straddles him, delivering two quick punches to his stomach with precision. Waldo gags, his breath coming in choked gasps. Gadget leans in close, her voice a low, dangerous growl.

“Now, don’t you throw up,” she warns, her tone ice-cold. “It’ll only make you messy and me pissed off. Look me in the eyes.”

Waldo’s watery gaze meets hers, and for the first time, his bravado cracks.  Her psyche slams into him as hard as she can force it.

“You think you’re tough?” she continues, her voice steady but sharp as a blade. “The universe is filled with monsters that wouldn’t blink about squashing you like a potato bug. And I am goddamned well one of them, Waldo. Now... you belong to me. Unless you want me to make sure you never get an erection again. We understand each other?”

He nods frantically, his face pale.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Gadget says, sitting back slightly. “Where’s Cali?”

“Wart has her,” Waldo croaks, his voice hoarse. “He’s got her up at the Station… Passed out last I saw.”

Gadget studies his face for any sign of a lie, then nods. “The Station. Eddie knows where that is?”

Waldo nods again, his head bobbing weakly.

“Good.” Gadget stands, brushing herself off. “Now, you go away. Not to the station. It won’t be safe there tonight. Do you understand me?”
Waldo nods once more, trembling as he scrambles to his feet.

She steps back to her bag and pulls out a pizza box. Opening it, she pulls out three slices and holds them out to him. “Here. Just to show I’m not… well, totally a bitch. Remember: don’t go to the station. Don’t tell Wart. And don’t piss me off. Now go.”

Waldo hesitates for a split second before grabbing the slices. He staggers off, clutching the greasy pizza with both hands, his steps uneven but quick. He doesn’t look back.

Gadget watches him disappear down the alley, then picks up her bags. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth as she murmurs, “Everyone’s gotta eat.”

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