Now:

     "What's a razorblade doing here?"

     What rags Whisper still wore, she stripped off of herself.

     What Whisper wore under her rags was sewn clothing that conformed to her body like a second skin. She wore footwear that looked sturdy, but also looked as supple as slippers.

     She had a razor strapped to each arm, each thigh, each hip. She kept a razor strapped between her shoulder blades. She kept a razor in each slipper and down the front of her pants and wedged between the crack of her ass.

     She begged everyone with her eye to please, please leave her alone.

     The already crowded Rags Boulevard became even more congested as progress stalled so that people could get a look at the razorblade in their midst.

     The Razorblade District was hundreds of miles away, and razorblades rarely left their district, so...

     "What's a razorblade doing here?"

     People, men mainly, converged on her from all sides.

     They were not going to let her just leave.

     Whisper had a look on her face like everything she knew and loved had just disintegrated before her eyes. 

     Then, out came the razors.

CONTINUE