That night, rain pelted the rooftop shingles like hail, freezing to the touch and near hard as ice. It was pouring like a waterfall over Avendell.

A cloaked goblin strode over and leaped across the roofs. His breath was rapid and his pace was slowing, the rain had weighed down his meagre clothes.

The goblin’s head darted left and right. He saw nothing of note.

His mind desperately reached for anything that could help him escape from his pursuers. I could ditch the cloak, but that would just make me easier to see. At this rate, they’ll catch me soon, their legs are longer.

As he thought it, the at first drowned out patting of his pursuers’ steps was becoming all too clear.

- - - - -

A few nights ago.

For the majority of Avendell city, day was day and night was night, but not for the underworld, when the lights turned on and the sun had set, another world within roared to life.

Grik yawned long and slow awake. He glanced out the small circular window of his attic room, saw that it was dark, and smiled.

Sure, in the richer parts of the city, there would have been street lights or homes brimming with light, but not in the slums. The slums were always dark; always dirty; and always in disrepair.

But this was fine with Grik.

He got out of his makeshift hammock bed, grabbed a candlestick, and lit it afire, bathing the room in a dim orange light. Goblins had darkvision, meaning they could see in dim light as if it were bright, and darkness as if it were dim light. Though it was still difficult to discern colors in darkness.

Grik looked around the room. It was mostly empty except for a couple open crates, and the work table and dresser he had his equipment on and clothes in. He rummaged around in one of these crates for some clothes that were less dirty than the others, giving it a good whiff, and at most times, jolting back in horror.

Soap was never high on the priority list for Grik, no, he wanted something else much more.

Grik went to another crate and rummaged inside that one. But once his hand went to touch the items inside, it was met with nothing but the hard surface of the crate’s bottom. Grik didn’t want to believe this, so he looked harder, up close, and kept on fumbling around with his arm. Ah, but still no luck. And some Grik had to come to the obvious conclusion.

I’m out of food.

And seemingly in protest, his stomach growled a distressful tone.

It had been a day or two since Grik last ate. He wasn’t quite sure. Grik started most days grabbing some bread, cheese, or cured meat from the crate then spending the rest of it tinkering with his tools, and on occasion, enjoying a good book.

But now he was out of food, and that meant he had to do another job. Grik reminisced on how far he had come from garbage diving, begging, then pickpoting, to true thieving. And he was only eight, just barely adult goblin age. Sure, he probably could have made money doing something else, but nothing nearly as profitable.

Grik went to his work table and put on all his knives and daggers, his retractable arm bow, and his potions all on their various straps and buckled them on. Then he went to his dresser, and flourished his cloak over his shoulders. The goblin nodded and smiled. Now he was ready for whatever the night had in store for him.

He blew his candle out, crept over to and cracked open his round window, and left.

Out in some basement, entered in through some alley in the slums, was an information broker sitting behind their desk table. And who else was in front of them than Grik.

“So what kind of job are you looking for?”

“Something that pays a lot.” Grik preferred the high risk high reward jobs over all others, as he liked the challenge, but he also liked having a lot saved up so he wouldn’t have to go out every other day. It was a sort of professional pride.

The broker took out a scroll for each. “There’s this noble who wants a magic sword held in the museum of the magic academy. This mafia guy wants to find some dirt on this civil official. And there’s an open contract for any treasures one can find in the dungeon east of the city, in the mountains.”

Dungeons were where monsters dwelled. “That open contract sounds like adventurer business.”

The broker grinned, “Treasure is everyone’s business.”

“I’ll take the extortion gig.” Grik didn’t like big physical retrieval jobs. Items like that could cause some serious concerns, especially in this case with a full sized sword and his short stature. And the risk reward for entering dungeons didn’t seem worth it to Grik. He wasn’t the open physical combat type, he sneaked past and avoided conflict, only fighting as a last resort.

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The broker pushed forward the corresponding scroll. Grik took from his pouch a gold piece, placed it on the desk, and took the scroll.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Grik.”

“And you, Diane.”

- - - - -

Grik had made it past the guards watching the outer perimeter by finding a blindspot in their patrols. Grik had made it into the building by entering through a left open window. And he had even made it into the civil officials office and was in the middle of scanning through all the papers in his drawers for anything incriminating when - .

“Like I keep on saying,” the door to the room flung open and Grik immediately dived under the desk. “We can’t be giving the militia so much leeway. A missing shipment here and a lost container there. We need to crack down and investigate these disappearances.”

Another man, who looked to be 5-10 years younger with a bunch of papers in his arms said, “I wholeheartedly agree with you, Sir, but we just don’t have the resources.”

“Then tell me where they are!”

“What, you mean now?”

“Good god man, yes, now!”

The younger man was given a start and began frantically fumbling through his papers. While the older one went to his desk - strange, I’m sure this cabinet was closed - closed the cabinet, and sat in his chair.

Grik pressed his body to the side so as to not make contact with the man’s legs. What the hell is going on? I staked out the place for days. No one should be here now.

A candle light flickered on atop the desk.

“I can only make excuses to the king for so long.” He murmured to himself.

The assistant listed off some names and what they were costing, and at the mention of the Autonomous Knight Project, the official replied, “Those damn mad scientists. Cut off their funding. They’ve gone too long without showing any results. Redirect more of it to the special task force.”

“Roger that, sir!” said the assistant with a salute, dropping a couple of papers under the desk.

As he reached down to grab them, he began saying, “By the way, sir, why did we - “ and was face-to-face with Grik. The assistant’s face was a mixture of shock and disbelief, while Grik’s only held a scowl. Just my luck.

“S-sir - “ Before the assistant could continue, Grik grabbed at the papers in the assistant’s arm and the ones on the floor, pushed past the legs of the officials, and dove at a closed window, his arms folded in an x shape over his bent down head and his legs tucked in, shattering and breaking through it, into the rainy night.

The official shot back, out of his chair, “What the hell was that?” All he saw was a blur at the periphery of his vision.

“A goblin, sir! A goblin! It took all of the papers!”

“Forget that! This is the fourth floor! Guards! Guards!” None of the information was too sensitive, mostly shipping manifests and other bits of data entry. Unless…

Immediately, a grappling hook arced over the window sill and hooked into it, causing the rope attached to it to go taut.

Grik leaped off against the wall of building and loosened his grip from the rope to gain more distance, then he bounced off a protrusion to begin a sideways pendulum-like swing. Right before he would have let loose his grip, the rope lost all rigidity and sense of momentum. It was cut.

Grik extended his arms, and his hands just barely gripped the edge of a window sill on the third floor. They’re expecting me to reach the ground and make a run for it. Grik began climbing up the wall, to the roof.

Once he did, alarms started blaring, and lights started popping up everywhere. Grik made his way to a chimney pillar, hammered in a climber’s hook and tied around it a rope, which he then tied the other end to his arm crossbow.

Not enough power to reach the other building.

And so he began using the winding device on the side of crossbow.

As the alarms and the shout of, “He’s not here!” resounded below him, he quickened his pace. Come on. Come on.

Once he could wind no more, he held his arm up, aligned the sight to his right eye, and fired.

The arrow whizzed forward, bringing the rope along with it, and struck itself into the side of a neighboring building 30 meters away.

Grik checked the tensile strength of the rope then attached a hook that was connected to a shorter rope and another hook that went around his belt, and was off.

He had been running and roof hopping for a short while, but after the goblin realized no one was giving chase, he slowed to a leisurely pace.

That is until he was filled with a sudden sense of dread -

>Unique skill activated: [Danger Sense]

- and began an all out dash.

Realizing that their presence was noticed, two cloaked figures threw away all pretense and did the same.

And now we’re back where we first left our goblin friend, soon to be caught up with by two mysterious figures.

I’ll only have one chance.

Grik unbuckled his cloak, spun around, and threw it at the assailant to his right, then he leapt at the other’s chest, kicking him with both his legs simultaneously.

The first fumbled with the cloak over him for a couple seconds, while the other lost his balance and fell off the edge of the slightly slanted roof. That was all the goblin needed. He was gone.

Later that night, Grik returned to the information broker, Diane Winston, and handed off the documents he had obtained. When he came in drenched, exhausted, and sour of disposition, she only nodded in greeting as he came and went without a word.

The night after, Grik returned again, not expecting much but hoping for something.

Diane told him, “The information’s useless to the buyer. None of it can be used for what he wants.” Grik grimaced. “But,” his head darted up in attention, “The thieves’ guild would like for you to look into this Autonomous Knight Project. There’ve been murmurs of it going on for a while, though nothing concrete, and compounded with how much the kingdom’s sunk into it, well, we’re worried.”

The thieves’ guild was an invisible untraceable organization. No one knew who the master was, where the base of operations were, or if there even was one. Grik was technically a member of the guild since he utilized their information network to steal. But for the guild itself to post a contract, it was unheard of.

“Why me?”

“We’ve already sent a few others. They’ve yet to come back.”

“So you’re sending me to my death?”

“Not necessarily. We’ll give you all the information we have, the location of the research facility, its staff, and the recent movement.”

“It’s not much.”

“Better than nothing. Oh, and 100 gold up front, 200 if you return with something useful.”

The primal part of himself salavated at that 100 gold up front, but the part with brains knew that it was just bait to lure in the desperate and stupid. And yet another part of himself knew the priceless worth of doing a favor for the thieves’ guild.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”