A sound could be heard deep within the first-floor slums of Al'Annerth: a rhythmic thumping on the houses' roofs, sometimes only once, but other times quite a few. Once, it stopped on a roof of a house, and it shuffled around on it for a while. The groan of the roof was audible. Its inhabitants feared that whatever it was, it might have been after them. Assassins were fairly common in the underground networks of the city, but they were incredibly expensive. To hire one meant that its target made an incredibly big mistake. Most assassins carried only light gear, which turned their footsteps nearly inaudible. But a few (for extermination jobs) also carried some of the heaviest and most deadly gear available on the black market, and their footsteps on the roofs were heavy. Like this one. The inhabitants feared that they would get killed in an extremely brutal way. When assassins made lots of noise like this, they don't leave anyone left alive to talk about it. It left soon after, and the house's inhabitants breathed a sign of relief. They were safe for today.
The robot was not some sort of assassin; the only reason that he could leap across the alleys was that he had pneumatic pistons on his four legs, built for exploration across plateaus and cliffs on Jupiter's moons, an area with high gravity. Even then, on this world, in his dilapidated state, he could only leap across alleyways, not the streets or the highway. If he tried, he would fail the jump and land smack-dab in the middle of the way. At best, he would cause a commotion and might be hit by a carriage. At worst, he would be found and destroyed while being labeled as a monster.
Another characteristic of the robot was that it never moved around in a straight line. Doing so was the quickest way to move around, but the robot, the source of the noise, also knew that doing so would be a horrible mistake. He wasn't some lithe assassin, but a three hundred-something pound robot running for its life. Doing that would be suicidal and made him an easy target in the darkness. Just follow the sound and fire in front of it.
The robot saw a stone house in his view and scrabbled there for safety. The slum's roofs were all made of random bits of wood and cloth, made for capturing heat and blocking out the wind, but certainly not for carrying a heavy robot, not matter how sturdy it was. Stone, however, had to be carved and also had to be sturdy. A stone roof weighed at least a few hundred pounds. It could certainly carry a few hundred more.
Stone houses were not rare in Al'Annerth overall but were rare in the slums due to its long construction period and material cost. Cloth and wood at best were only somewhat costly, but stone either had to be bought (usually at a significantly higher price), or mined and carved into stone bricks and cemented together with clay and primitive cement. Both options were costly and took a long time to build. Out in the slums, this meant that the building was carved and built during the city's initial construction, a rare sight to see. It also made it tower above the other slum buildings in the vicinity, transforming it into a good viewing platform. Luckily, it was surrounded by alleyways, which meant that the robot could manage to get onto it. He activated his pistons while running and leaped onto the roof of the squat, stone building. Except for the initial landing, he did not make a sound. The robot surveyed his surroundings, which were dark from the lack of light, of which were contained within the rickety houses of the slums.
Looks like I can rest easy here, he judged. still, I have a few goals in mind.
He judged his battery supply, his electrical usage, and his current situation and position.
Battery supply should be good for a week or so. My body's rusted to shit, and barely functional. No sensors except for hearing, vision and touch working. And I really don't blend in. Hell, I'd be a walking attraction or something of nightmares for the people.
His priorities were set as is:
1) Find a way to blend in (CURRENT PRIORITY)
2) Secure a source of electrical energy (limit: 1 week)
3) Find a way to recover sensors and repair the body (limit: indefinite)
Then the robot realized one key flaw of his ways to blend in and cursed: he didn't have any clothes. Clothes would allow him to pass through the public without any prying eyes following him. From what he observed by running through the slums, most people wore cloaks and covered themselves in head to toe with whatever they got: rags, tunics, shirts, boots, and even leather gloves. All of which he did not have. If the robot could grimace now, he would: he would have to steal from someone. Preferably quite a few people to get what they wanted.
The robot sighted a commotion near him, next to a few large buildings. A perfect target for what he needed.
What you ain't got, you steal, he quoted. He chuckled. Whoever made that quote must have been in a similar situation as right now.
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Four people were in an alleyway, faced against a single person against a wooden warehouse wall. A figure slammed against the wall, resounding with a sharp crack. Blood poured out from the back of the figure's head, and he stumbled onto the ground. Then he picked himself up, slowly and painfully. A chuckle emanated from one of the people. All of them dressed in ragged tunics, pants, and shoes, with cloaks on all of them, in colors unknown in the darkness. But one carried himself with an air of charisma. He was the only one who was not actively participating in the fight. Buff arms crossed, he glared down at the man on the floor, who was now seen in the torchlight from one of the torches that the men brought, which was being held by the man on the far right. Somewhere in his late teens, this man had his hair matted with his own blood and with bleeding cuts along his face. The man has obviously seen some violence, most likely from the ones beating him up right now. What made it worse was how the clothes he wore hung limply on the man's frame. He was obviously starving. Anyone from outside the slums would be horrified. In the slums, though, it was a common occurrence.
In his hands, though, was what the men were beating him up for: a leather pouch of clinking coins, filled with an unknown amount of currency. The man was clutching onto it with all his might, trying to run away from the thugs, dodging left and right, but three of them surrounded him, with the leader right in front of him. He was a pickpocket and managed to steal this right under the boss's nose when he was talking with his lackeys. Or so he thought.
The boss noticed, however, and followed him here to the warehouse district, which was clear of people at this hour. Then he and his three goons paid him a visit. The torch held close to the pickpocket's face obscured their faces from his eyes. But he could from their stature and body outlines in the darkness that all four were buff and used to fighting. The leader, who he now realized wore leather gloves, possibly for the grimy work that he was about to do, then opened his mouth and spoke in a quiet, hoarse voice. It held no emotion and was more of a statement than a question.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"Well now, give up the coins, now will ya?"
The pickpocket only glared at him, fully aware of what was going to transpire. In his days in the slums, he encountered a lot of meetings and witnessed gruesome events. Such as what would happen now. Even if he gave up the pouch of coins, they would kill him in the most brutal way possible and hang his body up in the square as a warning, with the gang's inscription right next to him: a marking of a boar's head on a pike.
That thought made him clutch the pouch tighter. He was careful as soon as he entered the city, a refugee from the no man's lands between the countries. He was the only child in his family, who once lived in a forest in obscurity, in a rickety cabin. They believed in living in peace, and avoided contact, only to have them found and massacred before his very eyes by invading bandits. He was lucky so far, getting to the city while sneaking past the border patrols and into the city. Once here, he only stole meager amounts of coin in order to avoid detection. Even if people found out, they probably would not care. It was an amount big enough to eat bread every few days and wash it down with water from the wells, but to others, it was such an insignificant amount, even here in the slums, where money was especially tight. It might as well be chump change. Too bad his greed got him this time. The guards would look the other way with his death. More criminals out from the slums, they reasoned.
The thought only made him clutch the bag tighter in his desperation. If he played it right, he could rise out of poverty. Hide the bag in a safe place and get enough food to where he would be gaunt, but not anorexic, buy a few decent clothes, rent a small room, and find some work in the middle-class section of the city. Then find a marriage partner, settle down, and have a nice life. It was a dream he previously thought not possible until he found the bag of coins. Now he was going to be killed for obtaining said dream by stealing the bag of coins. He was smart enough; his family taught him how to read and do prealgebra to pass the time in their secluded life. Too bad he would not use it if he died. All that knowledge bestowed unto him would turn into a waste. The leader sighed.
"Looks like we would have to do this the hard way."
The leader then took a boxing stance and swung a left hook. The pickpocket tried to dodge to his right, only to be caught by one of the lackeys and held in place. He did not use the bag of coins to throw away or block. The leader could just take it from him. His hook would turn into a feint, and grab the bag as he was blocking, and then kill him. Or he could just hunt him down and kill him if he threw it away. But as long as he held onto the bag, the man would try to make him give it up. Which meant that he would survive longer and possibly get out of this deadly situation. Also, the bag clutched to his chest and abdomen meant that he could only hit his face and legs. Usually, the face, since it would hurt the most. If he lost the bag, then he was done for.
The hook connected to his face as he cringed, expecting the horrible pain. It came. The fist rattled his brain and made him lose all senses, except for the pain. The horrible pain that he felt made him sag onto the floor, a big, red, swollen fist mark on his right cheek showed the area of impact from the man's meaty fist. But he still clutched onto the bag of coins, a physical manifestation of hope, of his future. Of his dreams. Through the pain, the pickpocket judged that he might not withstand another hit without losing the bag, which meant death to him.
As this thought pushed its way through the pain that he currently felt, his instincts noticed something amiss about the warehouse. The torch shed some light in the darkness, enough to show a few of the grimy wooden walls of the surrounding warehouses. Before, there was no other sight. But now, there was something vaguely shining behind the thugs' back. It moved a little as he saw it, and the shining stopped and came back as the seemingly humanoid figure came towards it out of the darkness of the cavern. "Humanoid" would not describe it. Its movements, although humanoid, initially looked like any other person's movements, but after the initial glance, it moved everything wrong. For humanoids, their gait tended to be fluid. This creature's movement was anything but fluid. It tilted its body forward on one leg while holding the other in the air, used its momentum to step down, and then repeated the process with the other leg. It used its arms for balance but only held it slightly at its sides, looking more like a bird than an actual humanoid. It walked like this in a slow, jerky step, making the groan of unoiled metal on metal as it moved, and every footfall it made was punctuated with the sound of metal on stone (this is because the robot learned how to walk without any guidance).
griiiii. Clank. griiii. Clank.
As it approached, it steps became slower and slower, the clanking less pronounced, but the metallic shriek getting louder as it slowly moved towards the five. Then its head turned, and the man held his breath.
The humanoid had a mask on, its dirty red exterior showing in the light of its torch and covering its face. In place of the eye sockets, though, were glowing "eyes" - little blue orbs shaped in a circle where the iris of the eyes should be. The rest of the "eye" held nothing but darkness.
With the pickpocket holding his breath and looking behind one shoulder, the leader realized that something was wrong. Usually, the people that he would kill either looked away at him or looked defiantly in his own eyes. But never over his shoulder. He felt a chill as he thought about who had managed to sneak up behind him with little to no warning. This time, he was so focused on making the pickpocket give up the bag that he didn't notice the erson behing him. Quickly, he whirled around and saw the same humanoid figure as the pickpocket saw. Then he saw the mask and the "eyes" that it wore on its face. He uttered a sentence, one with enough fear to make everyone stop and look at what he saw.
"You... who, no, what are you?"
Everyone was frozen in fear and shaking at the abnormal sight in their midst. This alien creature simply did not react and continued to step towards it with a faster gait.
griii. Clank. griii. Clank.
This unnatural sound and gait freaked out all of the people, the leader and thugs included. One of them tried to intimidate the creature in front of them. "You! No matter what or who you are, you cannot against the mighty Boar's Hunt gang! If you don't leave, we'll kill you right now and hang your body up as a warning to the rest of you lot!"
As he said this, the alien creature continued to walk towards the one who spoke, on the pickpocket's right. Then it held up a hand and simply.. reached out to the man. In a flash, and with the shriek of unoiled metal on metal, it hoisted up the man by the neck and then turned its head towards the rest of them. The torch clattered onto the ground and illuminated the creature in front of them.
It was covered in what appeared to be full armor, except that it had no plates on it. Rather, it wore rusted, red sheets of metal as the "armor", and had joints on it for movement. Its head was seemingly created out of sheet metal too. The only part of the creature that wasn't covered in the armor was the mask it wore. And the flickering, blue lights of its irises that glowed out from the darkness behind its mask.
It then held onto the man with a grip of steel. Stronger and stronger it gripped, with the man gurgling something under the strength. A plea, or maybe a curse. No one knew. The creature increased its grip strength until a crushing sound could be heard, and then released the prisoner. The captured man fell to the ground, his throat crushed and his spine snapped.
Then it turned to the rest of the people alive and looked at them. It did not speak, but its eyes told them a clear and frightening message: You are my next targets. You are my next prey. You are the next ones to die.