A figure walked through the dark and smelly alleyways of the first-floor slums of Al'Annerth, dressed in a dark brown cloak, pants, and gloves with a hood on, carefully stepping around the filth that was spread all across the rough stone alleyways and streets. No part of his body was uncovered, the face shrouded in darkness, unknown to everyone who saw him. No one paid attention to such a figure because down here, because everyone dressed similarly outside of their homes and properties. And even if someone would have the guts to as that person, they would most likely get shanked to death in one of the dark pits of this place, never to be seen again. And nobody wanted that, so they let strangers be as they were.
That perfectly served the robot, who thought about this before he managed to "acquire" his recent find. Now he had to find a safe place to hole up. As he didn't know the area of the slums, he took some time to wander around the residential district and mapped out his surroundings on a 2D map, similar to a game's minimap, which he kept in the top-left corner of his vision to glance at occasionally. He noticed that although the buildings of the slums were numerous and rather fragile (seen when he shanked a hole in the wall back at the warehouse district), some of them were also vacant for reasons unknown. Another objective to complete would be to find a place to stash his loot. Unfortunately, this would take time. An unknown amount of time. He got depressed at this notion.
Another thing I don't know and worry about.
He decided to try and find an abandoned hole in the wall to store away his stuff so that he wouldn't have to carry it all around and get stolen if a scuffle would break out close to him.
To put in a few words, the task would be "Difficult and nearly impossible to accomplish". Holes in the wall were hard enough to find. Blended into the dark shadows of buildings, the doors to them were literally sections of walls on hinges and locks. He only spotted an example when a careless young person went through such a door quietly as he was snooping around. He marveled at such an ingenious design. There was no problem of camouflage since it was already part of the wall, to begin with, and there were no obvious cracks or openings, at first sight to him, screaming "Hey, there's a secret door over here! Come on and open it!" He still puzzled over how they built it without anyone noticing, but he wasn't going to build one (an impossible task, since he didn;t know how they worked in the first place), but rather take an abandoned one over.
This search for a temporary residence led him to a large, dirty plaza of rough stone, littered with dilapidated stalls and groups of criminals, as merchants from the slums and cooks filled the air with unknown cries of their goods. Often times, young, naive thieves, usually young teenagers and kids of all sizes, their appearances covered by dirty cloaks, would try to steal from these stalls. It appeared to be a common everyday event, as some of the stall owners would simply smack their hands away with their hands or a utensil, or grab a weapon, usually a knife or dagger, hidden under the stall and pretend to stab their stealing hand from it, sinking it into the wood. This would temporarily terrify them and send them scurrying away, but after about a quarter of an hour, their greed or their desperation forced them to try and steal from neighboring stalls. They all dressed in the same style of cloaks, but the darkness of the floor made them look nearly identical. Why bother to catch them when others would take the opportunity to steal from the stall? To the robot, who had all of Earth's history in his databanks, by historical records, all of the thieves appeared to be part of the same group or urchin gang, due to their similar appearance. Probably in someone's territory in the slums working to collect money for them and to feed themselves. He carefully walked his way across the side of the plaza, making sure to avoid the filth on the ground, the scurrying thieves and gangsters, and the stall owners hawking their wares with their shouts. All while keeping constant vigilance. He wanted no part in this mess.
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Once out of that chaotic zone, he traveled in a straight line into the outskirts of the residential district. The buildings turned shabbier and the people near it more hostile with every step taken. Soon weapons were openly brandished constantly in public to ward off anyone who would dare to attack them. This included clubs, crude iron maces, shanks, swords, and even a small improvised crossbow. That dark-haired female who had the crossbow kept everybody away with her crossbow and her small quiver hanging from her thigh. The robot presumed that a crossbow in this world could have complete superiority against any close-combat weapon in the slums, so they stayed away from her to avoid getting shot. That, or she was some sort of assassin or professional rogue. Again, the lack of information irked him. He made sure to avoid her, slipping as much as he could through the shadows to get away. Luckily, she was far away, about a few dozen meters down from him, and wasn't facing him, so he took an adjacent alley to get some distance between him and the crossbow-wielding woman.
Once he got a comfortable distance away from her, he ruminated about his past experiences, as people still walked around brandishing their own weapons. Such as close call did not bode well for his future. If he ran into dangerous-looking individuals like her, there was a much higher chance of getting caught or destroyed. He had to act quicker.
Wandering around the outskirts of the slums made him see some new sights, some of which he didn't know how to react. He saw thieves stabbed to death, scantily-clad prostitutes looking for money (next to a big, brutish bouncer, who didn't seem fazed by their appearance. It was probably his daily job), successful thieves stealing from others and running away, their most recent prey screaming and chasing after them. All seemingly normal in the slums, since there was no huge reaction from the surrounding people. Still no close to his goal, however. It grated on his artificial, imaginative nerves and made his steps quicker and more jerky. People started noticing this and started whispering to each other while taking glances at him. This made him even more uncomfortable and agitated, turning it into a cycle of desperation and agitation. Unknown to him, a small group of thieves followed behind in the alleyways, slipping through the slum's pedestrian traffic. It was quite obvious to the slum residents, but they actually made small talk with them as they went by. Unlike the other petty thieves of the slums, this was the slum's unofficial "welcoming group" that everyone took delight on seeing, whether criminals, guards or residents. They vowed only to steal from the newcomers of the slums (or those who are passing through) and distributed a little of the stolen wealth to the residents. Of course, they kept most of it, since they were the ones committing the crime.
The leader in the middle of this group, as well as the others in the group. wore a dark brown cloak that matched the darkness of the floor, the color of the ground, and the walls of the slum buildings. He was differentiated by a small, simple black tag on the inside of his cloak, directly on the right kidney, that he would flash to others to show his rank when he gave orders: a simple grizzly bear outline. Under his cloak was a man of standard features: brown hair, dirty clothes, and light, pasty skin, a gaunt Caucasian teenager that looked as stereotypical as one could get in the slums. Born on the farms that surrounded Al'Annerth and abandoned at the slums at the age of four, he'd shown his skills by stealing anything that he could get his hands on that would be worth something of value and would avoid suspicion and trouble when he pawned them off for coins. His stereotypical look was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, since when he was often seen stealing, no one actually knew who he was, since his description also matched many of the known thieves and residents in the slums. A curse, because not even his closest subordinates knew him by his looks, so he constantly had to flash his little "badge" around. Still, it was a good life, having enough to eat and not having to worry about being caught in this work - because everybody loved it when he stole from newcomers and rich people who passed through. He grinned in anticipation of the upcoming "hunt". Soon, that person's wealth and stuff would at least (partially) become his. Unless he was killed by the stranger or tortured as punishment.
...
Fuck. He hadn't actually found out about where this person came into the slums. But the person looked like a hobo, with their stuff in a bag on a stick, so it should be okay. Just another run. Right?
Right?