…And Dark Deeds

Markus dismissed me with a wave of his hand, turning to converse with Rokharth. I left without complaint, deciding it wasn't worth it to try and eavesdrop on a much more experienced rogue. Similarly, I decided to stifle my annoyance at being dismissed like some grunt; mainly, because I quite frankly am a grunt.

No matter how much that irritates me.

The plan I came up with as I headed to my room to grab some supplies was simple; find these guys, stab them in the brainstem, then splatter some gore around to make it look like they died grizzly deaths. Maybe find some sticks to impale them on and set alight if there's any nearby. Boss man told me to paint our symbol in their innards, he didn't say they needed to be alive for it; it's much easier and safer to pull the organs out of a corpse than out of a living enemy, after all.

Simple, efficient, safe. Well, as safe as an assassination ever can be, anyway.

My room didn’t have many supplies to speak of, but I did put on a fresh cloak (more of a loosely fitted rag than a proper cloak, but at least it was clean), strapped a waterskin made of unknown leather to my hip, cleaned and sharpened my new knife, and ate some food I definitely didn’t steal.

I sighed, glancing over the small room I had been living out of for the last few weeks. It was… not as much of a shithole as I had been expecting, though I would only ever grudgingly admit that. Rather than some grimy closet, they had stuffed me in what appeared to be an old hospital room. Other than the decay of general disuse for what must have been decades, the place was clean enough; dust and grime notwithstanding. Honestly, after spending however long I did in the literal shithole I woke up in, the walls not being made of congealed filth was a massive step up; funny how priorities change with circumstances.

I turned to leave, releasing a long breath that wasn’t quite a sigh as I went.

No one paid me more than a passing glance as I walked through the base; I had stopped being a novelty after a few days, the more interesting monsters and more dangerous killers already living here making me stand out much less. Even the drunks didn’t bother me, not interested enough to question me or belligerent enough to interrupt someone walking with purpose. While a part of me internally grumbled about how big a security risk such behavior was, most of me was simply glad I didn’t have to bother repeatedly explaining where I was going.

The informal nature of a gang like this was almost endearing, I might even have fallen into the rhythm of the place if I didn’t keep my indignant hatred bubbling in my guts. It was easy really, while I personally didn’t have anything particularly against any of these thugs and didn’t particularly care one way or the other about their numerous crimes, the sheer fact that I had been recruited at the end of a gun kept a cold disdain simmering behind my eyes. Even if the resources are useful, even if the company isn’t awful, that fact alone has solidified my hatred forever.

Spite is a very powerful thing, one of the few feelings I was intimately familiar with even before that beaked bastard screwed with my head.

I didn’t leave out the front door, instead choosing a random empty room on the first floor and jumping out the window. Partially I did this to avoid having my actions traced back to the gang, a precaution I admittedly didn’t really care about but a habit that would be good to get into if I ever joined a group I didn’t want to destroy. The bigger reason I did it was to avoid interacting with that creepy little gatekeeper creature.

Grimy little fucker made my skin crawl, aggitated my flies and made my maggots writhe angrily. I wasn't sure why, but something about the little creature just revolted me, perhaps it was more that his insipid voice grated on me. Regardless, I was more than willing to go out of my way to avoid interacting with him more than absolutely necessary.

That, and I had no interest in recording my comings and goings or being engaged in small talk with the small minded mooks undoubtedly heading out on some sort of minor task.

Kinda like me, a part of my mind I summarily silenced whispered.

I landed in a dark alley, slightly cleaner than the rest of the city though still coated in layers of grime and refuse. The smell of dusty concrete and ground up rotten cigarettes almost covered up the smell of smoke and blood that seemed to linger in the air around the base. It wasn't just from the fire that I spent much of my early hours fleeing from and exploiting either, though some of it undoubtedly was. No, the headquarters of the Burnpike Lords always reeked of blood and ashes; I suppose you can only burn so many bodies before the smell just kinda… lingers.

I cracked my neck, rolled my shoulders, and set out into the city proper; I didn’t really need to limber up, but the movements helped ease a little of my unease. I was wary of both setting out with the deliberate goal of killing people much larger and likely physically stronger than me and at heading out into this shithole city at all. I'm confident in my ability to cut and run, but from what little Rokharth had told me about this place it was definitely dangerous.

Being near the bottom of the food chain is never a comforting thought.

I sneered into the dark, eyes flickering from place to place as I snorted in derision. With an irritated grunt I pushed the thought from my head, dismissing it and setting out into the city. Darting from shadow to shadow, taking extra care to triple check every seemingly safe place, teleporting frequently, and cloaking myself in shadows makes it take quite a while to reach the particular moldering alleyway these particular thugs are hanging about in. Unsurprisingly, in a shithole city like this it wasn't uncommon for any given alley to have one or more strung out gangbangers laying about in it in varying states of delirium. Finding the right alley took longer than I would have liked, but the barest flickers of dawn had only made these drugged up thugs let what passed for their guard down.

Nothing bad ever happens at dawn, after all.

My lips twitched towards something between a sneer and a smirk as my eyes danced about the alley from my position wrapped in shadows beneath what seems to be some form of crude iron dumpster. One of my targets was slumped against a wall, a needle sticking out of his elbow and wire wrapped just beneath his shoulder. His black veins stood out starkly against his waxy skin, looking more like shallow gorges of tar carved into his skin than the proper blood carrying tubes they should be. Given the way he was staring into space and smiling witlessly, I tentatively labeled him as being a low threat. Even so, I didn't allow myself to dismiss him completely on the off chance his poison of choice wasn't quite as debilitating as it seemed.

The other thug had orange residue around his nose and was pacing erratically, twitching about and checking all around him while humming and giggling occasionally. His notably swollen veins were a bright orange, pulsating visibly with every beat of his pounding heart. While he looked far more active and dangerous, I knew that his magic cocaine would work against him if I managed to get a good strike in; his racing heart and absurd blood pressure would betray him, making him bleed out all the faster when I sink my knife in him.

I spent nearly two hours just watching them, not moving except to kill my scent as I took in their behavior and movements. The black veined one began to recover from his daze half way through the second hour. I had nearly decided to attack early before he tugged the wire on his arm tighter and stabbed a needle filled with what looked like crude oil but smelled like death into it.

Unfortunately for him, it seemed he took a bit more than he meant to. It wasn't long before he began to breathe slower and slower, black gunk dripping from his eyes and his heart rate almost visibly slowing. He tried to call out to his friend at first, shakily raising his hand towards him; he barely made a sound however, his mouth was too clogged with thick black foam to form words.

Of course, that forced my hand; I couldn't let all that juicy experience go to waste just because some dipshit couldn't handle his drug of choice. I waited only a few seconds to see if the pacing one would notice his friends swiftly approaching death. I was mildly surprised when he actually did, the normal route of his erratic pacing bringing his orange eyed gaze upon the writhing, sputtering form of his compatriot and sending him running to his side.

The moment he turned his gaze on his friend and away from the dumpster I hid beneath, I darted out from cover. The shadows stretched around me, warping to better conceal my form until my small paws had torn up the distance sufficiently and I disappeared without a sound.

My newly granted blade slid silently from its sheath as I reappeared in midair behind the kneeling addict, though I did silently chastise myself for forgetting to draw it before I teleported. Even so, my enemy was too wasted and too distracted with his friend vomiting tar in his face to capitalize on my error. His last words were a concerned shout that cut off in a gurgle, my blade finding its home in his throat before he could say anything of note.

I peered over his left shoulder, silently congratulating myself for avoiding the shower of foul smelling orange blood that fountained out around the blade I planted in the right side of his neck. My gaze swept over the dying junky beneath me even as I pulled my knife out of the one I stood upon.

While I had no knowledge of what that black shit he pumped himself with was supposed to do, I imagine seizures, foaming at the mouth, crying sludge, and visibly not breathing were not what he had been looking for. I met his wild eyes, meeting their desperate but lethargic fear with mocking indifference and disdain.

Regardless, as my unwilling mount sank to his knees and tumbled forth, my tail lashed out like a striking snake. The blade on the end of my shadowy white tail sunk into and through his eye, twisting about in his brain before pulling out in a spray of black gunk.

Human Male Thug Slain +120 Exp

You have leveled up! +100 Stat Points

I grunted, flicking the thick black goo off my tail in annoyance. The system telling me I'd only killed one of these fools was enough to set my veins alight with paranoid buzzing that I was reasonably certain wasn't just my flies. If it weren't for my own Paranoia telling me the sludge sucker's heart wasn't beating, I'd be freaking out over which one was dead.

Not that I dismissed him as a threat anyway, with magic you can never be too sure the dead will stay still.

As my first victim finally hit the ground with a wet thud, I drove my blade through the back of the powder huffer's skull. The thin weapon severed his brainstem and shredded a good portion of the brain itself, sliding through flesh with a comforting ease.

Human Male Greld Fiend Slain +135 Exp

You have leveled up! +100 Stat Points

I didn't even try to stop a grin from tearing its way across my face as I withdrew my blade, almost. reflexively wiping the blood off on the corpse beneath me's ragged shirt. Two kills, two levels; seems killing those that can actually fight to even a limited degree pays quite well. For as pathetic as these idiots were, odds are good they're both killers with a few levels under their belts and it seems that makes them more valuable to kill in turn.

I hummed quietly to myself as I looked around the grimy alley, spotting packages of various drugs and small stacks of money scattered about. I would, of course, steal all of it, though first I had to make sure the scene was properly set.

With an amused sigh, I hopped off my perch and over the rapidly expanding pool of orange around it. Much as I'd love to just sit around, it would be better to get started painting the proper picture here sooner than later.

The sooner I finish, the sooner I can stash this loot and rest somewhere relatively safe; safer than this shithole alley anyway, slightly less corpses around too.