Arcane, Voice of Zaun

"Seriously, they already left," I muttered as I was balancing on a giant pipe, while making my way to Entresol.

Turns out that when Lloyd said they'd leave for the mines, they really meant leave cause when I came back 24 people were no longer at the house. The hideout felt eerily empty, I mean I knew most of them but it wasn't like we were super close.

"But chem materials, those are expensive and from what Lloyd said there is only one person that's gonna buy it, what chembarons even have that kind of money?" I said to myself before jumping off the pipe and into an alley, my knife jiggling a bit under my clothes.

The sheath of metal felt cold against my skin. My legs buckled a bit under the pressure of the jump but they were fine. I had realized my legs were probably the strongest part of my body.

I walked across the lanes, something which I knew like almost the back of my hand now. It came with the jobs of course. Walking past an augmentation chamber I could see a woman who was getting a prosthetic leg, that could be a good target to go after, after all only rich people could get augmentation prosthetics. The chemicals they used to bind flesh and metal wasn't cheap after all.

I lingered by the entrance, wondering if I could sneak in and grab something valuable, but the enforcer standing by the door made me reconsider. Not worth the risk. Lloyd's words rang in my ears.

"Always run from a fight, never start it."

I walked past the Cultivair greenhouses, couldn't believe they had places to house entire plants. I walked a bit more to find my spot, weaving between street vendors hawking questionable meat skewers and chem-laced drinks. Avoiding a puddle of something that definitely wasn't water, I looked up to the sign flickering in pink neon lights.

Babette's Brothel

If you wanted an easy place to pickpocket this was it, intoxicated sex-crazed maniacs made for really good targets. The neon sign cast a light pink glow on the cracked pavement below, making everything look diseased. Perfect.

A few prostitutes were already standing outside, leaning against the wall with practiced poses, calling out to passersby with promises of a good time. Their faces were painted with too much makeup, most probably didn't want to be there, but it was the life they had been given nd now they had to live with it.

Just as I approached—

"Get out!"

A somewhat fat man stumbled over the door, his clothes disheveled and his face flushed. He was muttering something about being overcharged, his words slurring together. The bouncer, a massive brute with metal plates embedded in his knuckles, watched him with bored eyes.

Lucky me.

I walked over to him, getting ready, I lined two fingers in a v shape, just like Jay had taught me. Then lightly bumping my knee into him and...

There we go.

I closed my hand, to keep the wallet out of sight, and went into the brothel, while placing the wallet into my pocket. The weight of it felt good, substantial. Maybe the night wouldn't be a total waste after all.

Inside the building I could hear the shout.

"HEY MY WALLET IT'S GONE!"

The bouncer's gruff voice followed immediately.

"THAT'S WHAT YOU ALL SAY, GET LOST!"

I couldn't help but smirk. Poor bastard would probably think he spent all his money on one of the girls. That's why brothels were the perfect place to work—no one wanted to admit they'd been there, let alone make a fuss about missing money.

The interior of Babette's was dimly lit, red fabric hanging from the ceiling to create the illusion of separate rooms. The smell of cheap perfume mixed with sweat and something more acrid—probably chemtech—hung heavy in the air. Music played from somewhere, the kind with a beat that seemed to mimic a heartbeat, hypnotic and low.

I whistled as I moved across the building, careful to avoid the eyes of patrons and working girls and men alike. A few girls lounged on couches, laughing too loudly at the jokes of men who paid for their time. Others led customers up a narrow staircase to the rooms above. Business as usual.

I made it to a small desk at the back, partially hidden behind a beaded curtain. Behind it sat a yordle with dark red hair worn in a big bun, amber-colored eyes, and large pointed ears. She wore thick cyan eyeliner and a red dress that exposed some of her cleavage. Not sure why she did that being the owner but I'm sure she got clients too, people had some really weird tastes.

"Paul what are you doing back here?" Babette's voice was raspy, the result of years of smoking that pink tobacco she was so fond of.

"Nothing much, just came over to see how my favorite yordle was doing." I leaned against her desk, trying to look casual.

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "You're young, you shouldn't be in here."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. How about this—I'll leave if you sell me one of those aphrodisiac bottles of yours." I knew she kept a stock of them under her desk, small vials of shimmering pink liquid that sold for a fortune in certain circles.

"Why would you want that?" Her ears twitched, a tell-tale sign she was interested in making a deal.

"They sell well in the black lanes, duh." I shrugged, trying to look bored, like this was just business as usual. Truth was, I'd never sold anything in the black lanes before (at least alone), but I'd heard Jay talking about it. The profit margins were insane, if you didn't mind dealing with the worst kind of people.

"Fine." She drummed her small fingers on the desk, calculating how much she could get from me.

"How much do you want for it, Babette?" I tried to keep my voice steady, like I wasn't excited about potentially making a small fortune.

"Seven silver." Her lips curled into a smile that showed her pointed teeth.

"Damn, what a bargain," I muttered, taking out the wallet I had just stolen. I opened it, pretending to count the coins inside, but really showing off. I wanted her to see how much was in there. Wanted to impress her.

12 silver. The dude was packing. That was more than I made in my first two months begging.

"Wait," Babette said, her eyes gleaming with greed. "Give me all of them."

12 silver for one of the bottles seemed good enough, but I wouldn't make too much profit on the resale. Time to haggle, another skill I'd picked up fast.

"Sure, but put in some of that pink tobacco of yours, a few packs, that's all." I kept my tone casual, like I wasn't that interested either way.

She considered for a moment, her eyes never leaving the silver coins in my hand. "You have a deal."

We shook on it, her tiny hand engulfed in mine, and I handed her the wallet. A somewhat plump woman with an animal mask—one of the many "anonymous" workers at the brothel—soon came over, handing me the bottle and tobacco. The bottle was smaller than you'd expect, barely the size of my thumb, but filled with a liquid that made people rage like a bull down there for a few hours. The tobacco was wrapped in waxed paper, the scent of it sweet and cloying even through the packaging.

"Pleasure doing business with you," I said towards Babette before leaving her office, walking with the confident stride of someone who'd just made a killing. I put the bottle into my coat alongside the tobacco packets.

Yet just as I was about to leave, I 'accidentally' collided with a dude wearing an animal mask, my hand moved swiftly using our point of contact and up it goes. The touch was so light he wouldn't even notice, too focused on whatever pleasures awaited him inside.

"Sorry," I muttered, head down, already moving past him toward the exit.

I left the brothel without looking at my haul but when I did, I was a bit disappointed—they were just reading glasses, better than nothing but still disappointing. The frames were metal lined with what looked like gold though, slightly tarnished but still worth something to the right buyer.

"Hmm, actually I think I can sell this to Benzo's Tinkers. He offers a pretty good price for stuff like this. The bottle and tobacco I'll keep for the dark lanes." I slipped the glasses into another pocket, keeping them separate from my main haul.

The streets were getting busier as the day wore on, more people finishing their shifts in the factories above and coming down to spend what little they earned. Perfect hunting grounds for someone like me, but I had enough for one day. Better to fence what I had and get back to the hideout before dark. I was still just a kid in the end, didn't want to get ganged up by some ruffians.

Walking across the lanes it really was a bit boring, sadly I hadn't been able to find another good target on my way to Benzo's. A few potential marks crossed my path—a woman with a purse hanging too loosely from her shoulder, an old man counting coins in plain view—but I didn't go for it for one reason or another. Either way, I kept my hands to myself, focusing on the walk to Benzo's shop.

The shop was nestled between the Last Drop (yeah were I begged quiet lucky) and another pawn shop.

When I made it to the door, a small ring of a bell sounded out, announcing my arrival. The interior was cramped but organized, shelves lining the walls filled with everything from spare parts to plants, to bottles filled with animal parts, you name it. 

A small kid, whose name I had learned on one of my previous come up ins was Ekko, was tinkering on an old clock in the corner. Why I had learned his name? Well, that was simple—turns out that the Last Drop where I used to beg was the bar belonging to Vander the Hound, basically the big boss of the Lanes. Benzo was a close friend to said Vander, and Ekko was Benzo's apprentice or something like that. Aside from that, he was also friends with Vander's kids. I didn't think they were actually his kids, since they all had such different features, but that's what they were called.

Ekko didn't look up as I entered, he continued to work on his stuff, which I had no clue how it worked, but good on him for having a hobby everyone needs one of those.

I walked over to the counter where Benzo waited, his weathered face impassive as he watched me approach. He was a man on the heavier side, a rarity down here, with a balding head. His dark brown hair has a prominent widow's peak and is styled in a mutton chop. He wore a green shirt with brown sleeves, leather shoulder straps, and pads.

"What you selling?"

I opened my jacket and pulled out the reading glasses. "How much for these?"

He grabbed them and began inspecting them with practiced eyes, turning them over in his hands, testing the hinges, examining the lenses. "They look somewhat new, but the glass is plain rubbish. I'll take it from you for 1 silver and 5 bronze."

It wasn't as much as I'd hoped for, but it was fair. "Fine with me."

We performed our transaction, the coins disappearing into my pocket as I handed over the glasses. I was about to leave, already thinking about my next move—maybe I'd see if Jay was back at the hideout, or check out the black lanes to scout potential buyers for the aphrodisiac—when the bell above the door rang again.

Ding.

Four kids came in, and I immediately tensed. Not out of fear, exactly, but caution. These weren't just any kids from the lanes.

Vi, the one with short pink hair.

Behind her was Mylo, the skinny, weird-looking dude.

Then came Claggor, the giant of a kid with cool glasses perched on his forehead.

Finally was the youngest of the gang, blue haired Powder.

The kids of the Hound. People you knew not to touch if you knew what was good for you. Their adoptive father might preach peace and rules, but cross his kids and you'd find out exactly why they called him the Hound of the Underground.

"Well, bye Benzo," I said, waving my hand behind me as I made for the door, careful not to make eye contact with any of Vander's brood. I didn't want to have any relation with things that could trouble me, and according to rumors this gang was jinxed from morning to dawn.

As I slipped past them toward the exit, Vi's eyes met mine for just a second, recognition flickering in them. I'd seen her around enough that she probably knew my face, I mean begging almost a year in front of the your adoptive father's bar probably does help with that.