"Scram!" I shouted at the little kid who was trying to pick the pocket of my backpack.
"Rest of 'em are too smart to try to pickpocket a Rogue like ya," the brat sneered as he backed away. I could've sworn he was trying to salute me. I just rolled my eyes, shook my head and tried my best to forget him. I was already late to meet my fence by now, and the junkie's den I was squatting in wasn't getting any cleaner. I went back to scrubbing the mildew from the walls.
Ten minutes later I was walking in the direction I was supposed to. All the other junkies and hookers were doing the same thing as me, just trying to find the cheapest place to buy a vial of blood. For some of them, it may just be the cheapest place. For those that can afford it, for some shady doctor, there's always a reason.
The fence lived in a big, rundown apartment building. I was given directions by the scum of the place to meet him in his office. I rushed off, without even checking if anyone was following me. It was the first time I had heard about the place, so I wasn't sure how to find it.
It took me almost two hours, but I found the place. It was just another seedy apartment building in an area full of them. I found the apartment, and breathed a sigh of relief; no one was following me. I nervously lifted my hand up to the door, ready to knock.
"Knock knock. Who's there? The smelly barbarian who is going to break in through the wall. Knees there son, I'll be with you in a moment." The voice sounded like it was coming from the other side of the wall. Well, it's as good a reason as any. I don't need to know what's behind it, and I didn't.
When I opened the door the wall was covered with monitors, most of them were blinking. There was a large desk in the corner, and all that was on top of it was a plate of chips and a bowl of nachos. It was all that I could smell as well. I had heard of the old farts who lived in old buildings, complaining about the stench. Everyone said they had the crazy and wild stories, but the truth is the old ones were just as crazy.
I could see a man in the corner, slumped down in his chair, asleep. His head was tilted back, but he was snoring away. I stepped closer, tapping him on the shoulder. The old man slowly looked up at me, and then he squinted at the screens.
"Did I say you could come in?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"You didn't. I was just here to give you something."
"Oh, good news? Well then that would be a nice change of pace for today.
"Ah, finally, my favorite barbarian," the old man said. My jaw dropped in amazement, not at what he said, but at his age. He was wearing a dirty pair of khakis, and an even dirtier button-up plaid shirt, with the sleeves rolled up at least ten times. He also didn't have any hair. It was his voice that gave away his age, it sounded like a man who had heard too many stories and seen too many adventures. But I knew better, I lived in the same seedy place he did.
"Ken, right? You said over the phone you were interested in a backpack. Well, it's here, take a good look." He slid a backpack over the desk.
