CHAPTER 120: LONG TIME NO SEE, ANN MURPHRAY

I thought I’ll get to slap someone around, maybe if it’s a woman, I get to touch her boobs in an alleyway for her to atone to her sins, but alas, I didn’t get so lucky.

The wrist in my hand was too thin and frail, tiny even.

When I turned, ready to sneer at some grizzled cutpurse, I was instead staring down at a boy... Eight, maybe nine at best?

His hair was matted with dust, his clothes nothing more than a bunch of cloth strips clinging together. His arms were stick-thin, bruises blooming like stains across his skin, cuts left to dry in the sun. His wide eyes blinked at me, not with guilt, but with the flat emptiness of someone who’d been caught before and learned what followed.

"What the hell is wrong with you...?" I muttered, absolutely confused.

If this was real life, it would be easy to understand, but this here was an NPC, and to be honest, I do not recognize him ever. In fact, pickpocket was never a thing in the game, that much was clear.

Darkmoon Adventure VR didn’t allow you to make children or minor-appearance character, so you couldn’t make characters this young. Which meant he wasn’t a player, he was part of the setting, the only’s problem was figuring if this was some kind of scripted event that meant something bigger or just random event that occured because Eirlys re-coded the RNG system.

Before I had time to decide whether to pity him, cut his hand, hand him over, or shove him off; the crowd decided for me.

The boy’s wrist was still in my hand when the noise exploded and people started walking up to my face with spits flying.

"Let him go!" a woman shrieked.

"He’s just a child!" another voice barked.

"Are you kidnapping him?!!"

"You outsiders have no mercy!"

"Don’t hurt him!"

"Everyone, look! She’s taking a kid!"

The words overlapped, a wave breaking over me. The noises kept coming non-stop, too many heads were turned at me, a shitloads of accusations were flying around when all I see were faces blurred together. The loudness made me grip my scythe that I had sheath on my back.

I tightened one grip on the boy, but my scythe-arm was jostled.

A shoulder slammed into me, not hard enough to injure but enough to knock my balance. Someone brushed past and I felt fingers graze against my cloak, way too close to my satchel. I spun, snarling, but the press of bodies closed in again before I could identify who.

"God damn it move away!" I yelled, "The thief’s getting away!"

A shoulder, a head, another shoulder, an arm, a leg brushing against mine. Dust filled my nose as sandals scraped against the stone underfoot.

Every time I turned, someone would shout in my ear, a hand would clamp my arm, and another’d push my shoulder.

My feet staggered were, shoved in a rhythm of the ever moving crowd, even though I was in the square now and there shouldn’t even be a crowd.

"STOP!" I shouted back, throat raw. "You think I don’t see this? You’re all in on it!"

They didn’t listen, or maybe they pretended not to as the volume of the accusations climbed, an orchestra of outrage.

Someone’s spit landed on the ground near my boots. Another elbow drove into my ribs as if by accident, but the way the man smiled told me it wasn’t.

The boy twisted in my grasp, I felt his little arm slick with sweat and sand as my fingers dug harder, refusing to let go. He kicked, squirming with the trained writhing of someone needing to make an escape.

"Stop shoving me!" I tried yelling, but the mob didn’t stop, they pressed tighter, like waves against a rock. The crowd felt like I was stuck in a small elavator that had the capacity of 14, yet somehow 15 people tried squeezing themselves inside.

My vision spun with the motion, the clamor ringing in my skull as someone yanked at my cloak and another stomped on my boot.

Before I knew it, the yelling and the mob trying to beat me down was gone, they were quiet as they walked away just like another Tuesday.

That’s when, I felt my hand was suspiciously empty.

The boy was gone. I looked to see loose sand slipping through my fist, he’d vanished in the press of bodies.

"...No!"

I spun, searching, but it was to no avail, because every child looked the same here. Dirt-streaked, hunched, half-hidden by robes, hell, probably pickpockets, too, all of their filthy asses are.

The crowd didn’t stop moving. They flowed around me, brushing my shoulders, bumping my hips, tugging at my arms. The noise stayed sharp and senseless, not quite words anymore but the din of an angry city grinding me down.

"Ah fucking ass shit fucking asshole bitch motherflipper cocksucking cunt god damn it." I yelled every word that was important in the dictionary.

I was caught in a ring of scams, and they helped the boy escape.

I should’ve just brought my scythe out and cut their motherfucking heads off!

... No, just kidding... Hah, fuck, there were a lot of guards here... And normally, they’re weak, but whenever a guard’s inside their designated town/city, they gain a buff so massive they can defeat a player four times their level. So I am most definitely NOT going to cause trouble in a city by brandishing my weapon, but still.

"God..."

By the time I clawed my way to stillness again, my chest heaved like I’d been drowning. My hand went to my belt, and as expected, it was empty.

I took a deep breath, then opened up my inventory UI to see the damage. Okay... So no items gone, that’s a good sign, what about coins?

I had 1960 gold coins last time I checked.

Now it was... 1630.

Three hundred and thirty gold coins, gone.

A big number, but at least now at level 50, I can grind that amount in maybe half a day if I’m focused and only cared about the money? But for the civilians here, that was survival money, week of food for a family of four, maybe more... Wait, why the fuck am I being sympathetic and trying to make an excuse for them? God, I sound just like a domestic abuse victim of a 1960 pants-wearing relationship.

I just stood there in the middle of the capital square, breathing hard, feeling the sting of humiliation more than the loss itself.

I wanted some place to sit, but there was only the dirty ground, and I’m not letting my ass touch there. No way, I’m filthy in real life and had put my tongue in worse places but I gotta keep my character’s clean in game.

My foot stomped against the packed dirt, a sharp thud that barely cut through the market noise. My fingers dug into my hair, tugging at the mess of it.

"I’m going to murder your family, kid." I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

The crowd’d already moved on. It was just another day for them probably, all business as usual, and if I noticed correctly, none of them were wearing any valuables on their body, the most I’ve seen was a necklace, but that one’s harder to get I’d assume.

Klakku? More like... Fucking, I don’t know, Organizedcrimeklu.

I slumped, hands on my knees as I catched my breath, trying to think about what to do next... That’s right, Bastet, was it? The restaurant... Uh, it should be fairly close to the square, if what Ann said is to be believed.

Just then, clear as day through the din, a voice called my name.

"Cory?"

Her hair, dark brown streaked with silver at the edges, spilled loose over her shoulders, catching glints of the desert sun. Her body carried a sense of "softness", triceps round, waist gentle, cheeks touched with a natural curve that made her seem almost out of place in this sharp, hungry city.

Her clothes were desert-practical. A cream-colored robe hung loosely around her form, belted at the waist with a sash of deep blue silk. A veil of thin fabric shielded her neckline from the sun, and sturdy leather boots peeked out beneath the hem. A single golden earring caught the light when she shifted her head.

Her eyes met mine.

"I’ve been waiting, Cory."

"Hi, Ann." I spoke, and the noise of the square dimmed just for a moment. "The last time we met was at your cabin, was it?"