The town of Desham was not particularly famous nor prosperous. Named for a particular herb that grew in the region, there was nothing else of note to the town, save for the large rolling fields that cultivated the same herb as a cash crop as promoted by the local council.
Due to that, despite having more than enough land to be self-sustaining or even export-focused in food, they had to import nearly a third of their required food from elsewhere as part of a specialisation program fostered by the government.
However, thanks to the looming war, more and more food supplies were being delayed, resulting in rationing being enforced in the town. The shuttered restaurants and bakeries immediately led to unemployment, with homeless beggars unable to pay rent filling the streets while haughty local soldiers scoffed at them.
Dozens of jobseekers queued up in front of employment offices, hoping to get a job in one of the herb farms, but there were only so many farmers needed on a farm with a four-month cycle harvest. Many of them remained desperate, with a good chunk turning to leave for Tenar to join the military.
Those who remained were the crippled, disabled or elderly who did not have the means to seek better opportunities, begging with makeshift wooden bowls stained with grime as they huddled under the shoddy clothes marked by age.
Looming over all the poverty and suffering was a posh luxurious building, which was one of the few restaurants that could still operate without ration limits. The well-to-do of the town could still eat as much as they wanted, and the homeless knew it well.
Just as a family with two kids tried to enter the establishment, they were stopped by a burly outstretched hand blocking their path right at the doorway.
“Could you please spare some change for me? I haven’t eaten in four days…” The hooded homeless man pleaded.
The father looked warily at the man, noticing his slightly large stature while trying to weasel his way out of having to donate. “Sorry, I didn’t bring my wallet.”
“Then is your wife going to pay for the restaurant? As far as I know, the restaurant doesn’t work on a tab.”
The father flinched slightly before finally relenting and giving the homeless man a few Versian coins, grumbling to himself as he entered.
Their daughter walked up to the homeless man, handing him a small doll. “I don’t have any coin yet, but maybe this would help.”
The homeless man smiled under the hood, shaking his hand and shooing the girl away. “No, that is far too precious. Keep it.”
“Marianne, come here right this instant! Don’t talk to him!” The mother dragged her daughter away into the restaurant.
Checking the number of coins he had been handed, the homeless man had a small smirk, hefting them in his palms before putting them away in his pockets, his eyes already locked like a predator onto the next family who was approaching. The prey was startled, their eyes darting around to try to find an alternate route into the restaurant.
Before the homeless man could move, an employee of the restaurant came out, blocking his view. “Mister, you’re going to have to leave before I call the enforcers on you.”
“You don’t have the right to. I’m sitting in a public space. Are Versian citizens not allowed to sit on the sidewalks any longer?”
“You are obstructing our business with malicious intentions.”
“How is begging malicious?”
“You are making our customers uncomfortable! Leave now, or-“
“Or what? You can’t do anything to me. Get the boss out here or scram and let me live in peace.”
The employee was fuming, instead blocking the homeless man from accosting the next family who tried to enter. The homeless man hardly made a move, simply sitting still while the employee continued to stand between him and anyone who entered the establishment.
“Fine, you leave me no choice.” The employee stormed off back into the establishment.
“Remember to wag your tail when you call for the boss.”
Soon enough, three employees and the owner returned outside, surrounding the homeless man.
“Useless piece of trash – all you do is beg, eat rations and provide nothing of value!” The owner spat on the ground next to the homeless man. “Even the workers on the farm do more for the economy than you! Now get off this sidewalk before I have you beaten up.”
“Try me.”
The owner’s eyebrow twitched. “Fine. Get him!”
Just as the two employees bent over to grapple the homeless man, the man himself gripped the two nearest ankles tightly, his burly hands nearly crushing their tendons as they screamed in pain and toppled to the ground.
“Shit!” The last employee delivered a kick to the homeless man. Still, it was immediately dodged, with the homeless man rolled to the side and recovered into a standing posture before tackling him and slamming him into the doorway.
The last employee gagged as his guts suffered the brunt of the impact against the wall while his head was grabbed and smashed against the pillar, the blood trickling down the grainy surface and staining the opulent décor.
The homeless man looked around, noticing the boss had already run inside. With a sigh, he walked briskly into the restaurant, coming face to face with another two employees who had witnessed the fight outside, trembling as they readied their makeshift weapons of butter knives.
“Don’t you dare come in any closer! I won’t hesitate to use this kniv-GUH!” The closest employee had their wrist grabbed and twisted into a mess of fractured bones and flesh, causing a piercing scream to leave his mouth and frighten the rest of the customers who were eating in the restaurant.
“Calm down, people. I just need a word with the boss.” The homeless man spoke as he sidestepped a knife stab from the remaining employee, the employee clearly being untrained with the knife. The homeless man grabbed the outstretched arm before delivering a brutal knee to the chest of the employee and tossing him to the floor, his eyes now hunting for the owner.
At the far end of the restaurant, he could see the owner scrambling into the kitchen with clear fright on his face. The owner flailed frantically as he entered the cooking area, his sweaty palms grabbing onto the nearest chef. “Stop that man! Stop him now!”
“Wha…?” The chefs were all stunned.
“You have knives, don’t you? Use them! Use everything to stop him, or you’ll lose your job!”
“Don’t bother.” The homeless man was already behind the owner, his arms reaching out and grabbing the owner into a chokehold. “Now I have something of value – your life. Perhaps we should have a trade.”
“Urggh…gah… what do you want?!”
“What else? Bring out all the Versian coins you have.”
The familiar crackle of an arctech radio could be heard from the dining area, with a few customers already dialling the local enforcers and soldiers to come.
The owner, too, heard it, grinning even as his face bulged red. “Hah, fu-fuck you! You’re going into the slammer for-“ He never finished his words, his neck twisted with a simple crack by the homeless man before his body slumped onto the oily floor of the kitchen, the chefs panicking and backing away from the homeless man.
“Now, I am on a tight schedule. Does anyone want to tell me where the money is held? Or do I have to ‘provide value’ again?”
“The office, the office! Through that door!”
The homeless man followed the directions, carefully opening the door to make sure it was not a trap. Sure enough, it was the administrative office of the owner. The opulent décor and tainted glass windows that flanked the main office desk would have made for a nice relaxing scene if it was not for a secretary within who held a handgun aimed right at the homeless man.
Instead of being frightened, the homeless man simply held his hands up, walking slowly.
“Don’t come any closer! Or I’ll shoot!”
“Sure. You can try.” The homeless man grinned as he approached the main desk where the secretary was standing behind.
“I’m serious!”
“I know.”
“One more step and – “ The secretary’s finger squeezed, a loud bang erupting. Instead of the homeless man collapsing, a point defence armour flared into life, firing a green projectile through his cloak at the incoming bullet.
The secretary slumped to the floor, the unoptimised handgun taking out most of the arcia energy and causing her to suffer from arcia exhaustion. The homeless man did not bother with her just yet, ransacking the entire place and turning every piece of furniture over before finally finding a safe in the wall.
He turned back to the secretary, lifting her up and dragging her by the head over to the safe. “Combination.”
“The owner will kill me!”
“He’s already dead. And so will you be if you don’t tell me!”
The secretary quickly complied, allowing the homeless man to get the safe opened, revealing an entire stash of Versian coins, enough to buy over an entire building if necessary. He quickly pulled out a sack, shovelling them by the hundreds into it before strapping it within his armour plate. The weight of the coins significantly burdened him, but it made him happier than ever.
“Here. For your troubles.” A few coins smacked the secretary right in the face before the homeless man began to make his exit. As he reached the kitchen, where the chefs were still cowering under the tables, he soon noticed that the dining area was already cleared out of customers, with five fully armed soldiers with repeaters aiming at him.
[Stand down immediately and release the hostages!] A soldier barked through a loudspeaker.
“Plan B.” The homeless man ran back into the office, stepping over the fallen secretary and jumping through the tainted glass windows, smashing through.
Unexpectedly, there were already two soldiers outside waiting for him. “There he is! This is your final warning to stand down!”
The homeless man rolled onto the pavement before sprinting right at one of the soldiers, tossing a Versian coin at high speeds that hit the soldier right in the brow, knocking him over before the homeless man dealt a fearsome punch to the exposed chin.
“Chase him!”
A mad chase between the myriad of alleyways and hidden streets began, with the homeless man continuously having to avoid arctech wagons and soldiers who attempted to encircle him into a single urban block. The homeless man ran past a group of squatters, tossing them a few Versian coins. “Help me block them!”
The soldiers were immediately harassed by the squatters, who used their bodies and makeshift tents to block and restrict their path, buying time for the homeless man.
After a harrowing hour, he soon reached the walls of the town, running straight towards what seemed like an outhouse that was nestled in a haphazard maze of other slum houses and buildings.
Hiding in there, his breath ragged from the chase and condensing on the wooden door, he watched as the soldiers desperately tried to find him to no avail. Eventually, he could hear an officer approach, talking with the soldiers.
“What did he look like?”
“I don’t know; I missed his face. He is definitely Versian. Big guy, for sure.”
“Big Versian guy? Do you know how much that narrows it down?! He probably is either hiding here, or he has already left town. Lock down the town until we catch him!”
“But sir, locking the town when there is already rationing going on will cause the people to-“
“Are you questioning my orders, recruit? Want to lose your job?”
“… no sir.”
“Good. Now get to it!”
Over time, the number of soldiers in the vicinity began to plummet as their search was inconclusive. The homeless man grinned to himself, knowing he had made it out easy. Now all I need to do is to buy passage out of the town, and I can start a new life over!
However, the moment he opened the door of the outhouse and took one step outside, he suddenly flinched and threw a punch towards his left, where a man had appeared out of nowhere. “What the, who the fuck are you!” The homeless man yelled out in shock, backpedalling out into the open street.
“Hello, Makoa. You haven’t forgotten your master, have you?”
Comments