A man sat in a certain room of a certain hotel in the Center District of Aloiss. In his hands were a smartphone and a notebook, sitting on the pair of football shorts the man was wearing. The television made noise in the background without anyone watching. The man simply sat on the bench without moving a muscle. The screen of the phone was as lively as a page of the notebook.
Came the sound of a door opening. The man turned his head toward the door, seeing who just walked in. It was someone in a grey trench coat, a grey flat cap, and a grey mask. A set that would scream 'suspicious', really. The man rolled his eyes at the sight.
"And there he was. I'd recognise that trench coat everywhere. Grey, tattered, filthy like it was last washed one century ago. It's hard to miss the thick wad of cash spilling off his pockets. Clearly tonight had been yet another successful one."
"Still narrating your life story? And I just washed this trench coat two weeks ago."
"Yeah, and the bloodstain from yesterday is completely not unnoticeable. Change that trench coat of yours, Trench Coat."
The man threw the smartphone across the room, promptly caught by the one called Trench Coat. The sound of a phone booting up appeared. With gloved hands, Trench Coat handled the smartphone as if it was a bomb. The same did not apply to the original occupant of the room who hurled the notebook moments after he threw the smartphone. He missed, however, and the notebook smacked right into the door. This resulted in a raised eyebrow from the information broker.
The man simply snorted. He headed to the bedroom, stomping his way there.
The television was the only source of sound in the room for a while with the man gone and the guest in trench coat simply browsing through the phone's gallery. Blurred and strange, cartoon-y pictures filled the whole gallery in hundreds. A single one, however, stood out from the rest.
It was a picture of the inside of an old building. The paint was scraped off the walls at some point while others barely stuck there. Far in the distant out of the door was a blurry neon sign and what looked to be a rundown shack.
"The Warehouse, Slum, and Red District Area, huh," muttered the mysterious man.
By the time the man returned from his bedroom, there was no sign of the man in the trench coat. The only sign of his presence there was the phone on the floor and $100 bills scattered on the coffee table.
The Warehouse Area
It was rarely quiet among the rows of old buildings and dusty passages of Warehouse Area. The day was filled with crates loaded and unloaded off warehouses while the night was ruled by lurking criminals and creatures of the night. Today was no exception.
Many things happened in the Warehouse Area during the night.
The Red Light District
The Red Light District was not a kind area to stray into if you were alone or had no clue what you were running into. The dregs of society often spilt into this area from the Slum nearby. Though thieves and pickpockets were rampant, there was huge ruckus around to be seen. The presence of men dressed in dark red jackets was to thanks for the slight order in chaos.
Men from the Doll House wouldn't take kindly to any troubles running in their territory.
Though the Red Light District was bad, the Slum was not safe either. Mugging and assaults occurred with higher frequency here, with some cases of women dragged into an alley and never to be seen again. At times, you could see a group of burly men breaking into a shack or flat to do gods-know-what. Nowhere was safe in the Slum, not even the mountain of trash around who would kill anyone unlucky enough with dysentery.
No one would stay in the Slum if they could.