3 Turfs

Hyacinth curled up, squishing himself in between a large pipeline and the wall, hoping that they didn't have any sol-lights on them. Within his arms was his home—all of his items from there had been stored within the "Inventory", which he kept close.

While he was a thief, he despised having his things stolen from him with what could only be described as a passion—and those things included his life.

However, as this moment he was never more grateful for the Turfs sending him to his death that one time—he couldn't afford to lose his artifacts when he was so close to finally achieving his goal and leaving this heaven forsaken sh!thole.

"Look around carefully—that little b!tch could be anywhere..."

Beneath his mop of black hair, pale eyes that seemed reminiscent of a kaleidoscope were flittering around, attempting to discern exactly where they were going to approach from; he needed to find an escape plan.

'I knew I should've checked for Lumos powder...'

As the steps grew louder with each passing second, Hyacinth curled up even further, clutching the bag tighter as he pulled his legs into his chest, in an attempt to erase his existence.

If he hadn't set up the alarm system around his hideout, then... he squeezed his eyes shut—no matter how much audacity he shoved into himself, he was still just a kid, a very, very fragile kid that could be killed by these d*mn adults at any moment.

'How did it turn out like this...'

———

[2 Hours earlier, 12:23 p.m., Ruin District (R.D.) 5]

Hyacinth was at the d*mn near top of the world, and like the child he was, he wanted to proclaim that to everyone—thing is, everyone either wanted him dead or were paid out by the Turfs, so he kept it to himself.

But that didn't stop him from doing something stupid, like actually buying a decent meal and a new jacket—cream and ratty on the outside, black and smooth on the inside. He never knew when he needed to disappear into a crowd, and something as simple as a jacket flip was always a decent way of throwing off some pursuers.

Which he was doing around this time.

"Hey, it's that fuxxing kid! Grab 'em!"

Like the good thief he was, Hyacinth immediately ran away from the Turfs after paying for the jacket, dodging hands and slipping in and out of marketplace stalls while jumping tables and pocketing goods as he went on his merry way.

Though skinny, he was limber, and not lacking in agility and flexibility in the least; between his quick wits and uncanny reflexes, he was a tricky opponent to catch... that is until a pincer tactic forced him into a dead ended alleyway.

"We got you now, you slippery fuxx. Now, hand over all the goods you ever stole, and we'll only steal your pretty, pretty eyes, okay? Not a bad deal, no?"

As his back was pressed into concrete walls of the rotting district ruins, Hyacinth felt that he would reasonably meet his end.

But not yet.

"Are you sure about that?"

"What do you—huh?!"

The exclamation came from the Turf leader when Hyacinth ran and jumped on the garbage, climbed up the pipework of the walls, scaling the ruins with shaky but sturdy foot holes found in the cracking concrete, until he flipped up onto the roof of the two story building.

With his "pretty, pretty eyes" gleaming, he smiled and quipped, "Goodbye!"

However, unbeknownst to him, when he'd been grabbed by a Turfling, he'd had Lumos powder—a tracking powder with a color that was nigh indistinguishable from his cream coat—that left a beeline straight to his hideout.

When he heard the "alarm system" —though it was really just a couple scraps of metal he'd tied to thin strings—he grabbed all that he could, shoved it in the inventory, shucked his coat on with the black side facing out, and sprinted to the nearest dark, enclosed, yet twisted and complicated building around that was close to the Inner cities gate—the old electric powerplant that had long ago been destroyed.

He used to play there when he was a kid, and knew all the small hiding spaces he could fit into without being found—he had too, or else the marketplace stall owners, the mothers of the district children, and the Turfs would've killed him a while back.

But, as he ran through the twisted and contorted power plant, finding the most complicated structure to hide in, he did not dwell on those memories.

He just hid, like he always had; hid, and squeezed himself close, desperate to survive another day.

———

"Hey, did you hear that?"

Hyacinth froze, his hand coming to cover his own mouth in an attempt to dampen his breathing.

"No, hear what?"

"I thought I heard breathing..."

"Sure it's not just you? You're were panting like a hog not too long ago from all the chasing you were doing—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever! Maybe you're right, but I don't think checking around here would be bad, right? I mean, this little b*st*rd's gotten the slip on us multiple times due to how small he is, no?"

"True... but, this place is really, really tight—I can hardly walk around here..."

"I guess that's true... but let's just light it up, just in case."

Hyacinth's heart started to pound, his hands shaking... was his luck finally going to run out, on today of all days...?