Mark leisurely knelt and dug his hands into the body with utter avarice. His eyes shined with anticipation as he looked for every object of material value in the unconscious body.
There was the well-hidden wallet, a few other useless things, and then a surprise.
He felt the cold, smooth luster of metal.
Hastily grabbing at the object, he pulled it out without hesitation.
A delicate rattle resounded through the suppressed sounds of searching hands.
Looney B turned his head.
"What's that?"
Mark was asking himself just that.
"Who knows."
He fumbled around with it. The permeating darkness didn't provide any help in identifying whatever it was.
After a few seconds, Mark felt his finger fall into a small gap when a click sounded from the metal object.
A lid opened to reveal an intricate, delicate, professionally made design with what looked to be some needles revolving around the center.
'A pocket watch?'
It seemed to be, as faint ticks could be heard from the device, as delicate as a whispering wind.
His fingers felt around the ridges of the elaborate watch, where grooves were noted with a masterful hand. The immaculate design was stunning, and Mark could barely make out any of it. Just thinking of what it would look like under light was tantalizing his mind.
Smiling, he continued his search and came across another metallic sensation.
He pulled out a small circular object.
Mark rubbed his fingers around it and frowned.
What else could it be but a punctured coin?
With his spirits ruined, he threw the coin behind his back and continued to search the unconscious Spheks member.
There was nothing else that caught his eye, so after a few moments of futile rummaging through the man, he gave up and stood.
"Anything interesting?"
Loony A smiled.
"This guy was stacked! I'll be set for the next month with the money I just got."
Loony B laughed and patted his comrade on the back.
"Not before you gamble it all away to me. My man had nothing much, what about you?"
Loony C shrugged.
"He was as broke as a drunkard could be. I was more surprised about how little he had in the first place. Either way, Mark has some explaining to do."
They all turned to the young man, whose pale black eyes trembled in glee.
He dragged the metallic trophy from his pocket and held it high, its rattling resounding like a victory cry through the silent night.
"I hit the goddamned jackpot!"
Jealous groans followed his boast, but Mark took them all as cheers.
In this world where almost everyone had nearly nothing, envy replaced praise, as success became increasingly unaffordable.
Mark looked at each of their faces, all having some degree of suppressed desire, and stopped at Loony C.
"You... your face looks like a grape."
The other Loonies looked at him, and seeing his purple-swollen face, they broke into laughter.
"That's what you get for wanting to finish the fight by yourself!"
Loony C reddened, his head struggling to decide whether it would be red or purple, and instead becoming an unsettling mixture of both.
They all patted him on the back.
"Don't worry, just think of them as... trophies! You can show those ugly things off to the factory owner tomorrow- though it would probably be better if you don't."
Loony C tried to speak but only mumbling noises came from his swollen mouth.
He balled his fists then went to his unconscious opponent and kicked him until his anger faded, and spat once finished.
Mark watched the drunk take out his anger and pondered.
Usually, he would have avoided such fights, but this one encounter brought him more profits than that miserly factory owner would ever pay him. But this way of living wasn't exactly pleasing either.
Sure, it was safer to fight in groups, and he didn't have much of a choice either way. Yet, the small chance of running into a larger crowd, or even a more equipped crowd, shook him to the core.
The business was lucrative enough, but all it takes is one small mistake, and then he dies.
'Hopefully things will turn for the better. Though, I don't see that happening any time soon.'
Propaganda was as believable as a drunken, drugged up prophet. So he wouldn't know how the war is going with the repeated ramble of the overemphasized paper headlines.
"Hey! What are you guys doing over there!?"
In the black distance, Mark heard a familiar, hardened voice call out with an ireful undertone.
But it didn't matter, he was with the dependent loonies, there wasn't much that could stop them now.
The loonies each stood up and brazenly awaited the oncoming visitor.
And then the footsteps arrived, just before the lone streetlight in the distance.
There were... a lot of footsteps.
A small crowd trailed behind the voice.
Then they stepped into the light.
Mark's eyes widened.
'Anton!'
The loonies had no change in demeanor. If anything, they became even more arrogant after seeing the faces of the approaching people.
But Mark saw the national colors under their coats, and it shook him to the core.
He stretched his mind and watched as the loonies' smirks turned into frowns.
Wasting no time, he whispered audibly enough for them to hear.
"We got to get the hell out of here. Those are army guys!"
Stretching his mind once more, their faces turned terrified. They heeded his words without a second thought.
'At least it got through to their drunken minds.'
Before the military, all else had no might.
They ran for a while and made sure not to stop before fully leaving the eastern district.
Only when their feet landed on Hound territory did they allow themselves to walk once more.
Mark sighed while the loonies caught their breath.
"Thanks for saving us there. We almost fell into a hell of a pain."
He smiled.
"No problem."
After they each expressed their gratitude, Mark left, having decided that he had done enough for the day.
He completed his job, reaped a plethora of profits, and made himself known among his peers.