3: Plundering, the Joy of Life
One hour passed. During this time, Jackson was successfully able to traverse the place and avoid the Eldritch horrors, more known here as "ladies"
Ugh! He inadvertently shook his head in disgust by the thought.
He didn't want to remember the nightmare fuel. What mattered more now was, as always, money.
Jackson's mind drifted towards other things. He at least had some plans maliciously schemed in the past hour while walking through the place.
Following ahead, Jackson was in front of the stairs where he came from. The outside seemed calm, but there should be a reason no one ever stood there at night.
And I don't want to discover.
Opening the "roof" access door, a gust brought the smell he so craved for while inside. Green plains of short grass, the sun hovering on the horizon. Morning, it seemed — lazy threads of clouds hovered within the waking day. That was going to change quickly.
Jackson was still not trusting the beauty of these lands. He sat, gazing at the sun's direction for roughly ten minutes.
Just in front of his eyes, it quickly rose. If he had to guess, the hour now was 7 AM, which meant the day cycle passed at least ten times faster than the normal. All that meant, two daily hours to stay outside. No place to harvest anything in at least some kilometers. He was not frightened; Jackson liked to act quickly.
I will have to go all out, then.
He sprinted, a straight line towards the highest plain. The perfect moment was now, and he had only one hour. If everything that he heard from the people inside were true, just as a game, there would be loot waiting for him in these plains.
And that meant money. Or karats.
Jackson's expression blossomed into a smile with the thought.
. . .
Damn this hunger!
Jackson grunted — miserable coughs leaving his body while he puffed the fresh air. Not only did his hunger bar decrease during this time, his health bar also did. Flickering, a faint warning noise echoed in his head, the blood bag now half-filled.
. . .
Forty two minutes. Jackson kept counting the remaining time on his head.
His calves burned with each step, and his vision turned foggy suddenly. The System was not joking about his health.
Regardless of all that, Jackson found himself roughly two kilometers and a half away from the building, the access door now nothing but a little dot on his damaged view. Not good, but he had to keep walking. Painfully.
After five minutes — the prize came.
A building on the corner of his view. Jackson rubbed his eyes, it could simply be a mirage given his condition. Yet, it was there.
No, let's keep the cold feet. Jackson wanted to scream "dibs" with all his pulmonary capacity and straightaway roll towards there, but refrained from doing so. Hardly, though.
Sliding down the hill, and walking through another one, there he was.
Sweet…
In front of a church, Jackson could not help but bitterly remember his atrocities in life.
Specifically…
Jackson's mind flooded with memories. A skinny, diseased man held his plastic bag filled with junk. His teary eyes mourned over his own condition; trembling hands hinting the cold of that night. He was in front of a church. With the same hands he collected junk to sell, now they crossed to pray. He didn't recall well what the poor homeless man was muttering, but Jackson was sure there was something to do with begging for a miracle. Picking the only bill he had from his pocket, the man was ready to donate it entirely to the church, a box outside specifically made for helping sick children. A truly glorious, honorable action.
before Jackson snatched the free-dollar from his hand.
Good old days…
A bitter smile washed over Jackson's face. At least he had the shame to recognize that was a fruitless snatch. The beggar had only one bill.
No! Focus. You're better than that. Aim higher, Jackson!
Thirty minutes.
He was inside the church. Hasty steps echoed through the halls, Jackson's stomach rumbling even higher. Searching in every corner — even looking at the roof, he found nothing but air. Six minutes passed by since he entered it, roughly guessing — Jackson already looked through half of the church. Not that it was small, but the time kept ticking by.
Turning again, Jackson found himself in a dark corner near the bathrooms, not a single window on the place. But there it was.
Gotcha!
He pulled the drawer of an old wooden table. Inside, a plastic medic bottle, multiple colored pills inside. Jackson, in no time, exercised the skills of his craft. Plundering.
Hoarding the objects inside, he also found other things on the drawer, including a syringe and an empty water bottle. Ready to harvest the next one, Jackson instinctively tried to put the items in his pockets, only to remember it may not fit.
" . . .''
He stared dumbfolded at the palm of his hand, the prize no longer but a distant memory that Jackson was unsure of its credibility.
Before he could have a mental breakdown, Jackson checked again the corner of his view. The system had to do something with this. He could not bear the thought of someone else being able to steal the genius pickpocketer of Jacksonville.
Gladly, he found it back. Looking at the left lower corner, a grid started to appear in his view. Just like a screen, it showed perfectly what could be guessed as an inventory. 6x6, the two bottles filled two of the thirty-six slots available there. His heart pounced with excitement. That was the wet dream of any purse-snatcher, and Jackson just wondered…
What more is the system capable of?
[Hydration decreased.]
". . ."
. . .
Twenty one minutes.
Jackson felt realized. Eight items gathered in his inventory, along one of these gems he just found. Analysing the precious stone on his palm, Jackson gave a final kiss to his growing hoard and tossed it inside his pockets.
[+1.61 Carats]
He checked his inventory, noticing it didn't get transferred there but remained in reality.
Twenty minutes.
Jackson didn't waste time. On the entrance of the church, the wooden doors creaked as he struggled to open and leave.
Sweet sweet money, here I come! Just in time to go back. — Jackson was already dreaming with the loads and loads of Carats he'd gladly swim inside a bathtub, plenty of food and water reserved only for him and no one else. Far fetched? Maybe.
Except… that quickly turned into a distant dream. The sun cast long shadows across the plains. Not around 6 PM as expected, Jackson's frightened mind tried to understand what was happening, night almost claiming the lands.
Of course, you dumbass! You can't understand this shit hole you got thrown into, why did I even trust my brain?!
The sun continued to sink, its speed increasing considerably while the moon came from the other way. Jackson stood there for brief moments before snapping back.
A heavy thump echoed, his steps quick and sloppy while breaking through the door and running through the halls. Jackson stood looting this place for roughly an hour, he knew some good spots where loot — and luckily a human like him could fit into.
Following ahead ten meters, turning to the right, right, left, a double door. Jackson entered a big saloon, just before turning again to its corner. There, laid a confessional booth, its grid broken and replaced with loose wooden boards, giving total darkness to anything inside.
I think it's the only thing here, so…
Without delay, Jackson enters. In a second, darkness fills the booth, the saloon and church.
Jackson's heart pumps in a frenzy, hot sweat running down his cheeks before he notices the smell inside was getting bad. Taking a look into his status, his expression turns grimmer. Low on food, water, and his health was on the verge of collapsing.
Calm down, Jack, calm down a bit… — Jackson tried to look into his own inventory. Sadly, not a single piece of food. Thanks God, he found Intravenous Fluids there, a bag connected to a needle filled with it. Not the optimal, but what he had.
Ahhh…I hate needles…
Jackson held the needle close to his arm, particularly frightened and trembling. Guessing where a blood vein might be was hard, so he groped his own pulse to find them.
Huh?
A booming clash echoes through the church, steel brushing against the floor, chain noises following behind. Jackson's breath spiked. Trying to calm down, he slowly injected the fluid, steadily pumping the bag.
Taking fewer gasps for air, Jackson tried to remain still. The noises continued, multiple of them. Not long after, Jackson could hear foreign breaths close. So close, a smell turned noticeable. Something was rotten outside there, and it didn't smell any good. Sweat and shit ran through Jackson's body as a hand groped the creaking wooden booth, long claws passing over its surface while clicking their nails, before returning and starting this process all over again.
Time passed like this. Jackson tried to count, but found himself incredibly tense to do so. As the intravenous blood pumped in this meanwhile, his hydration and blood increased by one. Not long after the fluid ended, sunlight appeared faintly through the holes spread around the roof. The noises diminished, before vanishing into the morning. He was not sure if even a minute had passed, but for him it didn't matter.
I'm. Never. Doing. This. Again.
Jackson hatefully craved the mantra down on his arm with the needle. Before he learned that needles were not the wisest option to make a new tattoo, the item was already broken. That was an empty promise, after all. Greed always took over those like him.
After hateful seconds of curses towards himself, the door of the booth opened — sweat, blood and regret covering Jackson's body. Not caring about what happened just now, Jackson simply carried his ass back...