“And don’t fuckin’ come back, ya poor bastard!” The words - bellowed by a portly-looking woman, dressed in the long, flowing black dress of a retired courtesan - were emphasised by the actions of two large, bull-like men under her employ; who proceeded to heave the man whom she had unceremoniously addressed from the top step of one of the side-entrances of a brothel onto the pavement of the alleyway outside it - facefirst. 

Aaron hit the ground hard, a somewhat muffled grunt leaving his lips as his body collided with the cold, hard pavement - facial features protected only by his hands, the palms of which were torn and bloodied as they slid along the wet bricks of the narrow alleyway. Despite his ungraceful exit from the interior of one of the most expensive brothels in Kingstone, Aaron was quick to get to his feet - flipping his middle finger up at the portly matron and her bouncers as they disappeared back inside the building; the sturdy metal door slammed shut and locked with a definite air of finality. 

Bleary-eyed, the man looked around his surroundings with some confusion. Aaron had been on a drinking bender for days, and it took him a moment to collect his thoughts enough so that he could figure out just [i]where[/i] he was. “Fuckin’ hell,” He muttered to himself, in the thick accent of someone who’d grown up in some of the more lower-class areas of Kingstone - running a hand through his messy blonde hair. 

Turning on his heel, the half-drunk man made his way up the deserted alleyway towards The Promenade - brushing off his bloodied palms on his baggy brown leggings. Aaron was dressed in clothes that would [i]originally[/i] have looked smart: a well-fitting button-up white shirt with the flowing, frilly sleeves that were fashionable at the time (untucked and crumpled), a grey-and-navy jacket which had been hastily pulled on in his forced exodus from the brothel, a pair of brown leggings that were stained with a weeks’ worth of food, alcohol, vomit and bloodstains - and a pair of knee-high boots, relatively expensive, crafted from soft brown leather to make them more comfortable. 

The tired, confused and grumbling Aaron eventually made his way to the main street of the Croome District - which was already packed with Kingstone’s citizens making their way to work, dodging the actors trying to promote their company’s performances which would be taking place that evening. Any of the actors that might have approached Aaron were put off just by the look of him - his blonde hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, there was a weeks’ worth of stubble on his cheeks, his clothes were stained and messy, his eyes were bloodshot [i]and[/i] the handle of a pistol could be seen sticking out of the back of his leggings; which would normally have been concealed by his tucked-in shirt. 

After about forty-five minutes of meandering around the city, Aaron eventually got back on track - finding himself walking down a street packed with miserable-looking workers who were heading towards the Industrial Centre of the city. He pushed his way past them, heading towards their source - the Old Commons, where he’d been forced to stay when he’d begun to run short on funds; about a month and a half ago. 

The commission he’d received from the ships he’d helped to capture during his last sea voyage would have been more than enough money to last him for a few years, if he’d spent it wisely. But, unfortunately, ‘wise’ was not a word often used to describe Aaron’s behaviour. He was an alcoholic, an occasional heroin abuser, a frequent visitor of brothels - and, worst of all, he was a gambler. He’d pissed away almost half his savings during his first fortnight back in the Union - all in fucking [i]card games[/i] which - he told himself, frequently - had definately been rigged. 

He received a base wage for the time he’d spent in the Navy, but as he was no longer in active service it was hardly enough to live off - and Aaron didn’t want to get by. He wanted to [i]live[/i]. So, once he’d begun renting his room in one of the Old Commons’ cheaper taverns (a shithole, in other words) he’d began to advertise himself for work - and, quickly, he was approached to take on a job for a Criminal Syndicate operating out of the area. Once he proved himself competent by completing the job, he was quickly approached by many more men - and more frequently. A freelancing bruiser of sorts, Aaron made a fair wage - and could have got of the Commons (or, at least, into a nicer room) by now; if he hadn’t been pissing his money away every few weeks by going on drinking and gambling benders that lasted for days at a time. 

As he approached the entrance into the Old Commons - which was heavily guarded by grim-faced Watchmen, more to search the men coming [i]out[/i] of the District rather than those going [i]in[/i] to it - Aaron took a moment to make himself look a bit more presentable; after all, he didn’t want to give the Watchmen an excuse to arrest him. Once he’d tucked his shirt back in and got rid of the worst of the stains on his shirt and leggings, Aaron made his way into the Commons - tugging a previously-rolled cigarette out of his jacket pocket, lightning it with a match he struck upon the bottom of his boot. 

Puffing at the smouldering papers, Aaron discarded the burnt-out match down onto the poorly-paved surface of the Commons’ first road; exhaling a cloud of blue-grey smoke through his nostrils. Wandering through the tightly-packed, smelly district, Aaron knew he was being watched - but by whom, he didn’t know; he just [i]felt[/i] it. 

The Commons was loud by nature - drunks roaring their heads off despite the early hour, the general din of marketplaces as Aaron passed them by, shopkeepers hawking the few wares that they had, and the sound of the distilleries and factories located nearby, situated in the district because of the cheap price of the Real Estate. Despite these noises, however, Aaron was careful to listen closely - for any tell-tale sound that a move was being made against him. 

He turned a corner, making his way somewhat more briskly than he had been before down a narrow alleyway. Almost as soon as he’d started down the narrow street, Aaron knew he’d made a mistake - the hairs on the back of his neck were on end, and he felt uneasy. After a few moments, he glanced back over his shoulder - and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach at the sight of two grim-faced men following behind him. Looking forwards again, Aaron saw three more approaching him from the other end of the alleyway - and there was no other way out. Nowhere to run. 

Aaron stopped in his tracks, holding up both hands by his shoulders - an appealing expression painted on his facial features. “Now, boys - I’m sure, whatever you want, there’s another way to get it, eh? Why don’t we try an’ talk things out?” One of the two men who had been approaching Aaron from behind grinned - showing a mouthful of cracked, unhealthy teeth; but otherwise, not a word was said by any of the thugs. “Guess that’s a no, eh?” Aaron mused, a small smile on his lips despite the seriousness of the situation; typical Aaron, to make a joke of being in danger. 

The men were quickly closing in on him, confident of their chances because of their superior numbers. And Aaron, despite himself, found himself placing his bets on them - after all, there [i]was[/i] five of them. Wiggling his fingers, Aaron cast a glance at both groups of men - who had stopped on either side of him, about five paces away each, holding a variety of weapons. One man, who was built like an ox, wore a matching pair of knuckledusters on each hand. 

“Knuckle dusters, huh? I ain’ seen them in ag--” Aaron, who’d begun speaking in a conversational tone to catch the men offguard, immediately broke off - pulling his pistol from its position in the back of his pants, thumbing back the hammer, and taking aim at his target in one smooth motion; and it only took him a few seconds. Immediately afterwards, he squeezed down on the trigger - the acrid smell of gunpowder filling the air, along with an unmistakable [i]bang[/i] that was yet another of the unsavoury but regular sounds associated with the Commons. The heavyset man with the knuckledusters fell back, a hole in his chest and gurgling blood, as his companions stared at Aaron with open mouths for a half-second - before charging for him with a unanimous roar. 

[i]Well, shit,[/i] Aaron thought to himself, sidestepping one of the men’s clumsy lunges with a dagger - shoving his pistol back into its place in the waistband of his leggings, and cracking the would-be murderer in the jaw with a strong right hook before dancing back a few paces. Now that both men who had been tailing him from the back were dead, Aaron only had to focus forwards; as the alleyway was narrow, about one-and-a-half men across, and he had no danger of being flanked. 

He pulled his own dagger out of the top of his boot by the hilt, narrowly avoiding a slash at his neck - which, instead, was taken upon his cheek; cutting it open, warm blood trickling down his face and off his chin. “Cheeky bastard,” Aaron growled from between gritted teeth, lunging upwards to bury his dagger in the thug’s underarm; twisting it upwards, signing the fellows death warrant as he quickly danced back again, bringing his weapon with him. 

Now, there was only two men left - and they looked slightly uneasy, eyeing the man holding the bloody dagger. “Aw, scared now, are we?” Aaron inquired, grinning - gesturing to the fallen corpses of the thugs’ companions. “Smart men, you are. Can’t say the same about your fr-,” He broke off, interrupted by the angry bullrush of one of his remaining assailants. The charge was easily dodged, and Aaron slashed the man’s neck open as he charged past; the razor-sharp edge of his dagger gleaming red as a beam of sunlight flashed upon it. 

Apparently learning from his fallen friends’ mistakes, the last thug tried to make a run for it - but Aaron didn’t bother to chase after him. Whoever it was that had wanted him dead would have a hard time hiring more men as soon as word of the fate of the survivors’ companions got around. Sighing, Aaron turned back to the four corpses (or soon to be corpses), and set to the task of looting their corpses for anything of value.