Bandit

"This place is in a much worse state than when I was last here." Harambe wore a scrutinizing expression as he walked the street without much care on what could happen to him. However, he only dared swagger here in Nowhere because of the alteration of his features. 

He won't survive a few minutes here if he flaunted Harambe's impeccable face. So he went for a worse, skin disease laden version of his old self, Draken Alpha, to vanish into the crowd of nobodies. He even added a knife wound scar on his shoulder for extra effect.

The dilapidated hole in the wall market stalls appeared even more run down than ever. Its accompanying rancid, fishy stink was more unbearable than last time as well— if only he wasn't doing his best to fit in, Harambe would've plugged his nose the moment he got into the main market street. Endless droves of people holding containers for a wide array of food and materials; bear hides, cooked termites, dried fish, pickled vegetables, raw root crops, newly mined minerals, and even rare, and precious ceramics.

Despite its setting in the biggest, most impoverished portion of the country, Nowhere Market bustled with activity day in, day out. People from all walks of life, from high nobles, rank and file workers, vagabonds, and even lawless beggars, appear here to trade, or buy their food, and wares. 

Last time he was here, as Draken Alpha, his trusty, runic pistol was rotting away at the storefront of a decrepit, distrusted, arms store.

"Hmm. I wonder how that useless appraiser bastard is getting along." Considering he doesn't want to breathe any of the noxious air in here, Harambe had a smile slowly creeping up his face without him knowing. "Should I waste a bit of my time, and visit him? Maybe there's another wrongly appraised item in there that I can snap up in a bargain."

He was about to start running when a commotion started among the throngs of people in the distance.

Running was not the best option, I suppose…

He breezed by the countless stalls of fresh fruit, fish, and meat, brisk walking along the tide of people with ease. Harambe was slowly, but surely acclimatizing to the hot, and humid climate of Nowhere, his sticky sweat notwithstanding. 

If he's being honest, the almost identical streets filled with an ocean of people doesn't help him in finding the right street to turn towards. He found that shop when he was still a fledgling legion centurion, which was decades ago… Now, his lone recollection of the shop was its bare as bones storefront, lacking even a name for the shop. Also, the man who owned it, who was very proud of his handlebar moustache, which definitely was a match for his dumb mug.

An odd looking carpet store was around the corner of one of the many identical streets. This carpet store stuck out as the most vivid source of color in this somewhat stale place. 

At first, Harambe didn't think much of the place—except for its wild colors— but as if having some sort of an itch, he pondered about how he might've seen that thing before.

"Shit!" Harambe went against the tide of people, and rushed straight into the carpet store while bumping bodies with strangers. This might be the street he's been looking for!

"Howdy, mister." Harambe's body felt like a different skin. The sweat, grime, and the sweltering heat of the early morning made it feel like he's entering a new world upon his entrance to the store. The lone old man wearing presentable clothing turned his head.

"Oh, our carpets are professionally maintained, and stolen— I mean, made from the finest fibers the world had ever seen." Harambe doesn't care where these textiles came from, so he let the old man's obvious slip slide. "Would you like to take a—"

"Uhm… is the useless arms dealer—" 

Crash!

A bespectacled figure crashed into the carpet storefront, his fall cushioned by the soft stacks of carpets. His bloodied figure drenched the exquisite rugs of his own blood.

A mob was forming outside, asking for the man's head. Apparently, he had been lynched by the crowd as a suspected serial thief. 

"My fellow countrymen, please don't let your ill will kill a man." The owner of the store courageously moved forward, to the front of his now wrecked store, and wares. He doesn't want his beloved shop to be dyed by the flames of death… and besides… he knows this man well. "Please call the authorities, for I am but a puny, small businessman, who has a shop to run, and a dignity to save. Please, everyone, call the authorities and let them handle this."

Harambe was unmoving near the shop's counter, watching as human drama unfolded right before his eyes.

"But, mister shop owner, he had been on a stealing spree today!" An elderly woman was menacingly pointing his cane at the stack of rugs and carpets the thief slammed into.

"I can't sleep until I pound his face into fine powder!"A scary, muscular man wearing a construction worker's uniform angrily said.

"Yeah, give us back what you stole!" 

"Yeah, you fuck!"

"Please!"

"I'll kill you if you don't!"

The cries of the angry crowd resonated throughout this part of the market district. 

Harambe thought that the owner was a natural at crowd control, since he was already sneaking away with the lynched thief to the back door of the store without anyone noticing. The two moved as silent as night thieves, their movements slow, yet effective at creating a distance.

Once the back door closed, the alleged thief finally managed to breathe. Harambe, who also sneaked out like a thief, can't help but shake his head at what he did. 

Why did he believe this scoundrel?

In his defense, the thief told him he knew where the arms dealer was.

Fine. If this bastard is lying, I'll throw him back to the angry mob. 

Harambe followed the supposed thief as he snaked his way through the busy street. He was sure he wouldn't lose track of this guy, even with the man's inert capability to escape. 

Wedged between a meat shop and a shop that sells beautiful wood crafts, was a shop that had obviously seen better days.

This street was also filled with people, along with almost every single stall offering their goods. When the thief turned around, astonishingly, his facial features were a far cry from what he had seen earlier. 

Harambe could say that he didn't get a clear look of his face, but the freckles on his face were so striking it was unforgettable, his thick eyebrows fit his big eyes all too well.

But now… not only did a single ruffling of his bowl cut make it into something else entirely, but his freckles had vanished, his thick eyebrows had become somewhat of average thickness, and a wide forehead appeared. Add to that the somewhat pointier nose… 

Was he hiding his appearance all this time?

Harambe was now certain this guy is a master bandit.

"Here it is, young man." The bandit produced a key, and opened the door like he owned the place, giving Harambe some second thoughts. "The old bat is always slacking off, so I'm the one currently in charge."

A bandit? In charge of a weapons store? 

Nowhere is full of surprises.