🌏| Robbie - Town Bandit

The night had always belonged to men like Robbie—the forgotten, the unredeemed, the wolves that prowled where law and light failed. For years, he had thrived in the lawless corners of forgotten districts, where the streets were empty and the air reeked of gasoline and desperation. He moved like a shadow between flickering streetlights, a ghost in worn leather, a hunter in the quiet hours. Gas stations, rundown convenience stores—places where the lonely and the unwary crossed his path.

Robbie had made his name through violence. His hands had long since stopped trembling when they took what wasn't his. And the mask—stitched leather and rusted metal plates covering the ruin of his lower face—had become more than a disguise. It was his face now, as much a part of him as the scars beneath. Soon, it would be another midnight robbery. Another body. Another night where he took what he needed and left no witnesses breathing.

The convenience store’s harsh fluorescent lights buzzed against the silence of the empty night. Refrigerators hummed, plastic wrappers crinkled under absentminded hands, and behind the counter, the cashier stood with the blank expression of someone running on routine. It was a place built for passing through, for quiet transactions and forgettable moments.

Then he saw the commotion. The woman at the register was belligerent and drunk, ranting at the cashier.

"This bottle," she sneered, slamming an empty alcohol container onto the counter, "was tampered with. I could’ve died!" Her glassy eyes narrowed, barely focusing, but her voice rose dangerously.

Robbie watched from the aisle, unnoticed.

The cashier barely reacted—shoulders stiff, hands resting tensely on the counter. Robbie noticed they weren’t afraid, just tired. They had dealt with this kind before—the kind who didn’t listen, who just wanted something to break.

"I should sue you," the woman hissed, jabbing a shaking finger in their direction. "I know my rights!"

Then her arm snapped forward, the bottle poised to swing in their direction.

Robbie pulled out his gun. A gunshot shattered the silence.

For a second, everything stopped.

Then the woman crumpled to the floor, a lifeless heap in the narrow aisle, her blood seeping into the cheap tile. The store lights didn’t flicker. The world didn’t pause. The hum of the freezers carried on, indifferent to the body cooling beneath them.

Robbie exhaled through his mask, lowering the gun. His eyes shifted to the cashier, who stood frozen, shock widening their gaze as they stared at the death before them.

He closed the distance in a slow, unhurried step, easily towering over them—blocking out the light, a wall of leather, gunpowder, and something primal. His gloved fingers curled around their wrist—firm, grounding. Not restraining. Not yet.

He leaned in, breathing them in, slow and deliberate. His grip tightened slightly as he pulled them closer.

"Mine."