In an old-looking apartment building in Backlund's East Borough, two men quietly climbed the stairs.
It was working hours, and the apartment building was quite deserted.
"This is obviously the kind of place only people too poor to get any poorer would live in. How could there be money here?" the man in the back muttered softly. The one in front turned around and glared at him.
"I saw someone sneaking a whole lot of food inside before. What family in the East Borough buys several huge bags of canned food at once?"
"Just a few bags of canned food?" The man was clearly disappointed. He might have been poor, but with his skills, he was not so poor that he could not afford to eat.
"Idiot, ever heard of a safe house?"
"You mean the kind of place gangster bosses secretly buy so they can hide there in an emergency?" The man behind him lit up, and the man in front nodded.
"That's right! Places like this usually have weapons, food, and cash for emergencies. Think about it—how much money would an important person leave for an emergency? There has to be at least ten pounds, right? Once we pull this job, we'll have enough to last us half a year!"
"But what if the owner—"
"The whole point of a place like this is secrecy. Aside from regularly replacing the food, nobody will come here. Just keep your work clean, and no one will know it was us. Besides, anyone who can set up a safe house definitely has more than one. By the time he notices his money is gone, who knows how many years will have passed? Enough talk, get to work! If it weren't for your skills, would I let you in on something this