I’m trying to catch up with my stories for this project before I get into another fanfiction, wish me luck (and inspiration). I took from the 30s and the Great Depression for this story.
Times were tough. Long gone were the free spirits spending their money on booze and gambles. People could barely pay their rent and buy food, let alone buy tickets for something already doomed. A thick fog had engulfed and locked away any positive feelings as people began to work in huge factories that were quick to muffle any accident of severed limbs and deaths. Chain industry transformed the humans into robots, giving them numbers instead of names. Paul Bulman became ID 5891, and when 5891 got stuck in a machine and died, nobody cared.
Humans’ lives were worth little to nothing without money to put some weight in the balance. That’s why 1381 stole a watch one day when someone told him they’d pay for it, and he never looked behind ever since. Stealing was in fact a lot easier than expected.
Swift hands when all eyes were somewhere else, slipping away for five minutes during a meeting with his coworkers. Everybody were focused on their misery, how easy it was to sneak past them.
1381’s reputation grew bigger, and so were the goods he was stealing. The shinier, the pricier. Once he had enough money, he quit his job at the industry before an accident would handicap his skills. He didn’t think anyone would remember him after a week, so it didn’t matter.
The ones who had money lived in the upper side of the city, where any sign of poverty was quickly removed or dealt with. They lived in a cocoon surrounded by tears and empty stomachs.
He rented a luxurious apartment big enough that two families could fit in. It was easier for him to slip into the riches’ homes and leave before they’d noticed anything. No one suspected him, because the rich didn’t steal from the rich, but from the poor.
One day 1381 realized he couldn’t stop anymore. He always needed more money despite gaining more and more, there was no way to stop the machine now that he was stuck in it. He had become one of those he despised.
He couldn’t continue living like this, struggling near the edge of self-loathing. So he did the one thing he could do not to slide down into madness; he give it all away. Well, he kept a bit, but what he didn’t need, he gave away. He lived alone, had no one left to care for except himself, so he used his skills to leave green little bags in tiny houses of the darker side of the city.
He would become the Robin Hood of his time, but with a derby hat.
Conatus 
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