Prologue

The alleys were cold. They always had been. Especially at night.

Nobody was going to let a street rat in their home and they wouldn't even give a blanket to a man dying of hypothermia. "A waste of goods" was what it had always been considered. If you're living on the streets, then you're bound to die soon and nobody wanted to spend money on a dying man they didn't know.

There was one exception where a senile entrepreneur had found a man sleeping in an alley. The man went to the nearest store and ended up buying a portable heater for the seemingly sleeping man. The rich man hadn't noticed the "sleeping" man's slit throat, the dried pool of blood under him, the maggots crawling around the wound or the bites and tears in the flesh left by rodents which claimed the man as food. The heater was left next to the dead man with a wish of "good luck to you sir" before the rich man skipped away, back to his pristine home miles away.

The heater wasn't homeless for long as a man had grabbed it as a gift for his wife who always complained about the cold. The man was intent on stealing it from the corpse but when he realized the unmoving man was indeed a corpse, he didn't even bother to call someone to take care of the body. Just grabbed the heater, cleaned it in his lawn, then brought it in for his wife.

That's the way things were on the streets. People were homeless longer than - and more useless than - a broken machine in the trash. Someone always took pity and tried to fix the machine but avoided contact with the people - or Rats as they were more often called - at all costs.

But, every so often, there would be someone that learned how the streets worked. How to avoid confrontation with other Rats, streets with the most forgiving and even generous people, and - the most important if you ever intended on surviving more than a week - how to manipulate people.

Manipulation came in many forms; Distracting a vendor with idle chit-chat as you robbed them blind. Getting friendly with the baker so he'll give you some leftover goods. Walking past a "random" stranger and slipping a hand into their pockets without them realizing. Even manipulating the shadows to cover you when you needed to hide or get away.

Attaining a single of these traits was more or less common. Mastering a single trait was less common. Mastering two or three was rare. Mastering all four? You were considered almost a legend to the Rats, on the line between "normal" and "scum" to the people with homes and money, and a wanted criminal - borderline escape artist - to the police.

There one minute, gone the next. Stealing money from a man's pockets on the sidewalk one minute, then standing down the street and listening to old Ms. Jenkens - as she talked about the same story for the sixth time that week because she loved it - the next. Running down a dead end alley one minute, seemingly vanished into thin air in the next. Stealing an apple from a vendor as you talked to them like a friend then turning around and being given caramel by the candy shop owner to dip the apple slices in.

As a master manipulator, the streets become a playground. You get what you want and you can play all you want. Never getting caught and getting to play with whatever you managed to snatch...

...Until you get too good.

When stealing becomes as second nature as breathing, you don't even feel your hands going for the things in front of you. You think about it and it's suddenly in your pockets. The fun's gone and you sit in your little corner of the world wondering what in your life first went wrong. You can't sell half the things you've stolen because, at this point, every pawn shop has their tricks and call the cops should anything stolen be turned in.

So you sit. And think. And stare at your goods you've collected over the years that are now useless. Thinking about nothing more than how cold the night is and how the wind blows straight through your torn clothes and freezes you slowly.

But you're already numb. You fight to live. You cheat and lie to survive. You do everything you must to get what you want. Then, when you have everything and nothing at the same time…

You become numb...

So numb...

...Until a stranger is standing before you as you lay on your mattress you pulled from the trash...

...In your private corner of the world that you could have sworn nobody would ever find...

...With their hand stretched out, less than a foot from your face…

...Offering you shelter…

...Family…

...A home…

...Somewhere to belong.

The offer is too good to be true and you want to say 'no'. You want to curse the man and make him leave. Maybe even kill him so you can take his things and he can't tell anyone of your shelter.

But you find your hand taking his.

Your mind is saying 'no'. Not wanting to get your hopes up and get to know what a real bed feels like only to be kicked out. Not wanting to taste a real meal only to be forced back to the streets and wanting nothing but that meal until the day you die of starvation.

But your body says 'yes'. You want that bed, even if only for a few short moments, just to know what it feels like. You want that meal, even if only a small bite, just so you can say you had a decent meal. You want it all so you can have a chance of knowing what a home feels like. What a family feels like. What comfort and being able to relax, even for a minute, feels like. And the thought of a bath… One with warm water that actually cleans you, head to toe. You want to know what all of it is like.

So you let your body do as it pleases. Your hand takes the man's hand, though you keep your guard up just in case. You let him lead you to his home. To his mansion. A luxurious paradise you thought you wouldn't even be able to see from outside without the guards attacking you.

The inside of the mansion is something you've never seen before. Not in anything you've ever stolen from. Not from peeking in windows of the somewhat nicer houses you've seen. The entrance to the building is better than any house you've ever seen in your entire life. Better than the orphanage. Better than the church. Better than the Pastor's home. Better than the mayor's home. And that's just the door and entrance hall.

The rest of the building is a mystery to you. A mystery you're sure you'll never see every corner of.

The building is a drug. You can already tell. You've had a free sample, a free taste. But to have more, you'd have to give up everything. And for someone with nothing… That's impossible.

So you enjoy your sample, intending on getting everything you can out of it before it leaves you in the dust.

You don't intend to let it go.

You aren't stopped at the entrance hall like you expect. You're led further. Up a grand staircase leading to the second floor. You're led to another door and you briefly find yourself wondering if you're being led into a trap.

The doors open and you find yourself in a room, bigger than most houses you've seen in the slums. Your eyes linger on the plush looking king sized bed that's headboard is pressed to a wall with a nightstand on each side, wondering if it's as soft as it looks. The large windows covering one wall that points towards the town - from what little you can see past the parts in the well-decorated drapes - and you wonder what the place you knew as "home" looks like from here. If you can even see it. The double doors on the third wall are open and reveal a large walk-in closet and you have to wonder if that's what a high-end clothing store looks like, everything inside looking expensive. The sitting area in one of the corners of the room, where a large couch and bookshelves make up what you believe to be the most comfortable reading area, suddenly makes you feel not as proud that you can actually read unlike most the Rats your age or even older.

Your last thought is a question. 'Whose room is this?'

Before you can speak your question, or even finish your thought, you're pushed to another door you hadn't noticed before. The door is opened when you get there and reveals what could only be called a personal spa. To the man guiding you, this is nothing more than a bathroom with the necessities. But, to you, this room in its entirety has two of the three things you've only ever wanted. A bed and a bath.

You vaguely hear the man give a command to someone who managed to sneak up on you while you were distracted. The person, in what looks like a uniform, nods to the man before he smiles at you - kindly, though it still makes you more than a little uneasy - as he turns to leave. The person in uniform starts the bath in the center of the room and tells you to undress.

Your guard rises. You refuse to do something even remotely like that. Refuse to show even the slightest hint of relaxation, trust, and willingness. Your fingers slowly curl around the base of your shirt and you know your body is turning against your mind again. Your body is aching and begging for that bath but your mind refuses to undress in front of anybody.

The person in uniform makes up your mind for you. After their hand reaches into the water to check the temperature, they turn off the water, leave and close the door behind them. They walk out of the spa-like bathroom and leave you to your business with the statement that they'll be outside should you need help with anything. You're about to start wondering about clothes when you realize there's a brand new outfit folded carefully on a stand near the bath but not close enough for the water to splash and wet.

With a quick glance around, you recognize that you're alone in the room. Without hesitation, your clothes - more like rags - start to peel off of your sweat and dirt stained body. You stick a hand in the water for yourself to test before you jump in. The tub is large enough that you feel almost as if you were in a heated pool. It's large enough to move around and be comfortable every which way. You allow yourself to soak and enjoy the warm, clean water - while it's still that - before you get around to actually cleaning yourself. Soap, shampoo, conditioner, everything's provided and sitting on a little shelf attached to the edge of the tub.

When you dub yourself clean, you get out of the tub. Watching the dirt and grime that was originally on you wash down the drain, you realize there isn't a speck of dirt left in the tub. You grab the nearest, plushest towel you can find and dry yourself off quickly. You get dressed and happen to pass a mirror on your way to the door. You stare at your reflection for a moment, wondering if that's really you or some other kid. You've never been so clean. Your normally light hair had always looked brown because of the dirt and you realize that tan you thought you had was really just a thin layer of dirt all over your body.

After assessing yourself, you make your way to the door and find the person in uniform standing there, waiting for you. They ask you to follow them after fixing your hair a bit and guide you back downstairs and to a large hall with a long table in the center with a chair at each end and six on each side. In every chair but one is a person, you realize, and they all notice you enter. You realize then that you had allowed yourself to relax during the bath and walk because you feel your guard come up again and you're ready to fight should anyone make a wrong move towards you.

You're led to the empty chair and forced to sit. After giving everyone a look over to see if they're a threat, you allow your eyes to leave them to see what's in front of you. Your eyes widen a fraction and you can feel your mouth water at the perfectly cooked steak sitting in front of you, waiting for you to eat it and everything else on your plate.

Your attention is drawn to the man sitting next to you at the head of the table. You recognize him as the man that brought you here but he's cleaned up almost as much as you have, considering he wasn't so dirty to begin with. His chuckle at your reaction to everything is what drew your attention and you can't help but glare at the man for laughing at you.

He chuckles again and grins, telling you to relax and simply enjoy everything in front of you. You doubt that'll happen anytime soon. The man says a few words and everyone starts on their meals.

All but you.

You take a moment to take in how everyone is acting.

Prim and proper.

Having never been taught table manners, you copy the man next to you. Picking up the knife and fork, you cut the steak into pieces easy for you to chew. You take the first bite and you nearly feel like crying. The taste is unbelievable and the meat practically "melts in your mouth" as you've heard people say when describing a well-cooked steak. The only thing that keeps you from crying - in happiness or anything else - is your pride.

You never let people you knew for years see you cry so there's no chance you'd let these people see it happen when they have only just seen you. So you make it through the meal, pretending like you have it every night and that it's nothing new. You try and do everything right, your only hope is that they let you stay long enough to let you sink in that bed you saw before so your three lifelong wishes could come true in a day.

That's when a throat being cleared next to you grabs your attention. The man that brought you here is standing now, but everyone is still sitting, so you stay sitting, looking up at him like the rest of them. He smiles and looks at you, making you wary of what he's about to say.

He asks your name. And that's all.

You tell you him you don't have one. And if you did then it's been long forgotten.

He frowns with a comment of "that's too bad" and you feel like you've done something wrong. That you won't be allowed to try that bed. That you'll be stripped of the nice clothes they let you wear. That you'll be thrown back to your private corner of the world to be left to rot and die alone.

But what he says next surprises you away from those thoughts. "We'll have to give you one" is what you hear. "You can't go around forever answering to 'hey' and 'boy'" is his defense and explanation.

You openly stare in disbelief. You don't care what the others think anymore. This man you've known for less than an hour has given you nearly everything you've ever wanted and maybe even a name. Your wide eyes are focused solely on the man that you don't even realize the other people in the room anymore. You barely hear yourself ask one question; one word. Why.

Why would a stranger be so willing to help an orphan Rat like you? Why would a stranger feed, clothe, and bathe a Rat like you? Why would this stranger look for you and follow you back to your "home" only to take you to his and take care of you? It was all so strange and none of it made sense.

"Isn't that obvious?" The man starts, drawing your attention yet again away from your thoughts. "I want you to join my family."

That…

That made even less sense.

Important: Other chapters won't be written this way. This is second person narrative and a bit of explanation. The rest of the story will be third person like most stories. (Example: "Allen ran home from school")

This is just a random thing I felt like writing. I actually started writing with no plot in mind. Just went with whatever popped into my head. About four paragraphs in, I asked my friend for a plot idea and she helped me with a Mafia-style AU.

I can't promise regular updates. Can't promise updates honestly. But I'll try. I've been really wanting to write again lately (at least type) and I kinda like this idea so I'm willing to see how this goes if you guys are willing to wait and see with me. Thanks for the read and I hope for a fave, follow and review. See ya.