Veld walked slowly through the slums. It had been a long day. Approaching Sector 5, he heard a sound like a fight. Turning the corner, he saw about five boys apparently fighting over a wallet they had found. Most of them looked about fourteen or fifteen, hard muscled street kids. The leader of the small gang was arguing with another, younger, boy who claimed to have found the wallet first. The wiry young boy was easily the smallest there, but he didn't look afraid.

Veld watched as the argument escalated into a fight. He kept his eyes on the young boy. He watched as the child dodged punches and wove his way between the older boys, using his small size and natural agility to his advantage. While the teens were busy trying to injure him, he snatched the unattended wallet and climbed up a broken section of wall, scrambling up like a spider and nimbly perching on top. He smirked and waved the wallet down at the teenagers.

When the older boys caught a glimpse of the Turk, they bolted. The young boy on the wall froze and stuffed the wallet in his back pocket. Veld almost laughed at how scared he looked. The Turk motioned for the boy to come down from the wall. The boy narrowed his eyes, judging if he could get away before the Turk caught him. Figuring the chance was too slim, he easily climbed down the wall.

"What's your name?", Veld asked as the boy shuffled one foot in the dust. No answer. "Come on, kid. What's your name?", he asked again. Feeling the Turk's eyes on him looked up at him, his young voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why should I tell you?" Veld smirked a bit. "I was just wondering."

The young boy scoffed and looked down. Veld looked at him. He couldn't have been more than twelve years old. His clothing was baggy on his lanky frame, faded and worn, patched in some places and torn in others. Dirt smeared his pale skin. He carried himself with the tension of a child who was no stranger to crime and ready to bolt at any time, but also cunning and wiry enough to hold his own in a fight. A typical slum kid.

The Head Turk studied the child. His eyes were those of a child who had grown up very fast. Too fast. "Where do you live?", the Turk asked the scruffy haired child.

The boy kicked a rock, sending it tumbling along the dingy street. "Sector 6.", he answered warily. "Why? You're a Turk. Am I in trouble?" Veld laughed a bit at that. "No, you're not in trouble. I was just curious."

The boy narrowed his eyes. "So, where are you parents?", Veld asked. The boy looked up. Veld tilted his head. "Well?"

"Dead. I look out for myself. I'm the fastest kid in the slums." He crossed his arms over his skinny chest, a smug smile curling his lips.

Veld thought for a moment. He had seen how much bigger those other boys

Were and how much stronger. But, this kid was faster. They had relied on strength and he had used their height and build, their advantages, against them. The streets had turned this kid into a fighter. And a good one at that. He was crafty and quick. Maybe one day this kid will make a good Turk. Maybe one of the best, he thought. He looked at the boy. "Well it was nice talking to you.", he said. He walked past the boy and started out of the slums. He was about four feet away when he heard the boy speak. "Sir?"

Veld turned to look at him. "Yes?" The scruffy street kid looked at him with clear aquamarine eyes. "My name. You asked about it earlier." Veld smiled. "And it would be?"

The lanky twelve year old slum kid smiled. "Reno"