Where the Angels Fall

"My first memories were in an orphanage, but not like anything you would think up. It didn't have sympathetic employees, colorful halls, tasty food, or even a solid education. Instead, it consisted of employees who put an afternoon snack before you. The corridors were long, narrow, and gray. The food looked and tasted like mush, and the extend of our knowledge reached out to ten devided by two equals five, and amateur English. The doctors and the nurses were the worst, though. If you even gave them a bad look, they wouldn't treat you for cancer if you had it. If they really didn't like you, they'd inject you with a 'bad-boy-drug.' Which basically means STD's.

"I could only stand that place until I was nine years old."

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"Ne le laissez pas passer!" [Don't let him go!]

    The feisty young man in the employees' arms was trying his best. He kicked, screamed, and punched his heart out until the employees had to shove him to the hard metal floor, his forehead bouncing off the ground with a clank. Dazed but determined, the boy struggled harder as he barked out French taunts, yelling that he'll tell the world what he saw.

    His fist shot into an employee's face who had gotten a little too close to his arms. She stumbled back, her nose bleeding. After seeing the blood, she turned to her comrades. "Où est l'infirmière? L'obtenissez-vous!" [Where is the Nurse? Get her over here!]

    The boy heard that. "Non!!" He bit a hand which had strayed a little too close to his face. The host screamed, but he wasn't done yet. He held on, biting deeper, drawing blood. Finally, the hand snapped back as the employee panted out of pain, stumbling back.

    One of the employees pinned the boy's arm to the floor by pressing her knees down on it. Instantly after her weight was applied, a faint snap was heard, the arm shifting suddenly. The boy screamed out of pain, encouraging the employee to back off, suddenly worried.

    The released tension gave him a burst of strength. The boy kicked, punched (with his left arm), and screamed his way up to a crouching position, the employees trying their hardest to push him back down. "Laissez-moi partir!" [Let me go!] he screeched, elbowing one of the employees in the rib cage. She released her grip, gasping in precious air as the troublesome orphan kept fighting.

    The boy would have knocked the last employee off his back and made a run for it if another hadn't shown up. The boy barely had time to react as a huge, meaty hand latched on to his shoulder, knocking him to the ground painfully. His right arm landed uselessly on the floor, bouncing a little. He hissed out of pain, but the powerful apendage clamped his arm in a headlock position. The boy tried to bite, but no arm was in reach. Instead, he spat.

    That was when a woman clad in a white lab coat walked into his view. The boy snarled, recognizing the Nurse of Ville Orphelinat. She crouched to his position, her ugly face as still as a stone, a syringe in her skinny fingers. She nodded to the man holding him, who responded with roughly jolting the boy's head to the side, revealing a bare neck. He tried to bite his way out, but his captor's beefy forearms were just out of reach.

"Tch, tch, tch..." the Nurse sighed, shaking her head slowly. Her voice sounded like wind through a broken pipe. "C'est le troisième fois cette moins pour toi." [That's the third time this month for you.] She took a cloth from her lab coat, dabbed it in some ointment, and rubbed it on his neck. It stung instantly. "Tu ne partis jamais d'ici. Tu pourries aussi bien arrêter d'essayer." [You're not going to get out of here. You might as well be a good boy and stop trying.] The syringe in her hand closed in on the isolated spot of his neck.

    The boy smiled devilishly, despite the pain. "Si je cessé d'essayer, mon nom ne serait pas Garrett." [If I stopped trying, my name wouldn't be Garrett.]

    The boy jerked his hand up which had previously been thought to be broken. He slapped the syringe, centimeters from his neck, into the forearm of his captor. The captor grunted out of pain, but that grunt instantly turned into a tired moan. The Nurse barely had time to react as Garrett kicked her stomach, sending her gasping for breath. Meanwhile, the man holding Garrett still tried his best to get a grip on the boy, but his strength was failing as the shot did its job. Garrett struggled, at first no escape possible, then a hint of hope, then the man fainted. Garrett, seizing his chance, ran forward and did something only the other children of Ville Orphelinat dreamt of doing.

    He pulled his knee back, took a bracing step forward with his other leg, and using the strength all those nights of running in place which led up to this moment, Garrett kicked the Nurse right in the teeth.

    Her head snapped back as she was instantly knocked out, blood spurting from her mouth as not one, not two, but four teeth flew out. She dropped the syringe in-hand, and with a dazed expression, fell backward and collapsed on the metal floor.

    Garrett took a moment to lavish in his victory, avenging all of those unnecessary exams to quench her perverted fetish, all those stings of the cheek when she backhanded him on a daily basis, and all of his friends' deaths via a disease she refused to treat because "it was their time." Garrett's foot stung, and he realized he might have broken a toe. But that was irrelevant.

    Garrett dashed over the unconscious body of the Nurse, barging through the doors of Ville Orphelinat. That was when something extraordinary happened. For the first time in his young life, Garrett didn't view the outside world longingly or on recess. He didn't have to endure a slap to the cheek for hoping, and he didn't have to be ordered back in his room after the fifteen minutes of longing for freedom known as recess. Garrett realized that, finally, he was truly outside. Fresh, cool air blew gently in his face, encouraging him to close his eyes. The rain gently showered his jet black hair, pastering it to his forehead. Garrett's brown eyes opened slowly as new scents rushed to his nostrils, replacing the smell of metal and blood. In front of him lay just ten more feet of pavement, before giving off to an open fence, formerly guarding the city.

    The city. It was just as it was the many times Garrett peeked from out of the window in the cafeteria, but this time was different. Dark, tall buildings stood on both sides of a long sidewalk, lit vaguely by streetfires and the occasional light.

    It was like Heaven.

"Hey! Toi!" [Hey! You!] a masculine voice rang out. Garrett snapped out of his joyous trance to see two guards heading his way. "Aucun orphelin ici à cette heur!" [No orphans are allowed out here this late!]

    The other guard turned to his comrade. "Crétin! Aucun orphelins sont autorisés ici, tout simplement!" [Dumbass! No orphan is allowed out here, period!]

    The guards, both knowing the boy's intentions, walked calmly to Garrett. They both unclipped a slender rod from their sides, and with a flick, set it ablaze with electricity. Garrett crouched into a defensive stance, his dark brown irises glaring intimidation. The guards were smart enough for one to stay behind in case Garrett made a run for it, the other casually holding the electric rod in front of him.

"Ecoutes ici, écume. Tu es notre chienne. Tu es un orphelin. Nous pouvons faire ce que bon nous avec toi. La loi ne se soucie pas." [Listen here, scum. You're our bitch. You're an orphan. We can do whatever we want with you. The law doesn't care.] The guard pointed the rod at Garrett. "Je peux comprendre pourquoi tu veux partir. Croyes-moi, je le fais. Mais qui est juste ne va pas arriver." [I understand why you'd want to leave. Trust me, I do. But that just isn't gonna happen.]

    That sort of abusive language was enough to widen any other boy's eyes, but Garrett was used to it.

"Faites-on une faveur et transformer ton âne désolé arrière autour avant je te choque avec suffisamment d'électricité pour tu mettre dans le coma." [Now do us both a favor and get your sorry ass back in there before I shock you with enough electricity to put you in a coma.] He was now standing in front of Garrett, towering over the teen. "...Saleté."

    Garrett peered up at the bahemoth of a man, smirking. "C'est une bonne chose tu n'est pas un orphelin," [Good thing you're not an orphan] he taunted, whipping out a club which he had fashioned from concrete, metal, and cloth. It was an early prototype, but one he grew attached to, evident by its name: Black Jack. "...Parce que tu as un visage seulement une mere puet aimer." [...Because you have a face only a mother can love.]

    The guard snickered, although a hint of anger was evident in his features. "Si tu était habile assez penser ça, tu series intelligent assez n'àpporter pas un gode pour un lutte au corps à corps." [If you were clever enough to think that one up, one would believe you would be smart enough to not bring a dildo to a melee fight.]

    The guard was the first to attack, swinging the electric rod over his head to come crashing down on Garrett's skull. The young man had his youth on his side, and easily dodged the blow as the glowing rod swung past his head. Garrett instantly took advantage of the moment. Not making the same mistake as the man, Garrett didn't take the time to raise Black Jack above his head. Instead, he gripped it with both hands, swinging it upward right into the outstreched elbow.

    A crack was heard, instantly followed by a scream as the guard dropped the rod, it clattering to the wet floor afterwards. Garrett kicked the man out of the way just in time for the puddle he was standing in to be set aflame with electricity, although that was the extent of his kindness. Garrett wasted no time to jump on the man, sitting on his chest. He raised Black Jack above his head, ready to knock the guard unconscious, when the cyan reflection in a puddle caught his attention.

    With moments to spare, Garrett flung himself off the man, staying low to the ground. The electric rod of the second guard stopped centimeters from the groaning man's chest. The uninjured guard quickly helped his comrade up, who stumbled, holding his now broken arm with pain.

    This guard had less of a big mouth, charging at Garrett with the tazer-like weapon. He swung horizontally, Garrett dodging it by lurching back. He continued his onslaught, slicing with the rod like it was a sword. Every time a rain droplet landed on the rod, sparks flew. One of which bounced from the rod onto Garrett's face, who stumbled back at the stinging sensation. The guard took advantage of this, stabbing through the air with the rod.

    Garrett caught it by the guard's hands, safe from the electricity which the rod danced with. The man snarled, kicking Garrett to the floor. The boy was instantly rolling away, barely missing the guard's rod as it sploshed in a puddle, immediately setting it aflame with blue sparks. The guard was relentless, not giving Garrett a chance for rest as he kept slapping the floor, the teen just barely escaping the electric shock coming from the rod each time. The guard continued to attack until a particularly large rain droplet landed on his rod, sparks jumping onto his hand. He gasped, taking a step back from the pain. That was enough time for Garrett to scramble up, twirling Black Jack in his fingers momentarily before charging.

    The guard barked out an incoherant insult, whacking Garrett in the side with his rod. This time, he didn't miss.

    It felt as if a fire of insane pain traveled up Garrett's body, sparks flying from the point of contact. Garrett howled out of pain, dropping Black Jack. Tears were in his eyes. The guard, seeing his chance, swung the electric weapon at Garrett yet again. The boy side-stepped, but the agony made him lose his balance as he tumbled to the floor. Black Jack was just within his reach, but his mind was too groggy to act upon it.

    The guard knelt down to Garrett, shoving an elbow on his throat, restricting any movement. He held the electric rod high, intending on knocking the teenager out cold. Miraculously, a large rain drop splattered on the rod, sending sparks showering on the guard's hand. He yelped out of pain, throwing the rod instinctively to the floor.

    That was enough time for Garrett's mind to clear. He quickly reached out, grabbed Black Jack, and brought it crashing onto the guard's skull.

    He might as well hit the man with a brick. For a moment, the sillhouette of the guard stayed stationary, as if nothing had happened. Then, he started swaying. After a few seconds of his physical uncertainty, the guard toppled over to the side of Garrett, landing in a steaming puddle.

    Garrett's eyes widened as he was instantly set aflame with electricity. The guard spasmed vigorously, blue lines of electricity shooting from his body. He had landed in the most unlucky puddle in the vicinity, the electric rod beside his head.

    He kept spasming, smoking, and foaming until the electric rod died. The guard settled, laying motionless on the ground, steam rising from his wide eyes. Garrett stared at the way his chest was motionless, no breathing present. When the obvious happened and the guard did not get up, Garrett shakily stood, took a few steps, then bent over and vomited.

"Tu l'as tué," [You killed him] Garrett heard from behind. He woozily turned to see the other guard, his arm bent at an impossible angle from the elbow. The atmosphere between them was empty, besides the falling rain from above. The guard clenched his fist. "...Tueur." [Killer.]

    Garrett ran.

——————————

"And that was the day I was finally free, but at a cost. I had the blood of someone on my hands, a guard at that. At least, that's how the city and law saw it. His buddy told them everything from his point of view. I was a murderer who killed a noble guard of the Ville Orphelinat. And I had to be put to justice. I just learned to live with the consiquences, dismissing them as another cost for freedom. Plus, who was I to defy a guard? A misplaced little orphan is all.

"The teen portion of my life earned me a new label, besides 'Le Diable Orphelin.' 'The Master Thief.' After I checked out of that god-forsaken orphanage, I was alone. No friends, nowhere to run, and most importantly, starving to death. So, I stole from people.

"I stole, stole, and stole some more. I started off stealing the tips from the tables of restaurants. Then, I stole from the cashier. Then, I stole from their own pockets. I got so good at stealing, soon I started to steal each of my three meals of the day, if it be pocket-sized rolls for a snack or a roasted turkey for dinner. I slept with the homeless on the docks of the city, using their warmth as my blanket. I bathed in the showers of other peoples' homes when they were out. In the winter, I stole my coat. In the summer, I cut off the sleeves.

"I constructed my bow when I was ten. I used, you guessed it, stolen supplies to make it extend into full form and contract into a mobile, smaller form with the flick of the wrist. At first, I used homemade arrows for distracting the rich pigs before stealing their stuff. But my life turned around when I was sixteen."

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    Another night, another full stomach.

    Garrett strode casually through the alley, enjoying the way the now familiar sound of jingling cash echoed through the empty corridor. It was satisfying, knowing he could buy his own dinner for the third night in a row. Wednesday through Friday seemed to be his lucky days in the food department. At least, he presumed it was Friday. The calender on that expensive restaurant he stole from would agree.

    At the end of the alley, illuminated by a lone street fire, a plump gentleman with a generic-looking hat stepped in front of the alley. He stopped to warm his hands on the fireplace, rubbing them as he sighed. Garrett acknowledged the full wallet, strapped to his belt. It hung like a golden medallion, which also resembled it to the young thief. Garrett haulted his casual stroll, his hands twitching with sudden excitement.

    Normally, someone who stole stole for survival. They stole enough for themselves to live, nothing more. But to Garrett, it was the thing he was good at. And when you were good at something, you didn't just do it enough to survive, you do it enough to become a professional at it.

    Garrett smiled, pulling up his homemade mask, a mere cloth (stolen, obviously) covering his lower face. Garrett was instantly low to the ground, a stance which he had grown accostumed to. He slinked through the alley, light on his feet, to the wealthy looking man.

    The man noticed something, evident by the raise of his turned head. It acted as a button which froze Garrett entirely. Instead of turning around, however, the man crouched down to the ground, his money bag scraping the floor. He held out a piece of red meat, extending his arm to a dark corner. Garrett squinted his eyes, spotting a cowering black cat. At the extend of the man's hand, however, it raised its head.

    Garrett smiled. This would be challenging, but a huge accomplishment if he could pull it off. He was going to steal with an animal nearbye, watching, and if he moved slow enough, not alerting his target.

    Garrett took a couple steps forward, his bare feet completely silent on the stone road. The man didn't notice as he came closer, his eyes never leaving the wallet.

"C'mere, little guy..." the man cooed, gently wiggling the piece of meat. The cat meowed, pawing the ground in front of itself before taking a step forward. "There ya go," he chuckled, reaching forward with the meat.

    The cat's curious eyes momentarily glanced over the man's shoulder, but saw nothing but the statue of a crouching human, and moved along. Said statue smiled at his skills, slowly taking another step forward.

    "Come on, petit chat. I won't hurt you," the man whispered. The cat was now inches away from the food, smelling it tenderly. When it figured the man wasn't a threat, it stepped over and took the meat from the man's hand. It then started to munch on its prize.

    The man chuckled, reaching forward and tentatively rubbing the cat's head. "Bon chat."

    That was when the feline hissed at something behind the man's back.

    Garrett instantly turned to run, his prize in hand, but was stopped by his collar. His momentum swung his legs upward, making the teenager land on his back. Garrett instantly whipped out Black Jack, trying to whack the man in the head.

    Surprisingly, the gentleman was quicker. He caught Garrett's weapon, snatching it out of his hand before breaking the handle over his knee. Garrett stared in despair at the sight of his source of defense's destruction, but didn't ponder over it. He was too busy turning around and biting the man's hand, encouraging him to let go in pain. Garrett ran.

    He didn't get far. It felt as if something sharp and cold grabbed his back, pulling him off his feet back to the man.

    This couldn't be happening! Seven years of stealing, and he never got caught! Now, he was helpless, in this man's grasp. All those years of training himself for what he'd do in this scenario? Down the drain.

    Garrett attempted to scramble up. The man flicked his arm to the side, and it felt as if a cable wrapped around the young thief, leaving him immobile. He tried to struggle, to break the cable, but it tightened around his body, pinning his arms to the side. He wasn't going anywhere.

    The fire behind the man outlined his sillhouette like black ink on orange paper. He knelt down, his face close to Garrett, but just out of sight. Garrett bore his teeth.

    "...Impressive," the man chuckled suddenly. Garrett closed his mouth, eyes widening. "I didn't hear you at all! And you had bare feet. You must have experience." The man looked to his side, clicking his mouth. The cat from earlier came from the shadows, and strolled over to his side casually. The shadowy man rubbed the cat's head, scratching its chin at the same time. It purred in response. "Bien fait, mon ami."

    Garrett stared at the backstabbing feline, thinking of how much he suddenly hated cats.

    The man's attention shifted to Garrett. "What's your name, little thief?" he asked.

    Garrett glared, silent.

    The man tilted his head slightly, before realization hit. "Oh! How rude of me." He took off his hat, revealing a set of frazzled hair. The way he bowed revealed his face. His face was aged, but not enough for his jet black beard to host any gray hairs. He had grayish eyes, a bushy mustache, and a mole on his cheek which Garrett wanted desperately to pop. "Je m'appelle Basso Pierrée. Your humble, yet exeptionally handsome, underworld caretaker." Basso put the hat back on his head. "And what might your name be?"

    Garrett glared, silent.

    Basso stayed silent for a little while, confused, until more realization hit. He gestured to the cat, who blinked in response. "And this is Bette, the thief-baiting cat. She's my personal assistant in thief-natching. A natural actress in blood. So, now that we all know each other, what's your name, boy?"

    Garrett glared, silent.

    Basso sighed, shaking his head. "Listen, kid. If we're gonna spend some time together, we better start trusting each other."

    "I don't trust anyone," Garrett snarled, struggling some more. The cable held. "And what do you mean by 'if we're gonna spend some time together'?"

    Basso nodded his head, knowing just what the teen was talking about. "I'll answer both your questions."

    "I only asked one-- Hey! L'ârretter!" Garrett suddenly yelped as the man picked him up, hoisting him over his shoulder. Garrett would have fought back if his limbs weren't constricted completely, unable to move via the tight cable around his body.

    Basso only clicked his lips to Bette, who followed as he started to walk. Garrett stared in despair as Black Jack lay, broken, on the floor just a couple yards away. He struggled, but couldn't achieve much. The street fire seemed to slowly shrink as Garrett was carried away into the shadows of the city.

    "First question," Basso announced to Garrett as he turned a corner. "'I don't trust anyone.'"

    "That was a statement, crétin," Garrett spat, struggling as he was carried away.

    "Well, you were implying your uncertainty, so it's a question in my book." Garrett was suddenly picked up from Basso's shoulder, and put on a seat. He instantly tried to hop away, but Basso held on to his cable. To his despair, Garrett realized he was now on the wooden seat of a chariot, two horses in front of it. Basso winked as he reached down to retrieve a whip, snapping the horses' backs with it afterward. "Allez-vous!" The horses whinnied before trotting, Basso holding their ropes in his hands. Bette hurriedly hopped from out of the carriage, landing on Basso's lap. He smiled down at her, stroking her head. "As I was saying--"

    "What the Hell is this?!" Garrett spat, looking around frantically. "This is kidnapping!"

    "Not really. In fact, most would consider it justice, Diable Orphelin."

    Garrett felt a stone drop in his body. Seven years of never being seen, and he was still wanted for a crime he never commited. "...Are you a cop?"

    Basso chuckled. "Moi, non. The exact opposite, actually."

    "Bounty Hunter?"

    "Caretaker of the Underworld, my good friend."

    Garrett looked away. "You're not my friend."

    Basso shook his head slightly. "Back to your question."

    "Statement."

    "Implied uncertainty." Basso cleared his throat, looking off in the distance. Garrett felt numb anger as the buildings around him kept moving. "...Times are changing, kid. The Watch is getting stronger. Increased theft reports mean increased guards. That doesn't mean you can't steal, though. It just means you have to get better."

    Garrett tilted his head.

    "You need friends, mon copain." Garrett turned away scoffing. "Friends that have things you'd want."

    "Besides money or food, what could you have that I'd possibly want?"

    "For one, I can give you a clean slate," Basso smiled, slapping the horses again with his ropes. They turned a corner, into a part of town Garrett had never seen before. "For another, I can give you some decent clothes. I'll keep the thiefy look for you, though: black. Thirdly, I can teach you some new skills you thought you'd never need for stealing. Lastly, I can give you some fancy gadgets I think you'd like. The contraption you're tangled in? That's the Cable Snare."

    Garrett looked down at the cables around his body, squeezing him. Basso gave the sharp, metal hook on Garrett's back a slap, which instantly loosened the cables. With a flick of the wrist, the cable zipped from under Garrett into Basso's right sleeve, followed by the metal thing. Turns out it was a grapple, which extended so it could properly attach itself to its victim.

    "I was there when that batard told the court everything you'd done, seven years ago. He made you sound like a villain. Said you held his buddy in the puddle, shocking him while laughing like a maniac." Basso smiled. "I have a lot of practice in Psycology and Phisiology. I knew he was lying the second he looked at me. His eyes were basically screaming, 'I'm a pathetic, lying excuse of a human being.' It takes a lot of guts to just throw a kid's life away like that, especially if he was just an orphan."

    "You'd be surprised at how many gutsy people there are in this world, then," Garrett muttered.

    "Believe me, I know," Basso responded, continuing his story. "I told you earlier I was the Caretaker of the Underworld. That means I'm instantly your best friend. I take care of convicted thieves, murderers, and gamblers. Give them food, training, supplies, and gadgets to carry out my missions for them. Their reward isn't only a get-out-of-jail-free card, but also money." Garrett perked up at that. "You see, the way I see it, criminals aren't bad people. Hell, half the time they're wrongfully accused. The ones who aren't are the people who were just trying to survive. It happens so much nowadays, I just assume every criminal did what they did just to stay alive. So, I take care of them."

    Basso looked at Garrett. "Let's face it. With your reputation, you need to let me in. You need to trust me, kid. I'm your only hope." Basso rubbed his mustache. "Now, for your second question, we're gonna spend a lot of time together because I'm taking you to my place."

    "What, are you adopting me now?" Garrett sneered.

    "No, I'm saving your life. In fact, I'm enriching it. I have a job for you, boy."

    "I don't trust--"

    "I'll pay you five thousand Ğ."

    That shut Garrett up. Basso smirked, knowing he had his next helper. "It's just a little job. Perfect for a thief of your talent. Do it, and there's plenty more where five thou' came from. Not only that, but I'll train you." Garrett simply gawked at the man who had, in the spam of five minutes, shifted from the host of his next prize to his savior. "...So there ya go. Both questions-- err, excuse me. Question and implied uncertainty answered. So, can I know your name now?"

    Garrett looked ahead as the horses rounded another corner of the street before trotting to a stop. To his left was a dark alley, blocked off by a gate. "...My name is Garrett."

    "Garrett...?" Basso implied, leaning in.

    "...Just Garrett."

    "No last name?"

    "I named myself," Garrett grunted.

    "Ah. I understand." Basso jumped out of the chariot, walking to the gate. Bette followed. Garrett hopped out and followed suit, tailing the cat. Basso opened the gate door casually, walking in before holding it open for Bette and Garrett. The teen grumbled under his breath, following Basso in the dark alley.

    After a few more seconds of walking in the dark, Basso stopped Garrett near a staircase. "Here we are." He stepped down the staircase, his big belly bouncing as he did. Garrett followed him to the bottom, before coming across a wooden door.

    Basso turned the door nob, walking inside. Garrett tailed behind, entering a new atmosphere as he stepped in the room. After Basso flicked the switch by the doorway, it was shrouded in light.

"Bienvenue," Basso grinned, walking in. "À mon chez. It could use some work, but it's home."

    Garrett took it all in. It was about the size of a big, square room, two wooden doors on the far side. In the left corner closest to Garrett, he noticed a sofa sitting in front of two bookshelves, each on a separate side of the converging walls. They were full of books. In the right corner hung a portrait of a woman on the wall, a solitary chair facing it. On the far left corner was a wordrobe and chest, instantly teasing Garrett's curiosity, who figured he'd steal from it later. The far right corner had a wooden table with two chairs on it. Basso walked further in, followed by Bette.

    "The door on the left is the shitting hole," he informed. Garrett recoiled. "Don't worry about the smell, I got plumbing. A shower, too. The door on the right's your new bedroom."

    Garrett peered at the door. "A real bed?"

    "Yep. Nothing like the nasty, cum-and-blood stained matresses in Ville Orphelinat. And judging from your appearance, it's a lot more comfy than between a drunk and a whore, lying on a wooden dock."

    "How did you..?"

    "Like I said, mon nouveau ami. Psycology. I'll teach you later." Basso smiled, waving his hand slightly as he made his way to the wardrobe in the room. Garrett crossed his arms, walking slowly around the room.

    "À voila." Basso backed up from the wardrobe, a pile of something black and leathery in hand. He walked to Garrett, before reaching out with it.

    Garrett peered down at the clothing, before looking back up. "...I still don't trust you."

    "I don't expect you to. Seven years with no friends can really do something to a kid." Basso gestured to the clothes. "But this'll be a start. After all, if you're gonna act like a thief, might as well look the part."

    Garrett snatched the outfit from Basso's hand.

    "It's for tomorrow," the man informed. "You'll need a good night's rest for the job." Basso walked past Garrett to the lone sofa, yawning. He took off his hat and set it at the foot of the couch before lying on it. "Whelp, bon nuit."

    Garrett briefly inspected the empty beer bottles by Basso's new bed before walking to his room. When he opened the door, he was astonished to see a real bed. It was modest, about two feet off the ground and hosting curtains from the ceiling. But it was real. The teen barely noticed the rest of the room as he glided to the bed, a grin on his face. He put a hand on its covered matress, pressing down to test the softness. His hand sunk right in. Garrett gleefully dropped the outfit, hopping on board. He bounced back up a full inch before settling in the soft cushions. Instantly, his eyelids grew heavy.

    That was when a sudden wave of anger attacked Garrett with a vengeance. He didn't know where it came from, or why he was having it, but he was angry as Hell. Before he knew it, he was thrown into a mental rage.

    Just ten minutes ago, he was just fine! He had a full stomach, a rare luxury for him. Then, this fatso comes and claims him as his property? Quoi?!

    Garrett clenched his fists.

"This guy doesn't deserve to just come in from nowhere with some actress pet, thinking he can just kidnap me and get away with it! He can't honestly think he's scott-free to do this just because I'm wanted! And that bitch Bette! Je veux juste la déchirer, membre par membre!"

    Garrett punched his bed, sitting up instantly. He was moments away from retrieving his bow and teaching Basso a lesson when realization hit. He was having his nightly mood-swings again.

    Garrett grunted angrily, staring at the floor with a death stare. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder seriously had its effects.

    Garrett closed his eyes, taking a deep sigh before opening them. One would think seven years was enough time to get used to it. But one would be wrong.

    That was when the young man spotted the outfit from earlier, now unfolded and on the floor. It looked like a black morph suit, but with a hood, various pockets and loopholes, and, to his delight, a facemask. Two fingerless gloves were spread out on the floor beside it, along with a pair of thin-looking, featureless shoes which had dark brown pads on their soles. It was all black.

    Curiosity got the better of Garrett as he hopped out of his new bed, kneeling down to his suit. He held it up by the shoulders, and was surprised to see a cape droop from behind the cloth.

"...Huh," was all he said, before dropping the uniform, undressing, and lying in a bed which he would soon become very familiar with.

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    Garrett, at first, didn't recognize himself in the mirror. He had to wipe a circle in the foggy glass, only revealing his upper body, but it was enough of a shock to make his eyes widen. It was the first time he had done this in his memory.

    Basso had insisted he take a shower, even if Garrett hadn't the slightest idea how it worked. When in the unusually warm (yet incredibly comfortable) waters, there were three things he presumed were to wash himself with. Something called "Shampoo," "Conditioner," and a block of something green that said "Colombe" [Dove] on it.

    He guessed the Shampoo went on his body, the Colombe went in his hair, and the Conditioner also went in his hair. He didn't know what it did, but the jet black streaks on his noggin were frazzled and soft, his skin smelling of strawberries. He must've done something right.

    Garrett turned to pick up his usual, tattered and baggy clothes, but stopped. His head slowly turned to the outfit on the floor.

    It was sitting there, still as ever, but at the same time inviting. Garrett's hand shifted away from over his clothes to the outfit, holding it up for inspection. Oddly enough, it appealed to him. He turned the outfit around to find a zipper running from the top to bottom of the suit's torso.

    Garrett, after sliding into his undergarments, unzipped the entrance and stepped in. After that, he pulled the pants up to his waist, the soft leather fitting perfectly around his well-toned legs. Garrett wiggled his way in, before sitting down to pull the shoes on. He did just that, and was standing up to fit his arms in the sleeves afterwards. Once again, a perfect fit. Garrett wondered if Basso had been watching him for quite some time to get the exact measurements.

    Garrett reached back and zipped his outfit up, admiring how the cape fell over his shoulders and nearly scraped the floor. Garrett adjusted the hood on his head, pulling the face mask up above his lower face, which was a tight and comfortable fit. It wasn't necessary, it just felt natural. Garrett slid the fingerless gloves on.

    A knock on the door attracted Garrett's attention.

    "I got you some breakfast," Basso informed simply. "You're gonna need the energy for today's job, boy."

    Garrett uh-huh'ed a reply, turning to leave the bathroom. However, his reflection stopped him dead.

    Garrett slowly turned to the mirror. It was clearer now, the fog having died down from time. It showed himself in his full body, now clad in thief-uniform. Garrett reached a hand up, drawing the face mask down to reveal his face. A small smirk appeared on his features.

"Toi beau coquin," he jeered.