City of New Los Angeles,  A.W 2037.

Neon lights give sparse illumination to the streets cloaked in darkness below, each of them hiding its own little secret. 

In one such street, tucked away in a corner of the city known as the Jew of the Night, sat a boy, dirty and rugged. 

His clothes are in tatters, its original print long since faded into obscurity, with only the colour red, the dark red of blood, as bright as ever. 

Beneath his feet laid another boy, dressed almost identically to the first boy, except for the hilt of the knife buried into his torso. Even in the future, a knife still kills as well as it does today. 

Picking up the loaf of bread clutch in the hands of the other boy, Julius began his fight for survival, a fight he has been fighting for 10 years. 

He had long forgotten his mother's name, or even how she looked like. Ever since he was born, he had been abandoned. 

No that it matters. Even he knows that his mother is probably just one of the whores down at Lover's Paradise who was too poor to effort a abortion. Should he be thankful? No. He would have been better of dead. 

Cleaning the knife soaked in the blood of the other boy, he glanced left and right. Life in the slums was hard. You never know when someone would plunge a knife in you, either for food, or for shelter. 

What is worse though, are the <>. 

They are the only source of order in this slums, what use it may have. In here, their word is law, and if you ever disobey them, you will suffer a fate worse than death. 

Unfortunately, today Julius's luck ran out. Just as he was about to make his escape from the alleyway he is in, he realised that there is no way out. The <> have arrived. 

"So this is our little thief, eh? The one who have the audacity to steal food from one of our <> members." One of them spoke out first. Dressed in a faded out singlet with a torn jacket embossed with spikes, he casually pointed to the boy on the floor. More specifically, the tattoo on the boy's forearm. 

The boy was one of the <> members. Not a former member, but one of the "pleasure" boys, catering to some of the special "whims" of the official <> members. For his "services", he gets protected by the <>, but whether is it any worst than not being protected at all, no one knows. 

"Look," he when forward and kicked the corpse on the floor with the tip of his foot, "you have even killed him. Now that little Johnny is dead, how to you expect us to have our fun now? Unless..." The look on his eyes changed as he stared at Julius. Lust, pure and simple, being to take over as he eyes began to take in Julius's outline.

Julius, even though his face is smeared by dust and grime, is undeniably good-looking. The slight slant of his eyes, the contours of his cheeks, the cherry red lips that cannot be covered by dirt, adds a feminine touch to his overall appearance, the kind of touch that drives some type of people insane. His long hair, luxurious and smooth, cascading down to his hips, together with his malnourished and petite figure, just adds to the effect. Like a incubus, Julius drew the his breath away.

"Well...well...well..."The person repeated, his eyes fixated at Julius, "Little boy, why don't you say we---"

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"Fuck off, you faggot!" A glint of sliver against the neon lighting of the alleyway was all that hinted at knife that struck the him at the chest. It was a hit that would have guaranteed a kill, if not for what happened next.

A sliver liquid oozed out of the wound at the <> member's chest, before it, in defiance of physics, flowed back into the wound, and closed up the wound in an instant. The knife clattered to the side of the <> member, rendered useless by the strange phenomenon. 

"Healing Magic <>....How...."

<>, an intermediate level healing spell classified under Class 3a restricted magic. It was a spell that was capable of regenerating any wound, at the horrible expense of the users lifespan. It was only meant to be used in the military  per-registration basis, it was a spell that civilians, even the <>, should not be able to get. 

"Heh...faggot...little boy, I will let you the true meaning of the word faggot after I am done with you! <>!"

Before Julius could even react,  burning arrows of flame pierced through both of his knees and hands, skewering him to the wall behind him.  An indescribable pain, as if his internal organs are set on fire, assailed his body. His consciousness slowly faded, not before he saw the figure of the <> member slowly approaching, his eyes shining with lust.

-π-

A sharp pain jolted him awake. It was a slap right on his face by the <> member as he hauled Julius right against the wall of what appears to be a warehouse. 

"We won't want you to be unconscious now, would we?" The <> member had a cruel smile on his lips, as his fingers grasped the helm of Julius's clothes. 

Julius began to struggle, for he knew what was about to happen. Looking around him, he could see that he was surrounded by other <> members, each of them looking on with excitement. If he did not escape, the fate that would await him would be worser than death. 

The struggling, rather than deter the <> member, made him eyes shine even brighter with lust. Tearing Julius's clothes off as he struggled with all his might, slowly savouring Julius's despair, gave him a satisfaction even greater than the deed itself. 

Julius's was in complete despair, for he knew that he could not escape. He malnourished body was no match for the <> member and he was completely suppressed. He felt his clothing left him in strips as the <> member undid his clothing and closed his eyes. A single tear, the first he ever shed, dripped down from the side of his cheeks as he felt the inevitable come. 

I am Nightingale, the Shadow. I am the Darkness, the Slient Protector. My enemies will not fear me, for there is no fear in death. As per the Oath, I have arrived, for the hatred we share, the revenge we seek. 

Author's Notes:

This is one of the five main characters of the story, Julius Mist Nightingale.