Of course things would go this way. Easy might as well not be in my dictionary at this point.

I stood around the corner as I strained my lack of ears to hear their footsteps. That was one of the advantages of the labyrinth of streets haphazardly thrown through this town. It was easy to slip away from unwanted pursuers if you knew enough.

And me? Well, I knew plenty. Years of hounding and being hounded made these streets as easy to recognize as the garbage I had thrown around the top of my desk.

As I tried to remember what color my pen was, I heard the heavy clod of footsteps. I held my small pistol up and would have licked my teeth if I had a tongue.

At the first sight of his black hair, I struck. I brought down the butt of my pistol square on his head. Gravity and my own strength worked hand in hand as I gave him a private lesson in checking blindspots.

"Hey! It's you!" the portly kid snarled.

He was as fat as he was spoiled. This freckled redhead with his frizzled curls was obviously born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He must've latched onto the nipple of prosperity his parents threw at him to get him to shut up as well. No normal person could dream of achieving that sort of girth, not with how rare food you could actually keep down was.

I knew the barrel would've shut him up quicker, but I didn't want to alert everyone and their grandmother where I was. Though, if I wasn't quick his fat mouth would do that for me.

Without a word, I raised my gun, and smacked him clean across the face.

For a moment, he was stunned. He brought a hand up to his cheek. The feeling of someone openly standing against him must've been more surprising than any actual pain. And with all that extra flesh, I doubt he could feel too much.

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"You...even seeing who I am...you still struck me?"

Seems I was spot on. Kid's parents must really hate confrontation to let things get this far with their hell spawn.

Don't flatter yourself kid. You're nothing but a two-bit crook in my lack of eyes. I hope my derision was clear enough that it'd get through his thick skull. I mean, I gave it all I had with those two hits, and it seemed to affect him about as much as a male mosquito trying to suck his blood.

"Lack of..." His eyes grew wide.

Seems he finally saw the skeleton in my closet. Definitely not the brightest tool in the shed if he missed all that during the big shootout in the warehouse. I'm definitely going to have to have a talk with that dame about letting me know how psycho her kid was before I was thrown into a cage with his shark buddies.

The shock didn't last. It was quickly replaced by a smile, if you could call it that. That horrendous expression would be more at home on a kid as he tore the legs off of spiders.

"You know, maybe instead of fighting us, you'd like a job. We're quite influential you know. The best of the best, and we're on our way straight to the top."

Heh. A recruitment speech? Now that was a surprise.

Sorry kid. Some of us have a little thing called self-respect. I'd stalled for enough time. I'd managed to step back to a garbage bin and reach my hand in. It was uncomfortably wet and soggy. But I grabbed a handful, crushed it into a squishy ball, and shoved it into his fat mouth.

The smell must've hit him first as he tried to gag, but that only locked the expanding mishmash of soaked papers deeper into his mouth. He flung himself to the ground and it looked like he was convulsing. Finding a way to get rid of that filth without soiling his hands as well would probably be the most difficult thing he would ever have to face in his comfortable life.

It was also a clear chance for me to continue my little getaway.

I could've shot him. Probably would've been quieter. But despite what I told myself, I knew that I felt sorry for him. Ruined by his parents and an endless list of sycophants. I couldn't just rob him of his life after he was dealt such a bad hand. Plenty have worse hands, sure, but they at least knew how the game was played. That kid? He was absolutely clueless.

As I mulled over what his favorite flavor from the handful of trash might be, my shoes splashed in the puddles of sewage that had overflowed from the drains. The smell was absolutely foul, but that meant I was closer to my objective.

Three-hundred and forty-sixth street. Rows of shiny, new warehouses. Land bought cheap by some fatcat that would never set foot anywhere near them. Made sense, as anyone who came down here would instantly realize how terrible the location was.

I mean, even guys like me would think twice about setting up shop somewhere you have to trudge through over a foot of raw sewage to get into every time it rains. Guess he was just blinded by the low price tag and figured everything else would work itself out.

Heh, almost poetic that those kids playing criminal would set up shop in these. They probably aren't even squatting. I bet they actually pay him rent.

I froze for a second as I saw the unmistakable glint of metal in the distance. But, I quickly dove to the side. Unlucky for me, that meant diving headfirst into sewage and submerging my entire body for a few seconds.

It was so foul. I swear I could feel it seep into my bones themselves. Without some strong acid rain peeling away a layer or two, I doubt I could stomach to wear any of these clothes again.

Man, I was not being paid enough for this. Not in the slightest.