Your name is Kinsey Malone. You are 6 years old. Your mother is mentally unstable and has quite the expensive drinking habit. Your father has issues with keeping his temper under control. Your sister is 4 years old and has no way of providing for your poor excuse of a family. You've been forced to scavenge for food since you were able to walk. Your father is far too occupied with his illegal gambling to care about how well off the rest of you are. You're growing weary of your endless duties.
You've just recently been offered a position in a new gang known as the rebuttal. You were told that you were absolutely irreplaceable. You sure like the sound of that. They have no choice but to acknowledge your effort if they can't survive without you.
You have also been blessed/cursed with a gift. You have the ability to monitor mudo activity in your sleep. You find this a little bothersome, personally, and it was excruciatingly terrifying as an even younger child; watching people being scratched apart and tortured. Over the years, however, you have been desensitized to such violence, and it doesn't bother you as much as it used to. You no longer cry for the insignificant lives lost or get sick to your stomach after viewing the gore.
You feel no internal or moral conflict what so ever at the thought of leaving your little family- in fact, there was no thinking involved. You hesitated not when you received the offer, accepting immediately. You despise both of your biological parents and couldn't care less how your sister gets on, having no bond with her at all.
Your only problem is figuring out how to escape your familial obligations without either of your parents noticing. You know all too well that if they caught you in the act of leaving that they would beat you senseless and keep an even closer watch on you. Without you providing food, your father has nothing to gamble with, an no way of fueling your mother's alcoholism.
You plan on leaving tonight, and you crouch in front of a small duffel bag that you came across just hours earlier. You stare at it unseeingly, trying to think of what to pack. You have no possessions. You do, however, have access to food. You decide to go out for another food run, this time without returning. You remember the boy that confronted you earlier, tall an lanky with greasy black hair. His face was hollow, but he did not look at all malnourished. You think joining him is a safe bet, and even if you aren't guaranteed full meals everyday, you've already proved yourself more than capable of gathering enough food to survive.
You think of your sister, small and frail, totally defenseless. You do not see her evolving to her new conditions easily- maybe not at all. You doubt she will survive long, but you feel no remorse. Maybe Aunt Lion would come back to take care of little Raven. You wonder if she will miss you. You aren't sure if you will miss her. She is the only person you can talk you openly, since she hasn't spoken in the 4 years that she's been alive. You don't recall your parents ever teaching her, but she must be capable of speech, since she obeys orders daily. She is certainly a mystery.
You give brief greeting to your red-faced father, explaining that you are on your way to make another food run. He seems pleased enough with this response, probably only at the prospect of having more to gamble with.
You make a face as soon as your back is to him, recalling the time that you walked in on his gambling. You remember a dank room full of sweaty men crowded around a rusty cage, clutching at scraps of spoiled meat and shaking them in the air, screaming wagers and curse words. You have the least trouble visualizing the contents of the cage- a pale and scarred woman, only dressed in rags and scraps, scrambling for her life, ramming into the bars of her imprisonment, begging for mercy as she evades the greedy fingers of the mudo occupying the little caged area as well.
You shake your head, dispelling the memory. You aren't very bothered by the things you witnessed, only haunted by the gaunt face of the poor woman; pleading to be set free. You wonder if your father will send you to the same fate if he catches you sneaking away with the rest of the food.
You scurry behind an old dumpster, huffing from the journey. Shortly after your arrival, the boy appears from around the corner, hand shoved deep in his pockets. He smiles at you, differently then how you would describe friendly. You haven't seen the expression ever followed by an action before, so you aren't sure what it entails. The only thing similar you can think of is the expression your mother wears when she tells you about the latest whiskey she has added to her collection.
You smile back, a little reserved. The boy steps forward. You recall his name- Ben. The way he arrogantly walks sets off the reminder, him having done the same thing as he first introduce himself.
"You ready, Blondie?" He asks, smirking. You give him a sour expression at the nick-name.
"It's Kinsey. " You correct him, readjusting your bag and crossing your arms defensively.
"Right." He purrs. He takes another step forward.
"Yes, I'm ready." You say, patting your bag with your elbow.
"Let's scram."
You follow him through the scraps of spoiled meat, eventually reaching a small little house. The siding is rotted and all the windows are in tatters. There isn't a front door, just an uninviting hole in the wall. Ben waves his arm in front of him towards the door, signaling for you to enter first. You swallow the lump in your throat and hesitantly comply.
You are greeted with a stench not unlike the one your father wears when he gets home from gambling; sweat with a hint of blood. You hear the creak of floor boards as you enter, and are left with the feeling of watchful eyes.
Ben steps in behind you and whistles with two of his fingers wedged in his mouth. There's a shuffling and several children emerge from behind rotting furniture and stained walls.
They seem to all be boys, most of them at least a few years older than yourself. At closer examination of the crowd, you pick out a feminine looking face. The ratty kid steps forward, shoulders back and a sense of authority radiating from her. Your admiration soon turns to distaste, not liking the reproachful look she gives you as Ben steps to your side.
Amidst the dirty children, a tall boy asserts himself to the front of the crowd, easily two feet taller than yourself. You notice the way the girl shuffles forward a few steps, trying to regain control of the situation.
The large boy smiles down at you intimidatingly, not unlike the grin that Ben gave you. You have grown to be resistant of the way dominance of the immediate environment is given to the wearer of this look. You roll your shoulders back, refusing to give up your ground. 'You're irreplaceable,' you repeat in your head, hoping this phrase will take its place in the mind of this man-boy as well.
Eventually, he gives up the stare-down, and backs up a bit. This gives you confidence in your ability to manipulate your future here.
"Why, hello there missy." He says, grinning at you again.
You scrunch your nose in distaste. You wonder why everyone seems so insistent on using alternative names.
"My NAME is Kinsey." You growl, trying to be as intimidating as possible. You don't get the reaction you had hoped for.
"How adorable." He says, chuckling.
The rest of the boys laugh under their breath obediently, including Ben. You feel small.
"And MY name is Bruce." He says after he regains the floor. You wrinkle your nose again. You don't like the impression you get from this place, realizing you won't ever be able to completely relax, constantly having to be on your guard. You wonder if its too late to return to your family. You don't remember how you got here from the dumpster, though, and so you accept your fate.
Bruce laughs again. The other boys glance around at each other. The room is completely drowned in silence. You can hear your heart beating to the rhythm of Bruce's chuckles.
"So you're the special Blondie?" He says, crossing his arms menacingly.
You wrinkle your nose and narrow your eyes. You think about cutting your hair like the girl with the thing for Ben, so that people won't keep calling you that. Maybe they still will. You aren't sure how much say you have on the matter; or any subject.
"Yes. I was told I was 'irreplaceable'." You clarify.
"Ah, Ben's got you cocky." He says, mouth turning up at one corner in a mock expression of being impressed. "Don't think we're going to give you too much slack just because you have special dreams. Why, you haven't even proved yourself yet!"
"And how do I do that?"
"Well, we have this one kid, Eliza, who's got a real knack for catching news on the mudo, and knocking the spit out of 'em too! If you have one of your little night-visionstonight, and it in anyway reflects what happened today- -which you have absolutely no way of knowing, because none of you boys are going to try and get friendly and spill any beans, are you?-- then you've got yourself a place to stay! Anything less, and you're out of here, back to whatever rat hole you escaped from to get here."
You jerk your chin up, refusing to break eye contact. "You got it, Bruce." Gasps float through the room.
"You can call me 'Sir', little missy." He says, puffing out his chest in an attempt at intimidation.
"And YOU can call me 'Kinsey'."
You can tell you're pushing your luck. You notice all the boys in the room look at each other, as if saying 'how can she get away with that?'. You decide to dial it back a bit.
Bruce raises his eyebrows. "You've got spunk, kid." You prefer this term- seeing as though it doesn't put any emphasis on the fact that you're a girl- so you let it slide. "You're gunna need it. These boys ain't gunna cut you any slack just because you're a girl."
"I don't need them to."
"Right." Bruce takes a grab at the back of his neck uncomfortably. You realize that you have gained control of the situation. You've successfully intimidated everyone in the room, including the giant that stands before you. You could get used to this.
"Well, you better get to sleep. The sooner you prove yourself useful, and not just a waste of supplies, the better for all of us. Ben, would you care to show Kinsey to the sleeping room?"
"My pleasure," Ben says, giving you a grin. "Right this way." He takes your hand, pulling you through the crowd of boys. The stout little girl rams her shoulder against yours as you pass her, refusing to move out of the way. You shoot her a glare over your shoulder. You can already tell that she's going to cause you some problems.
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