The hushed gasps of a handsome teen male came rapid and low, his tone showed that he was in some sort of a rush, and as tears welled in his amazingly pretty off-green eyes, he suddenly turned a corner. He felt his world spin as he ran forwards, sadly for the boy though, his turn found him in a world of hurt.

He came to a complete stop as he turned the corner. He slammed into the front of a wall of muscle, a giant of a man who was standing in the boys only way out of the rather small alleyway, which was filled with old newspapers and trash-cans which somebody had made into a D.Y.I-esque bed.

The man stood with his huge bear-mits he called hands on the sides of his hips, which themselves looked like giant tree-trunks. "Oh crap.." the boy sighed as he slowly backed away towards the entrance, followed by the man. Everyone four of small teens steps was barely one of the behemoth of a mans own steps, which, with the boys over-active imagination, made the entire alleyway shake and shudder just like the boy himself, who would simply jump up and turn himself around in one sudden movement, before at least attempting to dash off.

Though, nothing really ever goes right for lonely kids on the streets on NY, though things had been going relatively well for the kid, it seemed they were about to go tits-up, as it were. The boy dashed towards the back-end of the alleyway, though as he soon found out, it was a dead end, with only a one-way exit from a dance-club of some sort, as the boy could see numerous random people and their goings on from a large mirror beside him.

The youth found himself between a rock-face and a hard place, the man was slowly gaining on him, as a large, almost evil grin appeared on his bronzed, handsome face and his feet slide against the wet, garbage-laden ground. The man's hands slowly undid a thick, black leather belt that held his modesty together, and unraveled it. He then glared down at the quivering boy as his hand raised towards the sky, the large buckle glistening as much as his balled head, before bringing it down onto the back of the boy, causing the teen to cry out, and the man to shout in a very raised voice, so loud that even some of the people inside would be able to hear it. He screamed "THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR TAKING MY CASH AN' RUNNIN', YOU LITTLE BASTARD!", before bringing the large buckle of the belt down onto the teen once more.

Jack smiled, looking over the Spanish girl with a grin. He stepped forward and reached out to her, patting her back softly. Thank God he finished high school with an Associates- although he'd probably never tell the others that. It was his emotions that held him back, not his academic attention span.

"Bueno yo hablo español. Vamos, vamos..." Jack whispered the slightly fluent sound of two years of Spanish classes. He smiled politely, and stood again, a tall tower of generosity and miracles, as he turned back towards Joleigh and Brooklyn, beginning to walk with the set of young girls towards this 'junkyard'.

"I've been on the streets about a year, or so..." Jack began softly, light green hues gazing over the roads and people. "I use to be high class, with a nice house and a rich record label, but when my wife cheated on me, shit just happened really fast, and I never got back up on my feet." Jack spat out honestly, not minding to tell his story. He had coped with the fact that it had happened. He hadn't coped with the fact that his heart now sported a large scar because of it. He hated how he turned his raw love for Ginger into envy and hatred for her lover, in attempts to make things right. And that, was why he couldn't make anything of himself. Crawl off these streets.

Because he couldn't form his emotions solidly when things got past friendship. He couldn't seem to put a lot of faith in himself anymore. But you would never know, looking from the outside in...





Amisha took a breath, muttering a quiet 'thank you' to Katrina as they started to walk closer to the harbor. On the way there, Katrina had said something about Tyler being here, but Amisha looked only to see him walking away from them. She felt a sinking feeling in her. Tell one person, and watch them leave. Watch them disappear.

Turning her head, she continued walking, feeling her lungs begin to quiver with what wanted to be tears, but Amisha tried to only keep her crying for her sleep, when she couldn't control it any longer. For the long nights and lonesome memories. Those, she cried for.

As she walked, she noticed that Brooklyn, Joleigh, the Spanish girl, and Jack were together, along with other stragglers like Erin and Joel.

Amisha turned away, looking back at Katrina with sore eyes, smiling weakly as her world began to still.

"Let's go back to the yard." She whispered, walking forward, away from everyone and back to the place where she had been taken in...




As Amisha turned, she heard the yelp of a boy; perhaps everyone did. It was low, and distant. Her heart ripped out of her chest and fell on the damp cold pavement that moment. She wanted to let her legs buckle and pass out. She wasn't strong enough to hear that after everything. Turning her eyes back to Jack, she wanted to do something.

But the knife was gone.

Dammit Katrina!, Amisha hissed in silent thought. She began to gnaw on her lip, as Jack began to move closer, soon standing tall beside the Indian teen.

"You look sick, what's wrong?" He said softly, looking over her. She was a weird one. She wasn't immature, wasn't emo and childishly depressed. Something was wrong with this one, he could tell.

"Did you hear that?" She whimpered.

"C'mon." Jack said, looking back at the others. "You guys wait a minute?" He said softly, taking Amisha's wrist so very softly in those callous warm hands, and walking with her towards the sound.

Another shrill cry of a child echoed out, and Amisha flinched. Jack could feel her shaking weakly in his hand's grip, and he could only cast his eyes down and wonder what she thought of. But no one knew. Amisha thought of Tarik. His screams weren't so young, but they were still somewhat similar. She was being cast around, hit and beaten herself, with only faint glimpses of Tarik, struggling like an angry snake in the grip of the dealers. Kicking, screaming, and being knocked silent every few minutes, before coming too and attacking again.

All and all, until finally...

Boom....




Amisha seemed to lurch forward. It's not too late. Not yet. She began dragging Jack forward with her, his wiry form breaking into a run to keep up with the foreign girl.

Damn this girl has got some legs on her.

He would've laughed softly at his own joke, but it wasn't funny to see this one's distress.

Amisha disappeared into a dark corner, stretching back into an alley next to a strip-club or dance-club of some form. When she saw the belt buckle glimmer in the light, she tried to scream. But the sound, so sharp and octane, stuck in her throat and she only let out a gasp.

Jack came around, his hands sliding on her shoulders and pushing Amisha forward, almost picking her up by her upper arms. She was thankful for the fact that she was moving towards her target without having to depend on herself- because she was not doing so well anymore.

"Get your hands off of him!" Jack said sternly, and Amisha leaned forward, raising her hand up to the man, though he was a faint distance away.

"Stop it!" She said, her voice hard and distinguished. "Get away from him, that's not your child to beat, you sorry bastard."

Again, she had amazed Jack. He looked down at her and thought again how odd she really was.

"You boy, come here," She began softly, "come to me." She whispered, Jack stepping to her side and clenching his fists, the towering man looking again frightful as he watched to see if the other would dare to bring down the belt.

Amisha felt a tiny twinge of hope in her.
This Jack character seemed to be pretty good at playing the hero. And though Tyler knew a taste of her truth, Jack was like a back-up pillar, a pillar that was permanent in this situation. She only hoped she would not see the sight of this child beat.

Because it would be the end of her.

{EDITED AT 9:38}

Amisha and Jack watched intently as the man's attention turned towards them. His rage-filled eyes showed no remorse for the boy who had just been struck with the silver edge of a belt buckle. Over the boy's back, one could see the spots where the cloth was torn and swells were occurring.

"This fuckin' brat stole my-"

"We don't care." Jack said sternly. "Come here boy, it's okay."

The boy looked up, then to the man who raised the belt again as if to strike him once more. With a whimper to be heard, the boy shot out from the corner and raced over to Amisha and Jack. Amisha shortened herself a bit, taking her arms around the boy's shoulders as she stared back at the man who held the belt at his side.

"Well someone's gonna' pay me back. Why not you woman?" He said, looking at Amisha. "You don't look bad. How 'bout I take you home tonight and return you tomorrow, and we call it even?" He looked over at the woman, stepping forward with a perverse grin and chuckle.

"How 'bout you fuck off?" Was the f-word Jack's favorite word? Amisha blushed. Well, it was his favorite thing to spice up an insult or retort with. Jack took his hand around Amisha's shoulder and turned her towards the edge of the alley. And with Amisha, she brought the boy.

Together the three moved back into the street, as quietly as they could manage.

"Stupid whore, I'll get what I've lost!" The man yelled to them, but they were already on a hot trail to catch up with everyone else, at the junkyard. And in the process of heading towards that path, Amisha couldn't help but shrug away from Jack.

He gave her a strange misunderstood look, but he decided it was best to not touch the girl. He had no idea what she had been through, and he was perhaps the most strange of them all.
And Amisha didn't want the stranger touching her, especially after that man had wanted to take her for the night. The thought made her shudder as she quickened her pace as they all approached the junkyard...





The boy went off to his own corner, giving Amisha and Jack their thanks.

Amisha went to her spot too. She laid patiently back on the blanket, staring up at the sky. How horrible tonight had been. Her chest ached from the panic she had experienced. It was nights like these she doubted she could survive. Nights like these that made her feel sickly and weak in the world of perverse criminals.

She closed her eyes, but did not sleep. Instead, she rolled over to her side and placed a hand on the chain-link fence, staring through it and over the desolate lot and onwards to the city. What a sick place, she thought...





Jack, though new, made himself welcome. He came forward and noticed the dreary feel of this place. Thus, he moved with a gentle amiability towards others around the group. He found a small spot to himself, near Hope and Brooklyn, and took his seat there. Brushing the smooth lank black hair from his face and behind his ears, he began to unhook the clasps on his guitar case.

"Hey, you girls like music?" He said with a grin, looking over to even Erin, with her gracious serenity, hidden beneath dirt and lonesome.

I'ma be Brooklyn for life! Rep your set, bang your flag, bust your tec, get that cash! I'ma be Brooklyn for life!

Dee walked down Nostrand Avenue in the Brooklyn projects. Black jeans, a black t-shirt, and his black Prada boots spoke of a the hustler ethos the man had. People in the hood knew him. Some would call him a dream. Other would call him a monster. The man had done things in his life that he regretted. He had done time. Now, with no family he was on the street.

"'ey girl!" Dee yelled across the street to a couple hood rats. They were dressed night. The night life in the hood had a different feeling than any other place. There was a sexual tension that spoke volumes to anyone who was visiting the Bedstuy Housing district.

Dee adjusted the black bandanna that was tied around his head. His mind wandered off into nothingness. He wanted some smoke. The Haitian boys down on Gates would have it. Dee had no money but he had a new little piece he took off a little thug in the projects. A small .25 caliber Jennings gun. He knew the firearm was unreliable but it would work for the juxx he was about to do.

Gates Road was a typical ghetto street. People standing around all day doing nothing. The Haitians hung out in front of the corner store that used to be Dee's corner. He had sold more coke and crack on that corner than most people would ever deal in their whole life.

Dee's mind went into over drive as he walked down the street. No mask, no gloves. This is how he came up in the street. His right hand grabbed the rubber banded handle and rolled the hammer back. It had five rounds total in the clip plus one in the chamber. It would have been obvious to someone on the outside that Dee understood what he was doing. He quickly approached 3 Haitian men, the gun came from his pocket and was placed against the base of one Haitians skull. His free hand reached around the mans waist until he found the revolver. He drew that before the other two realized what had happened. Dee pointed the snub nose weapon at the two now staring and screaming at him.

"Money, guns, and work. On the ground!" Dee screamed. The men complied with him. The other two had no weapons on them. That was how it worked. One carried the gun, one carried the drugs, the other carried the cash. That was if one got knocked the others wouldn't be short on any work they had done that day. Dee smacked his hostage in the back of the head sending him forward. Dee popped three rounds off in the air sending people scattering. He quickly grabbed up the money, a bag of weed, and some vials of crack. He tossed the revolver into his back pocket than turned and sprinted down the street. Like clock work. He would flip this until he had enough money to come out of poverty.