(For this chapter I don't have a musical recommendation, but I trust you to suggest something that fits the theme in the comments.)
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— Alright… so what's… the plan…
It was the first phrase that passed his lips after our handshake.
His voice was hoarse, almost broken, but his eyes burned with a relentless fire. Hunger spoke for him. He wanted to eat.
— Just the two of us won't be enough, I replied in a steady tone. We need more.
I paused, weighing the gravity of my words.
— If we can gather a group of ten kids, we'll stand a chance. A pack, not two isolated prey. But for now… half will do. Five.
I turned without waiting for his answer. I knew he would follow.
I resumed my march through the streets of this underground city, searching for the right ingredients to build the group I envisioned. It took longer than it had for the first child. The first one… he didn't even have a name. I had asked, and he had nothing to give me.
But after another hour of wandering, I spotted my second target.
A child, healthier than we were. He walked calmly through the street, weaving through the crowd with the agility of a cat. His steps were soundless, his fingers even more so, as they slipped into the pockets of passersby without anyone noticing.
I slowed, watching each of his movements.
This kid wasn't like the rest of us starving wretches. No, he knew how to survive. His eyes weren't searching the sky, or the scraps on the ground—they searched for openings. Loose pockets, distracted arms, carelessly held bags.
He moved unseen, his loot vanishing into his loose clothing without a single cry rising behind him. Not one clumsy gesture. Everything was fluid, precise, almost elegant.
I smiled inwardly. Raw talent. Where the first had only his hunger and despair, this one had skill. Two complementary profiles.
I chose not to approach him head-on. Not yet. If I presented myself as just another kid, he'd either run or, worse, use me as a distraction. No… I had to catch him in his own game.
So I waited. I trailed him at a distance, watching for the moment his focus would slip.
He approached an old man carrying a leather satchel. His hand slid toward the strap with an expert's ease… but what he hadn't seen, was that I had seen.
The instant he withdrew his fingers, clutching a small purse, my hand seized his wrist with iron firmness.
His eyes shot up, surprised, furious, ready to fight. But I said nothing. I only tightened my grip and raised a finger to my lips, a silent gesture sharp enough to tell him I had the choice: hand him over, or spare him.
Then I whispered, low enough for only him to hear:
— You think you'll never get caught? You think you're invisible? You'll die in a dark alley like the rest of us if you keep this up.
His anger deepened at my words. His mouth curled back, a guttural growl slipping out—animal, rough, like a dog ready to bite.
His fingers clenched the purse so hard his knuckles turned white.
But I didn't release his wrist. I stood perfectly still, my gaze locked into his. Not a challenge. Not a threat.
— You think you're strong because you can steal, I murmured evenly. But one day, you'll slip. Or worse, you'll run into someone stronger than you. And that day, you'll be alone. And alone… you'll die.
He jerked violently, trying to break free, but I tightened my grip just enough to remind him I wasn't afraid.
— I'm not your enemy, I continued softly. I'm offering you a choice. With me, you keep your hands, you keep your talent… and you gain allies. Refuse, and keep on like this. But when we find your corpse in the gutter, there'll be no one left to mourn you.
His struggle quieted. His wild eyes searched me, torn between rage and caution. Behind him, my first companion—the boy with the desperate eyes—watched the scene in silence, as though he too awaited the verdict.
Finally, the thief spat at my feet, a grimace twisting his face.
— Tch… Fine. Talk, then. What's your plan?
I released his wrist.
— We find two more street rats like us, I said calmly. Then we get food, water, and a roof over our heads to sleep warm.
At the mention of food, I saw the desperate boy's mouth open involuntarily. A line of drool slid down his chin, betraying the brutality of his hunger.
I turned my head at once, pretending not to notice.
Two allies. Different, even opposite: one consumed by hunger, the other sharpened by instinct. But both useful.
I needed two more. Two more pieces to complete the picture.
I didn't yet know what kind of children I was looking for, but I knew I would recognize them when I saw them.
As we moved on, I glanced at the newcomer.
— Now that we're in the same camp… what's your name ?
He shot me a sidelong look, wary. His lips stretched into a mocking half-smile, as if debating whether to give me a real answer.
— Names can be stolen too, you know. And sometimes… changed.
I stayed silent. Waiting.
At last, he shrugged.
— They call me Ratt. Like a rat. Not flattering, but… it fits.
Behind him, the first boy—the desperate one with the mad, hungry eyes—lowered his head. His fists clenched. A heavy silence fell, and I understood: he had nothing to say. No name. No identity. Only emptiness.
I nodded slowly.
— Very well. Then we'll find one for you, in time.
As the words faded, the three silhouettes slipped deeper into the dim-lit streets of the underground city.
We pressed forward, cutting through the dense crowd. My eyes scanned every figure, every movement. I was waiting for that instinctive spark, that immediate certainty that whispered: this one belongs with us.
The third, I found in an alley near a makeshift market.
A stocky boy, curled on the ground, arms too muscled for his age, skin laced with fresh scars. He was enduring the savage blows of three grown men, his jaw clenched tight, refusing to release the apple he had already bitten into.
The merchant was shouting, threatening, but the boy didn't yield. He took the beating without crying, without letting go.
I stepped closer, locking eyes with him just as his assailants, worn out by their own violence, finally gave up.
He rose immediately, the fruit still clutched in his bloodied fingers. A smile spread across his bruised face. A bloody, victorious smile.
I smiled back.
— You… you've got the endurance of an ox. If you want more than a single apple for your blood, come with us.
He looked at me first, then at the children gathered behind me.
He hesitated, but the rage in his eyes became his answer.
The third had joined us.
The fourth was the hardest.
We walked on, and I wondered if luck would turn. Then I saw her.
A girl, curled up beneath a stone arch, a small notebook in her hands.
She was drawing. Plans, sketches of bridges, makeshift mechanisms. Her face was calm, focused, almost detached from the chaos and misery around her.
I knelt to her level. She lifted her gaze—cold, lucid, older than her frail body.
— You dream of machines, I said softly. But here, your dreams won't feed you.
Her charcoal-stained fingers tightened around her notebook, as though my words had threatened her only treasure.
For a moment, I thought she would ignore me, dismiss me with silence.
I continued.
— You think these sketches will change anything? Gears, wings, weapons… Even if you had the means, who would build them for you? Who would hand you steel, wood, a forge? Here, all you'll get is hunger—and a knife in the back.
Her lips quivered slightly, but no sound escaped. She lowered her eyes to a half-finished drawing, some mix of pulley and propeller, and her shoulders sagged. Not defiance anymore. Shame.
I extended my hand. Slowly, without force.
— Come. Put your intelligence to use on something more than paper. Help us survive. And with our hands… we'll build your dream. Together.
She held my gaze for a long time before finally taking my hand.
There it was. Five children.
A desperate soul, guts laid bare.
A thief, quick as shadow.
An ox, who never let go.
A dreamer, her mind already elsewhere.
And me…
Just a monster draped in human skin.