H, originally Haoireabard, arrived in America in 1911 when he was just 9 years old. He came over on the large ocean liner the Olympic but was stowed away underdeck for the most part. The upper classes didn't seem to care for the shabbier passengers keeping company with them. He originally came with his mother, father and two brothers. His mother took sick and died on the way over. She was tossed overboard with just a few days of the voyage remaining. His father made it to New York, but fell victim to a drive-by shooting on his way home from the docks just days after. WIth their father gone, H and his two brothers found themselves out on the street, his brothers were of an age to get work in warehouses down on the docks, but they just barely scraped by on the low wage. H contributed by pickpocketing his way along the high streets and found he had quite the nack for it.

His brothers soon found themselves giving in to the idea of joining a gang. There was plenty of them going around after all, there had to be something in it. They packed up whatever belongings they had and moved themselves into Hell's Kitchen and banded up with the other Irish. Luck didn't seem to be on their side however, one was arrested for selling whiskey brought down from Canada and the other was shot while trying to escape. This was enough to put the young H off the life of crime, well, high-end crime anyways. 

With the loss of his entire family and not even in his teens, H was quickly out on the street and struggling to get by. His pickpocket wage only fed him and no one was interested in hiring a homeless child. He stepped up his game a little when he got a bit more street smart. He began pulling clever little cons on the public and more than a few times gave in to the temptation of sticking up those big-cat business types on their way home from their high-rise offices. They always turned out a nice lump of cash. 

He finally managed to set aside enough to buy himself a shitty little apartment just over a year ago and was doing nicely for himself in his own mind. The organised gangs were now getting a bit too big for comfort now though, and were clamping down on the street rats like himself. Seven had gone on the last two days alone, how long would it be before a few fedoras bust in his door and put him out of business. He would go on to chance his luck anyways. 

A new day a new dawn. H pulled on his straight leg grey trousers, tucked in his shirt and pulled his suspendors up over his shoulders before heading out into the street, how would today go for him?