Malcolm climbed up the fire escape, pausing only once as he heard creaking metal. He was broader and burlier than most men; it made him a powerful adversary in a fistfight, but it had its drawbacks as well. He made it to the top, though, and looked out at New York. Specifically, he was looking down at Soho. His new home. Malcolm looked down at the cast iron buildings, the factories, the warehouses, the apartment complexes, and the scattered businesses. He surveyed it like a starving boy desperately staring through the window of a bakery.

He'd been fortunate enough to run into the Godfather of Manhattan- and dense enough to put his foot in his mouth with a long, overblown attempt at impressing him. Served him right for trying to be someone he wasn't. But he'd learned a lesson- his first of many, hopefully.

Who was Malcolm Shepard? Before last night, he was a bodyguard. A bouncer. The guy who found you and hurt you when you didn't pay your debts. He was six feet and three inches of muscle available to highest bidder. A weapon wielded by others. But now he was his own man. Malcolm wrapped his large, worn coat around him as the morning breeze sliced through the sky. It was time to begin.

He moved down the occasionally creaking fire escape with purpose as the grey morning began to brighten incrementally. He needed to get to know the neighborhood better and introduce himself to the business owners there. But first, he needed to look the part. He had a few dollars, but not enough for the kind of suit he wanted, and he wasn't going to start out by asking anyone for a loan. As he walked toward Madison Avenue, a plan formed in his head. He may not be much of a thinker, but he had a decent memory and he remembered being paid to work a similar job. It was worth a shot, at least.

He ducked down a side street and entered a pawnshop, staring down the man at the counter as the bell on the door rang.

"I want the cheapest gun you have. I don't have much."

The clerk, who seemed intimidated by his size at first, relaxed and scoffed slightly as Malcolm removed a couple bills from his pocket.

"Listen, pal, the only gun you're going to get for that much isn't going to shoot at all."

"Fine."

"That- uh, oh. Sure. Here you go, bud."

Malcolm dropped the pair of bills on the counter as the salesman, after digging in the back for a while, handed over an old pistol with several large dents in it. Malcolm placed it in his pocket and returned to the sidewalk. He kept an eye out for the right kind of homeless man, one who didn't look quite as dingy as his peers. Finally, he saw a man with clean cheeks and clear eyes was sitting with his back against a building. Malcolm loomed over him.

"Want to make ten bucks quick? It involves holding a gun, and I promise you won't die."

"Uhhhhh. Mmmmm. Ya, why the hell not? 10 bucks is 10 bucks."

Malcolm did not return the grin, but gestured for the man to follow him. The large man talked quietly as they made their way through the city, eventually pausing across the street from Brooks Brothers Clothing on Madison Avenue. Malcolm held up two fingers to the homeless man, then crossed the street and went into the store. He wouldn't last long before he'd be asked to leave, due to the pitiful condition of his coat. But he only needed to make it a couple minutes. Perhaps the manager was intimidated by his size or perhaps he was just lucky; either way, Malcolm felt relieved when his homeless accomplice walked through the door and pulled out the gun Malcolm had given him, quickly sticking it in the manager's face.

"I'm here to KILL YOU, motherfucker! Hope you said your prayers because you going to die right the fuck- AHHH!"

The homeless man screamed as he suddenly felt himself lifted off his feet from behind and turned. He grunted as Malcolm knocked the gun out of his hand and exhaled as a fist was driven into his stomach. He shouted again as he was hurled through the air toward the door and he cursed as he pulled himself to his feet and ran outside, dodging pedestrians as he went. The manager, who seemed close to tears, ran up to Malcolm and began shaking his hand.

"Oh Jesus, thank you thank you! My God, if you weren't here... well, thank god you were! What a madman! You've saved my life. Anything I can do for you, anything and you just name it."

Malcolm allowed himself a small smile.

"Well... I could use a suit."

The manger returned the smile.

A couple hours lately, Malcolm walked out in a custom-tailored grey suit and matching tie. He hadn't gone far when the homeless man accosted him.

"What the hell man! You beat the hell out of me!"

"I said you wouldn't die. Here's your money."

He handed the man fifteen dollars and brushed off any other protests as he turned and left.

His new shoes gleamed as they clicked on the sidewalk. He'd even been able to wash up. Malcolm buttoned his jacket as he walked down the sidewalk, drawing the attention of a young woman in a dress heading the other way. But he was too busy thinking to notice her. He looked like a million bucks, but was essentially broke. But today? Today was already looking like a step forward. Now he just needed to start making money.

He moved through the city and evaluated the men and women who passed him by as he dreamed of his future.