He ran. No older than 8 years old, the lone urchin hurls himself through the streets of Detroit.

Unkempt black locks prevent sight of the boys eyes, though the sodden smudges of soot and grime are unmissable. His clothing was of similarly upset condition, torn, tired and ashen. 

Crowded market shoppers were disturbed, shouts and cries of shock and disgust spread among them. Concerned stall owners kept watch of their wares and barked deterrents, in anticipation of a theft. He paid them no mind and weaved between the bodies, inconsiderate of the disruption being caused. 

There was little else to witness, little else to believe that this boy would not wind up anywhere else than an orphanage or the gutter. Detroit would now decide his fate, and as the cold night descended, the child darted into an alley.

The shoppers resumed shopping, the market traders continued to trade, the sound of bare feet, sprinting on the paved sidewalk, gradually faded. 

And the boy ran. 

Kathryn had just turned the corner, grinning at her most recent purchase. One of her associates had wanted to purchase a specific bar in town that he'd previously worked it, and Kathryn was happy to surprise Finn with the keys to the place. He'd certainly earned his reward since becoming her bodyguard that day.

Her mind was in the clouds; thoughts of Finn led her to reminisce about her older bodyguard, Jack. His absence was deeply felt, and the fact that his death had occurred during a personal mission of her own revenge had made it harder to simply chalk it up to the normal risks of this line of work. Kathryn walked down the street, seeing so many ghosts that she missed the small projectile currently hurtling towards her: a young boy who sprinted around the corner and into her stomach.

"OOF! Hey- what..."

She was about to curse at him, when she saw the dirty face.

"... what's the hurry? What's your name, kid?"

Technical watched as the boy ran through the streets of Detroit with no shoes. The alley he ran down must of been his place of solitude where he could cancel out all the thoughts one might have of such an age. Technical paid one of the shopkeepers for a bottle of water before going down the alley, he could tell the kid might need some fluids from all the running he did.

He walked down the alley looking in all the corners as he made his way to the end of it. No signs of the little one, which gave the impression the boy didn't trust something what he had never seen before. Technical placed the water bottle out in the open so the boy could choose to take it as an option.

"Hey kid, I know you are still here and I don't blame you for hiding but if you're thirsty I have something for you. I'll leave it out where you can see it. If you have anyone I know a few people that could take care of you."

Technical took out a card with his mailing address on it and a little bit of cash if the boy needed a taxi or train ride to get to where he was going. He placed these next to the water bottle and put the closest paper weight down on top of them.

The boy stumbles back and moves out of arms reach. His breathing is heavy, but controlled. 

His eyes fall away from the figure before him and meet the ground, which is where they stay. He remains silent and fidgets with his clothes.

In sight is a tag of some description that is pinned to his clothes, the tattered sleeves of his jacket and a mop of black hair.

There is a smell of cigarettes and alcohol, among other less desirable smells. 

Technical was caught off guard from the boy showing himself before he had left. He sat down with both his arms resting on his knees and recognized that he too was on his own, a creation that was dropped off to manage with what he had been left with. He did not know how to relate to the similar situation but he could tell this was his story once.

"The first thing I remember when I got here was all the people. I did not understand them, they had such bizarre methods on how they lived everyday. You have people that will do just about anything to steal and others will do anything to give. One day a girl found me and taught me most of what I know today. She showed me all the beautiful things in this world like plants, animals, fish. You name it. I hope I'm not scaring you by what I look like."

Technical looked back to make sure he had not ran off on him and made sure to return his attention back to facing the wall. He didn't want to make him any more uncomfortable than the whole thing already was.

"How did you get here?"

He picked up a twig and looked at it close to his face before casually tossing it at the wall.

Kathryn tilts her head to the side, curious as she scrutinizes the boy on the ground in front of her. She also notices Technical, someone she knew by reputation working out of The Loop. Apparently they were both in town on business. He seemed very interested in the boy and she listened as he spoke about the beautiful things in the world, kneeling down and speaking to him.

The kid, however, was quiet. He certainly hadn't moved to answer her question, so she somewhat doubted that Technical's litany of beautiful things would provoke a response, unless the kid had a penchant for fish. And hell, he seemed almost feral, so maybe he did.

When in doubt, Kathryn relied on being straightforward. She leaned against the building near her as she fished into her pocket. She'd picked up a couple Baby Ruth bars as a cover for walking into a convenience store, but now it looked like they'd come in handy. She tossed one on the kid's lap and opened up the other, showing him that it was safe to eat.

With a curious smile, she turned to Technical.

"You Chicagoans sure do know your candy bars. Hopefully the kid eats it."

The boy remains silent. His heavy breathing gradually subsides.

He shys away from the offering, though his gaze shifts from the floor to his lap.

He fiddles with the sleeves of his worn jacket some more. 

In sight are the tag and abrasions to his forearms, beneath the sleeve.

Technical glanced over to Kathryn as she over the candy bar. It was apparent they both were aiming to get the boy to open up even with the slightest hint as to his background. He notice the boy was hesitant to any gifts, like he might have had a moral code to his nature. Reviewing the tag pinned to his jacket and the markings on his forearm. Technical took out a pencil from his leg compartment, he had to use the rock he used as a paper weight to sharpen it because it's point had broken off. He then grabbed the paper he laid down next to the water bottle. He wrote down "Can you read?" before shifting it over to the boy's direction.

"I have heard that but I don't know what they taste like."

Technical put the pencil and the rock back in his leg and closed it.

"I'm not all too familiar with Detroit yet, I came here to explore, do you know of any place we could get the kid a bath or some shoes?"

He wondered if this was the boy's place he used to sleep.

The tag is inspected. 

It is an identification card from Ellis Island. It is worn, tired firmly with thread into a button hole on the fraying collar of the boys jacket. There are multiple stains on it and the lettering is tired. The date is readable as being 6 months prior to the present day. There are large numbers and some faded lettering. 

N me:   thony Blac

ITA IA

The boys arm is inspected. 

The small holes in his jacket are blackened and charred around the edges. The visible area of his wrist is bruised, the purple and blue patch speckled with fresh wounds. More small holes, with an black dusty substance smudged across it. 

There is also a pattern or wording noticeable, however is hidden from sight and difficult to focus on without closer inspection. 

The boy offers only a blank expression, though makes a sudden grab for the candy bar and devours it.  

Kathryn looks down at the tag with a furrowed brow. Kid must be an immigrant, but how the hell did he get from Ellis Island to Detroit? Kathryn tried to smile reassuringly and spoke softly, soothingly- as she would to an angry or frightened dog.

"Anthony? Glad you like the candy bar there. Why don't you finish mine as well?"

Handing her own mostly uneaten Baby Ruth bar to the boy, she drops down to a crouch to speak to him at eye level.

"You seem hurt there. I'd like to take a closer look at you while you eat, if that's okay?"

Kathryn moved forward slowly, hoping not to startle him, as she moved to inspect the boy's wrist. 

The boy recoils. He looks the figure up and down before accepting the candy. 

The arm is inspected further. 

The wounds are ash filled burns, some old and healed, others as recent as a matter of hours or minutes ago. As the sleeve is rolled back, there are indications of struggles and scratches. On the top-rear of his forearm, a tattoo, poorly and erratically applied, spelling out two words. 

SHuT UP

The same words are  repeated further up. 

He attempts to flee.

Kathryn, having lived her entire life in luxury, may not be the greatest runner in the world, but she's got good reflexes. The kid had already been a bit tired out, hopefully, from his previous running. She had no doubt that he could run much, much farther than she could, but her legs were longer- for this first initial burst, she had an advantage. Knowing that she'd tire quickly, Kathryn sprinted and tried to reach an arm around the boy, attempting to pull him off his feet.

The stench, no doubt, would be overpowering. But she could afford a new jacket. This kid was practically goddamn feral- and the tattoo, self-inflicted or otherwise, suggested some sort of abuse. Kathryn normally had a great deal of respect for free will, but this kid needed a doctor. Fortunately, one of her best friends back on the west coast was a doctor... but one thing at a time.

Kathryn's plan, which ran through her head as she attempted to sweep him off his feet, was to simply hold the boy and see if he calmed down. Maybe those maternal instincts really did exist?

If not, well, she'd knock him out and apologize later, after getting him a warm bath, a doctor's attention, and some good meals. 

The attempt to prevent him fleeing is successful. 

His struggles are weak and easily controlled. They're accompanied by yelps and whining, though eventually stop as his fight dies down. 

The boy remains still and silent, staring into the distance. 

There is a strong smell of cigarettes and waste. 

Kathryn tried not to show it, but the smell was making her eyes water. She turned the boy, trying to make eye contact- eventually, he just settles in her arms. A strange feeling, for one who had never had much interaction with children. She waved goodbye to Technical, promising to check in with him later, but her mind was already elsewhere.

What to do? They'd never let him on a plane. Hell, they might not let him in a cab. Spinning, Kathryn looks around and starts walking toward the first hotel she sees. The boy was motionless against her body as she walked briskly through the lobby and fished into the pocket of her jeans for a few bills to pay for the night. Something in Kathryn's eyes warned the proper looking gentleman behind the desk not to comment on the smell.

The room was moderately sized, and Kathryn quickly locked the door behind her, then the windows. Can't be too careful. A soft maroon carpet spread out on the floor with a queen sized bed, nightstand, and a desk and chair the only furniture. Kathryn quickly headed toward the bathroom and closed that door behind her as well. 

She'd knelt down and started filling the bath with warm water when she realized she hadn't loosened her firm grip on the boy. Cautiously, but smiling, she removed her arm from around his back. She was extremely sore from carrying him, although she was too proud to admit it. 

As she released him, she spoke softly.

"Look kid, I don't know what your deal is. But for whatever reason, you crossed my path, so here we are. Call it charity or a business investment- whatever. We'll get you a bath, get the smell off you, then start working on food and clothing... see what happens from there and what your story is. But for now, stick with me and don't go running away and I'll do my best. Deal?"

The boy remains silent, however does not resist. He avoids eye contact, taking in the new environment and fidgeting with his cuffs. In anticipation of contact, he recoils, though is eventually trusting. 

As the room door closes, he finally locks eyes with his guardian, and the boy that ran, does no more. 

Kathryn scrunched her face as she looked curiously at the boy in front of her. He seemed... calmer, at least. Where to even start? She tested the water in the bath and unwrapped the soap, making a washing motion before holding it up in her hand, offering it to the boy.

"Do you know how to take a bath? Or talk? I can help you wash up if you need it, but you can certainly do it yourself if you'd prefer. Can close the curtain for some privacy, if you'd like."

With what she hope was a comforting smile, she pointed toward the water and splashed a bit. Internally, she was getting a plan together. Finn, her bodyguard, would probably be worried about why she was running late. She'd have to get in touch with him soon and make sure that he didn't have Merci shooting up half of Detroit trying to find her. 

The boy broke his gaze and took the soap. He dropped it into the bath and smiled as it slide across the base of the tub. He watched it for a few moments until it came to a halt, at which point he looked back at Kathryn and his face dropped once more.

Pulling his arms through the sleeves of the disintegrating woolen top, he winced and struggled. It eventually came free and he turned to the bath.

In sight are the bruises to his back and more faintly scribbled makeshift tattoos, bearing the same words across his shoulders.

He tugs at the curtains and it draws to a close, the boy remains solemn faced.

Kathryn tried to hide her reaction as she saw the boy's back, but she couldn't help but feel an internal spike of surprise, which soon gave way to anger. "Shut up." No wonder the kid wasn't talking. And with writing on the back like that... well, someone did that to him. She waited for a few minutes and listened to the sound of washing, some slight splashing before speaking.

"Kid I need to go make a phone call. I'll have someone bring you some clothes. Some food. But I'm not leaving the room; I'll be right outside here."

Exiting the bathroom, Kathryn wondered if she saw an eye at the edge of the curtain track her movements. She picked up the phone on the desk, turning to look at the bathroom. After a few delays, dialing an extension, and waiting, she finally spoke.

"Finn, it's Kathryn. Shut-

Her eyes flicked to the bathroom door.

"-be quiet. I- Finn. Focus. I'm a hotel with a boy. No! Not like that. He's a like... seven? Eight?.... Yea. Buy a bunch of clothes for him, bring them over. I'm at the Park Avenue. Room... 314. Food, too. Soon."

Kathryn walked back into the bathroom; there was a smell still in the air, a last desperate permeation of stench as it was ripped from the boy's skin. But it seemed to be improving. Kathryn pulled a robe from the hangar behind the door. On her, it would fall to her mid-thigh, but it should provide this guy enough coverage to preserve his modesty until Finn arrived. 

"Uh, you can wear this, if you want. Don't put that old stuff back on. I've got someone coming to bring you new clothes."

A dripping wet black mop peered around the door. The boy pulled the robe on and tugged at his hair, squeezing water out onto the floor. His toes splashed up and down in the puddles forming, and another small smile emerged. He glances up at Kathryn and again, the smile fell.

Underneath the dirt, the boy had an almost spotless face. His nose was buttoned slightly and lips were plump. He bore a bushy brow and dark brown eyes. 

He now waited.

Kathryn had dealt with a lot of shit in the past few years. She'd lost people. Killed people. But there were, apparently, still some vulnerable spots in the armor. She sighed, half to herself, as she looked at the boy. Not for the first time, she wished that Merci was here. Merci had raised Charlie, at least. Maybe she'd have a better idea of what to do. 

"Tony? Or Anthony?"

She repeated the question, hoping he'd nod or blink or give her some sort of sign for one of the names.