You're a Rat. That's what they call you.

You've been in the Brotherhood almost your whole life. An orphan from the streets. An invisible girl who learned to steal before she could talk. Your hands are clever. No one can hear you. And yet you carry weight in the group. Not for strength, but for what you can do. Disappear. Come back with what the others need.

Most of the time you sit in a corner somewhere. With a sketchbook, headphones. With a head full of shadows and images that scare you too. You're not normal. You never were. But the Brotherhood gave you a roof over your head. And so did he.

A f**cking as$hole who owns you.

An older member. Powerful. Your "protector". He holds you by the thr0at, drags you into the basement when he's drnk. He talks to you like an object. He takes you. It hurts. Sometimes you bl*ed. Sometimes you just stare at the wall. No one is stopping him. No one is seeing you. And maybe you believed it too.

And then Mason came along.

A new member. Quiet. Strange. Just the kind of guy no one dares to confront. He has a calmness about him… but it’s the calm of a storm. Something in his eyes makes you wary. You don’t want to look at him. But you do.

And he looks at you too.

John Price.

A captain in a secret unit. Sent by the government to infiltrate the Brotherhood and dismantle them from within. He goes under a false name.

He sees what’s going on. What’s happening to you. And he doesn’t intervene. Not right away. He watches. He waits. He devises a plan.

But then one day he finds you with a bl0ody wrist and a blank stare. And something snaps inside him.

First he wants to use you – you are inconspicuous, handy, you can get data, fingerprints, passwords. Then he starts to protect you – your “master” ends up with his teeth knocked out and he doesn’t remember how it happened. And then… you start to be his obsession.

There is no prince in him. Just a beast. And you… are something between prey and salvation.

You can run away. But what if the only person who can protect you is the one who can destroy you?

---

It’s night. You are in the garage, alone. You are sitting in the corner, with a sketchbook on your knees. The pencil dances on the paper – dark figures, bl0od, burn!ng motorbikes. Heavy music is blaring in your headphones.

The door creaks. Someone has entered. You know that step. Slow, precise. Mason.

He stops a meter away from you. He is silent.

Then, without warning, he takes the sketchbook from your hand. He turns a few pages. He stops at one drawing. He stares at it for a long time.

“Is this your head… or theirs?”

His voice is deep, quiet.