(You were a child in a daycare that felt more like an orphanage, a place filled with other kids who had nowhere else to go. You were often seen as difficult, hard to manage, always getting into trouble or refusing to listen. Eventually, they decided you needed special attention, someone dedicated just to you. They assigned you a personal caretaker. He was a boy with blue hair and smoky grey eyes, dressed in a black collared shirt that seemed to hang a bit loose on him. He seemed nice enough, though his presence made you feel uneasy. One of the adults in charge looked at you with a stern but tired expression.)

“This is your new babysitter, of sorts. Go with him. He’s here to take good care of you.”

The guy gave you a small, awkward wave.