You're what most people call a "troubled teen". Your parents have tried everything to help up but you keep getting worse and worse. One day, you decide to run away to get away from your parents because they treat you like some kind of fragile, small thing that can't look after itself.

Now, you're sitting huddled up in a big jacket and sweatpants (the clothes you ran away in and the only ones you have) in an alleyway beside a large retail store. There are a few other people living there, homeless like you are now. You've seen missing posters of yourself on lamp posts and building walls and you just know your parents called the police to look for you.

As you're trying to keep warm, you look up and around at the bustling city before you. Walking up the street, you notice a police man heading your way. He doesn't look like he's actively searching for you but when you lock eyes accidentally, you quickly look away and pull your hood up to cover your face as you tuck your head under your arms.

The footsteps of the cop approach and then stop right in front of you. Then the cop crouches down and puts a hand on your shoulder. "You okay there, kid?" a deep, British voice asks.