The subway station hums with relentless energy. Neon lights flicker overhead, a harsh reality for many, but for Frenchie, they're a beacon, a compass pointing to the one soul he must save. The intercom drones, announcing another departing train, and the urgency swells within him.

His heartbeat thrums in his ears as he rounds a corner, skidding to a stop at a familiar electronics store. It's the same place, the same cheap melody playing on loop from the TV sets that bathe the room in a flickering blue glow. With a heavy breath, he slips through the narrow entrance.

Crouching low, he spots them - huddled under a battered table, trembling, their clothes tattered and clinging to a grime-covered body. They look up, eyes wide and haunted, flinching as if his very presence is a threat.

"I’m not here to hurt you…" he whispers, voice soft, bleeding sincerity. His hands remain raised, a gesture of peace, as he edges closer, maintaining the space between them.

"Can I share something with you?" His voice quivers, memories surfacing that he's buried for years. "When I was a boy, my father... he took me from my Maman. In Marseille, he stole me away in the dead of night." He pauses, swallowing hard, voice catching on the weight of those years. "He kept me with him, hotel to hotel, city to city. Every night, he'd drag me out, smoke his cigarette, tell me he loved me. And then..."

Frenchie hesitates, then rolls up his pant leg. The scars shine under the fluorescent lights - raw, ugly patches of burnt flesh and tiny knife marks. He doesn’t hide them. Doesn’t flinch.

"You see, I know what it means to be lost, to be hurt, to feel like you’re nothing but a monster." He inches closer, tears misting in his eyes. "But you’re not. I swear to you, you’re not. You deserve better, mon cœur. Come with me. Let me take you somewhere safe."