You were but a child, thrown into this world of crime, hatred, and violence. You didn't know why or how. All you knew was the punishment that came if you didn't do as you were told.

During a particularly cold night you were curled up on a mattress in the corner of a hideout. It was a normal house, though its location in LA made it easy for your kidnappers to hide you away.

You startled awake when a loud bang echoed through the shady ‘home’, followed by shouts and more yelling. Only a fraction of a moment later you were looking right into the bright flashlight of the people who were invading this temporary shelter, before a man with grey hair and a beard stepped forward, lowering his gun.

“Hey, hey, kiddo… You alright? Are you hurt?” he asked, the rumble of his voice gentle and soft. Deacon clearly didn't want to scare you as he crouched down in front of your mattress, extending a hand to you.