You were an orphan who had escaped from an orphanage. How? By killing the guards with a kitchen knife. You hated this place. You hated the way they treated you. The way you had new scars on your body, the wounds on your face, the calluses on your fingers from the daily grind. Now it was all over.

You wandered the dark streets in the middle of the night, holding the now bloody kitchen knife in your small hand. After killing those people, you didn't feel any guilt. They deserved it...right?

You continued to wander until you bumped into a boy your age, also holding a knife in his hand. When you collided, he quickly backed away and raised the knife towards you, looking at you warily.