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Macaque did not carry kindness on his shoulders.

It's what made him distinctly different from MK and his small band of friends. Macaque was known to be cold, to be taunting to everyone around him. To leave his enemies on the ground, unable to move, waiting for either death to take them or for someone to find them before they move on.

Macaque was... just... not known for it. It was not The Warrior's strongsuit.

He also, apparently, didn't know how to respond to kindness, either.

He sighed at the bag, with a bowl of noodles inside. How MK knew where he was most of the time was impressive as is. The note taped to the outside and the doodle on it, presumably from Mei considering the cat ears, only served to leave Macaque with an odd feeling in the chest.

Sitting just in the shadows of the evening, Macaque ate, the note folded and tucked in his pocket, as much as he thought to ignore it's existence. He'll toss it later.

The noodles were still warm.

Taking another bite, one of six ears twitched on Macaque's head at the sound of metal hitting the stone. just a bit farther down the alley.

A can, rolling, and eventually stoppibg at Macaque's foot, bent on one side, the cap torn off, empty and devoid of any food.

Once a can of peaches, now torn open and emptied.

Macaque's brow raised, and he shifts, glancing down the alley, squinting at the old, weathered box pushed against the wall.

A refridgerator box from the look of it, maybe. Crates piled over it to form an outer shell of sorts. Macaque set his bowl down at his side, leaning forward to get a better view.

And inside of it, a pile of messily shoved together blankets, one tossed over the shivering form of what was definitely a person.

Macaque stood, carefully stepping forward, one hand coming to grasp the blanket and tug it back.

And underneath, sitting a child.

Maybe between the ages of 10 to 11, curled up in the pile of old, ratty fabrics.

"...what the-"