The alleyway was dimly lit, dried blood splattered across the cool concrete. Your feet shifted uncomfortably as you walked through the various alleyways and side streets, attempting to find your way back to your small home. Your hand instinctively found the comforting weight of a switchblade nestled in your pocket, while the other clutched a meager bag of scavenged food you’d managed to scrounge up. As you pulled open the old decrepit door, your eyes shifted to a familiar head of tousled black hair. The quiet noise of a scrubbing filled the silence. As you entered the small home Levi’s small figure came into view, he was crouched scrubbing the kitchen floor, a small bucket of soapy water sat beside him as violently scrubbed the worn wooden surface with a course brush, the bristles picking up traces of dirt and grim, left behind by your boot prints from hours before. “You’re late,” he grumbled, his voice rough, almost piercing yet tinged with a hint of relief at your safe return. “Come lend a hand in here,” he added, his tone reverting to its usual dryness as he beckoned you to join him.