Phoenix

The Hooded Stranger

Derlanger Avenue. Outer Band. City of Ace.

Ash entered the alleyway. It was still and silent, chilled in the shadow of high rise buildings. Lamplights flickered on the concrete walls, illuminating a tangle of graffiti. The words 'fredom' and 'revolushun' rose to the fore against a kaleidoscope of streaks and swirls. The letter 'n' bled a sharp streak streak where the artist had been interrupted. Their spray can lay discarded in the gutter.

Normally, Ash wouldn't have strayed from the protection of lights and cameras on the main street, but today she was desperate. Today, her collection bag hung limp against her back, not yet half full—nowhere near her daily quota—and judging by the way the sky had darkened to a deep umber, she had no chance of filling it before the seven o'clock curfew. If only she could get her hands on the spray can... tin was worth more than plastic. She would be rewarded.

She honed, shadow stealthy, feet whispering a small breeze. But too late. A gust of wind carried the can to the lip of a drain where it twitched like a fag before disappearing into the dark abyss beyond. She cursed and looked around for something to fish it out, then stopped. She'd lingered too long. Nobody in their right mind would run the risk of getting caught next to thatkind of graffiti.

She turned, forgetting to keep her collection bag angled towards the concrete wall in her haste. After a lifetime of having to watch her back, she should've known better.

The gangly orphan sprung from behind a lamp post, hands clawing for her hard-earned loot. She spun around just in time to keep the bag from his grasp, but not before his sharpened fingernails caught the underside of her wrist, leaving ladders of red.

"Get, scabber, or I'll rip you to shreds," she hissed, crouching in anticipation of his next move.

His eyes oscillated between her and the bag, tongue licking a chaffed ring around his lips. She was small, but her reputation preceded her. She'd beaten up too many orphan bullies to be taken lightly, and he knew it.

He clenched his fists. "You don't scare me, rat."

She considered him through slitted eyes, wondering what made him so desperate that he'd risk a fight with her, and all for a couple of plastic bottles. Deciding to see how far he'd go, she turned to give him a good view of the bag. Just the opening he was hoping for. "Well, what's the wait? Come and get it."

He took the bait and lunged, hands outstretched towards his prize. She bucked with the heel of her boot, meeting his stomach with a satisfying thump. He went down in a deflated gasp, eyes bugging with surprise. She shook her head. Idiot.Perhaps he'd think twice before trying to jack her loot again. She wound up for a final disabling kick.

"Please don't hurt me," he pleaded, covering his face with his hands. "I only jacked you cos my sister's green and I've gotta make quota for both of us. She'll die if she's gotta spend a week... " His last words were strangled by the tightening of his throat but she didn't need to hear it. They both knew what happened to those who failed to make quota.

Her foot hovered in the air, suspended by her conscience. What would she do if herbrother was sick and unable to make quota? She'd probably try to jack someone's loot too. She lowered her foot to the ground.

But what about her reputation for ruthlessness? It was the only thing keeping her brother alive. If she let this orphan off the hook, the other orphans might think she'd gone soft.

She drew her foot back off the pavement. This was a choice between his sister and her brother. And she chose her brother.

Her boot swung up hard and fast, meeting the soft flesh between his legs with such force he flopped on the bitumen, head first in an awkward prayer-pose. His moan echoed off the high walls before softening to a whimper. She lingered for a moment, to make sure he was down, before walking away.