Pavlov's Dogs

Chapter 1.

Charleston, South Carolina - 2008.

Marc gave himself a shake to try and rid himself of the nervous jitters that seemed to overcome his body in anticipation. It was a big night, his initiation into the gang. He had to finish what Remy, Ghost and Connor had started, had to take down the snitch before he went to the cops and opened his big rat mouth. Bouncing on the balls of his feet a bit he keyed himself up for the fight that was to come - and it was going to be a fight, no weapons except the ones he was born with. He knew the others had messed the guy up a bit when they found him but the Bossman had decided that he would make a good initiation task. He'd blindfolded the snitch then turned him loose in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. Marc's job was to go in there, find him and kill him.

He tried to feel remorse for what he was about to do but it was difficult to feel anything more than jittery and desperate. Bossman had cut him off until he passed initiation two days ago. He supposed it was fortunate that this guy had come along so soon - Ghost had told that he'd been cut off for nearly a week when he'd gone through it. Thinking about it was making his skin itch and his head pound, matching the frantic beating of his heart.

He pushed his slightly sweaty hair from his face and stepped into the warehouse. The door slammed shut behind him. The lock clunking into place. It wouldn't be opened again until he'd taken out the snitch or died trying.

Charleston, South Carolina - 2008 

Shit. That was pretty much the sum of his thoughts. How had it turned so bad this fucking fast? Now he was locked in a warehouse that he was pretty sure was the set for at least four horror movies. He'd been divested of his cell-phone which meant that his tracker was also gone. So there would be no cavalry coming for him for hours yet. His body hurt - he was fairly certain he had a couple cracked ribs and one eye was almost completely swollen shut. He supposed it was preferable to being food for the fishes though. Concrete was not his colour. 

God Ivan was gonna be so pissed. He'd fought tooth and nail with the higher ups to get him this mission. They'd said he wasn't ready - that they didn't want him doing official Academy jobs until he found a team. He didn't fit with any of the other guys though - he was too serious, too nerdy and too controlling to be anything other than a lone wolf right now. 

Yet Ivan had told him he had a good feeling about this job. His mind went to the boy, young - a few years younger than himself. Marc he thought his name was. He'd liked the kid almost straight away - thought he'd make a good addition to the Academy. Maybe, just maybe, if he got out of this alive he'd find a way to get Marc on his team. 

He didn't need to join a team he realised. He needed to create one. His very own merry band of misfits.

Yekaterinburg, Russia - 2008.

He caught the punch just before it smashed into his jaw, returning the favour with a swift jab to the gut. The guy doubled over as his breath left him and Yevgeny. No. Not Yevgeny anymore - he was simply known as Voronoy now. He'd cut his ties the second he'd thrown himself in the ring with the Bratva. He had been freezing his ass off in a dingy alleyway when he'd, in a moment of desperation, tried to pickpocket someone. He hadn't eaten in two days and the pain in his stomach had begun to consume him. It would be just his luck that he tried to steal from the Mafia. He'd fought the guy with everything he had - attacking him like a feral dog - even managing to land a hit to the guy's eye. He'd been 'impressed' with his strength and determination if not his pick-pocketing skills. 

Yevgeny had been given a place among the Bratva. He fought when they told him - puberty having improved his odds against a full grown man. At 14 he cut an intimidating figure - broad shoulders and a 'fuck off and die' attitude meant that he was generally left to his own devices. He finished the guy in front of him. Landing a solid hit to the jaw, snapping the guy's neck up and he went down with a heavy thud. The crowd cheered and moved to collect their winnings as he slunk off to lick his wounds. It may be bloody and brutal but it beat starving on the streets right?

Charleston, South Carolina - 2008.

"Where were you?" His brother sounded hurt. Again. Though it was hardly surprising with how things had been lately.

"Out." was the only explanation he ever offered his twin. How in the hell was he supposed to tell his brother that he was a criminal? The he was out satisfying some adrenaline addiction that made him finally feel alive?

Corey was too innocent for that - he still lived in a world where good guys always won, like in his comics and video games. He could just picture the confused wounded puppy look he'd have on his face if he told him he'd spent almost every night for the last six months breaking into places or jacking cars. He was careful. He might not be a genius like Corey but he wasn't an idiot either. He made sure to avoid cameras and never drove recklessly unless he was on private land. And he always returned the car to it's owner. But hell, the rush of driving with the windows down - the night air blowing against his face was indescribable. 

Charleston, South Carolina - 2008.

Corey huffed, entirely aware that his brother was lying to him. Again. He didn't care where it was he was going at nights, except maybe if he was going to do drugs or something, but he was pretty sure even he'd notice something like that going on. The time alone had given him time to improve his already advanced computer skills. He'd ventured into coding a while back and from there had somehow ended up hacking into other people's codes. He'd discovered he was able to hack into the school's system alarmingly quickly. Their security was almost non-existent, which was probably not such a good thing for a school. He'd been able to make a small fortune selling test answers over the summer. He was surprised that Brandon hadn't questioned where their money had come from. Though he supposed he'd actually have to be here to notice they'd had money.

Corey's latest computing adventure had been a lot more involved than his previous endeavours, he'd been contacted by someone on a forum he was a part of. The guy had only gone by the alias of InTheDogHouse and had been annoyingly cryptic about his motives behind the request. He'd asked Corey if he could remotely hack into a computer belonging to the owner of a charity.

Of course he'd said yes, curiosity getting the better of him, and on doing so had noticed some pretty dodgy dealings going on.

Question was what was he supposed to do now? Did he go to the police? How would he explain it to them without ending up in juvie? 'Sorry Officer I just fell into the computer and hacked it by accident?' He snorted. Yeah that'd go down well.

One thing was certain, the money wasn't meant to be going to fund the guy's two beach houses in the Bahamas.

So he made sure it wasn't anymore.

What does a thirteen year old do with nearly a million dollars?