There was never enough food to go around. It was even worse when the kindly old rich lady died. She used to give out food to us hungry people, so we could look forward to Sundays. But now a greedy young man lived in her mansion, so we got no food.
My mother, father, and I started to sacrifice our meals for my six little brothers. I started living on two glasses of water and a few mouthfuls a day. But then came the drought. And the fire followed soon after.
My mom woke me up in the middle of the night, coughing, telling me to take Jakey and run, to get out of the town. I did, but my little brother perished from the smoke. I was the only survivor of the blaze. I was alone.
Determined to bring back my family, I learned Alchemy. I knew it was strictly tabooed, but I thought I could do it. I attempted human trans-mutation in effort to bring back my family, all eight of them.
I thought of that as I stood before the massive gate. I trembled, waiting for it to open. But a movement caught my eye. A little black thing with yellow cat-eyes and a flashing red stone crept out from behind the gate, grinning.
"Hello. Do you like my Philosopher's Stone?" it asked.
"A Philosopher's Stone?" I gasped. With a Stone, I could bring my family back!
"I'll give it to you if you work for me!" it laughed.
"Gladly! I'm Kitty. What's your name?"
"Oh… I guess I do need a name… Demon. Call me Demon."
"Okay, Demon. What do I need to do?"
"Clear Central of all human inhabitants!" Demon cackled.
"Anything…" I whispered, waking up.
That's when I noticed my form. I was a cat, a small black cat. And I saw a train. It looked Central-bound, so I jumped on it before it took off. And then I doodled a trans-mutation circle in the dust on the floor. Without thinking, I touched it. The circle was activated, and made a little metal mouse on the floor. I mewed in delight at still being able to do Alchemy.
I curled up and took a nap, so I almost missed my stop. But I was in Central, and ready to carry out my mission. It was time to kill some military officers.
