Looking back upon the events of the past, it is those random, apparently insignificant instances in time that quietly shape our future, our actions… as we move through them, unwitting.--Anonymous

I was a crook, a pickpocket, a thief and a multitude of other titles I preferred to forget, to leave behind. Not that I particularly cared either way of course. Life, if it can even be called one, in the slums of Kerning leaves one disillusioned—apathetic and cynical to any and everything.

Twirling my steelies, I stared down at my hometown from my perch atop a construction crane. Kerning, home to the dregs of society—the thugs, the thieves, the mercenaries, and the con artists. No surprise there of course, just by looking at the city one could tell it was the ghetto. Hoboes abound, prostitutes in every dark alley, murderers lurking the shadows, the environment practically forced everyone to grow up and leave their innocence behind. Leave it quick or die, and that is no exaggeration.

"Here, you gotta toughen up quick, ya hear? Else you'll be prey to everybody else, in every sense of the word m'friend. And if you can't beat 'em, join 'em," my friend had said. He died the next week. Killed by a man scavenging for money to feed his daughter. Yes, one definitely had to toughen up quick around there.

And so I did. Drugs were a staple in my diet, and alcohol was my water. I beat up hoboes, even nearly killed a man over a few mesos. I stole money and food.

It was on one of these money runs when I learned about "The Program." I was in the Jazz Bar and sauntered around. Casually, my fingers flicked into pockets, extracting the precious mesos needed to keep me alive. Then a slight flash of silver in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Snapping my head to the side, I saw it came from a slight crack in a door. Walking up to the door, I spotted a sign.

"Entry Restricted."

Hah. Like I haven't seen those before. Glancing side to side to check if the coast was clear, I surreptitiously slipped inside. Inside was merely a ladder leading downwards into the darkness. Peering down the hole to see, I saw nothing but darkness. Eh, whatever, lets try it, I thought.

Climbing down slowly, my eyes adjusted to the lack of light. I discerned a boxing ring in the room. On the sides were punching bags, weights, and jump ropes. I quickly slunk around, searching for any hidden cache of money. Then I felt the press of a cold blade against my throat—my jugular to be exact.

"Don't move or you die," a distinct male voice stated.

"Who are you?"

"Why are you here?" he demanded.

"I asked you a question asshole," I snarled.

"I'm the one in the position to kill you; you are in no position to be asking questions. Have some manners and you'll get out of this unscathed. Now answer the question," he said. He never asked for something. Not for as long as I would come to know him. It was always a demand.

"What else does one around here do to make a living? Lookin' for some cash," I answered.

"There are other ways to survive."

"For the rich and snobby maybe. But not for me. I'm a crook, through and through."

"Even crooks have their skills. I can teach you. I can teach you to become strong. Strong enough that you won't need anybody else for anything. Not for money, not for food, nor for support, not for anything. I can teach you the way of the rogue, the bandits, the assassins. Would you like that?"

I was intrigued. No more running from the coppers. No more dodging the big crooks and murderers. I'd be the hunter. Oh, how it sounded so good. And even better yet, it was my ticket out of this dump. "Strong eh? Sounds fun. Do I get to beat the crap out of my enemies?"

"And much more. So would you like that? If so, you must call me master or by my official title of the 'Dark Lord.'"

"Fuck yes. Teach me, ma—" I hesitated. Every nerve in my body screamed defiance. It was programmed into me. "Ma—master."

"Good." I felt the blade ease off my throat. Then he suddenly appeared in front of me, as if he teleported there. Clothed in all black, he looked like a stereotypical ninja, complete with facemask and katana. However, I doubted most ninjas could teleport like he did. Or at least I assumed he teleported. With him you never really knew.

"I will begin training you when you prove yourself worthy. Go strengthen yourself. Bring back tokens of your efforts, parts of the monsters you have slain. Once you can kill a red snail in only two blows, come see me and your training shall begin."

And so my journey as a thief began. I was 10 years old at the time. I tossed away my old habits; they were limiting my physical strength and stamina. After 2 months of hard training, I become a rogue. After another 3 years, an assassin. They were long, rigorous years, filled with strife but they were the best years I had ever experienced. No more fear or struggling for money. The monsters provided all the sustenance I needed. These last few years were great.

So 5 years after my advance to an assassin, I'm ready to take the test to become a hermit. The stakes were high. It was a hit-and-miss type test. I either pass or die. I smirked. I'll pass. The old man won't know what hit him.

So here I am, sitting atop a crane over my home, my hell, and my heaven—Kerning. So many memories, I can't help but laugh at my young self. Stepping off the crane, I sailed down though the sky. Grabbing a nearby rope, I swung onto a roof, rolling on landing to break the fall and broke into a dash towards the Jazz Bar. Slipping in unnoticed with my Dark Sight and Haste, I met the Dark Lord.

"Hey old man, I'm here to kick your ass and become a Hermit."

His eyes seemed to twinkle in amusement. "We'll see."

So it all began again, the hours with the Dark Lord, the murderer, the thief. All so familiar and so frightening.

I couldn't help but grin. This was where I belonged. This was who I am, was, and will be.

Review and Criticize Please. Written in 2 hours with little to no revision. REALLY rushed the ending, so forgive me.