Ergastulum. The armpit of the world. A cesspool of degradation full of crime tycoons making money hand over fist by marketing drugs, sex, and death. God. Why the hell did she come back here?

Daniella Monroe drove down the narrow streets of the inner city just to take a look around before driving to her father's mansion. In Ergastulum, there were dozens of bastard children spawned by a heartless business transaction between a horny Mafioso and a brothel employee. Born without love and scorned by both parents, most of these children became residents of the orphanage to later run the streets like wild animals. She had been one of the lucky ones. Daniel Monroe had taken her in and raised her. He even named her after himself but that was more due to a basic matter of selfish ego rather than fatherly pride. Yet he loved her. For a notorious Mafia Boss, he had been a good a father. Of course a man's career never determines his aptitude at fatherhood.

Daniella would be the first to admit that she had been spoiled beyond reason while growing up. Her father doted on her, buying her everything she wanted and anything he thought she might want. Throughout her childhood she had nannies, tutors, maids, and dozens of 'big brothers' as she referred to her father's subordinates in the organization. They were all one big family. She had everything except for her mother in her life. Her mother had died shortly after her birth. When she was eight years old, when her father thought she could understand, he explained to her that her mother had killed herself with a drug overdose due to postpartum depression. Unfortunately, Daniella was still young enough to blame herself for mother's death. After all, if she had not been born, her mother would not have been depressed which led to her committing suicide. However, it was a childish misunderstanding, a mistake in reasoning of Daniella's immature mind; all of which was cleared up after a few years of therapy and use of a prescription drug or two. That was when Daniella's fascination with the human psyche started. She carefully observed those around her, studying their every word and action to draw conclusions about them. Her father noticed her ability to read people so at the age of thirteen he began using her as a means to recruit new family members and to screen them as prospects before accepting them into the family.

Daniella pulled the car over to the curb to study the people on the street more closely. People watching was one of her favorite pastimes. Nothing had changed there. Just like nothing had changed in this city.

There was a small cluster of men walking down the street wearing suits and openly displaying their weapons in holsters attached to their belts. They must be new here. Although everyone carried weapons in Ergastulum, they were not stupid enough to show them to the world like that because that was an invitation for a street brawl. A herd of children, ranging in age from seven to thirteen, ran down the street weaving their way through the group of men. At least one of the posers got pick pocketed by the kids. Yelling after them, the unlucky individual took off running in a useless attempt to retrieve his stolen wallet. Those kids were younger, faster, and more experienced at crime at such a tender age than he would be for a while.

A couple, a whore and a customer, were being overtaken by the horde of puffed up, overconfident hoodlums. The man glanced around apprehensively with the unmistakable air of a paranoid husband. The experienced hooker clung to his arm and pressed herself to his side as if she were his girlfriend instead of a twenty dollar sex fix. Before the group of men could catch up to them, the woman pulled her customer into the alleyway between two buildings. He was about to get what he had paid for right there among the spilled trash cans and filthy water trickling from the pipes. Gross.

Another working girl prowling about tried to interest one of the men in her wares by readjusting her big breasts in the body hugging white tube dress she was wearing. When none of them took no notice of her, she grew a little bolder, or rather desperate, and reached out to grab one of the gangster wanna bes by the arm. She must not have had any customers in a few days. Street hooking was a fierce battle here because there were several professional brothels. The girls who dared to stay independent, or worse, affiliating themselves with a sleazy, petty pimp, had to fight for customers. The man grimaced with disgust at being touched by the common street whore. Placing his hand over her face, he brutally shoved her away. She hit the brick wall of the building behind her, screaming in pain before sinking to the ground. The men laughed and walked on.

Daniella shook her head sadly, her face pinched in revulsion. Assholes. It would not be long before one of those upstarts crossed a member of an established family. That unlucky individual would wind up with a hole in his head, getting what he deserved for being an arrogant prick. There were always these upstarts who attempted to infiltrate Ergastulum, to form their own crime syndicate. However, there were four ruling families in the city, and they protected their turf from intruders like vicious badgers.

"Get out of here you jerk! There's no reason to hurt that girl!" a woman screamed at them. The source of the voice opened the half-door of her shop where she stood every day selling cigarettes, gum, condoms, and a variety of other items. She assisted the assaulted call girl to her feet, handed her a handkerchief, then sent her on her way with a strong admonition to get a job at one of the whorehouses and stay the hell off of the street.

Daniella smiled. Granny Joel was just as much a part of this city as the streets and buildings around them. She was one of the few good things about this godforsaken place. The self-declared gatekeeper of this neighborhood, the singular paragon of reason in all of the insanity. No one knew how old she really was, but everyone called her Granny Joel. Some people joked that she had been born a grouchy old lady and just grew bigger. Although standing at a little less than five feet tall, she had not grown too much. Despite her small size, she was large in personality and tough as nails. She did her best to keep the scum of humanity away from her storefront, shooing them away like stray cats with her broom. She was like the quintessential grumpy old man who always chased 'those damn kids' off of his lawn. She was quick to offer advice to those people she deemed in need of it whether they wanted it or not.

Daniella noticed the woman staring at her car suspiciously. The tinted windows were keeping her from seeing who was inside. Nosy old hag. Daniella's smile broadened in amusement. She decided to get out to have a nice chat with Granny Joel. What caustic words of wisdom the old bat would have to offer to her today? Turning off the engine, she slid out of the driver's seat without locking the door behind her. She did take the keys from the ignition not wanting to make it too easy for one of the enterprising little thieves who ran the streets to steal her expensive black sports car. Her face broke into a Cheshire cat grin when the woman's eyes opened wide in recognition as she approached the storefront.

"Well, well, if it isn't Bitsy Monroe," Granny Joel muttered, propping her elbow on the shelf built on top of the half door.

Daniella blanched at the use of her common nickname. She hated it. Her father had called her Itsy Bitsy since her birth. Thankfully, everyone else had shortened it to Bitsy. She had always been small. Being born premature, she had gotten off to a bad start. By the time she was thirteen, she had reached her present height of five foot three. At the age of twenty-four, a lot of people still mistook her for a thirteen year old.

"What the hell are you doing back here? I thought you had made your great escape and would never come back to this hell hole. What's wrong with you? Since you got out, you should have stayed out," Granny Joel advised her acerbically.

"Yeah, well, it's like a black hole that keeps pulling me back in," Daniella countered with equal venom. "Actually I'm home to visit for a few months. I just received my Master's degree in Psychology."

"You did? You gonna be one of those head doctors?" she asked, leaning forward with interest. "What do they call them? Shrinks?"

Daniella laughed lightly. No one had called doctors of psychology 'shrinks' in a long time. Granny Joel was showing her age and determination to stick to her old fashioned conventions.

"I'm not sure. I have a lot of job options. I thought about joining a police department. Being a profiler or something, to help catch criminals." She jumped when Granny Joel let loose with a loud, barking laugh.

"Isn't that ironic? So you plan to bring down people like your old man. That's a good way to make Daddy proud!" The woman continued to laugh.

It was ironic she had to admit. But she had experience with the criminal mind that no one else in her classes could even begin to imagine. Cops would not know half of the things she knew about the men they were chasing.

Daniella smiled easily and sincerely at the woman who was scowling at her. Making daddy proud had never been her goal. She had come home to throw it in her father's face that she had graduated, received her degree, and intended to return in the fall to begin the pursuit of her doctorate. She had come back to prove to him just how wrong he had been about her aspirations to go to college. Six years ago, her father's parting words had been hurtful and discouraging. He had told her that she would never accomplish her goal of getting an education, that she would fall flat on her face in a month and return home. He further angered her by saying that he would be waiting for her with open arms to accept her back and a handkerchief with which to dry her tears when she failed. Sheer rage and stubborn determination had made her stay in school. She had gone a step further by refusing his money. Falling back on what she knew best, she had worked in bars as a waitress and a stripper, occasionally pulling a trick or two to make ends meet when the money ran out before the bills did.

"Here," Granny Joel said, handing her a bottle of soda.

Daniella reached into her pocket for money. The woman raised a hand in a stop gesture while shaking her head.

"No. It's on me." Her faded blue eyes grew serious. "Don't stay too long, Bitsy. Get back out of here before you're stuck and can't leave. This place is like a sickness. It gets under your skin, gets into your blood, and then you're infected. You get ate up with a disease for which there is no cure, and you die."

Granny Joel was a wise woman, but Daniella knew the truth of those words already. She nodded good- bye at the woman before turning back to her car. As she was walking toward the shiny vehicle, her eyes skimmed across a young man standing on the corner at the end of the street. Slowing her steps, she paused to examine him carefully. He had shaggy pale blond hair and one eye of which she was too far away to discern the color. His other eye was covered with a square black eye patch. Immediately her mind began to race, forming hypotheses of how he might have lost that eye. She contemplated the possibility that it was all a fake; that the eye patch was something to make him look tougher since he appeared to be a baby faced boy of seventeen at the most. He nonchalantly leaned against the brick face of the building behind him with a cigarette smoked down to the filter held between his lips. A few yards down from him, another boy sat in a crouching position with this back braced against the wall. He had short black hair as dark and glossy as a crow's feathers. His head was down on his arms that were crossed over his knees. He appeared to be sleeping. A long cylindrical object was held to his body with the tip resting on the ground between his feet and the handle extending above his head. The distinct braiding on the handle indicated that the object was a katana. A katana? How odd. She had seen men carry weapons of all sort here but never such an elegant and ancient weapon as that. Who in his right mind brings a sword to a gunfight? People here were hardly ever in their right mind though.

Turning on her heel, Daniella walked back to Granny Joel's store. She asked for chips, candy bars, sodas, and bottles of water.

"Do you know what kind of cigarettes he smokes?" she asked, jerking her chin toward the young man.

Granny Joel leaned over the door to peer down the street. Without saying a word, she walked to the back and grabbed a green and white pack of smokes from the shelf. She threw it into the bag with the rest of the items.

"What are you doing, Bitsy?" Granny questioned her as she punched the clunky keys on her old-fashioned cash register.

"I know what it's like to be on the streets with nothing to eat and nowhere to go," she mumbled, handing over cash for the purchase.

"Those two seem to be good boys. As good as they can be in this place. But watch out," the old woman warned her, holding Bitsy's gaze to relay the gravity of her words. "I can see something in those boys that frightens me. Especially that little one. He's a Tag. He's as hard and emotionless as that wall behind him. And the other? He may look all sweet and cute but he's just about as cold and calculating as his friend."

"I think I know how to handle myself," she rejoined with a wry grin. She pushed the hand holding her change back toward the woman. "Keep it."

"I can't. It's yours," Granny Joel protested. "I've never been one to accept charity, and I don't intend to start now."

"Just think of it as a credit line for those two. Let them buy whatever they want until it runs out," she said, reaching into her pocket for more money. "Here. When it runs out, let me know."

"Bitsy, you can't...you shouldn't...dammit, girl," she muttered when she knew her protests were going to be ignored.

Daniella walked down the street with the bag clutched to her chest. She smiled when the blonde set his eyes on her. His lips spread languidly into a more than friendly smile that was inviting her to come toward him but with a business prospect in mind. He was handsome in a delicate way due to his age, fair skin, and not yet fully developed body. Thin and undernourished, his faded ripped jeans, white t-shirt, and denim jacket hung on his body like clothes on a scarecrow. She glimpsed at the boy hunkered on the ground. He had not moved. It was if he did not know she was there at all. He was awfully skinny as well, wearing a loose black tank top, over-sized black cargo pants, and knee high black and white sneakers. She crouched down in front of him, tapping him on the shoulder. When he raised his head, her eyes met the darkest most vacant eyes she had ever seen. It was as if he was an emotional blank slate. Those eyes were not devoid of thought, only emotion. Despite his already narrow eyes squinting into slits of suspicion, she smiled at him as she crouched down in front of him to be at eye level with him in an effort to show that she did not mean him any harm. Although she doubted she would pose much of a problem for him since he had a sword at his disposal - and he was a Tag. She wanted to help him and be his friend. She held the bag out to him, opening it up so he could see inside.

"Take what you want," she told him.

"He's deaf lady," the other boy informed her, squatting beside her. He gestured in sign language when his friend's line of sight moved to him.

"There's plenty in there for you as well," she said, rising to a standing position when the deaf boy took the bag from her. "You can go to Granny Joel's shop for more later. She'll give you anything you want. It's already taken care of."

"What are you doing here lady?" the blonde asked, reaching into the bag for the cigarettes. A tilted smirk set itself on his thin lips giving him a pretentious and conceited look. "Doing your good deed for the day? Making yourself feel better by helping those less fortunate than you?"

"Yeah, maybe so. Who are you to assume you know who I am or why I'm doing this?" she demanded, watching him as he took a cigarette out of the new pack she had just bought him.

"Because," he mumbled around the cigarette. The flash of the flame from the lighter bathed his pale face in orange light. "I fuck your kind all the time. Bored little housewives who come slumming in the streets to find a dick for hire to spare them from their lonely, horribly predictable lives."

"Hmph," she snorted with aggravation, folding her arms under her breasts. Her eyebrow raised questioningly when his eyes instantly latched onto her D-cup sized breasts. She was built little so her breasts appeared even bigger than they actually were. Her blue eyes narrowed with anger when his single orb the color of a light blue winter sky raised to meet hers. "You think you've got me all figured out? I was born and bred right here in good old Ergastulum. So I was born slumming it, sweet cheeks."

"I've never seen you before. I'd remember you," he assured her, his eye roaming over her with a hungry, greedy look. That gradual, creeping grin of his stretched his lips. "I still think you want me. It will cost you more than candy and cigarettes though. I'm not a kid."

"The hell you aren't," she scoffed, dropping her arms to her sides so that maybe he would stop staring at her breasts.

"So what will it be lady? Want to take me home?" he asked with a cocky attitude and wide sneer. He repositioned his body, facing her straight on with his hips thrust forward and slightly in front of his shoulders; a silent gesture relaying to her that if she was interested so was he and very ready to fulfill her wildest sex fantasies. "I'm not cheap either, but I'll give you your money's worth."

"Come with me," she ordered him, turning on her heel to proceed to her car. "Oh, and tell your friend to come along."

"But he's not a - "

"Yeah, I know. But it's not sex I want you conceited little shit," she informed him, whirling around abruptly to face him. It took every shred of self-control she possessed not to laugh when he slid to a halt before he ran into her. He was taller than her by quite a few inches, at least five or six yet he seemed intimidated by her. She poked her forefinger into his scrawny chest that showed over the top of the gaping collar of the too large t-shirt. "I'm going to put you two to work."

"To work? But that is work," he muttered, rubbing his chest where she had stabbed it with her finger. Indignation ignited his youthful temper, and his single arctic blue eye flashed with fire. "Hey! Just who do think you are? What do you really want?"

Turning her back to him once more, she answered off offhandedly, "I'm Daniella Monroe."

"Daniella? M-Monroe? Like Daniel Monroe?" he inquired, stopping in his tracks once again. "Are you his wife?"

Daniella turned around to see the boy standing there gaping at her. The cigarette hung out of his mouth but did not fall to the sidewalk because it was stuck to his bottom lip. "He's my father. What's your name?"

"I'm Worick Arcangelo. This is Nicolas Brown," he announced, introducing both of them.

"Well, Worick, Nicolas, it's nice to meet the both of you," she said, opening the passenger's side door. "Get in. I've got big plans for the both of you."

Daniella chuckled. She could tell by the thunderstruck expression on Worick's face that he was not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.