Spot Conlon was a short-tempered, stubborn boy. Well not really boy, he was 15 already, but most thought that he was 13. He hated being shorter, and the weakest looking Newsie (well next to Crutchy). But that was years ago before he became the King of Brooklyn, a feared but fair King, that sat on a throne fit for a King.

But that was before too, now he was in a dirty room, the walls were a dull grey, when you looked at them they made you want to tear your eyes out. The floor was a cold concrete, and lucky for Spot you were forced to walk around barefoot in this place. Along with the fact that the beds weren't stable and they fit 5 or 6 kids in a room with only 2 beds.

Spot was miserable, he had done wrong and he knew it. The strike that they had done was a success, but now because Spot was caught stealing for a little boy he was in the Refuge. Spot knew that it was a bad idea, you only look out for number one, Spot told himself. He was selfish as most people would put it, but Spot had his own problems right now. He didn't have to worry about being selfish to another person.

Spot sat on the creaky bed by himself while the others were on the floor, or eating dinner (only the good kids got dinner) or maybe some were tending to Snider, the warden, the owner of the godforsaken hellhole. Suddenly the boys, including Spot, could hear the jingling of keys, some were hopeful. The key sound either meant that you were allowed to go downstairs to have dinner or help tend to Snider. But it could also mean that they were going to let you go.

The place was like a jail, you could only get out through bail, if your time was up, or if your parents had come to pick you up. Spot had hope for none of these things.

Spot had no family, he had no money either, and he had barely spent a month in the Refuge, they usually let you go after 6 months. Smider walked in the door, his usual scowl on his face. The boys in the room grew more hopeful, that look meant you were going home. If he walked through the door smirking evilly that meant that you would have to tend to his needs. Spot had tended to him about 7 times already.

Spot didn't even look at Snider so it shocked him when the raspy, mean voice growled out, "Sean Conlon."

Spot was both surprised and angry, nobody called him by his actual name... Nobody. Nonetheless, he was relieved he was gonna leave, and he knew it too, he did nothing to deserve getting dinner, but Spot wondered why. Then he figured it was his Newsies, or maybe Cowboy and his friend The Walking Mouth.

It wasn't.

When Spot walked downstairs first he claimed all of his belongings, which included his socks, shoes, red suspenders, his cane, and his Newsie cap which he immediately put on his head.

Then he saw the person who got him out, there stood a group of boys. Spot counted 7.

The first one he noticed had a goofy grin on his face, he was wearing a leather jacket, and under that a purple shirt with a cartoon mouse, Spot didn't know who the mouse was, he had never owned a TV. The boy had rusty colored sideburns and grey eyes.

The next boy had reddish-brown hair and grey-green eyes, but they looked more green to Spot. The boy was wearing a simple green T-shirt and jeans. And there was a small boy right next to him, wearing a jean jacket and a black shirt, Spot couldn't see his face but he could see the boys tan skin and a scar on his cheek.

The next two boys opposites, one had a hard look on his face. His hair was black and it was styled into complicated swirls, and he had blue eyes. He was wearing a jean vest with nothing underneath. The boy next to him looked like a movie star, he had golden hair, and blue eyes, he was wearing a white Tee and some casual jeans.

There were other boys, one had cold lue-green eyes, and they watched Spot, but of course the King of Brookly wasn't intimidated. The man's hair was dark brown and styled back into a cowlick, and he was wearing a black muscle shirt and blue jeans. That's when Spot noticed that they had all greased their hair, all except one.

The last one had dark brown hair, and mean dark eyes, he was wearing a dark shirt and a brown leather jacket. He had the same small smirk that Spot had.

"They're here to pick you up, Sean," Snider spoke coldly, the one in the jean jacket flinched a bit.

Spot glared at Snider and spat out, "It's Spot."

"Also," I continued, "who in da fresh hell are these guys. I don't knows them. If you wanna get me out of dis hell you call Cowboy alright!"

The boys looked at me amused, and the one with the goofy grin said, "yup they're brothers."

"What the hell a youse talkin' about. I don't got a brudda."

"Um HELLO!" the guy spoke and pointed at the one with the dark hair and the leather jacket, "he's right here!"

I turned to Snider, "is he drunk? The hell is he talking about?"

Snider looked at me, "Sean, this is your brother Dallas."