Heavy breathing, and the echo of a tiny heart, pounding behind a small layer of skin was all that kept him going. He was running, running for literally his life. The colors of the people's clothes around him were a rainbow blur as he dodged people, carts and large heavy bags of goods. Jumping over chickens and ducking under legs the poor boy was running out of room, room to run… room to escape. The street was getting worse, it was becoming the bad part of the market, where no one likes to go, and where human trafficking and the black market. They city officials know this, but make no move to stop the illegal activities; the money that should be used to fix the cracked and uneven streets, just ends up in their pockets. The child suddenly trips over a raised area of road, the stolen loaf of bread flying out his small arms. He winces as his hands, knees and cheek get scrapes, his pale soft skin, tearing against the hard road. The larger man who was selling the bread finally caught up to the small boy. He picked up the child by the neck of his ragged shirt, holding him at face level. Terrified, but not willing to show it, the boy only winced, letting out a small whine.
"Are you sorry brat" the man asked, hissing softly into his little ear.
Choking now, the boy tried to get enough air to answer.
"I said, are you sorry you little worm" the man yelled, spit flying from his mouth onto the boy's shirt.
"No" the small child hissed, closing his eyes tightly, hoping his death would be quick and painful.
The man's eyes glowed red with rage and he lifted the small boy higher, throwing him to the ground, laughing loudly as the boy's tiny fragile body thudded against the dirt alleyway; rolling a few times, before skidding and stopping. The last thing he heard was the man's cruel laughter, and mockery.
After yet another disaster of a meeting, this time at China's house, England decided he wasn't hungry when it came lunch time. It could be that he genuinely wasn't hungry, or it could have been he lost his appetite after France tried to sexually assault? No molest? Not quite right… Ah, rape him. The foul smelling France always had that special talent to make others want to vomit, and never eat again. England did his best in very broken Chinese in order to direct himself to the black market stores. He was in need of new material for his black magic. Looking for anything that may look interesting, he scanned the stores, looking at and observing every living creature he came across. There was a particularly nice looking albino toad that sparked his interest, but not too much.
The shop owners were yelling directions to their workers, telling them where to put things on display, and where the supply should be kept. Something caught England's ear though. Blinking, and trying to listen closer, he was sure that a shop owner was saying something about a child. Walking closer and getting to the actual shop, England saw this child. He wasn't mistaken in his terrible Chinese. There was a small boy on the floor, hands and feet tied together and gagged and blindfolded. England inhaled sharply, but remained calm, not wanting to end up like the boy himself.
The blonde man gave the shop owner a slight nod and pointed to the boy, covered in blood and dirt. The shop owner waived him behind the table and let him look. England checked his eyes, they were still nice and clear. He had a slow, steady pulse, and seemed only beaten and bruised rather than dead.
"How much" England asked.
The shop owner smirked and replied in English.
"Too much for you" the man said as he smirked.
"How much" England asked. He needed to buy this child. If he didn't, the poor boy would probably be bought and used for organs, or for a life of servitude and slavery. The shop owner scowled, not happy to be putting a price on his prize.
"Two hundred" the shop owner scowled, and then sighed when the money, with a tip was placed into his hand.
Grabbing a small knife out of his pocket, England sat the boy up and cut his bindings lifting him into his arms. Holding the boy under the thighs against his chest, he started to walk home, knowing he was walking away with the best find in China.
England carried the small child back to his hotel room opting to skip the remainder of the meeting, only making a stop to get the boy some new clothes and something to eat and drink. England took the boy back, placed him in the bath, and cut the clothes off him. He was filthy; England knew he never had a real home, just by looking at him. Humming softly, he scrubbed the boy from head to toe so he was a nice light pink, the color a normal boy his age should be. He took him out, dried him off and got him dressed in normal clothes, no longer rags and laid him in the large, fluffy warm bed.
England sat, looking at his Chinese dictionary and waited for another hour before the boy finally woke from unconsciousness.
The small boy opened his eyes slowly and his breath hitched. His eyes opened in panic, scanning the room to figure out where he was. He was scared. The side of the bed dipped as England sat, and the boy whined, closing his eyes a bit, expecting pain. England held out his hand and the boy peeked, when he wasn't hit. He looked at the extended hand confused.
"Wǒ de míngzì shì yà sè, nǐ xiànzài shì ānquán de. Nǐ yuànyì gēn wǒ huí jiā ma?"
The small boy smiled brightly, and held one of the fingers of the out stretched hand of his new father and nodded.
Translation: "My name is Arthur, you're safe now. Would you like to come home with me?"
((A/N: Sorry, I've been terribly inactive lately. One of my friends wanted a Hong Kong fanfiction, and this is the product… For you, my little demon child))