Inuzuri, in the Seventy-Eighth District of Rukongai, was no place for children. In the summertime, heat collected in the streets, like shit in the gutters, and the air tasted of the sweat and blood of its inhabitants. No-one here knew why they were here. The dead were not at liberty to question their fates. Their places were decided the day they were born into Soul Society and assigned to a district of the Rukon. The souls of Inuzuri were thieves, murderers and thugs. Perhaps they had been different in life, but in this world, the rot of one spread swiftly to the masses, for death had offered them no justice and no answers.

They remembered their lives; they regretted their mistakes; they longed to live again.

And that had been the first difference.

It was the one that Rukia had felt the most keenly. She had been born onto the streets of Rukongai; she wasn't certain of when and she wasn't certain of how she had survived, but her earliest memories were those of dusty roads and tumble-down buildings and her footsteps dragging in the gutters. She was always hungry; she was always thirsty. And she had always had questions.

All those she met had partaken of a mysterious thing: life. They talked of it, yearned for it; they spent hours gazing into a past that she could only guess at. They didn't need to eat or drink. Some didn't even sleep. Yet she did, and she had no memories at all of a time before.

She was a scavenger. She lived on her wits and her speed, avoiding confrontation whenever possible. She had to eat though. And, to eat, she had to steal. Food was an indulgence for most: a luxury, but not a necessity. It sold on the street for high prices, but the traders did not understand hunger. When they caught her, if they caught her, they beat her. And it was from them that she learned to fight; from them that she learned to be cautious with her trust. From them that she learned she was different and could be punished for it.