Hi! Thank you to Newsgoil19 and K Kelly for their reviews. They mean a lot to me. Stuff in Italics are flashbacks and as you probably have guessed, I don't own Newsies.


I am not a fool. I know about the things they say behind my back. I know about the rumors, and the whispering that stops as soon as I enter a room. I know that people despise me. No, they don't actually despise me. They despise my power. The despise that fact that such a young boy could rule Brooklyn. They despise the fact that I am better than them. They despise who I am, but not me. Fun fact: I don't care. With power and respect, comes enemies. It's a fact. They think that I don't know what they say behind my back, but my birds are everywhere. I am everywhere. No one dares mess with Spot Conlon, not as long as he has Brooklyn.

" Oi, Spot, whata youse doing?" A boy said as I stormed past him through the lodging house.

" Nuttin. Go away." I said as I scowled at him. He backed off, and returned to the poker game he was playing. I stormed up the stairs, my face twisted into a scowl. Three other boys approached me, but one glance at them with my signature glare they backed away. The corners of my mouth twisted up into a smirk, knowing that these boys were afraid of me. I took a key from my pocket and unlocked the door to my room. Being king, I claimed a room that had formerly been a storage room in the warehouse turned lodging home.

I slammed the door behind me, and flopped on to the bed. I immediately jumped back up, having landed on a spring.

" God damn bed!" I grunted. I rubbed the spot on my back where the spring had hit. I knew without seeing it that the spring had hit a scar. I unbuttoned my plaid shirt and threw it onto the bed. I slowly raised my arms over my head, removing my faded white undershirt. I looked in the broken mirror. " Bad luck.." I thought before I could stop myself. After all, I am Spot Conlon. I am invincible.

I peered through the cracks that distorted my body to see my chest, still covered in angry red scars. I ran my finger along one of the longer ones, a dark red slash from a knife. I winced a little at the feeling of my cool finger brushing my skin, and without meaning to, I thought of how I got this scar.

It was a cold winter day, and I blew on my hands to keep warm, as I raised my voice above the howl of the wind.

" Automobiles race held yesterday! Is this the sport of the future?" I yelled, hoping someone would hear me and buy the paper from me so I could go home. I only had seven papes left in my hands, and I was desperate to get rid of them. A man shuffled over and pressed a penny into my hand. I could barely make out his face behind all of the layers of scarves he wore around his neck. I pulled on my own thin scarf tighter around my neck, hoping that it would at least protect against some of the wind.

" Hey look what wes got here!" I turned my head to a tall teenaged boy whose eyes glimmered dangerously. Two other boys with the same look in their eye appeared at his side. I blinked, wondering where they had come from. " A little newsie, tryin to sell the last of his papes?" I nodded, hoping they would leave me alone. The first boy, the one I assumed was the leader, stepped closer to me. His fingers curled around the collar of my shirt, lifting me off my feet. I stared directly into his malice filled eyes. I knew from past experience that if you showed you weren't afraid they might leave you alone. " Your on our turf." He said, tightening his grip on my neck.

" So?" I said, more confidently than I felt. " whats it to you?" I could tell immediately that that was the wrong thing to say.

" We don't like other newsies selling on our turf.." He said threateningly. He slid a knife from his pocket and…

I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. That first fight with the then ruler of Brooklyn was the worst I had ever fought. I was a underprepared, weak and small little boy, who thought that selling in Brooklyn with out permission was a good idea. All it had left me with was a painful scar, bad memories and a reason never to come to Brooklyn again. But I was a cocky little kid, and I thought that deserved to sell my papes in Brooklyn. So I trained and trained, and picked fights with boys twice my size, just to see if I could beat them. I could. So two years later, I returned to Brooklyn, head held high and slingshot in my pocket. I bought my papes and began selling them, only to find the same boys surround me. Only this time, Instead of being scared, I smirked at them. I fought them, killed them, and took over. Much like our old friend Joe Pulitzer, I then created the world. Only my world wasn't a paper, but a group of those who sold his. So yeah, I have heard the rumors about me, but I don't give a damn about what they think of me. because just like Pulitzer, I am feared. I am respected. I don't need friends or for everyone to like me. I am Spot Conlon, and Spot Conon doesn't need those things. He is invincible.