Amari walked through the hidden alleys of New York City, the place she hated the most in the world. Which was a terrible fact; seeing as she lived there and was stuck there. Every day it was the same pattern. Steal, get into a few fights, give out some things to the kids, find a place to sleep (which usually involved another fight or heated argument) then fight off rats throughout the night and begin anew.

This process was tiring and ridiculous, but Amari had no choice. She had been born rare, lacking something others had. She had no birth certificate, no proof of her existence. Legally, she did not exist. She could change this, she could go and register her existence, then get a job, get a passport, and leave this place. But there were two problems with that. Three, if you count Amari's hatred for talking to strangers.

The first problem was birth date, Amari didn't know it. Of course, she could make up a date and pass it off as the real one, but Amari felt as if she would be betraying the woman who birthed her if she did such a thing. The other problem was that Amari actually liked staying a secret, liked not getting involved in the problems plaguing this place. Staying out and away from conflicts had been how Amari had survived this long. She intended to keep it this way.

Amari followed her personal 'not my business don't get involved rule' in most occasions, but there were a few that didn't fall under this category. Amari was on her way to visit them now, checking behind her often, and making sure to take enough confusing twists and turns that even if someone was following her they would've lost her by now. She does this every time.

Amari reached the building, walking inside to meet the closest thing to a mother she ever had. Sarah was a pear of a woman, the years sagging her face and growing her figure. Hugging her was the same as hugging a pillow. Amari walked inside the building. Sarah had an actual job; she cleaned at the hotel. She would spend all day in the basement, doing the laundry.

Amari entered the mostly empty basement, there were usually only two or three people there at a time. No one bothered to stop and question Amari. Most didn't care. Amari weaved the halls to the washing room, where Sarah had finished pushing a large blanket into a washing machine.

She smiled at Amari, her lips forming a 'hello'. Amari rushed to her, giving her a quick hug. She knew she could trust Sarah, to an extent. Amari couldn't help that, as a human, she needed human contact to function normally. She would hug Sarah to help satisfy this need.

Sarah pulled back, signaling to a pile of blankets. The hotel had strict policies on blankets, throwing away any that had an irremovable stain. They considered such blankets useless, and piled them up to be thrown out. Amari would take them with her. Sarah had already bunched a few into a bag. Amari hugged her again, before grabbing the bag and leaving the building.

Amari walked to the orphanage. The one she grew up at. Of course, orphanage was a polite term. There's wasn't a better name for it though, so everyone just referred to it as that. All the children inside were indeed orphans, but they were to never be adopted.

Mom, that's what most people called her. She would take in the children, caring for them until they decided to leave. Her house wasn't registered as an orphanage, simply a place for 'troubled kids' to hide at. The younger kids would stay there every day, hardly leaving the walls. It was about the time they reached maybe 13 that they would wander the streets, before the streets became their home. They never left though, never truly.

Amari was one of these kids. She didn't leave the orphanage. Instead, she served it. Mom couldn't' afford to care for all the children she brought inside. Kids like Amari would thank Mom by bringing gifts. Food, clothing, or bedding. They all made sure to keep the Orphanage in good condition. Amari had met several of these other children, but wasn't truly close with most of them.

Amari arrived at the orphanage, entering through the back. It always made her feel safer to do so. Most of the children were outside, who waved to her before going back to playing. Inside there were small children peeling potatoes, and others hand scrubbing underwear. Amari waved and smiled to them, making her way downstairs.

The basement is where Mom was at this time of day. She was sitting in her little corner, sewing the holes in clothes back together. Amari didn't talk much to Mom, their relationship was like with Sarah. A hug. Mom was delighted to see the bag, even more so when she saw the blankets inside. No one in this household cared if their blanket was a stain in it. They were happy to simply have something worm. Even if it was still summer, this blanket would save lives in the winter.

Amari walked back upstairs, deciding to join the potato peeling. Mashed potatoes were a common meal. Beans as well; even if they took four hours to cook. That's when there was a knock on the door. Just like Amari, these children were scared of strangers at the house. They would instantly get quiet, all gathering upstairs, hiding in their bedroom. The children outside would run in through the back door, which they did do. The kids, used to being hushed, walked upstairs in silence as Mom came up from the basement.

Amari hid in the kitchen, finding a way to try and still watch the door as it swung open. Amari couldn't hear the exchange, but Mom folded her hands behind her back. This was a sign of danger, and Amari stood up. She made her way to stand next to Mom, giving the strange man a hard look.

With a quick scan Amari could instantly tell that they were a bouncer. A rich one, seeing as he was wearing a suit. She greeted him, a simple nod of the head. Then he started to speak, and Amari struggled to keep up with what he was saying.

The bouncer examined Amari up and down before mouthing words that were easy to recognize. 'You're deaf.'

Chapter 2

Amari narrowed her eyes at the man, wondering what he could possibly want here. No one rich came here. If they did, they were always chased out for their less than moral desires.