A little afro-headed child dashed through the cracked streets of the Bronx. He didn't look back, knowing it'd spell his failure. Some part of him wanted to still: he was far too tired for this.

"Come back here, you fucking nigger!"

He went down the street, spun on his heel, closed his eyes, and ran down the dark alley.

It was a dead end.

Opening his eyes, he froze. "Oh shit." He turned to see one of his pale pursuers.

"No escape now, monkey." The white man drew a revolver from the waistband of his pants before approaching.

Another walked in and leaned against the red-crusted wall. "We're going take back our land from your kind one body at a time."

"Hey," the last one said, "that rhymed!"

"Shut up, Greg!" The other two yelled.

The little black boy's nostrils flared as he took a deep breath through them. He grimaced at the strange, permeating scent he failed to notice earlier. "What the hell?"

"Hell is exactly whe-"

A yelp drew their attention back.

Greg was on a knee, and a shadow was driving a knife through his throat with one hand while leveling a small pistol at the armed man with the other.

"Fu-"

They were deafened as a bullet tore into his brain.

Knife hand free, he aligned his blade's grip with his pistol's before snapping into a stance, taking a deep breath, shooting the remaining hostile in the knee, putting on in his chest once he fell, and finishing him with a headshot.

Three men died in the span of a few seconds.

The little black child fell on to his back when the shadow pointed his gun at him.

Shining blue eyes met dark voids.

He would never forget this moment.

Keeping his gun aimed at the remaining intruder, he inched towards his first victim, his footsteps nonexistent in the audible world they both had difficulty sensing. He took his knife hand off the gun grip and wiped it clean on his coat. The blade snapped into its handle when he dragged the drawing spring into its resting place. Slipping the hilt onto his pocket, he crouched, gun still aimed, and stowed the revolver in the waistband of his pants.

"Who…" The boy stopped, realizing his lack of hearing.

His savior waved his gun's barrel up and down.

He blinked before rising.

The shadow—now a somewhat illuminated wild-haired, brown-skinned lad—pointed at the dead end wall.

The little Afro-haired boy turned and saw some mops with red-crusted fibers. He looked back to be pointed at the dirtied cleaning utensils. Blinking, he grabbed a mop handle.

His savior pointed towards the growing puddles of blood beneath the three bodies' before swiping towards the wall.

"The fuck?"

He pointed and swiped again, moving his gun closer.

"Okay, okay!" Afro boy walked over to the corpses, soaked the mop head in their blood, and spread it on the walls.

The other grabbed a spare mop and joined him after stowing his piece.

It was the start of an awkward, difficult friendship.

After half an hour, the walls were coated in blood. The strange murderer cut open and drained the bodies of what didn't flow out, which made afro boy vomit. They dragged the bodies all the way to the abandoned street corner where someone would notice them. Afro boy followed his savior back to the alley out of shock than anything else.

Both sat down by opposite walls, staring at each other.

"…So," the afro boy said, "who are you? My name's Marcus."

The alley rat's head fell to the side. "Kojo. Just…Kojo. I've always been Kojo."

"Uh, who taught you how to do that?"

"No one. It came naturally to me." His eyes bore into Marcus' blue. "Can you fight?"

"Maybe? Not like you, not even close; I don't think anyone can."

"Do you know where to find food?"

Marcus blinked. "Not really. There's shops you can steal from, but good luck getting away."

"Can you sneak around?"

"…Yeah, why?"

"Two pairs of hands are better than one," Kojo said, his words not his own. "The walls are painted, so I don't need yours, but I don't know if I need you.

"You're thinking of killing me."

"Wondering if I have to."

"Please don't," Marcus said, shaking.

One of his eyebrows rose. "I've heard that so many times. Can you tell me why anyone thinks it'll stop me?"

"Jesus Christ!"

"Him too. I don't understand."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"I don't know and understand what 'wrong' is either."

"You're fucked up, Kojo."

They stared off.

That would become a standard.

A few days passed and they were in a different abandoned street of Hunts Point.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going now, Kojo?" Marcus asked, hand rubbing his shortened hair. His new ally of sorts cut away his afro with the knife he kept around: a very uncomfortable experience thanks to the various comments about how easy it is to slit a child's throat when behind them.

"We're almost there."

He blinked. "Good… God, you're too much."

"Who is God?"

"Are you serious?" Marcus shook his head as he remembered who he was talking to. "The guy or thing that created everything. He's everywhere, all that is good, always right, and all-powerful. No one knows for sure if that's true or he's even real though." He blinked again. "Why are you asking me about this now? I've said God before."

"I'm 'passing the time' with you." Kojo's empty eyes scanned his surroundings. "If he's good and right and created me, how am I wrong or 'fucked up?'"

"Because the devil exists, and we're under his influence or some shit. Don't know whether God doesn't want to kill him or can't because he's just as powerful. God also has influence steering us towards Him."

"Then they're the same being."

"What?"

"He created all that is good, right, evil, and wrong. He is the only thing that can oppose Himself. He Influences us to be more like Him. God. Devil. They're the same thing."

"That… makes too much sense." Marcus sighed. "I don't really believe in that shit anyway."

"Neither do I."

Marcus laughed. "Finally, something we share in common other than black hair and black blood."

"My blood is red."

"…Was that a joke?"

"No, why do you keep asking me that when I correct you?"

"I really don't know how to talk to you."

A minute passed until they arrived at a warehouse. There was an old man with a military cap seated on an odd chair outside by its corner. The warehouse itself was a medium-sized building as far as storage spaces go. Its gate was shut to the world.

"Well, well, well! The little black beaner is back." The old man raised an eyebrow at his companion. "Who the fuck is this little black domed nigger?"

"He's Marcus," Kojo said. "Can you teach him how to fight and use guns?"

Marcus turned to him. "What?"

The old man laughed. "You gonna form a little crime fighting team, kid?"

Kojo stood unfazed.

"…Well fuck." He glared at Marcus. "You do realize he's gonna die, right? Other kids aren't like you."

"I know."

"What the fuck is happening right now?"

The old man pushed off his seat, stretched himself out, grinned, and approached. "I'm Dan, nigglet, and I'm your commanding officer and drill sergeant."

"I don't know what that means."

Dan smacked Marcus on the side of his head, sending him to the ground. "Don't talk back to me, boy!"

"Oww!" Tears welled up in the lad's eyes.

"If that's all I need to do to make your bitch ass cry, you may as well die right here!" The man pushed his foot into his trainee's stomach. "Do you think anyone else is going to go easy on you?! I'm holding back and an old man, and I'm still whooping your black ass!"

Marcus rolled out from underneath Dan's foot, stood up, and rubbed the swelling part of his head. "Fuck you!" He glanced at Kojo. "H-Help?"

He looked to Dan.

The old man shrugged. "Sure wh-" He raised a knee as Kojo sprinted towards him.

Kojo blocked Dan's shift into a low kick and punched the former army man in the jewels.

He hunched over, clutching his crotch. "Why do you always go for the balls?!"

"Marcus!" Kojo yelled as he punched Dan's face.

The black boy nodded before joining in the punching.

Dan stood up after a few seconds and pushed both boys.

Kojo took hold of the old man's arm as Marcus was knocked to the ground only to be smacked down himself.

"Good! The soldiers dies while the unit survives! You're not going to if you stay down!"

Marcus stumbled up while Kojo rolled away before doing so.

Dan smacked him down. "Did you forget we're in a combat situ-"

Kojo closed the distance and jumped on his toes.

"You little!" He kicked again for his first pupil to sway the left and punch him in the balls again. "Shit!"

The boy gouged at the old man's eyes when he hunched over, sending him back. He held out his hand to Marcus as he lifted his upper body.

Marcus took it and joined the fray.

Fifteen more minutes of this passed. All three were more than exhausted, bruised, and bleeding at the end. The gate churning open signaled them to stop.

Some wrinkled brown-skinned old woman stomped out. "Gringo, qu-" She froze as her eyes met Kojo's ragged form. "¡Chiquito!"

"Abuelita," he greeted as she ran over.

The old woman picked him up and held him tight. "¡Hijo de tu puta madre!" She turned to the scowling old man. "¿Por qué te gusta luchar contra los niños, monstruo?!"

"Hazme caso…" Dan's gaze softened at the sight of Kojo going limp in Abuelita's arms. "No wonder he seemed off." He glanced at a confused Marcus. "He hasn't slept at all in days, has he?"

The boy blinked. "Oh shit, I never noticed."

Abuelita looked down at the soft-breathing child before running back into the warehouse.

Dan and Marcus watched the gate shut. "I was wondering when that old bitch was going to wake up."

"Who was that?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Did Kojo call her grandma?"

"It's not her real name, and they're not related. He's a beaner; she's a commie wetback."

Marcus shot him a look.

"Cuban. Madwoman. She loves the little Latinos and thinks they're her grandchildren, but they steal from her."

"Fucked up." He followed the old man as he went to his chair. "Do you protect her?"

Dan nodded before sitting down. "I have no love for you minorities, but it's not right to just stand by and let a woman out of her right mind be abused."

"Rich in this whore-infested shithole."

"There's a strong difference between a woman and a whore. Best learn it nigglet or you'll be itching your balls." The old man laughed.

Marcus sat on the curb. "Is Kojo going to be alright?"

"Yeah. He's better off with us than he is alone, but he keeps going away." He shook his head. "There's something wrong with that kid: there's no reasoning with him."

"He killed three people in front of me in seconds! He's insane!"

"Were they criminals?"

"They were trying to kill me; I don't give a shit. Just…How?!"

Dan shrugged. "Some people are just born killing machines. Humans as a whole are natural born killers, ignore that bullshit in media about some trenchcoat wearing faggot being one. All of us are. Women, not so much. They use men to do their violence like the pussies they are and have."

"But Kojo moved like an animal. His feet don't even make noise!"

"He's been hiding and fighting for as long as he can remember. Even before that, if you can believe what he says. Kids have an easier time picking up languages, developing habits, and learning things than grown men; could be that made Kojo develop to where he is now. It could even be genetics with all those super freaks running around. Maybe his will is inexorable, and he's some kind of cosmic incarnation of murder. I sure as hell don't fucking know."

Marcus sighed before laying himself on the pavement.

In time, they would know and understand.

Rain splattered over the two boys and the ground, washing blood away. Two other ones were still on the road with their throats cut. Kojo's knife was cleaned without his coat's help. Marcus' face was buried in his hands.

Kojo stowed his knife before picking up two tied plastic bags from their owners' twitching fingers. "If they weren't lying, we'd have enough to last us a few days." He turned to his trainee and blinked. "Marcus?"

"You killed them."

He nodded. "You watched me do it."

"They just wanted to keep what they had, and you killed them. They didn't do anything to us but say no, and you killed them." Marcus sobbed.

"Their lives were of no value to us." Kojo's head fell to the side. "I don't understand why anyone cries. It's pointless."

"…You're crying too."

"No, I'm not. Look at me and see."

Marcus raised his shining head and glared into Kojo's eyes with his sparkling blue. "You're crying too! You've always been crying!"

"I don't understand."

"No matter how much you get hurt, no matter how cold it is, no matter how much Abuelita hugs you, no matter how much you eat, and no matter how much I try to make you smile, you have the same fucking miserable look on your face!" He stomped forward and poked his chest. "You're so goddamn sad, you don't even feel it anymore." His voice broke. "How can you even live like this? Why do you keep going on?"

Kojo hummed, a hollow sound in his throat. "I don't know."

"What do you want?"

"I've never wanted anything. Joy, sadness, fear, hate, and happiness are things I've never felt."

Marcus sighed and shook his head. "You're fucked up, Kojo."

"You tell me that a lot." He began walking down the street.

"….I don't know how to process all this goddamn bullshit." Marcus followed, wiping away the rain and tears on his cheeks.

"Are you going to start saying that a lot too?"

"Feels a lot like I am."

He would.

Kojo and Marcus sat in the fresh 'painted' alley. Its original inhabitant kept watch of the night's darkness as the rookie began to doze off. His eyes were far more tired however.

"You know..you can sleep and let me be lookout," Marcus said.

The other boy stared at his half-lidded eyes.

"…Right, my bad."

"Stay awake with me. I'll teach you what to look out for."

He groaned. "Really?"

"Really."

They stood awake through the entire night, Kojo kicking Marcus whenever it seemed he'd fall asleep and avoiding his sluggish retaliation.

When the sun rose, the rookie grumbled. "Now can I sleep?"

"No." Kojo stood. "We have to go about our day."

Marcus groaned as he followed. "How the hell can you last several days?"

"Focus."

They left the alley to skulk and steal as they always did.

Both boys were on the road to the warehouse.

Marcus groaned. "I'm still sore from yesterday."

"We're not here to train in hand-to-hand. You're going to learn CQC."

"And that's?"

"Close quarters combat."

"The same exact thing."

"No, you're going to learn how to use a gun in close quarters"

Abuelita's warehouse and Dan came into view for the umpteenth time.

"What?" Marcus blinked. "I'm going to get a gun?"

"You're going to learn how to use this one." Kojo drew the revolver from the waistband of his pants.

"I forgot about that."

Dan scowled as his eyes spotted the weapon. "Put that SAA away before you get hurt, boy."

"That's what this is." He glanced at the gun. "It's not like my Tomcat."

"Your tomcat's a fucking peashooter." Dan stood, stomped over, and snatched the oldschool revolver from Kojo. "SAA means Single Action Army." He put the trigger to half-cock, wheeled the cylinder, and took out a cartridge. "This one's chambered for .357 magnum ammo. Your Beretta i-"

"Semi-automatic chambered for .32 ACP, I know. Can you teach Marcus how to shoot it?"

"Of course I can." He put the round back in its chamber, secured the cylinder, and cocked the trigger fully back. "But we're going to need more ammo." He turned around and began walking. "Follow me." He circled his wrist, getting a feeling for the gun's weight.

The boys obeyed.

It didn't take long and much distance to reach their destination: an alley.

"What the fuck is it with alleys?" Marcus asked, shaking his head.

"Easy place to hide, be ambushed, flanked, killed, and disposed of." The other two said in unison.

"…Are we going to ignore how creepy that was?"

"Quiet," Dan said as they reached the middle. "We're here."

"The-"

Dan knocked against the wall to his right a few times in an odd tempo.

Several seconds passed before it opened like a door.

They entered into an odd gunshop enclosed by fences and steel bars.

A hooded and scarf-masked man stood behind the fortified counter. His dark brown eyes widened at the sight of the old man on. "Dan! You sonofabitch, it's been a while."

"Hey. Gonna need some .357 magnum. About… Six hundred rounds."

Marcus blinked. "Isn't that a lot?"

"You'll use 'em up by the year's end if you're still alive when Kojo takes you hunting."

The boy in question approached the counter and stood on the tips of his toes. "I need three Beretta 3032 Tomcat .32 ACP magazines. I'll take seven hundred rounds of .32 ACP." He pointed his thumb back at Dan. "He's paying."

"You little shit." He shook his head. "Put it on my tab; you know where I live, and you know I'm good for it."

"Alright," the shopkeeper said before scurrying about his storage space.

"So, what does Dan mean by hunting?" Marcus asked Kojo. "It sounds like you're some kind of predator…which you are." He scoffed. "An apex predator more like it." He smirked. "Black Panther."

"Jaguar," Dan corrected. "It's a South American panther with black spots that can kill fucking alligators on their own turf, and hunting means bagging the only game around here worth killing: gangbangers."

"Huh…Wait, what?"

He patted the boy's shoulder. "Our little black beaner doesn't like living around gangsters, so he kills them, and he gets rid of all he can find in any way he can with gun and knife in hand."

"I used to just use my knife."

Marcus stared at Kojo. "…The Apex Fang."

"Gay," Dan said.

"Fuck you, old man, it's cool!"

They waited, grabbed their two bags of ammo, and walked out the alley.

"Do you actually have money for that guy, Dan?" Marcus asked.

"I'll have it soon enough." He grinned. "Just need to hunt some assholes myself."

Marcus glanced at Kojo. "Did you get it from him or is this some sort of family thing?"

"Dan is not my father or my grandfather and no."

"Ain't no shitskin in my blood, little shit. Kojo does what he wills whatever it may be. If you haven't noticed, he's a creepy killing machine who only trusts madwomen."

"Abuelita thinks I am her grandson, provides for me, and teaches me things. She would never hurt me." He looked off to the right as they walked. "Family doesn't hurt family."

Dan burst into laughter.

Marcus shot them odd looks and shook his head. "You're both fucking crazy." He blinked, noticing their path was different than the one they took. "Wait a minute, where are we going?"

"A place we can teach you how to shoot without that mad bitch breathing down our necks about how innocent little beaner here shouldn't be around such violence."

"What would she do if she figured out what he does?"

Kojo stared at Marcus.

He glanced back and felt himself sweat at his hollow eyes. "…I'm not going to tell her, if that's what you're thinking."

The predator kept his gaze for a full minute before returning to his surroundings.

Marcus began shaking.

He would've died that day if Kojo hadn't lost the need he felt to kill him.

It took several minutes to arrive an abandoned patch of green in Hunts Point's grey, Joseph Rodman Drake park.

Dan picked out a space some ways from a tall tree and set down his bag. "Black beaner, your ammo's in there."

Kojo nodded before digging out his new supply.

"Are we both going to be shooting?" Marcus asked.

The old man shook his head. "Just you, nigglet." He walked over, put the gun in the boy's hand, making him drop his bag; and pointed the revolver at the tree. "When you shoot, you should be aiming a little down to compensate for the recoil, breathing out, and holding the grip with both hands to maximize accuracy as well as minimize the time it takes to re-aim. The trunk is its center mass, its chest and abdomen. Branches are its limbs and head. Which one's the easier target?"

"The trunk."

"Good. Always aim center mass. Only the most crazy accurate bastards can land a headshot, a kneecap, or even an eyeshot in a real combat situation." He let go of Marcus. "Now spread your feet, lean a bit forward, and bend your elbows when you hold your gun out to further manage the recoil."

The boy obeyed. "I've seen Kojo do almost all three shots. He puts his left foot forward, bends his knees, and one of his arms when he shoots too."

"Like I said, the most crazy accurate bastards. His stance is a modified weaver. You're in the isosceles stance."

"What does that mean?"

"Enough with your questions." He scowled. "Shoot!"

Marcus dinger squeezed the trigger.

The left side of the trunk exploded as the gunshot rang through the air.

"Fuck, that's loud!" He squinted. "Bright too." His finger squeezed the trigger for no response. "Huh?"

"You have to manually set the firing pin back every time. It's that big trigger above your hands."

"Kojo's doesn't do that."

"He's sporting a semi-automatic: they work in an entirely different way and jam. Revolvers never jam, so you've got something over him."

Marcus scoffed as he set the firing pin back with his thumb, triggering the cylinder turn function. "It's not much." He fired into the tree again, set the hammer back, and blew another hole into the wood. "This is actually pretty fun!"

"Every advantage counts, kid! Remember that!"

"I will!" He fired round after round until his firing pin clicked with no boom. "Out of ammo." He raised an eyebrow at his spread. "I got a little trigger happy."

"No shit. You didn't lower your aim enough to compensate for the recoil jump."

"My bad." Marcus lowered his gun and got back into his normal posture. "How do I reload this?"

"Put the hammer, the big trigger, halfway and use the ejector rod underneath the barrel to push the casings out."

He lifted the gun, half-cocked the hammer, and pushed an empty cartridge out the cylinder with the convenient part. "Wouldn't it be better if I could just turn the whirly thing out and let the 'casings' fall?"

"That gun was designed in the nineteen hundreds. Other revolvers let you do that. I know it's not optimal, but it makes you remember your shots need to count or you're fucked."

The last five casings were pushed out onto the grass.

Marcus put his SAA in his pocket before opening his own ammo bag. He lifted one of the plastic containers out, popped the latches open, and grabbed a handful of bullets. "Nice." Putting them in his other pocket, he drew his revolver and began reloading one bullet at a time with each cylinder spin. "…I can't do this in a gunfight, can I?"

"Like I said, you have to remember to make ever shot count." Dan chuckled. "It'll get easier, and you'll get faster at it though."

Marcus closed the case and stood up. "Alright, let's do this again."

"Make sure the cylinder's secure and spun all the way to the right, so it switches rounds properly before you set the hammer down."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Don't you… Huh."

The basics understood, Marcus practiced.

An hour or so passed.

Marcus reloaded his SAA and stowed it with jittering hands. "Can anyone else hear that ringing?"

"It's called tinnitus. You'll get used to it," Dan said.

Kojo walked over to the fallen tree. "If this were a person, it would've died over a dozen times by now." He patted the ragged stump. "I wonder how much blood it would've bled."

"…Seriously," Marcus said in his loudest whisper, "what the fuck is wrong with him?"

"I don't know, kid. Don't think anyone ever will."

Kojo walked back and snatched the gun from Marcus' pocket.

"Hey!"

"I'll give it back to you when you need it." He put the revolver in the waistband of his pants, picked up his ammo bag, and started walking towards their alley.

Clucking his tongue, Marcus grabbed his own and followed.

Dan shook his head at the sight of the boys walking away. "What the fuck am I doing? They're going to die like… Goddammit." His hands balled into fists. "Stay safe, you little bastards."

He would never know what they'd become.

The sun set on their bloody alley.

Kojo played lookout as always despite his baggy eyes.

Marcus sighed. "Are you really going to keep this up? I'm not going to try killing you in your sleep, Kojo. Fuck, you'd probably kill me if I did."

"I would."

"I know." Marcus rolled his eyes. "So why not let me stay up? You're more deadly than I'll ever be."

"That is also true."

They stared at each other for a time.

Kojo's eyes closed.

"…Uh?"

"You're lookout." Kojo slumped against the wall.

"Wow..." Marcus blinked at the other boy's still face. "You sleep so soundly for a child murderer."

He didn't respond.

Shaking his head, Marcus fulfilled his role.

He felt an odd happiness from what was a small achievement.

A month passed.

"You're lookout, Marcus," Kojo said before falling limp.

The boy in question nodded.

An hour flew by, and the sky grew darker.

Marcus' eyes were squinting before they widened at Kojo standing. "I thought you were sleeping."

He walked out, his steps uneven and wobbling.

"The fuck?" He followed several steps behind. "Kojo?"

No words left his lips.

"Kojo!"

He didn't so much as twitch.

Marcus clucked his tongue. "Why didn't you fucking tell me you were a sleepwalker?" He blinked. "Oh right, you're fucking insane!"

They traveled a full block before a shadow entered an alley.

Kojo drew his knife and flicked the blade up as he broke off into a silent run.

"No!" Marcus dashed after him.

He was too late.

The shadow turned at the dead end to get his throat slashed.

Marcus skid to a halt while the innocent boy fell, clutching his neck. "Goddammit, Kojo!"

Blinking, light flickered in the boy's eyes. He glanced at his bloodied switchblade and wiped it on his coat before turning to his ally. "Marcus."

"What the fuck was that?!" He held his arm out to the dead child. "You're sleeping one moment, walking the next, and killing another fucking kid who did nothing wrong!"

Kojo hummed. "Strange."

"Is that all you're going to fucking say?!" Marcus stomped forward. He scowled, shook his head, and sighed. "Were you having a nightmare or some weird dream?"

"Blood: I was in a sea of blood." He glanced down at the body near his feet. "Surrounded by bodies with gunshots and stab wounds like my knife and tomcat make. I was sinking and there was a cliff overhead. There wasn't enough bodies to stack or blood to float on, so I was drowning." He stared back into Marcus' glistening eyes. "Why are you crying?"

He walked over and embraced him.

"…I don't understand."

"You're crying too, Kojo."

"I'm not."

"You always are!" His hug tightened as he sobbed. "You always are."

They stood like that for a few minutes before Marcus broke away.

Kojo drew the revolver from his waistband and held it out with the barrel pointed downward. "Here, it's yours."

"Finally trust me?" Marcus wiped away his tears with a smile.

Shrugging, he wiggled the revolver grip.

"Oh fuck you." He took the gun put of his hands and put it in his own pants. "I know you're dead inside, but you can at least say it."

Kojo walked past him to the alley exit. "I trust you. Let's go home."

Marcus laughed as he followed him into the darkness.

A small hum in Kojo's throat went unheard.

He felt warm.