The red light district is far from welcoming. The streets are a filthy brown. Brown for waste, brown for decay. Brown for dried blood. Seedy is too kind a word to describe it. No child should be here.

Yet...

They scurry around like little rats, the pitter-patter of their feet so light that you had to strain your ears, to cock your head in the right direction to be able to catch its echoes. When the wind howls, you don't have a chance.

Don't keep your wallet on you for there are always eyes watching tired and hungry.

If you let a snake near you, don't expect it not to bite.

Vipers are waiting.

There's two of them.

They work together. It is not common in these parts.

Trust is rarer than anyone actually helping in anyway.

Trust makes you soft, it makes you vulnerable.

There is no place for weakness here.

They still haven't been caught.

They have been together their entire lives.

The purplette and the pinkette have looked out for each other since they met.

It seems like eons ago.

They cannot remember a time before they built their tentative alliance.

They have been young but they have had to grow up fast and they knew they could not trust anyone.

They still did.

Perhaps they shouldn't have.

It is too late now.

People are perfectly happy to ignore the district, to distance themselves from the horrific actions taking place.

Then, one of them is murdered and they cannot do it anymore.

The children - perhaps that is not the right word - the pink and purple pair have no idea who was disposed of.

Nor do they care.

They may be empathetic but if they took all the burdens of the world upon themselves, they'd never get up.

As it is, they feel lucky they have each other.

Perhaps the dead man meant something to someone else but he is dead and they didn't know him so there's no point in pretending they care.

They are interested though.

Knowledge is power.

It's not hard to find who the man was and why he was killed but anything they can get still doesn't satisfy their curiosity about what it's like outside.

The purplette has vague memories of men with birds on their foreheads that chased her but eventually, they stopped. She has been outside but she does not remember. The other girl has never been outside.

They do not know whether or not they should go.

They do.

The blond is a nuisance.

He likes to dress in orange and he practically screams for attention.

The villagers don't pretend not to see him. Instead they beat him.

He thinks it hurts a little less.

At least he has attention.

At least he won't be forgotten.

The orange helps.

It was the only thing he could afford.

Still, the masks don't manage to catch him.

He thinks they must be incompetent.

He's wearing orange!

The masks don't catch him.

The other children do.

The purplette and pinkette refuse to let go of the blond.

They find him on their first expedition and they take him back with them.

He doesn't resist.

They watch him bade farewell to the place he has been staying before he gleefully comes over to them.

He is willing to follow them anywhere.

They won't have to follow him because they're not letting him go.

He smiles.

It is the most beautiful thing they have ever seen.

So they try it too.

It makes his even more beautiful.

The blond likes his new accommodations for one reason and one reason only.

The pinkette and purplette are there.

They smile at him, hesitantly and he knows there's nowhere they can go that he won't find them.

They don't know how to speak well or read.

He doesn't either but he listened in to some of the lessons the bossy lady gave the others.

She'd beat him if she knew he was there but the two don't care.

They make him the lookout.

He makes them write and read.

It works.

It works for so long that none of them are surprised when trouble comes knocking.

They've long since expected it, been tense as they waited.

The blond tells the other two to back off.

They follow him discretely.

The masks notice nothing.

The children are not using chakra and children of the street are the most discrete of all.

Even the blond in his orange never stands out.

The District is a hard teacher but it teaches you to survive.

Even the gentle hearted purplette gives in to her survival instincts.

She is a kind predator but she is a predator.

The blond is not quite as far gone as the other two.

It is to be expected.

They have an apartment.

Strictly speaking, it is not theirs.

It is the blond's.

But that makes it theirs.

They don't need anyone else to agree.

It has always been the three of them.

It is always the three of them.

It will always be the three of them.

Always.

The blond has a name now.

In his previous excitement, he forgot to tell them.

Naruto.

But they don't want to call him that.

He doesn't want them to call him that.

They call him 'Ru' for Hikaru and Naruto.

The pinkette is named after the beautiful trees that match her hair.

Officially, she is Sakura. For them, she is simply 'Ra'.

They pick another obvious name.

Sumire - 'Re'.

If Ru has a name, they need names too!

They do everything they possibly can together.

Re is the only one who doesn't want to go to the Academy.

She doesn't think she's ready to be a Shinobi.

Ru and Ra remind her that they are street rats first and foremost.

She can simply pretend to be a Shinobi.

Re's not stupid.

But she wants to believe them so she does.

She will pretend to be a Shinobi.

The only thing she knows for sure is that what ever she becomes, Ra and Ru will become with her.

So she says yes.

She agrees because she can't, won't let them go.

Hopefully, she won't ever have to.

Hope is a weak flame but they cannot afford for it to go out.