I wonder what a person thinks about as they're staring down the barrel of a gun, realizing these are their last moments in life. Are they regretful? Are they sad? Do they think about their family, the things they've accomplished, the last song they heard or meal they had?

Luckily, I'd never been put into that position before. I couldn't say the same for the person in front of me though.

"Please, I have children…oh god. Just please, give me a chance, I'll give you my bank account number, you can take everything, please god just don't shoot me please!" He was crying now. Pathetic. I wasn't trained to have feelings, so this display of emotion really didn't make me feel pity for the sorry excuse of a man in front of me.

"Listen, I'm sick of your excuses. You're late on the payments again. You signed the contract. You know what the consequences are. There's a little thing called interest. I don't give a flying shit about your two year old son and your stupid wife who's probably at home fucking another hopeless shit right now. What I do care about however, is pulling this little trigger, and embedding a tiny piece of metal right into your skull."

"Listen, I'll do anything-"His pleas were cut short as I slammed him into unconsciousness with my small pistol. Unfortunately, I had orders to bring him back to the man I had come to know as "Smith." I doubt that was his real name, but that's how we wanted his "employees" to refer to him. We weren't really employees; we didn't really get a salary. Instead, we were provided with protection, houses, cars, etc., etc. Who needed money when your job was to kill people, your work was considered your family, and everything you needed was given to you?

The thing is, I was a bit young to have already started in this business. We were trained to kill, not to feel; to be able to shoot a man squarely between the eyes from 100 feet away; to break a man's fingers 15 different ways; to break a man's skull using only your fist. Some other 16 year olds might be disgusted or scared of this business, but me, I had no other choice. It was either this or…well I didn't know what else a homeless teenager could do.

My mother had died when I was younger. Probably about 7 or 8 to be exact. I don't really like to go into detail in how she died; and even if I could, I wasn't there when she died, so I couldn't provide too much insight or detail. And why would you want to know anyway? My father, well, I didn't care where he was right now. He was a sad excuse for a father on my part. I'm not really a big fan of his. All I know about his life currently is that he's some political hotshot in some big city. Eh, who cares? I don't need him, I don't need to know about him.

All I know is that he was not a good father, and I was sick of living his life, so I ran away from home. I was about 12 years old. Sure that might seem like a big decision for 12 year old to make, but hell I'd been through a lot. I'd been through a lot more than most 50 year olds have been through. But once I stepped out of the door, and smelt the sweet air of freedom, I knew I'd made the right choice. And now as I stand here, looking over my next successful job, I definitely knew I had made the right choice.

I suppose I should tell you how I got into this "business" anyway. Well, it all started a couple weeks after I had begun my homeless life. I was sitting outside a little package store one day, examining a can I had found outside, wondering if I could get a nickel or something for it at the bottle redemption center. In the middle of my little examination, someone walked out of the store briskly. What caught my eye however was that they had a gun in one hand, and a large bag in the other.

I couldn't help but stare, but I couldn't do it discreetly. The person, a woman, looked over at me. She had long blonde hair pulled back into a bun, and some blue eyes, which at the moment I thought were going to shoot out laserbeams at me with the icy stare she was giving me. But then her expression turned into one of curiosity and she began to walk towards me.

My first thoughts were, "Oh shit, oh shit, I'm going to die. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…" etc. etc. Not a very life flashing before your eyes moment, but hey I was a scared little pre teen. Give me a break.

Luckily she put her gun away as she walked towards me and said, "You're homeless, aren't you?"

Out of pure astonishment and the shock, and relief that I was in, I managed to squeak out a tiny "Yes."

She replied, "Listen, this might sound strange coming from a complete stranger, but I know a place you can go to and they can help you out. I was just like you once. Homeless, abandoned, orphaned." Well I wasn't orphaned, but why should I tell her that? This woman was offering me a place to stay, and frankly I was thinking more about the fact that there was a pistol in her pocket.

I don't remember exactly what I said, but it was something that made her chuckle a bit, and then offer her hand and bring me into the Porsche convertible she had parked behind the store. As I got into the passenger seat, I didn't care where this woman was taking me. I didn't care where we were going or if we were going to meet other people. I was just thinking that I was going to begin my life somewhere new, be able to provide for myself, and build a life of my own. Pretty big stuff for a 12 year old.

She continued to stare at the road, and I'm sure she was breaking a few speed limit laws, but she said to me, "My name is Quistis Trepe, by the way. What's yours?"

I guess I still had the ability to remember my name, and I managed to stutter out, 'R-Rinoa. Heartilly."

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That's the end of Chapter 1 guys! Thanks so much in advance for any reviews you are willing to give me. I don't really know which direction I'm going to take this story in yet, I have a couple ideas. But I just want to let you know it's not a oneshot about Rinoa joining the mafia or a gang or anything. I'll hopefully be back soon to update it, if you guys send me some reviews! Thanks:-)