I sat in my Jeep Cherokee, the motor running, frozen, not moving. If you could have peered through the windshield and seen me, you would have seen a dark haired Mexican-American sixteen year old, immobile, features looking as though they had been carved out of stone. Your impression would have been that she was not with us in this world.

The fact of the matter is, you would have been right, I couldn't move. Memories were flooding though my mind, and my blood like wildfire.

Memories of a past that I thought I had left behind. Memories of a man who had haunted my dreams for years. Memories of a darker shade that would make any shrink flinch.

Lobo Rodriguez 'The Wolf' was my biological father. I don't know who my mother was, but she was probably some woman of questionable virtue with green eyes, not brown, due to the fact that mine are a deep, serene emerald. Rodriguez was your typical gang-banger drug dealer type of man. No-screw that. He was atypical. Probably the vilest piece of crap out there. If shit wore shoes, he would be the shit on the bottom of…..

Anyways, not the nicest guy to grow up with for fourteen years on the dark side of New York, but I managed. After a few years I had learned to ride the beast that was my life, that terrible monster who more than once would leave me crying in an ally, with a gun to my head, praying to whatever God there was in that blanket of stars above to take away my pain…..

No, scratch that. I never learned to ride. I was pulled off before I could do more damage to myself.

The truth is, I was incredibly messed up back then. Rodriguez was the leader of a gang called, the Wolves, and they were a mean bunch. I was a Wolf by default, the unwanted child of the Pack Leader. They called me Wolfling. It was a nickname that I would come to hate. As I sat there in that car, still not moving, my hand involuntarily jumped up to my neck…and tenativly fingered the spot where the Wolven tattoo had been graven into my flesh. I could still feel the pain of the needles on my tender neck when I was seven..

"AHH!" I burst out, screaming unnecessarily, and pounded at the steering wheel. Tears were starting to leak out of my eyes unbidden. What was wrong with me?

I put the Jeep into gear, and swung her around, and crawled down the

driveway.

I'm a Wolfling, that's what's wrong with me. I thought bitterly.

All this went down before the Narc squad pulled a huge raid on the Wolves Den,

The place that I hade grudgingly called home. Unfortunately, I can still remember it like it was yesterday….

I accidentally ran a red-light, heading downtown. I ignored all the angry beeps, and continued on my way.

Yes, I could still remember the day of the raid.

Cringing and running as shouts and gunshots echoed and reverberated along the warehouse walls…staggering and choking, fleeing for my life, having no real idea what was going on…

And then…..

I resisted the painful urge to squeeze my eyes shut. After all, I was still on the road. Yes, I could still remember with terrible clarity the man who I called father grabbing me, and holding a gun to my head, using me as a shield to get out of the building alive…all the while stepping and sliding on the blood of those who he called friend…

"Yes," I can even remember what had been going through my mind at that time, "Please. Kill me. End it. FOR GODS SAKE END IT!!"

And then the Lobo was gone. Out of sight, and out of my life…for the time being.

Narcotics got a hold of me, and brought me back to the station to examine me, like I was some sort of exotic animal. I must have fascinated them. I allowed myself a wry grin, Fin had still been with the Narcs back then, and had been the first to question me. Well, I had seen a lot of scarier things than him, and I sure let him know! At the time I was scared, still sweating, and in all, a pile of jello, only on my geet due to a bizarre mixture of pure will, and bravado. Then SVU got joint jurisdiction for the case, since I was suddenly thrown in the midst of things. Narcotics moved me up a floor to have a chat with Elliot and Olivia.

They were much more..uh…easier for me to get along with. They gave me some hot coco, and made sure I was ok before asking me any questions. Eventually it got out that I was The Wolfling, the daughter of the man who got away.

There was a freaking hullaballo, let me say that.

I turned south on Division, and this time made sure that I stopped for the light. As I sat there, I recalled exactly the unique situation I had been in.

Alexandra Cabot wanted to use me at a Criminal Informant, to get more info on other baddies in New York, since there were bound to be a lot of them. Cragen wanted me arrested, Olivia wanted everyone to leave me alone, and let me sleep, Elliot wanted to hunt the bastard down who had reduced me into a trembling, freaked out tower of teen frailty (Ha, Ha, Ell was protective of me even way back then) Fin wanted me thrown in jail, too, and John..well, I honestly don't know what his opinion was.

Anyways, here I am, as a Detective and a Criminal Informant for the New York police department. What a turn around, hey?

I had been given a new adoptive family, Emily Roscamp, a demure Dutch woman with a kind heart. I love her dearly, now, and if anything would ever happen to her because of what I used to be..well, I don't know what I would do with myself.

I pulled into the first parking space I saw at the precinct, for once not caring if it was Munch's or not. I had a feeling that in a few minutes I wouldn't be caring about much, anyways,

I turned the engine off, got outside, and slammed the door.

I stared at my reflection pensively for about thirty seconds, once again, letting my hand stray up to where that blasted tattoo was.

"Just call me Wolfling" I said in a low voice, trying to not to cry.