Jaime ran as far away as possible-or rolled, he'd kept the skate board-as fast as possible, while phoning Ty.

"Hey, Jaime!"

"Hey man," said Jaime. "Just wanted to say, I'm leaving for Houston, as soon as possible. Just phoned to say adios, ese."

"WHAT?! You're leaving? No, c'mon Jaime," Jaime could hear him scrambling to his feet and opening a door. "Just-just wait for me to get there, ok? Promise me."

"I won't make any promises," Jaime answered before hanging up. He leant on the wall of the bus station, after buying a ticket, and waited for the bus. The people walking past gave him funny looks, which was to be expected since, 1) it was a school day, 2) he was covered in bruises and 3) he was without any adults. He put on a ferocious scowl and pulled up his hood, until finally, finally, the bus the Houston came.

Jaime didn't even hesitate as he climbed aboard, headed toward his new life.

Out of the window he could just see the vague shape of Ty appear, but he refused to look. He'd never look back now.

Jaime hadn't stuck around in Houston for too long. He discovered that if you kept moving, you could almost out run the pain and memories. Right now, he was in some big city. Big cities were good. You spend ages without being noticed, not being seen. Jaime was just another nobody in a city full of homeless people.

It had been three years since Jaime had left his mom, little sister, Jose, Carlos, and Sofia back in El Paso. And over that time, his heart had become colder and colder. Maybe it was the fact that nobody ever showed him any sympathy or love, or maybe it was from the number of times he'd had to steal to survive, or maybe it was the fact that he usually had only the slightly homicidal scarab for company.

Jaime guessed he was luckier than most. In a brief stay in a small town (Jaime had learnt to stay away from them; not enough places to hide, and news travels too fast), an elderly man had taught him the true art of being a master pick pocket. Jaime had mastered it in a single night, and was able to collect just enough change to survive. Not so rarely he shoplifted. He often was forced to break into houses for food. He was well acquainted to scavenging from dumpsters.

But, this city had lasted longer than most. Jaime had decided to stick this one out, live there, until he actually had to move away. Constantly travelling was just too stressful.

He'd decided this about six months ago. So, yeah, this place had lasted much, much longer than most.

This had meant, however, that Jaime had begun to pay frequent visits to the police station near where he lived. These visits always left him annoyed. He had zero respect for authority and didn't take well to being bossed around. He'd been like this for years now, ever since the day he'd run away, he'd had a very difficult time coping with the outside world and all its contents; including law and human interacting.

Jaime sighed, looking at the scratches on the wall of his alley opposite him. It was a tally chart of the number of times he'd been sent to the station. Because, as said before, authority and Jaime did not bode well.

The police, for a long while, didn't even know his name. Ever since he left, Jaime, when asked, went by 'Loco bicho raro' as a slightly ironic joke. Those who spoke Spanish were confused. Those who didn't speak Spanish were confused. It was win-win.

Later on however he grew out of downgrading himself and simply took to downgrading others. He'd perfected his 'go-away-before-I-gut-you' glare, and had been taught to fight by a kid he temporarily teamed up with some place just outside Texas.

Jaime's 'home' was a dark, dank, dirty, rubbish strewn alley. It was so piled high with rubbish that only he could get in, because he knew where to step when he climbed.

With so much time on his hands, Jaime had experimented a lot with the scarab. He'd discovered, that along with blue armor, he could make a staple gun, a sort of battering ran thing, a scanner, a plasma gun, and wings. And it really helped when needing to scare someone senseless.

Jaime also looked different. His cheeks were sunken in, and you could see every one of his ribs if he took off his shirt. His eyes, once warm, had turned harsh and cold, and they had massive bags underneath from lack of sleep. His facial expressions varied from blank to angry to cruelly amused. But always guarded, mistrusting. He found it difficult to socialize with people now, and preferred to be alone. Or alone as he could ever be with the scarab.

When testing out the suit lost its charm, he simply caused trouble. A while ago, he and another kid had started a string of small time crimes in their part of town. However, after a particularly spectacular explosion including a wheelie bin, spray cans, gasoline and matches, Jaime's partner quitted to go seek help. (Jaime guessed it hadn't been fun enough for him anymore. Really, some people are spoiled.)

But Jaime was stubborn and stuck it out and continued his crime spree solo, even though he got caught a lot. Mainly through laziness than lack of skill. That was why he became acquainted with the police Chief James who began to feel a connection with him whereas Officer Ramirez saw him as nothing more than another delinquent out making his job all the more difficult.

They got Jaime admitted into countless orphanages but he continually ran away and when he couldn't find an escape he turned to threatening and/or annoying others. The threats and the constant trouble got so bad that no one could keep their cool long enough to even be in the same room as him. So with little to no option left they allowed him to run the streets in hopes he could maybe have revelation of the error of his ways. It never happened.

Jaime stayed in the streets and the more time that went by the colder his heart and compassion became and the more animosity toward humanity in general grew within him. Able to scrap up change here and there thanks to his skills he was able to survive. But even that was becoming too little to truly provide him with what he truly needed.

Today was an average day for Jaime. He strolled down the main street, watching out for police officers (who'd taken to greeting him and having long and pointless conversations about Jaime's fictional family (they didn't know it was fictional, obviously)). When he'd quite rudely just turned on his heel and walked away from one officer, she'd given chase and when she'd eventually caught him, she'd explained that it was just because she hated to see such a nice kid out on the streets. Jaime had bluntly asked her which nice kid she was referring to, before running off. Jaime also watched out for the Zoo Rats.

They were a street gang that operated in these parts. They may have had a stupid name (Jaime often referred to them as the zoo-zoo hamsters), but these thugs were dangerous. They carried guns and knives, and always travelled in packs (they were pack-rats, ha ha), plus, no one, except occasionally police, messed with the Rats.

That is, except for Jaime.

From the very first day he'd arrived, he'd sworn NOT to make any friends. All friends he'd had before had left him, or he'd been forced to move on. It just wasn't worth it. When you were a street kid, nothing lasts forever. So, he'd got into a fight with Wig, the second in command of the Rats. He wasn't actually called Wig, Jaime didn't know-and didn't care-what his actual name was. He just had such strangely black shiny hair that it looked wig like.

But since then, Jaime had done all he could to irritate them, from trashing their hide outs, to telling on them to the police to stealing all their stuff. Very fun. Good times. But, on the downside, this meant Jaime was at constant risk when he went out in the open. He'd been beaten up before. If any street rat saw him, he would have to run. But Jaime was fast from so many people having been out to get him in the past. In El Paso, he'd been a mediocre kid-not the most intelligent, not the fastest, not the strongest-but now he was pretty damn fast. Plus he knew most short cuts and could climb pretty good. And, if all else failed, Jaime could just allow scarab to put on his armor while the Rats couldn't see, and scare them witless.

So, anywho, Jaime strolled down the streets, his hands darting out to steal stuff whenever the opportunity arose. He wore a green hoodie over a t-shirt, fittingly saying 'ask me about my ability to annoy complete strangers' and worn, tattered jeans and black sneakers. On his hands he wore fingerless black gloves.

As he turned a corner, Jaime quickly ducked behind a car, so the Rat's couldn't see him. There were five of them-baldy, short skirt, karate kid, neon and toplofty. Baldy was a short, stout guy with a shiny bald head. Surprisingly, he was just 12. Short skirt was a girl with rib length hair, crop tops and short skirts. She was…ooh, 13? Neon was a black girl who always wore incredibly, eye poppingly bright clothing. Toplofty was a big, strong boy who was thick. Even thicker than Carlos had been. He was, say, 15.

But it was karate kid Jaime was most worried about. As the name suggested, he knew karate, and the problem was that Jaime didn't. Sure, he could fight well enough against most people (the kid who'd taught him to fight had also taught him a few blocks and to punch pressure points), but 'most people' hadn't been taught karate like a religion from the word go.

But, as soon as he saw the tub of moldy fruit, Jaime simply couldn't help himself. Within a matter of second he was sprinting away after throwing the contents of the tub on the Rats.

Running away displays weakness! Hissed the scarab in his mind.

"Por favor, I'm trying not to die here!"

Jaime pelted through a market, knocking down boxes to make it harder for them to follow him. He climbed a trellis, and slipped down the other side, before running through a doorway and closing the door behind him, to see he was in a small walled off garden. Three sides were walled off, and the other side was a metal fence.

He heard yelling as he climbed the fence and kept running. He needed somewhere safe to go, so he blatantly, without trying to hide it, nicked a police officer's wallet. He did run, of course, to make it look convincing, but he didn't really try, wanting to be caught.

So, Jaime was taken to the station, where he received another lecture from Chief James about not stealing, yadda yadda.

"So, Jaime," said James, watching the boy in front of him with something in his eyes resembling sympathy. "Or would you prefer to be called loco bicho raro?"

"Oh yes," said Jaime sarcastically. "Please, call me a crazy weirdo."

Chief James ignored him. "You're going to have to spend a few nights here. Tomorrow you're going to see a psychiatrist. And then some people may want to talk to you, ok?"

"Yeah, whatever," Jaime rolled his eyes.

Chief James led Jaime to his cell, gave him a smile and walked off.

"What, no orange jump suit?" Jaime yelled after him, before falling back onto the bed.

We are trapped. We should use the plasma gun and-

"No," said Jaime firmly. "We'll stay as long as they want. The rat's we saw earlier would only kill me if they saw me again anyway."

Hiding? Yelled the scarab, angry.

"Si, live with it," said Jaime tiredly. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in ages. But even though he tried, Jaime just couldn't sleep. And his thoughts took an unpleasant turn.

Jaime wondered if his family had looked for him. He kinda doubted it. Jose had hated his guts; to Carlos he was just a pain in the neck; Jaime wasn't actually sure Louisa knew he existed; Milagro hated him; and his mom was disappointed in him. No, they wouldn't be missing him too bad, thought Jamie tiredly to himself.

How depressing, said the scarab sarcastically, and Jaime rolled his eyes, irritated.

"Dios mio, you've learnt sarcasm?" He groaned. "What are you going to do next, start singing?"

The police officer on patrol stopped to stare at Jaime, but he just ignored him.

Irrelevant, snapped the scarab, and Jaime smiled triumphantly. He'd won.

You have not won.

"Have to."

Have not.

"Have to!"

Have not!

"HAVE TO!"

HAVE NOT!

Jaime whisper shouted the last bit, before rolling on his side huffily and going to sleep. This bed was super comfy compared to what he usually slept on; a flattened cardboard box with a thin blanket to go over Jaime. Plus, here he didn't have to worry about whether or whether not it was going to rain. Jaime figured he hadn't had a good night's sleep since he'd left. Some nights he didn't sleep at all, but most nights he only slept for about five hours, give or take.

Jaime was awoken in the morning by Chief James with his breakfast. Jaime wasn't entirely sure what it was, but he ate it as fast as possible. He never got a good meal out on the streets, and scavenging from dumpsters could not be good for him.

Good sources of nutrients, the scarab stated. A healthy balanced meal.

Chief James watched him, amused.

"Hungry?"

"No duh," answered Jaime, not looking up. So what if he was being highly ungrateful? He didn't care. It wasn't like they were going to take it off him. Jaime finished his breakfast in record time. A big bowl of cereal, a bottle of water, two crumpet things.

"Thought so," said Chief James, still smiling. "I got you an extra big breakfast for that very reason. You look as if you need a good square meal. Quite a few actually."

He's right.

"I know that!" Snapped Jaime, annoyed at the scarab.

"Ok, kid. By the way, Mrs. Black will be coming to see you soon," the Chief said. Jaime gave him a blank look. "The psychiatrist, remember?"

Jaime groaned aloud. So now they thought he really was schizophrenic. And they'd sent a psychiatrist to concrete their theory. What fun.

Chief James led Jaime to a room that had two chairs and a table between them. Unlike the rest of the station, this place was actually quite nice. It had cheerful blue walls, and the cabinet had loads of pictures stuck to it. On another cabinet were boxes of coloring pencils and lego and toys, etc. Jaime banged his head against the table. No, no, no! Where had his life come to? Sitting in a bright room that hurt his eyes to see a fricken' psychiatrist.

"Ah, Mr. Reyes?" Asked a woman, walking into the room. Jaime turned and sighed.

"Uh huh," he answered boredly. The woman had long blonde hair and pale skin and blue eyes. She wore a denim jacket, a black vest top, and tight jeans, and black pumps.

Female, in her thirties, said the scarab. Most probably the psychiatrist.

Jaime rolled his eyes.

"Obviously," he muttered quietly. The psychiatrist raised her eyebrows at him before giving him a warm smile. Jaime did not return it, instead choosing a cold glare.

"So," said Mrs. Black, reading her notes as she sat down. "So…"

"So what?" Asked Jaime, leaning back on his chair. Mrs. Black chuckled softly, which annoyed Jaime even more.

"Jaime Reyes, been in San Francisco for six months. Homeless. Has been known to steal, pick fights, cheek officers. Mental illness, unclear," Mrs. Black went on like this, listing off Jaime's bad points. No good points. Speaking of which, what were his good points?

You have me, said the scarab, much to Jaime's surprise, and you can fight. You're small and scrawny and skinny, but you're fast and smart.

Jaime blinked. It was one of those rare occasions when the scarab was supportive and faintly kind to him.

"Sooo, Mr. Reyes," started Mrs. Black, making Jaime's fists clench in annoyance.

"Don't call me that," he snapped. He hated going by his family's name.

"Ok, Jaime," said Mrs. Black, pronouncing it wrong. Like 'jay-me', instead of 'hi-may'. Jaime scowled at her. Was she deliberately irritating him?

"No, repeat after me," he growled. "Hi-may. Not 'jay-me'. ¿Entienden?"

"Of course, sorry," apologized Mrs. Black. "My name's Canary."

Been a while, hasn't it? Yeah, sorry about that. Been at school. And busy. Plus I forgot. I'm not only a clutz, but forgetful.

Sooooo, yeah.

Translations (as always, from my iPod translate app)

Entienden: do you understand

Dios mio: my god

Por favor: please

Hola: hello

Loco bicho raro: Crazy weirdo