Thanks to everyone who's read so far. If you're reading, I'd love to hear what you're thinking so I can improve both my writing and this fic. But I appreciate your silent time too! :D

Ste stared out of the back window. The whole place looked grey and miserable. It was like one of those depressing holiday resorts that his mum had taken him to when he was a kid. Expect it was unlikely that anyone dressed in a threadbare "dinosaur" costume was going to jump out and force him to have fun here. He used to kick the dinosaur in the balls at every opportunity. He almost felt sorry for the guy in the costume now that he looked back. He was probably just some underpaid, overworked Uni student, but then he probably had a nice wife, nice car and good job now, whereas Ste had The Estate. Whatever the hell that was.

'That's Central Square. It's where we eat,' Walker said suddenly. That was the first thing the guy had said to him since he'd arrived. Before now it had just been being yanked around by his collar and occasionally being told to: "move" or "walk" or "budge". He was a man of few and aggressive words, but that suited Ste, it reminded him of his step-dad.

Ste looked in the direction Walker had nodded. It was a biggish field, filled with gazebos and tarpaulins and chair after cheap plastic chair next to some industrial looking tables. It reminded him of young offenders; clinical and lacking in personality. He couldn't imagine calling The Estate home.

'We all eat together, a different zone cooks each night. You take your chances with most of the food.' He snorted a little at his own little joke and Ste responded with a sarcastic little "ha-ha". Ste watched Walkers face fall into a scowl in the rear view mirror.

'You wanna be careful how you talk to me, kid,' he hissed. 'There're three people you don't want to get on the wrong side of in The Estate and I'm one of them.'

'Really?' Ste asked. He was bored. This Walker character didn't seem too scary. Not like the moustached freak from earlier. He'd had crazy eyes, like he might just snap and murder everyone at any second. That, and he was Irish. Ste was pretty sure the Irish were all Guinness-drinking, fist-swinging nutters. Or at least that's what his step-dad had told him; so that was probably a lie.

'Warren's another one,' Walker continued. 'I have a feeling you'll meet him sooner rather than later.' He smirked then, glancing over his shoulder at Ste in a way that told him it wasn't going to be a pleasant experience, meeting Warren. Ste felt himself squirming in the expensive leather seats. Suddenly this Walker didn't seem quite so funny. 'And then there's Brendan,' Walked turned his attention back to the empty streets. 'You need to be good for Brendan.'

'Oh yeah?' He'd meant to sound threatening, or at least rebellious. He'd never been good for anyone, why start now? But it actually came out more like a nervous squeak and Ste began to question his decision to move to The Estate.

'Mm-hmm,' Walker smiled. 'You see, with Brendan, if he likes you … you'll be safe for life. Never have to worry about a thing. But if he doesn't….' He trailed off annoyingly.

'What?' Ste felt himself leaning forward and hated himself for showing so much interest. Walker chuckled too, like he knew he had Ste eating out of the palm of his hand. Arrogant prick.

'Let's hope you never have to find out,' he grinned, taking a very fast and very unexpected turn left, which sent Ste flying across the backseats. He should have warn his seatbelt. He hadn't realised the guy driving was a lunatic. He managed to be fastened in safely by the time Walker took another corner at the speed of a rally driver.

'This is Blue Zone,' Walker said after a while, as they crossed a street. It looked like all the other streets they'd past. Falling down houses, some held up with scaffolding. There were scraps of litter being blown around in the light winter breeze but the metal rubbish bins filled were burning as men stood around staring at the flames. There were a few lads about his age playing some kind of version of football with an old tattered football and some other lads launching a rock at a cat. It was like home. Except….

'Where're all the women?' Ste asked, peering around again. He expected some tracksuit wearing slut to be on a street corner, rollers in her hair, or make-up plastered across her face, or baby on her hip. The scene felt incomplete without it.

'Indigo zone,' Walker muttered. He'd slowed down considerably now, and Ste felt a little uncomfortable as he became acutely aware that everyone had halted their previous activities to stare at the new recruit. 'Used to be the pink zone,' Walker continued. He didn't seem to even notice the stares. Or he was used to it. 'But most of them are lesbians so they took offence. Then again, most of them are lesbians so they take offence to everything.'

Ste laughed at that, but that was probably nerves escaping and laughter was better than a high-pitched scream.

'Don't worry, kid.' Walker looked at him in the mirror. 'You'll still get to lighten your load, so to speak,' he winked. 'Brendan's pretty close with the Madam at the local whore house. They come Wednesdays and Saturdays. So you come those days too.' He laughed a little harder than the joke probably deserved. Walker was clearly a man that found himself inexplicably funny.

Walker pulled up at the end of the road, which was marked by a small crossroads completed with a sign pointing in all different directions: "Red Zone", "Orange Zone", "Indigo Zone", "Pink Zone".

'Who's there then?' Ste asked, pointing at the "pink zone" part of the sign.

'No one,' Walker said. 'We've renamed in Yellow Zone. It's full of money launderers, bankers, accountants. The Estate earns a lot of money. We need these guys to fix the accounts, fiddle the books. They let us blend seamlessly into the modern world.'

Ste knew at that moment that this place was way bigger than he'd imagined. He began to wonder just how many zones there were, how many people were here and what they'd all done to get here. He thought about leaving, running home and going back to stealing from the local Price Slice. But he knew that wasn't an option. He'd spent every penny he had getting here and he didn't have anywhere to go back to.

Walker was staring at him like he was a disgusting purple pimple on his arse that needed squeezing and when Ste met his cold grey eyes, the older man just said:

'Get out.'

Ste didn't need to be told twice. The more he learned about The Estate, the less he wanted to mess with the system. Ste had only barely closed the door, when Walker raced away at top speed shooting dust and the odd rock into the air. Ste scrambled away, arms swinging everywhere. He'd already bounced off the man before he realised he'd hit him in the face.

'Watch where you're going!' Ste snapped immediately. It was like a reflex and he wished he hadn't said it when he glanced up at the guy and saw all six foot of him, wide as a truck and with scars across his face.

'What did you say?' he demanded. He had a faintly European accent, but Ste couldn't place where. He'd never been to Europe, he didn't know what they sounded like there. Foreign probably. And the foreign accent, coupled with the huge muscles and scared face would have made most people back down. Not Ste though, he was too dumb for that.

'I said, watch where you're going.' He tried to square up to the guy, but he only really came up to the guy's neck, which had the man it fits of forced, cruel laughter.

'Tough guy, eh?' he smirked. And before Ste knew what was happening, he had his arm pinned behind his back, pushed to the point of snapping. His head was yanked back by his hair so he was resting uncomfortably on the guy's shoulder and the voice was warm and threatening in his ear: 'I bet you never been prison. Can't have. You would not walk straight if had.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Ste hissed out. He was used to pain, good at ignoring it. His mum had done worse to him when he was young.

'Skinny, little, pretty boy like you,' he sneered. And Ste felt something slimy and wet slide over his ear, followed by the slightly scraping of teeth and the threatening promise: 'You be split in half by every man there.'

'Faggot,' he snarled. He knew the punch was coming. It was obvious in the way the man shoved him way, it was obvious from the look in his eyes and the flare in his nostrils. But knowing something doesn't always prepare you for it, and he was clutching his face and staggering backwards before he'd had time to think. His heals collided with the curb, and he stumbled over, falling awkwardly onto his arse. He was aware of the man standing over him. He was aware of his collar being held and dragged upwards.

'Come on then!' he yelled. He tried to swing his fists at the guy, but the angle was impossible and they both knew it. The guy just sneered and raised his own fat fist, ready to finish the job on his face. And then, a voice. Irish, or maybe Scottish and some hands on his shoulders dragging him to his feet.

'What is wrong with you, eh?' he heard the voice demand and he went to answer, but the other guy got their first.

'He need good beating.'

'So tell Brendan.' Yeah, the guy was definitely Scottish, it was obvious in the way he rolled his "r"s. 'You've been telling everyone all week that you've got his ear. What's he gonna do if he finds out you've been beating up the new kid?'

'Thank me,' the guy shrugged. He looked oddly sheepish. Ste hadn't looked up at his saviour yet, but from the way the other guy was standing, he could only assume that his saviour was some kind of hairy giant.

'You wanna take that risk, Larry?' the Scottish voice was very calm now. 'Then be my guest,' Ste found himself being shoved towards the guy called Larry.

Larry seemed to consider Ste for a long time. He could almost see the internal argument playing across his face. His fingers twitching and itching to colour Ste's face a mess of purple and black, but his brain considering the consequences.

'Fine,' Larry said eventually. 'But just know this, kid,' he spat at Ste. 'After I've showed my plan to Brendan tonight, I'm gonna be forth in command, and then you should be worried. Then you should be terrified … because I'll come after you.'

Ste wanted to shout something about clearly being terrified of the Scottish guy, or something about not being scared of him, or just anything … anything at all. Just call him ugly. But something was stopping him, maybe it was the swelling over his cheekbone or the fact that his heart was still pounding away, but he just couldn't force out a single cheeky comment.

'You alright, Ste?' the Scottish voice asked, resting a hand on his shoulder. Ste span quickly. The hand felt too small to be the scary giant he'd imagined and his name, how could he know his name? And then it became clear:

'Joel,' he frowned. He couldn't be less giant-like. He was as small as Ste, and just as slight. The only thing threatening about him were his overly bushy eyebrows, which gave his eyes a sunken, drug-addict look.

'You're face doesn't look too good mate,' he continued, as though seeing Ste wasn't the huge surprise it should have been. 'You should come inside, get cleaned up.'

Joel had his arm slung around Ste's shoulder and was already walking him away down the street before Ste's brain had managed to pick a question out of the hundreds that were crashing around in his brain:

'Why was he so scared of you, eh? I'm not even scared of you. No one was at young offenders.'

'He's not scared of me,' Joel sighed. 'He's scared of Brendan. He just needs to be reminded of that sometimes. Here,' he pointed up at one of the old run-down houses, with the number "4" scrawled across the front door with spray-paint. 'You can stay here. We've got a spare room. Way better than most newbies get. We may even have some ice somewhere.' He paused for a moment. He almost looked like he thought Ste should say something, but Ste's face was stinging and throbbing and everything was a bit too much right now for him to try and think up some polite conversation.

'Kev, Bart and me are going down to house 16 soon,' Joel continued, when the silence had gone on for long enough. 'Our houses are the youngest in Zone, so we've got to cook the meal for tonight. Can you cook?'

'A bit,' Ste shrugged. He didn't really want to tell Joel that after the Scottish boy had left young offenders, Ste had taken the cooking class and enjoyed it. He'd even thought about continuing when he was back out in the free world. But then it had been easier and more exciting to go with Callum and steal a pizza from Price Slice rather than cook one, and that had ended his budding career as a chef.

'Good,' he nodded. 'You can help us out then. Kevin and Bart can't even tell the difference between sugar and salt. They put them in the wrong bowls last week when we cooked. You can imagine how happy Brendan was when he took his first sip of salty coffee.'

Ste grinned. He couldn't help himself the thought of that Irish psycho spitting out salty coffee was funny. But the muscle movement contorted the bruise on his face and he hissed a bit as the pain sent a warm shooting pain through his skull. Joel didn't flinch. No one ever flinched when he was in pain. Instead, Joel rolled his eyes and said:

'What are you doing here man?'

'Just needed a change,' Ste shrugged.

'I wasn't even sure you were still alive,' Joel chuckled. 'Never kept in touch with people from inside. Did you?'

Ste shook his head. 'Not really,' he lied.

'So how did you hear about The Estate?'

'Saw Callum ages back, he said you'd mentioned this place. Sounded good.' Ste tried to sound offhand and casual about the situation. He hoped that he wasn't screaming "I've got nowhere else to be" with every breath. Because that was the truth. That had always been the truth for Ste.

'Ah yeah, you guys were close inside, eh?' he smiled. 'I wonder what happened to him.'

'Dunno.'

'New guy's settled in well,' chuckled Brendan, nodding towards their newest recruit, who'd managed to transform his face into a lovely swollen mess with a purple ring around one eye.

'He's probably never been hit like that in his life,' Macca agreed, talking around his food. 'It's like you said Brendan. He's probably practically middle-class, all "mummy didn't buy me the right iPod".'

'Chew with your mouth closed,' was all Brendan managed to reply as he watched Steven. He was no different to any other guy who'd started off in Blue Zone. Small time criminal with no luck and no sense. He'd probably shouted his mouth off to one of the bigger guys. He might have even tried to jump in at top dog. He seemed stupid enough to not understand the hierarchy of The Estate.

'He's latched onto that Joel Dexter,' Walker frowned. He was also talking with his mouth full but Brendan felt no need to warn him about it.

'That's a smart move, that.' Warren nodded approvingly.

'You would think that, wouldn't you Foxy?' Brendan snorted. 'I don't know what you see in that kid. He seems like a boy trying to be a man to me.'

'He's cute,' was Macca's useless and frankly irritating input.

'Maybe that's what you see in him, eh Foxy?' Brendan smirked.

'Only one faggot around here mate,' Warren smirked, stabbing a potato with a knife and eating it off the blade. Did none of his friends have table manners? Then he added: 'I think he's got potential that's all.' He might have been shrugging, but it was pretty hard to tell in his coat that made him look like a fat, blue maggot. He had no style either, that and his table manners were just two of his many bad qualities. At least Walker managed to look suave and menacing most of the time. Macca just looked like an unstylish faggot, in an unflattering tracksuit. Brendan had given up any hope of them improving. Though he had once thought that about the food, and somehow, tonight, it was actually edible; tasty even.

'Seems like the lad, Steven, can cook,' Walker said, clearly as impressed as he tasted his first mouthful of steak as Brendan. Macca and Warren had been eating too messily to taste anything.

'I noticed,' Brendan nodded, picking up a slice of garlic bread and shoving the entire thing into his mouth. That was less tasty. Too much garlic, way too much garlic. If he'd been a vampire, he'd have died. As a human, he just choked. Of course the whole township was looking at him, a mixture of concern and fear as he coughed and spluttered at his table high above his minions:

'Get Steven … now!'

Macca obeyed the order first. He always obeyed Brendan's orders first.

'You alright, mate?' Warren grinned. He'd made no effort to help, but he was pouring him a glass of water now the coughing fit was over.

'What a gentleman,' Brendan sneered as Warren pushed the glass into his hand. Walker hadn't even flinched. It was like they were waiting for him to die so that they could fight amongst themselves as to who was going to be leader next.

'Brendan's asked for you.'

It was just some scrawny little no body, who looked like he wouldn't be able to land a punch in a fight and would cry if you flicked him hard enough.

'Do one,' Ste replied. His face was aching. Joel was the only one talking to him and deciphering his thick Scottish accent was a massive headache and had left him nodding blankly in response to everything.

'Nah, mate,' Joel muttered in his ear. 'This is Brendan's boyfriend. You wanna do what he says.'

'You telling me King Brendan is queer.'

'Aye,' Macca snapped. 'And he won't like you using that word.'

'He'd prefer queen?' Ste snorted a little at his own joke, but he obviously didn't find it that funny. When he really found something funny he had the most embarrassing laugh. Callum had once told him he sounded like a demented seal. The cold glares from everyone around him stopped his laugh progressing that far.

'Aw, what!' he demanded of Joel and the other cronies, what were their names: Kevin something? Mark? Was it Bart? 'You all lost your sense of humour.'

'Just go with him, Ste,' Joel insisted. 'And don't….' But the warning was lost under his thick accent and the fact Macca had grabbed him by the sleeve to drag him to the head table.

'Ger'off,' Ste groaned. His arm was spinning round and round in a ridiculous loop to try and throw off his prison guard. 'Ger'off.' He was stumbling a bit as he tried to free Macca's grasp and avoid all the dickheads that were trying to trip him as they made their way to the head table. Some of the blokes were spitting, or miming various lewd acts as they went. This was probably what it was like to be in prison. He noticed not a single once so much as snarled at Macca. That must be what it's like to be the prison bitch.

Macca dragged him up the steps to the platform Brendan and co were sat at and attempted to throw him against the table. Ste was stronger and held his ground, practically growling at the Northern Irish bitch when he finally let him go.

'Steven, Steven, Steven,' Brendan was stroking his moustache, looking at him like he was nothing more than some helpless prey. 'Always so hostile.'

'Your lapdog's a dick!'

'No,' Brendan shook his head. 'But that is one of his best features.'

No one could have missed the ruby red colour flow over Macca's entire face. Even his ears tinged pink.

'Eww,' Ste couldn't help himself. He needed some kind of filter to tell him when to talk and when not to. 'Rank that.'

'Screw you,' Macca snarled.

'You'd like that, you,' Ste shot back. 'Both of you.' Ste was aware of a simultaneous intake of breath from Warren, Walker and the few minions close enough to hear. It was obvious he was talking too much, or at least talking too stupid. But there was no threat, no insult, no anger. Brendan just lowered his voice, leant forward a little and whispered:

'Not as much as you'd enjoy it … Steven.'

Ste glared, but he could feel his cheeks flush a little. He didn't know why. Maybe because he'd been embarrassed in front of Macca. Maybe because something about Brendan made him uneasy.

'So tell me,' Brendan leant back in his chair and prodded the steak with his folk. 'Did you have something to do with this meal?'

'Might have,' Ste shrugged. 'Why?'

'What about the garlic bread? Were you in charge of that?'

'Nah,' he shook his head. 'That was one of the other lads.'

'Which one?' Brendan seethed. He looked like he intended to make someone pay for making a fool of him, for making him look like he couldn't handle one piece of measly bread.

'Dunno.'

'Who … was … it?' Each word was punctuated by spittle.

'I dunno,' Ste repeated. It wasn't that he was trying to be the hero, it wasn't that he wasn't snitching on the lad responsible. He'd have given him up in a heartbeat, but he genuinely didn't know the boy's name.

'Silent type, eh?' Brendan mused, stroking a finger across the dark stubble on his chin. 'I've got to say, I'm surprised. I had you down as a squealer.' He leant back in his chair. He seemed more relaxed now. 'Food's good,' he mumbled.

'Er, thanks?' Ste hated how uneasy he sounded. No one had ever really paid him a compliment before. He liked it. It made him feel proud of himself. Even prouder than when he stole a particularly expensive item from the local Price Slice.

'You can go now,' Brendan dismissed him. Ste just found himself nodded dumbly. He didn't know what had happened to all his fight and harsh words and sharp comebacks. He couldn't think of a single thing to say. 'Oh, and Steven.' Ste glanced over his shoulder at the man in charge. 'Try to stay out of fights. The black eye doesn't suit you.'

Ste turned away and walked off, but he could feel Brendan's eyes on him. He was sure that if he turned around, Brendan would be staring at him, watching him leave, checking out the way his arse moved under the loose fabric of his tracksuit trousers. Gross.

But when Ste did risk a glance over his shoulder towards the main table, he found that Brendan's interest in him had clearly ended long ago. If only Ste could stop his interest in Brendan as easily.