He was between six and eight years old. They called him Moon because of a crescent moon birthmark on his right cheek. No idea of what his actual name was.

Moon was autistic. Or had some kind of mental retardation. Sniper didn't know and wasn't going to inquire. The thing is, the boy caught his attention from the very first day he came to sell the skins of the animals he killed to Irwin. Always in a corner, observing with eyes wide open, like a tiny owl. The kid was very interested in him as well. Surely it was the hat. He would point at it and start shouting incoherently, demanding it. Then his father would come and give him a slap.

"He's not bothering me." Sniper would then assure, but that never prevented Moon from getting the mark of his father's hand imprinted on his face.

"Believe me, mate, it's the only language he understands."

Sniper would still remove his hat and place it on Moon's head, making his day and perhaps his whole week.

He didn't think the kid was bad at all. Just a small Curious George. What did wasn't like that? Oh, yeah, but Australian scrawny and retarded kids were not usual, they were not because there was nothing more embarrassing for such a brutish race, and hid them with shame in the case they didn't straight up aborted or drowned them at birth.

Everyone thought there was something very wrong with me, too...

But, unlike Moon, his parents loved him nonetheless and adopted him, knowing that he could never be like the other boys.

He reminded him of himself at his age, and that was why he bought a candy bag so he could give him a handful every time he came to the family's hut. In spite of the shouts and slaps, Moon thanked him by wrapping his arms around his long legs.

That was why, the day he came to bring his father a bear's skin from the forests of Canada and Moon hit a table with his hip and knocked the stuffed fox off it, breaking it, he couldn't stand it when Mr. Irwin got really mad and started beating him.

"Leave him alone."

Irwin grunted something about parents being allowed to beat the crap out of their children if they wanted to and kept on punishing a bawling Moon's ribs.

"I said stop!"

Irwin didn't stop, so he made him stop. He took out his gun and aimed it at the space between his eyes.

"Stop. Beating. The. Kid." He grunted.

Irwin was a big ball of muscles, like all Australians, but that didn't mean he was bulletproof. He considered his options, saw that he was in disadvantage and drew back while protesting under his breath, not daring to do it aloud. Sniper helped the boy get up from the floor.

"If you hit him again—and I will know, you can bet I will know—, I will do to you what I did to those beasts." He took the money and walked out the door, determined to never go back again.

And he felt it for Moon. Thinking he would never see him again.

He got into his van, cursing, because he could be a murderer, but he had standards. Right after starting the engine, he saw that Moon was standing there, watching him. He was all bruised, but Sniper saw no broken bones and guessed he would be alright.

"...Go away, kid. Escape. It'll be better to be a little tramp than staying in this place."

Yeah, well, did he expect him to go all alone? Where to? How the hell was he going to manage? And why did he care so much?

Sniper thought he knew the answer, and didn't like it.

"...Well...Goodbye...And good luck..."

Moon didn't take his eyes off of him while he closed the door and put the seat belt on. Sniper introduced the key into the engine and turned it and he was still staring.

Go away, you too.

Nobody had ever looked at him in such a way...Like not caring that he was a freak and a terrible human being...

This is ridiculous. You know you can't.

And he had never felt this for any other person since his late, adoptive parents left this world.

Urgh, bloody Hell...

Sniper didn't leave. He opened the co-pilot's door brusquely and, after a second of bowing his head in silence, sighed through his nose and looked at him with a frown.

"I kill people. For money. I'm good at it and I like it. I live in this van and feed of canned food. I don't know a bloody thing about kids except that they're noisy and I can't even say I tolerate them. I don't know any bedtime stories, or any games or how I'm even supposed to talk to a kid...But I'd make sure you've got a roof above your head, even if it's just this piece of junk, and a therapist, if you need it, and I won't beat you for no reason. I know it's not much, but that's all I have to offer."

Him and Moon stared at one another in silence for a long while, until Moon ran to hop on the copilot's seat as fast as his wobbling, skinny legs allowed him, closed the door, put the seat belt on and gave him an impatient look.

Sniper smiled and drove away. Moon clapped enthusiastically.

This can't end up well, for none of us, Sniper told himself. Yet he had this feeling inside of his chest, looking at Moon, seeing him smile and groan in ecstasy. He would stop at the first road restaurant he found and give him a big, nice plate of pancakes with chocolate chips, or whatever he liked. And he would buy him new clothes. Proper clothes, not like the rags he was wearing. He would have to make space in that van for him, and make a few changes so he wouldn't hurt himself with the dangerous stuff he kept in there, and...Ah, heck, now he was as excited as Moon was!

He rose his eyes to the blue sky above the road before them.

Did you feel this way when you found me inside of that rocket, Dad?, he asked without opening his curved lips.