The Alleyway

Yve Bobs didn't have the best life. His father died on Yve's seventh birthday. His mother soon became an alcoholic, selling most of their possessions to buy more. He clearly remembers the day where he was taken away to live in a foster home. He was ten at the time.

Foster home after foster home - none kept him for very long. They all had the same reason for sending him away: he scared them. He could convince a man to act like a dog - and a dog to act like a man. He couldn't control it. It was just how he was.

When he turned twelve, he was tired of everything. So, he ran away. The streets of the city of Terrahold, Boneport, were frozen in winter, rainy in spring, burning in summer, and windy in autumn. He didn't care. He was just happy to get out of the hell-on-earth that he spent the past two years in.

Sometimes he wondered where his mother was. Where his countless foster homes were. He cared for his "siblings" and the pets - what happened to them?

Questions like those are what led him to the Terrahold Central Park, where he was sent to his first foster home.

The park was large. Larger than the apartment complex he spent his childhood in. The skyscrapers with hundreds of floors surrounded it. A pond in the middle, cherry blossom trees all around. It was the end of March - they had begun to bloom.

The stormclouds looked eerie. They had a dark gray color to them. Yve prepared for a rainy night. He hoped this spring wasn't as bad as his first. He almost drowned in the rain.

"Papers! Newspapers! Twenty dollars each!"

Newspapers were comfortable, and Terrahold made them waterproof.

Yve looked around the ground. Five dollars flew out of a man's pocket in the rising wind. Ten were tucked in a wooden bench. Four crumpled ones and six loose quarters.

Barely enough.

"I want a newspaper," Yve said, walking up to the newsboy. He looked only a year older than Yve - seventeen years old, by the looks of it. But you could never tell. He once met a pickpocket in his 50s who looked twelve. How that happened, Yve was scared to ask.

"Just one?"

"Yes."

The newsboy handed Yve a paper and took the money.

"Enjoy."

"Thank you."

Yve walked away. Boneport's newspapers were the size of a dinner plate when folded, but could cover a king-sized bed when open. Every few weeks, he replaced the paper that he used as a roof.

As he got to his alleyway and took down the old newspaper tarp, it began to rain.

"Hurry and cover that - we're getting a big one today!" another homeless person shouted from their tent.

"I will," Yve shouted back.

He replaced the tarp and crawled under.

His home was comfortable. He found some old fairy lights in a dumpster - teens now preferred strips of lights that could be controlled by a remote. An old yellow blanket, a dark blue pillowcase stuffed with a tattered brown coat, a few glass jars on the edges of the hut that prevented rain from entering his home...

Being propped up on old wood planks, Yve was safe from floods. He found a thick black blanket that he rolled down to use as a door - it kept him warm in winter and safe from the wind in autumn.

It felt more like a home than any he had been in before.

As the rain carried on, Yve found himself falling asleep. The rain didn't soothe him, but the after-storm smell did.

He looked forward to the end of the storm.

****

Yve woke up cold. Raindrops still dripped off his roof and into his jars. The stormwinds had loosened his door, opening it right next to his head.

Yve looked outside. People were drying off their tents and huts in his alleyway. He got up to go help.

A long black car pulled in front of the alley, splashing everyone with a puddle from a dip in the cobblestone road.

A man in his late 60s stepped out of the car. He wore a long black trench coat, black boots, and a black hat.

"I am looking for Yve Bobs," he said. "Sources say he camps here."

Was he from the foster care system? Yve couldn't go back... He wouldn't!

"I don't know an Yve Bobs, sir," Jenkin - the oldest of the homeless; one who would take care of any kids and teens who showed up - said.

"You might be more comfortable with telling me if I were to tell you who I am. My name is Petur Odinel. I work with talented teens, and Yve Bobs is a person of interest."

"We speak cop, Odinel," Alis - another homeless person - said. "We know better than to hand over a person to any trench-coat black-hat bitch like you."

Odinel sighed.

"Ma'am, this doesn't have to be difficult. I'm not an officer; I'm not with the government; I'm not here to cause harm. I simply need to meet Yve Bobs."

"We don't have last names 'round here," Gerard - Yve's friend from the day he ran away - spoke up. "If we did, we wouldn't give ourselves one like 'Bobs'."

"Then I apologize for what is about to happen."

Odinel tapped a dark green watch he wore. Out of nowhere, a helicopter covered above the car, and two people jumped down. Based on body type, they both appeared male.

They wore long-sleeved black turtlenecks and black jeans. The taller one on the left had cut-open sides on their jeans, layered over a weirdly-patterned gray pair of pants. The shorter one on the right wore regular black pants with a chain hanging down the left side. They both wore black hats and masks. The shorter one had black wire cat ears with rhinestone flowers over their hat.

They jumped into action. They shouted things to each other in a mix of Spanish and Thai.

"ใช่?" the shorter one shouted.

("Yes?")

"No!" the taller shouted back. They had a feminine voice, which surprised Yve.

"Wait, si!"

("Wait, yes!")

"Really?"

"Nevermind."

The taller groaned and continued the search.

Everyone else in the alley had been knocked to the ground. The teens had Yve cornered.

Yve noticed a blue circle between their glasses and eyes.

"Are you Yve Bobs?" the taller one with the feminine voice asked.

"No."

"Liar," the shorter said.

"How would you know if I was or wasn't lying?"

"Science."

"Come with us, Yve Bobs," the taller said.

"No, thanks. I like my freedom."

"Honey, what freedom?" the shorter laughed. "You live in a dumpster."

"I don't live in a dumpster. Doran a few alleyways down does. Maybe you mixed us up. Yve and Doran are both very common names."

"You admit that you're Yve Bobs?" the taller asked.

Yve paused, then whispered a panicked "shit."

"Come with us."

"Who are you?"

"None of your business."

"They're gifted teens," Odinel said, standing between the two and putting a hand on their shoulders. "Just like you."

"I don't wanna wear all black and shout in three different languages while attacking homeless people."

"We don't do that," the taller teen said.

"You literally just did it."

The teen lifted their left hand, and the fingerless glove they wore began to turn into a sharp knife.

"No need for that," Yve said.

"I agree with him," Odinel said, gently grabbing the tall teen's wrist. "Why don't you introduce yourselves, then he can come with us."

The teens seemed to share a look, then they faced Yve.

"I'm Louis Alein," the shorter teen said.

"Sallie Maria," the taller said.

"And you're Yve Bobs," Odinel said. "Now that we know that, let's get in the car."

Odinel waved at the helicopter, and it flew away. He began walking for the car.

Yve stayed in place. The teens grabbed his arms and led him over.

"I'm reporting you," Yve said. "I don't think cops are supposed to kidnap children."

"We're not cops," Sallie said.

"You look like it."

Sallie and Louis shoved Yve into the back of the car. The limo. They then sat on either side of him, making sure he didn't run away.