It was cold that night, so very cold, and raining. A complete downpour, it seemed. People weren\'t foolish enough to wander outside in the terrible weather. Those who did huddled miserably under umbrellas or inside large jackets. Not even the whores and drug dealers that littered the streets everyday dare exit the warmth of the indoors to brave the rain. Except a lone figure lying against a wall, secure within the confines of a dirty alleyway as the rain beat down on him. Nobody and nothing disturbed the miserable human except the occasional harsh blare of headlights as a car drove by, hurting his eyes. Not that he noticed much. He was completely numb, drained, his body broken and battered, his own blood on his lips. Again, they had come, and again he had suffered. He hadn\'t committed any crime to gain this ritual punishment, he hadn\'t raped or killed anyone, no, his criminal record never rose above petty theft. The young man had saved a life. And that had condemned him to this misery. Saved a life, and created a debt. And of course, all debts had to be paid. If they weren\'t, they\'d come. A small sigh escaped Keith Ierum as his muddy brown hues looked up into the rain. His light brown hair was plastered stubbornly to his dirty face, held there by rain and blood. His cheeks and eyes were sunken, his lip still bled freely. He couldn\'t pay them back, didn\'t they see that? He couldn\'t even feed himself without stealing, how the hell was he supposed to come upon that kind of money? A humorless laugh. Some people killed themselves over financial ruin far less dire than his own. He wouldn\'t be that weak. The Neoma(1) weren\'t going to kill him. They wanted the money, and they wouldn\'t get it if they killed him. So it seemed they\'d contented themselves with beating him and taking what he had at the time. He would live on, miserable, but alive.

The next flash of headlights was blocked by a figure.

He lifted his head weakly, eyes flashing an animalistic fear. A man stood before him, umbrella in hand. He was wearing a suit, and a rather expensive looking one by what Keith could tell. Anger and fear filled him, creasing his features. Brown eyes met green defiantly.

\"If you kill me you won\'t get your money.\" He all but snarled, struggling to stand and falling right back to his sitting position. The man\'s eyebrow arched.

\"You think that I\'m as low as those grunts?\" He asked in a deep, lilting voice. Keith smiled bitterly in response.

\"Do you think I\'m dumb enough to think yer a good guy?\" He retorted. This went ignored.

\"You can\'t repay your debt, can you?\" He asked. Keith shifted, uncomfortable as he studied the man looming before him.

He was, quite obviously, stronger than the slight, malnourished male. With broad shoulders and a blatantly muscled figure. He was imposing in a dark black suit, standing straight and tall as though challenging the Greek statues of old to be any prouder than he. Deep green eyes rested below feathery brows and an expensive looking head of dark brown hair. He contemplated telling the other honestly for a moment, but only for a moment.

\"What\'s it to ya?\" He countered warily. This man was with the Neoma, he couldn\'t be trusted.

\"As you\'ve probably guessed: I\'m with the Neoma, and if a debt can\'t be repaid, it concerns me deeply.\" He said, voice carefully devoid of emotion. He paused. \"You can\'t repay the debt, can you?\" He repeated, voice measured.

\"No... I can\'t.\" He responded slowly after a brief inner struggle. \"So?\"

\"You could be useful to us, so I\'m offering you an exchange of sorts.\" He informed. Keith gaped. Was he serious?

\"Lemme get this straight: You want me to come work for you and I can just get off Scott free?\" He asked disbelievingly. He could be lying. The Neoma weren\'t honest, but they were far better than the cops. That, at the very least, worked in their favor.

\"Yes, I am offering you employment in exchange for settling your debt. Do you accept this?\" He asked, a minor amount of impatience flickering in his voice. \"There will be risks, but if you succeed in advancing ranks, it will be well worth it.\" He extended a hand to the other, waiting.

Keith was unsure. Taking this man\'s hand would both shatter and secure his safety. He could be killed at any moment, but he would be able to rely on others to help him if he was in need of it. He was torn. Learning to rely on somebody would be difficult, but he could have a roof over his head.

\"This offer won\'t last forever, Keith.\" The man warned.

Keith looked up once more. How did he know his name? Tard. He snapped at himself silently. The man was, quite obviously, powerful. It wasn\'t a surprise that he knew his name, once he thought about it. He reached out, surprised by how much energy and effort it took to do that simple action. His thin, numb fingers closed weakly over the man\'s outstretched hand, sealing his fate.