“The first rule of business, kiddo: Always follow through on your threats.”

The past three weeks had been hellish, but went by in a blur. Jenner wasn't even truly aware of how much time had passed; only that he had been with Malachi long enough for his wounds to heal and Malachi to deem it necessary to make some 'drastic changes' to Jenner's appearance. Gone, was his shoulder-length hair. Gone were the black clothes, in their place were fitted denim and simple t-shirts. Easy to blend into a crowd. Easy to get around in.

And now, now that Jenner could breathe without pain, could move without wincing, Malachi had deemed it fine time to teach his boy the 'trade'. It was limitless, this trade of Malachi's. Sometimes it was kidnappings. Sometimes it was bloodier than that. Today seemed to fall on the 'bloody' end of the scale. Jenner watched with as stoic an expression as he could manage as Malachi came in, dragging something with him.

As he turned, it was evident that this wasn't a 'thing'. It was someone. A little girl, six years old at most, crying and being completely overlooked by Malachi as he pulled her along. “When you call in a ransom and threaten to kill the kid, and they fall through? You kill the kid.” The girl began sobbing harder, but Malachi ignored it. “Lucky for you, we're starting easy. I just threatened to break a bone for every day they're late. Arm, first, nice and easy. Then we'll move on if they don't pay up.”

Malachi grinned, shoving the girl at Jenner. “Go on.”

“What?” Jenner caught the girl, staring up at him. “I'm not going to break her arm, Jesus Mal--”

Suddenly, Jenner wasn't holding the girl. He was against a wall, at least a foot up, being held in place by a shadow, a solid shadow, as it squeezed on his throat. He gasped, clawing at the shadow, but his hands went through to his own throat. There was nothing to stop Mal from killing him except Mal, and given his mood swings...

Malachi left the girl where she was, walking over to him with a cold look. “You will listen to me, boy.” He growled. “Don't think of yourself so highly. This is what you were born for.” Jenner was dropped, and landed on his knees hard, gasping for breath. Malachi let him have a breath, and then kicked him in the ribs sharply, watching as Jenner fell to the side and groaned in pain. He wheezed, feeling the rib ache underneath the skin, and glared up at him.

Malachi smiled evenly. “Now. Get up.” He said calmly. “And go break that girl's arm. Now.”

“No.” Jenner spat at his shoes, trying to move away quickly, but Malachi landed another solid kick to his ribs. “No!” He groaned out, choking as the boot hit his stomach next. Again, the kicks came, all calmly planned and calculated.

It seemed like an hour had passed, but Malachi had gotten bored watching him spit blood. With a growl, he landed another savage kick to his side, then walked back to the girl. “If you won't play ball, Jenner, I will slit your throat and drop you in the ocean.” He said calmly, picking the girl up. Jenner put his head on the cement, eyes screwed shut against the sudden snap and wail of pain from the girl.

The sounds drifted away after a few moments, until he heard the solid door click shut behind Malachi and the poor girl. Swallowing down bile and what little food he'd been given, Jenner started to get up, struggling uneasily as he rose. He leaned against the wall, breathing deeply and wincing at the pain. He stared at the door hazily, tears welling in his eyes. Once it was closed, he couldn't hear anything outside the door, but his mind had no problem imagining what Malachi might have planned for the girl.

He walked himself to the door using the walls as a guide, and put his hands on it, banging on the door. If he could just get Malachi back, he could-- He could overtake him, or distract him, or something. Then the girl could escape. But as much as he banged on the door, Malachi didn't come.

Slowly, Jenner slid to the ground, still banging on the door even as the hope left his chest. Malachi was gone, by now, with the girl. He prayed that the parents would pay the ransom. He didn't see Malachi having a change of heart. With fitful coughing, bile rising in his throat, and stars floating behind his eyes, Jenner slipped into unconsciousness, praying for the girl's safety more than his own.

If he were just stronger...


The next morning, Malachi, seeming to forget his kicks in Jenner's ribcage, got the boy dressed to take him out for lunch. An apology, he assumed, though it was hard to tell. Malachi strutted Jenner out in the crowded streets of Megapolis, gleeful that no one seemed to recognize the boy. Now that his hair was shaven down, he looked more angular, and less girly than Jenner Roce. As they walked, Jenner watched as a crowd surrounded a police tape line.

With a frown, he tried to get closer to see what was going on. The hero in him, or something, spurned him forward. To his surprise, Malachi didn't seem worried. He waited for him, a calm smile in place, as Jenner moved to the front of the crowd. As he broke the last string of people surrounding the police, he froze, staring. Though there wasn't much to be seen other than blood splatters and the few organs that hadn't been cleaned up, he recognized the gingham pattern of the dress. The blond hair of the chunk of scalp.

His stomach dropped as bile rose in his throat, and he turned, staring at Malachi.

Malachi just smiled as Jenner realized what he'd done. The dogs. Those damned shadowed dogs. Jenner turned, going for a police officer's arm, to tell them he knew who did he, the man was right there--

The ground dropped from beneath him, as he and Malachi traveled through the shadows of the city to his hideaway. When Jenner was dropped in his cell, he was alone. He looked around wildly, eyes wide, anger and terror and sadness and loathing all vying for the top position in his brain. But one emotion broke through the throng: Hate.

He hated this man.

And if it took every shred of his being, every minute of every hour of his life, he would make sure Malachi felt ten times the pain that that little girl had felt. And then, if he felt merciful? Then he'd kill him.

But first... He'd have to escape.