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I'm running, running from the sound of the sirens, and flashing lights. I had just stolen some bread from the supermarket, so I could feed myself for a while. I've stolen before, only because I'd starve if I didn't. I don't quite like stealing from people, but I have to. I always tell myself that I will pay them back one day, just to make myself feel better. I know I probably won't even remember the name of the store that I had stolen from, but I lie to myself anyway, just so I won't lose sleep over it. Why am I on the streets? Well, that, is a very long story.

I originally lived with my abusive father, until, he was driving home, drunk. (again) The GCPD had found his body in a wrecked car, his spine and neck broken, with no pulse, leaving me without a parent. They had sent me to the orphanage, where they basically pretended I didn't exist. The other kids were cruel to me, and I never retaliated. One day, an arson set the orphanage on fire, killing most of the inhabitants inside. I was one of the only ones to survive. So, I've been running, and hiding from the GCPD ever since.

That's my life, sad, yet true. So, here I am, running from the law, again. If I could change my life, I would. I know it is only a matter of time before they catch me, and put me in jail. I am only twenty two, and am hoping to build a better life. I even told myself I would, even though I don't truly believe it. The chances are slim to none, even if I made it into an apartment, and get a steady job to pay the rent, and buy food and clothes, I would be lucky.

I blame my father, after all, he DID have to go and get himself drunk all the time and abuse me. If he hadn't decided to become a drunk, which was the only reason he was abusive, then we could have been a happy family. But, NO, he just HAD to be a drunk, he just HAD to be the sorry excuse for a human being that he was.

But, I don't need to worry about that now, all I need to worry about was running away from those damned cops. And so I run.

I finally make it to my rooftop. Well, it's TECHNICALLY not MY rooftop, but its what I call home. My bed happens to be near the edge of the rooftop, just a mound of stolen blankets under the stars, completely open to the elements. It sucks when it rains, because it's cold, but I have a rain tarp and two metal fold chairs that have been on the top of the roof for probably longer than I've been alive. With these three items, I make a makeshift tent, but only when necessary. Which it isn't tonight, because the night sky is clear, and the moon is out.

One advantage of having my home on top of a roof was that the view is like no other. Gotham at night is beautiful.

All of the city lights blinking in the distance, outlining large buildings like lights on a Christmas tree, just stunning. Seeing the city at night is one of my favorite hobbies, other than solving riddles, and puzzles. When I lived with my dad and later at the orphanage, I would always find a way to get my hands on some type of puzzle, be it Sudoku, crossword, math, or a riddle. The thing I always had above the others at the orphanage was my wit. Sometimes, to mess with them a bit, or to stall for some time, I would tell them a riddle, or a math problem, and while they were trying to figure it out, I would slip away. It was a very useful tool in getting out of tight spots with the bullies.

Who knew it would come in handy later in avoiding the law as well? Being clever as I am gives me an edge, an edge that I have kept for almost twelve years now. I have always been able to figure out shifts of certain employees at stores I was about to rob. I could figure out patterns, and could always avoid being caught on camera. If they had evidence of my theft, then I would have been caught by now. Which I haven't and never will.

So, here I am on my roof, watching the city lights, and listening to the sounds of Gotham at night. The police sirens, honking horns, engines, squealing tires, and the wind as it rushes between the buildings....it's all a symphony to me. Quietly, I go to sit on my 'bed', and walk over to the side of the building. Breathing the night air, I close my eyes and fall into a deep sleep.

(---Time skip brought to you by (Name)...and the wondrous city of Gotham!-----)

I sleep until noon, waking up to see the bright sun directly above me, shining in my groggy eyes. Blinking and putting up my hands in an attempt to block out the light, I sit up, and then stretch. It may not seem like it, but sleeping on a roof, on just a pile of blankets isn't the comfiest thing in the world. Groaning, I get up, and look down at the same filthy clothing I've been wearing for the past six months. (I had managed to somehow steal clothing from stores, without being caught)

Though, sometimes, when I try taking those magnetic tags off, I get random ink spots on my pants, and shirts. But, I could care less, I'm homeless, and on the streets, who the hell cares what my clothing looks like?

If Gotham is beautiful at night, it loses all its glory come daybreak.

The buildings look instead of giant Christmas trees, they look like big gray foreboding monsters, the factories like some wild animals spewing smoke into the air. It's definitely not as wondrous to look at during the day.

While I sit here, I debate on what to do for today. I figure scouting out some new targets is a good idea, but I usually save that for afternoon, it's still the middle of the day. So, I decide to just wander the city a bit.

(<===Time skip brought to you by Polyvore!===>)

It's nearing nighttime, and I am planning my next move.

By the time one o'clock comes around, I had started to find targets, some, just innocent bystanders in the street, whom I pick-pocket without being detected. Others, stores, which I will wait until night falls to make a move on. From the people I had pick-pocketed, I have gained at least forty dollars, half of which I will be saving, or more like three-quarters of which I will be saving, for things I need, like food. But, for right now, I have an entire loaf of fresh Italian bread, safely hidden under the piles of blankets on my roof.

Now, the sun is just starting to go down, and part of my mind appreciates the beauty of the golden sun coating the buildings in streams of quickly fading sunlight, before it sinks over the horizon, and the moon's cool blue light replaces it, as it rises over the other horizon. But, the rest of my brain is focusing on how I am supposed to break into this shop, if it's even possible with the little resources I have. Some nights, I go home empty handed, all because I can't figure out a way to actually break into the damned shop or store. Not even without getting caught, just in general, I physically can't break into the shop sometimes.

Sighing a little ruefully to myself, I approach the shop, glancing around to make sure I'm not being followed, or watched. I've never been caught before, and I'm not about to start now. After ascertaining that I am, indeed, not being watched, I begin to examine the lock on the door, and smile to myself. Just a padlock, easy.

Reaching into my pocket, I find my trusty lock-picking kit, a small box with several small, yet strong tools inside that are made specifically for lock-picking. I had learned this trait at the orphanage, picking the lock on the window of my room to sneak out at night, one of the older, nicer kids had taught me, before he got adopted. Said the reason he was in the orphanage was because he had been alone for years, and stole stuff to keep himself alive, like food, and clothing. Eventually, the cops caught him, and instead of throwing him in jail like they could have, they decided to send him to the local Gotham orphanage. He was a lot like me, had a knack for problem solving, and was very intelligent. Often using that intelligence to his advantage. He said that he often left little 'surprises' at the stores that he robbed for the owners when they returned in the morning. Said they were clever traps of his own invention.

Though, he seemed a bit nuts at times, and psychotic at others, he was always very kind to me. Needless to say, I was happy he got adopted, but sad to see him go because he was the closest thing to a friend that I had.

What was this boy's name? That's easy to remember.

His name was Edward Nigma.