Kevin

It all started with empty bottles on the floor and the smell of booze instead of breakfast. At ten, you already knew there was no one to rely on. The street became work. First, handing a bag to "Uncle," then getting money from "Auntie." Who would suspect a child with a backpack? That's what you thought.

The years flowed like sand through your fingers, and your money slipped into a drawer under your bed, ready for a "normal life." At fifteen, you were no longer invisible. At twenty-five, you controlled the flow. Money, power, the sweet, bitter taste of freedom. You almost believed you'd escaped.

But one morning, the door blew off its hinges with a bang. You didn't even have time to breathe before a heavy bulletproof vest pinned you to the mattress, and a gloved hand dug into your throat. A puzzle clicked into place in your head: frequent blackouts, suspicious glances, leaks...

The masked face came closer, and you felt hot, angry breath on your cheek. Through the grinding of your teeth, a hoarse, clear voice rang out, erasing all ten years of "work" in an instant:

"District police, your free time is over. Wake up. Go to jail, I finally caught you."