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⌈ Three ⌋ In that, Kid feels an odd sense of accomplishment. Even though he knows and admits that the fact that he's still alive probably has as much to do with dumb luck than his own skill. He's smart, fast, stealthy, knowledgable about slum life and amoral by necessity, but it's providence that drew that rich man's eye for a pet to one of his friends instead of himself. It's fortune that made sure that the boy walking down the street when that pyromancer decided to go on a murdering spree wasn't him.

⌈ Four ⌋ But then, it doesn't matter what or why or how it was. What matters is that he's still alive, and that's the bottom line. Kid clings to life like a drowning man, desperate, frightened, helpless, but determined. In more ways than one, he supposes he is one. A drowning man, that is. Sometimes there's so much death around him that it's hard to breathe. And that's just the present; that's without counting the memories.

⌈ Five ⌋ Memories. That's a topic Kid's not getting into. He'd rather not think about them at all, thanks. If he starts now, he may never be able to stop. Everyone has their own life to live; that's the only lesson he needs to remember. He's free, now.

⌈ Six ⌋ Kid's not sure, though, why he's alive. No, scratch that, he knows why. What he doesn't know why he even cares. But he doesn't want to give it up. He chalks it up to intrinsic animal instinct, because it surely can't be logic. It's a bleak world; it's a bleak future; there's no one and nothing here and now that's tying him down to this life any more. Nothing to live for but to somehow struggle through another day.

⌈ Seven ⌋ And that isn't saying much. Each day is a fresh set of hardships and challenges: food, water, shelter, a fight to not be noticed and targeted while acquiring them or the means to obtain them. Skulking in shadows. Lurking in alleyways. Avoiding the main roads and bolting at the sight anything remotely inhuman. There's little joy in it, and what little that's there is bittersweet.

⌈ Eight ⌋ There is, however, joy. No, not joy. More like wonder. Awe at simple things that perhaps no one else can understand. The feeling of a full stomach. The comforting security of a secure place to sleep. Sometimes, Kid will sit for hours, hidden by a window, staring down at the sunlight playing over his hands and fingers and fascinated by the smooth way they move, wondering how everyone else takes amazing things like this for granted. Even after everything, life is beautiful, beautiful. It doesn't matter if he doesn't know why it is or why he thinks so.

⌈ Nine ⌋ But other than that, on the whole, Kid is empty. An empty vessel in an almost Zen way. He has no interests. Has no hobbies. Never had the chance to develop any. Has no friends or family any more and would rather not have anyone else to worry about, anyway. No drives. No dreams. No reason to, when he's sure they won't come true. All he'd say he has in personality is his serious cynicism and his hatred of all things associated with the war.

⌈ Ten ⌋ But he's not dead yet. And he has no plans to be. And just because of that, unknown to possibly even him, he still has hope, buried somewhere beneath all the corpses. It's the reason he shrugs off all the questions he asks himself about why he doesn't just put a gun to his head. He has hope, quiet and subdued but still hope, that maybe there's a reason to live, somewhere out there. Waiting for him. Maybe he'll find it, someday.

Name: Terasawa Kiyoshi.
Sex: Male.
Age: 17.
Race: Japanese.
Height: 5'8".
Weight: He doesn't get enough to eat and looks it.
Hair: Black.
Eyes: Black.

Phenotype: Homo sapien.

Genotype: Homo sapien. Threat level little to none.

⌈ Strengths ⌋ Quick. Thinks fast, acts fast, runs fast. Good with words when he wants to be. A natural genius with technology. Can pick locks, physical and electronic. Quiet and unassuming; good at sneaking around without being noticed. Apathetic toward anything that doesn't have to do with himself; emotionally invulnerable. A silently free spirit without any dreams.

⌈ Weaknesses &rfloor Human and therefore comparatively all-around inferior in terms of physical attributes. Defenseless in battle except for what he can come up with on the spur of the moment; never trained in any type of martial art or weaponry. Cynic to the core. Distrusts everyone and everything. Refuses to become emotionally chained to any thing, body, place, or even idea, because he's sure the chains will break.

In Short: Completely natural human; staying that way come hell or high water. Holds a grudge against anything that's not human like him. Loner, but not by choice: watched everyone else get die at someone else's more powerful, altered, inhuman hands. Street-smart survivor. Runner who's learned to never look back.

In Long:

⌈ One ⌋ Kid regrets being born. Everything that's born has to die, and he knows that. Maybe a bit too well. But then, he's a human struggling to survive, raised on the war-torn streets of Japan. Do you blame him? Every day of his life, he's gone to sleep wondering if he would wake up the next morning; every day of his life until now, he's woken up in the morning wondering which of his friends' or family's deaths he'd hear of and need to mourn today. Death has been as much a part of his life as life itself.

⌈ Two ⌋ But not any more. When the explosion finally took out the last of the gang of children he grew up with on the streets, he met the news with quiet, calm acceptance and a sense of almost relief. The end; it's over; the last of the pain of bonds of friendship or otherwise being torn apart. Kid only worries about himself, now. He's the last survivor; the last man standing; the last one of all those he knew to be tagged out in the game of life.