I slinked through the shadows with a bloody blade in my hand. I had to hurry if I wanted to get home before the sun came up. A thin ray of moonlight filtered through the purple smog above and illuminated the streets of the Pit. My breath came out like steam in the cold night air.

Unable to resist my craving for soul fragments, I stalked and killed two members of the Pit Razors near their headquarters on the outskirts of the city. The pair of unlucky criminals met their doom in a lonely back alley far from prying eyes, where their corpses would no doubt be discovered by the rest of their gang in a few short hours. I absorbed as much of their psychic power as I could before vanishing into the night, their dark blood dripping off of my hands and clothes.

My footsteps were quiet as I crept back towards my apartment. A steady drizzle fell from a dark purple sky, and it was cold enough for snow to fall at any moment. There was a strange fishy scent coming from somewhere. It smelled like the streets were covered in rotting seaweed. Maybe the rainwater had mixed with runoff from the sewers. Whatever it was, I didn't want to smell it anymore.

I stopped in front of an abandoned building and listened carefully to make sure I wasn't being followed. The wind whistled mournfully as it passed over the pavement and tore at the sheets of paper waste that littered the ground. In a few minutes, I'd be home. Once I was satisfied that no one was watching me, I set off through the streets once again.

I approached the entrance to my apartment building and saw a few people sitting on the steps, smoking. I slipped past them and hurried up the stairs. My hand trembled with nervous excitement as I fished my keychain out of my pocket. I couldn't wait to get inside and lock myself away from the rest of the city.

Near the top of the stairs, I saw a small silhouette in the hallway close to my room. I hid in the stairwell and examined the figure suspiciously. It was a young boy, maybe eight or nine years old. He wore an oversized black t-shirt and a pair of dirty jeans. He had pale skin, short brown hair, and dark circles under his eyes. I didn't recognize him, but Alyssa warned me there was a naughty little boy on our floor who loved playing tricks on her.

'Soul Vision.'

The boy's soul looked like an intricately detailed wooden box with colorful interlocking pieces. The top of the lid was engraved with a picture of a human brain. There was definitely something strange about this kid.

I took a close look at what the boy was doing. To my surprise, I saw that he was trying to get into my room by forcing the lock on the front door. His thin body shook as he put his shoulder to the wooden door and pushed. He managed to get the door open and snuck inside without a sound.

I followed after the boy quickly and quietly, with a firm grip on my knife just in case. The kid made it to my bedroom and reached out for the light switch. Before he could turn it on, I put my hand on his shoulder. He froze in place when he felt my touch, but then he ducked away. My fingers twitched and moved instinctively to grab him.

"Hey. Are you lost? You're trespassing," I said sternly. "What are you doing here?"

The boy squirmed around like a fish on a hook until I finally let him go. He calmly turned around and stared me in the eyes. I couldn't help but stare right back. His eyes were dark green and seemed cold even in the dim light of the apartment. He was giving me a dirty look, but he didn't say anything. His arms hung limply by his sides, and his tiny hands were balled up into fists.

"Nice trick with the door, kid," I said flatly. "Now, why don't you tell me your name?"
"My name is Arthur, but everyone calls me Pocket."

The boy pressed his back against the wall and began looking around. He seemed to be paying careful attention to everything in the room, especially the bookshelf. His eyes darted around like he was trying to see as much as he could before I kicked him out.

"What are you doing in my room?" I asked.
"Investigating," he replied, not bothering to turn and look at me. He sounded annoyed.

"Hmph. Investigating what?"
"You."

He didn't explain any further than that. He wordlessly and methodically started examining the items on my bookcase, reading the spines of the books and picking up objects to inspect them. I had to admit that he was pretty courageous for such a skinny little kid. He didn't seem afraid of me at all. I slowly slid my hand into my pocket and felt the cool metal of my switchblade as I thought about what to do with him.

"Well, Pocket, are you satisfied now?" I asked. "It's time to leave."
"What's that you're holding?" he replied calmly.

"Huh?"
"I said, what are you holding? What’s in your right hand? You're hiding something. Your hand is trembling like crazy."

"You're a weird little kid," I replied. "Scram!"
I took a few steps towards him and he slid back along the wall until he reached the door. He was still staring at me with that strange look in his eyes.
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's in your pocket," he said defiantly.

I slowly stepped towards him, getting closer and closer. I bent my knees slightly to minimize the difference in height between us. I studied his face. His expression didn't change. There was an eerie calmness in his dark eyes that almost made me shudder. He flinched and braced himself against the door but kept his eyes locked on mine.

"Nothing to be afraid of," I said. "Just a keychain."
I jingled my keys in front of his face then slowly closed my fingers around them again.
"That's all," I said in a low voice. "Just a keychain."

I straightened up and took a step back. The kid didn't move. He just kept staring at me.
"You were holding something else."
I didn't answer.

"What else is in your pocket?" he demanded.
I kept my mouth shut and stared at him.
"Your shirt is covered in blood!" he shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at my chest. "Why? What happened?"

I looked down to examine myself and sighed. He was right. I'd hoped the rain would wash it all off, but it hadn't. I was covered in dark red droplets of dried blood. It was everywhere. On my hands, on my shirt, splattered all over my arms and pants, most likely on my face too. I was a mess.

"I got in a fight with someone," I admitted, hoping that would be enough for him to leave me alone.
"With who?" he demanded.
"Someone you've never heard of."

I tried to gently push Pocket out the door, but he wouldn’t budge. He was more persistent than I could have ever imagined.

"If you don't tell me I'll have to keep investigating you!" he shouted. "I won't stop until I find out everything!"
"Quiet down, kid! You'll wake the neighbors!"
"I won't stop until you tell me everything!" he repeated, raising his voice even more. "I'll keep investigating you until I've found out everything there is to know about you!"