The city streets would've dark, had it not been for the streetlights glowing overhead.

A rather irritated looking teenager stormed down the sidewalk, a gallon of milk in his arms.

He shivered, seeing his breath in a white fog in front of him. That's probably what he got for wearing onlny a hooded sweater in the midst of December, his worn sneakers crunching into the snow along the sidewalk.

"Damn Setsume," he muttered under his breath, his teeth chattering. "He doesn't even drink milk!" he cried angrily.

Onitchi was a rather tall boy, looking to be about sixteen, with dark, brown eyes and hair colored a dark green. A black headband wrapped around his head, his bangs falling over it. He was dressed in baggy jeans, old sneakers and a black, hooded sweatshirt, decorated with a cross, of red and black.

He continued to wander down the sidewalk, though stopped short as he heard a a rather loud, and rather close explosion. Close to where he was standing, that is. "That sounded like-" the boy turned his head from side to side, growing somewhat fearful. It wasn't every day a gun went off nearly ten feet from someone. His chocolate eyes fixed themselves on an alleyway, where they rested.

A group of people, three men, to be exact were haunched over something. ... A body. They were leaning over the body of another man.

"Shit!" One of the men cried, waving his arms about. "Y-You shouldnt've threatened to call the cops!" he shouted at the corpse, as another man kicked it.

"Hey, look..." the third man said, and Onitchi gasped as they all turned to look at him. "It's a kid!" "Shit! What do we do?" "What if he tells someone what happened!" "Fuck! he's running away! Damnit!"

Onitchi panted, clutching the jug of milk tight to his chest as he ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He gasped for air as he tore down the street. A little further and he'd be home safely.

"What're we gonna do?" "Just shoot the damn kid!"

Another gunshot. Onitchi froze, swinging around. There was a loud scream, the adolescent's eyes wide. Everything seemed to fade out for him as the back of his head slammed against the sidewalk, the jug of milk flying into the air, spilling onto the street beside him.