Stormboy stepped out into the open street, from behind the huge buildings. He sniffed the night air which filled his lungs refreshingly after the acrid smells of the warehouse where he hid since Sunrise. The street buzzed as it always does on Friday nights —that is, for the many priviledged who lived in the lively part, and also the most expensive part of the city.
For the millions who lacked the funds, Friday night was not so different from other nights. Dark streets, lonely walks, cries of hungry children, and the sounds of doors closing and barred as soon as the last sheep or hens are safely in their pens or poultry.
As poverty-stricken these little dark streets are, thieves and robbers— desperate ones— believed every person sheltering behind four walls have all the food or money they needed. Well, they are usually met with disappointments, which leads to aggressions and the little boy thieves do not appear little anymore. They bleed and kill.
Stormboy Luffinwattle lived his whole life in one of these dark ghettos.
His dreams of someday thriving in the colourful cities seemed more of grey area. His life has been full of hardship. Little wonder, he was born into hardship that it never occurred to him that he was suffering all along. It all seemed normal and comfortable, feeding once a day, hawking the dusty paths, and gangling around in the only cloth he had—a black tight fitting top, with a brown baggy trousers. All the discomfort was just a perfect living for him, until one day.
Red Frankenstein— a portly man who got the first name for his hair colour, and had a stubbly nose which seemed to glue to his upper lip when he wasn't talking, suddenly left the ghetto one early morning, packing nothing but his few clothes and his makeshift mat for sleeping. He left for many months and everyone thought that was the last of him, until a fully suited man appeared a fateful day. The whole town was thrown into caution, until they finally discovered it was no one but Red Frankenstein. He was now more than portly. Fat, if you wished. He walked with a strange swagger and when he talked, he ended it with words like 'yeah' or 'err'. He said he ventured into the city and was somehow lucky to find a job. A high paying job,with a salary fit to feed a hundred kids in the ghetto, he said.
"What is a city?" Stormboy had wondered but the elders would tell him nothing about it. They seem to hate something about 'the city' which only raised his curiosity the more.
Then, one day on a drizzle afternoon, Stormboy was out with the gang under a rotten shed that stood very risk of falling any moment. Almost every boy in the ghetto was part of a gang. In fact, if an able-bodied lad stood alone, without a gang,such a boy is termed 'a b--ch' and is even susceptible to attacks from the gang boys.
So, Storm was part of this organized gang that has their unique code, greeting styles, slangs and slogans and all. The drizzling rain was near to stop when Griffin, one of the high ranking member of a gang, informed them that he has been to the city, he had boarded the wheeled box around the city and had even eaten at one of the restaurants. And that he sees no reason why the adults are tight-lipped about the city and that it was a heavenly place, beautiful to look upon and how well organized the setting was.
When asked how he knew about the city, Griffin said it was all the influence of one of the Underworld Lords. These underworld Lords lived in the city dealing drugs, running casinos, and the part that introduces the ghetto gangs— Robbery. The Lord invests his resources into recruiting gangs from the darkest part of the ghetto. Kids who was sure would do anything to eat more than once a day. This was their business, and the underworld Lord has come in contact with Griffin, took him to the city to make him see what they would enjoy if they do his bidding. Money, he promised lots of them.
It had all happened so fast after Griffin dropped the proposal. The gang leader, Swampwater accepted at once, and within a week, preparations started, and the gang became eager to be part of this somewhat suicide mission.
Without telling their parent of course, they sneaked out in the middle of night to where Griffin instructed them to meet. Stormboy had almost blundered his sneaking when he bashed his leg against his mother's decaying and hole infested pot. Luckily, the woman only managed a sleepy mumble as she rolled to the other side of the mat to face his sleeping sister. He paused by the doorway to look at the two of them one last time.
His mom, who had brought him up this way, who had made him hawk the sunny Street and get him beat when he made no sales. the one who had cussed at him when he was wayward, who fractured his left pinky finger when he asked for more rice, who flogged him raw on his buttocks till it bled and he was unable to sit for a whole month. The one who had done all these awful things, but had brought him up anyway.
And his sweet little sister. Her playful nature and her innocence was all he was going to miss after all. He hated to admit he was going to miss home.
He almost thought about going back to his torn mat and forget about the gang, but no.
No, was just the answer. It was the first time he was saying that word to his awful life, rejecting it's existence and the bad impact it had done. It was the first time, and it felt so good he felt like answering 'no' to every question.
So, without another backward glance, he stepped into the night. The scurrying fats and cricket noises accompanied him to where they meet.
"Here goes nothing."
*****
But all that had been in the past. He was weak but now he felt strong. Storm was not the same boy from the ghetto. He was now a hotshot, eighteen years old man having all he craved for when he left home, at his fingertips... The money.
And now, he's leading the gang once again, ready to rob this new bank. The van carrying the money will appear any time soon. This information was passed by Laughing Jack, and of course, nobody knows Laughing Jack. He is just an informer for the Underworld Lord.
True to the prediction, the blue bulletproof van pulled up in front of the back with a slow rickety sound, and a long screech from the applied brake. Twelve armoured men emerged from the van and they lined up at the door of the van as the small party carrying the small vault came down as well.
Storm looked back at his men behind him, making sure everybody was masked and everything was in order. He felt it unnecessary. After all, this is not their first rodeo.
He touched the bulge under his black hooded sweater to feel his little gun. Then, after one final glance at the gang, he inhaled the night air deeply one last time before masking up.
"Let's go, boys."