The cold night air hit him like a slap to the face, and Arthur welcomed it. The sharpness of the wind seemed to mirror the anger burning inside him.
He had nearly lost his life, and fought through pain, and now… now this world wanted to rob him blind for simply surviving.
Nothing changes, he thought, shaking his head.
"This world is just as cruel as the others. Everyone's looking for a way to squeeze you dry."
He tightened his grip on his jacket as he walked, the faint ache of frustration gnawing at him. He thought of Charlotte, waiting for him at home, completely unaware of the lengths he had gone to just to scrape by.
The missions, the pain, the money—none of it would matter if he couldn't keep her safe.
"I'll play this game," Arthur decided, his mind steeling itself against the world.
There was no room for kindness in a world that treated him like dirt. No reason to care about anyone but himself and Charlotte.
If the system wanted him to jump through hoops for a few dollars, fine. But he would use every tool at his disposal, and exploit every opportunity. He would tear the world apart if it meant survival.
The world had abandoned them, but he wouldn't abandon her. The system had given him a way out, and he would exploit it for all it was worth.
"Let the missions come," Arthur muttered under his breath, his voice cold and determined. "I'm not here to save the world."
His lips curled into a bitter smile. If anything, the world deserved to burn for the way it had treated him and his sister.
And if Arthur had to play by its rules, he would make sure he came out on top—no matter the cost.
Stepping outside the hospital, Arthur quickly realized something was wrong. His motorcycle—the one thing that made getting around bearable—was nowhere to be seen. He stood still for a moment, letting the reality of the situation sink in before turning around and heading back to the receptionist.
"Hey," Arthur said, his voice sharp. "Where's my motorcycle? The one I had when I was brought in."
The receptionist looked up from her computer, slightly taken aback by his tone. "motorcycle?" she repeated, frowning. She tapped a few keys before shaking her head.
"The paramedics didn't mention any motorcycle at the scene."
"Of course they didn't." He thought
It didn't take much to figure out what had happened. Some rat had probably seen his old, rusted bike lying around while he was unconscious and decided to make off with it.
"Great," he muttered under his breath. "Just what I needed."
At least no one had stolen anything from him directly. But then again, looking down at his tattered clothes, Arthur scoffed.
"Who would think I have anything worth stealing anyway?"
Shaking his head, he stepped back outside into the cold. The rain had finally stopped, and the sky had cleared, though the bitter chill still clung to the air. It was freezing, and without his bike, he had no choice but to walk.
It took Arthur nearly two hours to make it back home, trudging through the city streets. The cold bit at his skin, the wind cutting through his thin jacket, but he kept moving. His thoughts swirled with anger and exhaustion. First the hospital bill, and now his bike. The world just kept piling it on.
Finally, he reached the narrow alleyway that led to his "home."
a run-down basement at the end of an alley that hardly anyone noticed. A place he and Charlotte had found after being kicked out of the orphanage. It was shelter, at least, and it was theirs.
Arthur pulled out his key and unlocked the door, the hinges creaking as he pushed it open. Inside, the room was dimly lit, the heater quietly humming in the corner, keeping the space warm.
He blinked in surprise when he saw Charlotte still awake, sitting up in bed, her pale face watching him with concern.
"Why are you awake this late?" Arthur asked, immediately crossing the room and sitting down next to her. His voice softened, worry creeping into his tone. "Is something hurting you?"
Arthur's heart tightened at her words. She had enough to worry about without staying awake, stressing over him. He forced a warm smile, hoping to ease her mind. "Don't do that next time, okay?" he said gently. "You need to rest. I'm fine."
"How was work?" Charlotte asked, her voice soft but curious.
Arthur hesitated for a moment, then smiled again, this time more convincingly. "Work's been great. I even got tipped $100 tonight."
Charlotte's eyes lit up, her face brightening. "Really?" she asked, a small, hopeful smile tugging at her lips. "That's wonderful! You should use that to buy a new jacket. I'm sure it's freezing outside—our heater is always on, but you're out there in the cold."
Arthur shook his head, still smiling. "No, we need to buy your medicine first," he said, his tone firm but kind. "A jacket can wait. Your health can't."
Charlotte's smile faltered slightly, but she nodded in agreement, though he could see the guilt in her eyes. She hated that he was sacrificing so much for her, and it ate at her heart. "I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down at the blanket. "You're doing so much… and I can't do anything."
Arthur's heart ached at her words, but he didn't let it show. He reached over and took her hand gently. "Don't say that," he said softly. "None of it matters if you're not okay."
He squeezed her hand gently, his voice warm but firm. "You are my only family in this world, We will get through this together, okay?"
Charlotte nodded, but he could see the sadness still lingering in her eyes. She hated being a burden, even though Arthur never saw her that way. He stood up and grabbed an extra blanket from the nearby chair, draping it over her before she could protest.
"Get some sleep," Arthur said, his voice soft as he tucked her in. "I'm here now. Everything's fine."
Charlotte smiled faintly, her eyes beginning to droop from exhaustion. "Goodnight, Arthur," she murmured.
"Goodnight, Charlotte," he replied, watching as her eyes finally closed and her breathing steadied.
He sat there for a moment, listening to the quiet hum of the heater and the soft rhythm of Charlotte's breathing.