Jeno's Point of View
"Here." I gave Eight a glass of water. We were now at the rooftop of our house. Eight rested her back on the long metal chair meant for three people. I sat beside her as she gently took the glass from my hand.
"Thanks." She mumbled.
"Eight," I called. She looked at me, waiting for my next words. I want to ask so many things. I want to know her story, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. She has gone through so much at only 19. She's only a year younger than me but I can see how she's scarred already.
"Jeno." She called, still waiting for me to speak.
"Why can't we find your old records? There's no sign of your identity, Eight. Your birth's not even registered anywhere." Eight looked away, her eyes wandering off to the city lights in front of us.
"Jeno, my life is complicated. I was not raised in a beautiful home. My brother and I were raised in the streets. We grew up starving and I had to fight for every left over in the trash just so I could keep my brother alive. When a group of men saw me fighting they took me in— said I was a good addition to their team. I did not know what was going on, but they taught me how to steal and kill. That was when I knew that they put me in a gang, a gang that was known for stealing. I became a thief," Eight paused. "And a killer."
"How about your brother? What happened to him when you were in the gang? Why did Beranios kill him?" I asked.
Eight hesitated to answer, not expecting my sudden question. She brought her lips together as her eyes started to water.
I examined her and her expressions. I did not know if she was trying to buy herself time to think or if she was deeply affected by my question. I waited for her answer nonetheless.
"My brother was with me in the gang. They never made him do anything because he had a heart disease. In exchange, I had to do anything that they wanted. Anything. They said that I owe them my brother's life and that I should follow their orders or else they would kill him for being useless." She paused, sighing.
I looked away from Eight. I couldn't bare to look at her while she was telling her story.
I never should've asked her. She's hurting again.
"Beranios killed my brother when they knew that I was the one who sneaked in their base. I stole from them. Files, gold, money— everything that our gang leader told me. I only followed orders. But when Beranios was alerted of what I did, they attacked our gang. They searched for me. They threatened our members, including our leader that if they did not bring the thief to them they would kill the whole gang. And so our leader betrayed me, he brought my brother to the men of Beranios and he was shot in the heart right away. They did not bring me out because I was still useful to them. They pinned the blame on my brother. You know what's funny though? They killed the whole gang nonetheless. I was too fucking lucky to be able to escape. I should've died there together with my brother." Eight looked at me, her eyes glistening with tears. "So, please don't blame me for being so angry at Beranios. They killed the only person left in my life."
"What about your parents?"
"Gone. My mother left us when we were twelve. My father went missing a year after. I never knew what happened to the both of them. After that, we grew up on the streets."
