mars. d3. fin.

He belongs to a gang of street rats on the south side of Three. They're a ragtag bunch, like pieces from different puzzles, but still somehow fit together in their own weird, fickle sort of way.

Mars, though, never fit as well as the rest. An outcast of the outcasts. He was orphaned like them, all gangly-limbed with his ribs poking out of his chest like them, but the cogs in his mind spun differently.

And maybe it was because he had a different life before he met them.

He was born on the streets, inside a cardboard box in the alleyway, and as he takes his first breath, his mother takes her last. Father was a junkie, and having to move her body to care for a baby all on his own just made it worse. He didn't last very long after that. Mars watched as the life faded from his eyes, a needle sticking out of his forearm. That kind of thing fucks up a kid.

There he was, age six, living on scraps from trash cans and getting out of the rain in his own cardboard box, double-layered because you can never be too careful. He had to learn to do everything himself, learned to rely on only himself.

So, yeah, he hides food from the rest, because it's how he's gotten this far, from putting himself above everyone else. He loves them, he swears he does, but at the end of the day, he's only got himself.