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[attr="class","leaguecardslip"]

[attr="class","leaguecardsliptext1"]Name:

[attr="class","leaguecardsliptext2"]Pronouns:

[attr="class","leaguecardsliptext3"]Specialty:

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It starts like it always does. Drugs, love, and the question of whether to keep the kid or not. A mother who isn't ready, and a father who is begging to not be one. The decision comes too late, and there I am. Only, I don't get a happy life. Probably for the best. Left on the door of an orphanage, in a basket, I'm the cookie cutter orphan boy who is left like an angel.

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That's where the fairy tale starts and ends. They love to romanticize the idea of orphans, adoption, and how it all just works together. They don't open the hood and really dig into it. The social workers who see horror every day. Heart goes out for those kids who don't get a good life. If I get to, some day in my thirties, I want to open an orphanage myself... I'm rambling. Sorry.

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Aspertia City, the city that reaches for the sky. They love to say sky is the limit, but what do they know? We can try, but let's be real for a second. Kids are just the ones who lose in the end. You claw, you fight, you struggle upwards. The best of those unwanted kids get a family, the worst get foster care. Me, I got the latter. I guess little Timmy didn't like me breaking his nose when he stole my smores. Don't mess with a guy's smores. You deserved it, Timmy.

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Anyways. I got into the foster system. You bounce from home to home. It's great the first day, but it's like gambling. You roll the dice. You roll a 12, you win. Good luck rolling that though. Your chances are low. More often than not, you roll a 7, and you have friction with your foster parents. You roll snake eyes, and you're dead in the water, but the closer to that big one-two number you get, the better it is. Luck isn't my forte. I like rolling low. Got everything from physical abuse, to emotional abuse. Thankfully, I was smart enough to keep out of the mental abuse. I guess there's my saving grace.

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Needless to say, I was out of the system by choice at fourteen. I joined Rocket of my own volition. And why not? I liked their hats. I wore them a lot, and did grunt work. It made a bit of an honest living, but I like Rocket work. Playing by the rules took me to gambling in the foster care casino, so I broke those rules. So what? The League let me burn, so burn the League back where I can. Rocket is far more competent. We get things done. We're a better organization.

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The next six years are a blur. You work for the big guy up top, you work it girl. You find love, you get your heart broken. You do the honest dishonest work, you get people on your side, and then... one day, you wake up and realize you don't want that blood on your hands anymore. You've made money, you're better than most of those other kids, especially you Timmy, and you just... it's enough.

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Not saying I won't go back. But about a four years ago, I left that life behind. I have a nice little home now. I kept the Grookey. Named him Bongo. He likes hitting things with his little drum stick. I guess I just got attached to him, and he's been with me ever since. He likes hitting things, and he's a little chaotic, but that chaos reminds me of Rocket. I miss them, really. But not enough to go back. So, when I'm sitting on my patio, and taking a smoke break, I look out, and remember I had it good. But my story is done, right?

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... right?

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