Prologue
The mafia's omega
"Just to let you know the heating here doesn’t work” the landlord says the man that Faolan was going to rent from Faolan nodded, acknowledging the owner's statement about the heating. It was a good thing he had been informed in advance. As a potential tenant, he appreciated transparency and honesty.
"That's fine; anywhere better than the streets, I can make it work," says Faolan a young boy, with with his short strawberry-blonde hair, pale complexion, and piercing blue eyes accentuated by light-coloured freckles.
"I'll try to get someone here as soon as possible to fix the heat," the landlord says as he turns towards the door, before adding, "If you need anything else, you got my number," and exiting through the door, leaving Faolan alone in his new apartment.
Wanting to start making this apartment his own right away, he grabbed the two boxes he had. He had not brought much with him to this city, having been on the run from someone and trying to get as far away as he could go. He ended up in a city called Willow City, which was neither particularly big nor small, like a town.
Despite the modest salary, Faolan was thrilled to have secured a job at a café close to his recently acquired apartment. It may not have been the most lucrative option, but he believed it was better than having no job at all. As he unpacked his belongings, which consisted of two boxes filled with clothes and a few essential items like a skillet and a frying pan, Faolan realized he needed to prepare dinner before calling it a night. With a nearly empty kitchen, all he had at his disposal was a box of Kraft dinner and some canned goods. "Well, I suppose Kraft dinner will have to do," he mused, he had to make do with the limited resources.
Faolan's cooking abilities left much to be desired; he couldn't even fry an egg. When he mistakenly overcooked the noodles and burnt the cheese that came with the package, he couldn't help but question how he managed to secure a job in the food industry, a profession that was clearly not his cup of tea.
With a heavy sigh, Faolan reluctantly placed the charred and overcooked food onto a plain white plate, the blackened edges contrasting starkly against the porcelain surface. "It's not the worst thing I've eaten," he mumbled to himself, attempting to find some solace in his own words. As he took a hesitant bite, the taste was far from appetizing, a bitter reminder of his lacklustre culinary skills. However, he knew that he needed to nourish his body, especially considering how thin and undernourished he already was.
After finishing dinner, Faolan diligently brushed his teeth, before slipping on a worn-out t-shirt, faded with memories and a pair of comfortable shorts that had weathered many years. Faolan entered the small room that had become his sanctuary, a place of solace and refuge. The room was stark, with only a sleeping bag resting on the floor and a few articles of clothing peeking out from within the box he had for them. As the day's fatigue began to catch up to him, Faolan felt a gentle yawn escape his lips, tiredness settling in from days of arduous work and relentless moving. he curled up in the sleeping bag, closing his eyes to sleep
