Marshall Guffery
Guffery sat under a dull lamp light at his writing desk, looking over the files scattered in front of him.
The files were each of a child. Eight were boys, and four were girls. All were brought into the program that Guffery was at the head of approximately twenty years ago. As were a lot of other youths of their time.
But these twelve* had known better. They knew their surroundings were not `home', and that there was a better place somewhere outside his walls. Thanks to one small boy with a higher level of knowledge than he should have ever had at that age, these twelve had eluded them. They had escaped.
Two had been found dead months after they'd fled. The others each found a way to hide themselves from a trained eye - such as counting on someone who knew the streets of a big city, or managing to have themselves fostered out.
Three more were recaptured a few years later, thanks to the watchful eye of one of his associates spotting the mark on the back of their necks used for initial identification.
Another was recaptured as she grew into her teen years and became a well known criminal through burglary. A boy she socialized with - also one of Guffery's - died at the scene of one.
And then there was five. Another of the girls was miraculously spotted while an associate of Guffery's was on a long service leave holiday in Peru, finally convincing that practically all hope was lost in finding the remaining four.
Then the name of one came up in the death notices of a New York paper a friend just happened to be reading.
The third, was Casey.
Guffery took Casey's file and threw it to the side a little. Two remained in front of him.
It had been a bit of a wild goose chase for a while there, as every effort was put into finding these children - most of which were now turning into adults in their new supplied lives.
But these two*
Guffery was not surprised to see that one was the boy who'd been nominated the ring leader. The other was a bit of an unknown. A boy with Stealth, who was one of the younger of the group. Marcus Ringer. Last seen in Philadelphia boarding a long distance aircraft.
The other, he had heard quite a lot about lately. But not as to his whereabouts, moreso where he'd already been and what he'd done. But that was no mean feat. - everyone who took notice of the YIRAAS knew.
His name, Christian Thomas.
Guffery picked up his file and looked it over again. It was by far the most wealthy of information and photography, the most recent photos showing him dressed in dark clothing with black hair and a pierced eyebrow.
He always seemed to have a content look on his face, with just a shun of worry beneath the obvious*
Staring at one of the photos, he frowned.
"You evasive little prick."
He threw the file back down, before standing from his chair. At that moment, the door opened.
"Sir!"
"What have I told you about knocking, Clive?"
"Oh, sorry Sir. But I have news from someone under Racer's reign."
Guffery raised an eyebrow.
"Yes?"
Clive handed him three sheets of photographic paper, sporting three large colour photos.
"Those were taken at the beginning of this year from surveillance cameras in their Miami warehouse," he explained, "Lucious had him for at least a month* or so*"
Guffery frowned as he looked over the photos of Christian's breakout.
"Well doesn't this just bring back memories?" he hissed slightly, before placing the best photo in Christian's folder, "shall we pay him a visit then?"