Stolen Fate

Rico had been picking pockets since he was twelve. In the crowded streets of downtown Verlot City, he was a ghost — unseen, unnoticed, and uncatchable. He didn’t steal out of greed; he stole to eat, to live. No one ever paid attention to a scrawny teenager weaving through market crowds. That was his advantage.

But one hot August afternoon, everything changed.

Rico’s target was a tall man in a tailored black suit. The man moved through the crowd with the kind of confidence that screamed money. His watch gleamed, his leather shoes clicked with purpose, and the bulge in his jacket pocket looked promising. Rico’s eyes zeroed in on the man’s inside coat pocket. Too easy.

With practiced finesse, Rico slipped a hand into the pocket and tugged the wallet out in one fluid motion.

Except the wallet wasn’t a wallet.

It was a black envelope.

Curious, Rico ducked into a side alley and opened it. Inside was a sleek memory card, two photos of a man he didn’t recognize — one of them bloodied — and a folded slip of paper with coordinates and a time.

“What the hell…” Rico muttered.

Before he could process it, two men in black tactical gear turned into the alley.

“Hey! Kid!” one barked.

Rico bolted.

He sprinted down the alley, leapt over trash bins, and ducked under scaffolding. His heart thundered. He’d been chased before, but this felt different — these men weren’t police. They were hunters.

By the time he shook them off, he was three neighborhoods away, sweaty and shaking.

---

That night, Rico couldn’t sleep. He kept staring at the envelope. Curiosity gnawed at him. He needed to know what he’d stumbled into. By morning, he was on a city bus to the coordinates written on the note.

The address led him to an abandoned warehouse near the river.

He hesitated. Every instinct told him to run the other way. But hunger, both literal and metaphorical, pushed him forward.

Inside, the place was dark except for a single flickering bulb overhead. A man stood in the center, arms folded, waiting.

“You’re not who I expected,” the man said.

Rico swallowed. “I… I found this. I didn’t know it was yours.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You stole it.”

Rico raised his hands. “I’m not with them. I’m just a street kid.”

The man stepped closer. “Do you know what’s on that card?”

Rico shook his head.

“Murder. Government-level secrets. Evidence that could bring down people in power.”

That’s when Rico realized — he wasn’t a pickpocket anymore.

He was a threat.

---

The man, who called himself Cain, didn’t kill Rico. Instead, he offered him a choice: disappear forever, or help deliver the card to a journalist who had been trying to expose a political conspiracy.

Rico chose survival — or at least, tried to.

What followed was a game of shadows. Rico was no longer hiding from angry shopkeepers or suspicious cops. Now he was dodging drones, hitmen, and agents in unmarked cars. The city that once felt like his playground had become a trap.

Rico’s street skills kept him alive. He used underground tunnels, changed his clothes at every turn, and relied on his gut more than ever.

But they were always a step behind him.

And Cain? He disappeared just as quickly as he came, leaving Rico alone with the deadly evidence and a contact number scratched on a piece of cardboard.

After a week on the run, Rico reached out to the journalist, a woman named Myla Reyes. She met him in a deserted metro station, armed and clearly expecting a setup.

“You’re just a kid,” she said, shocked.

“Yeah. A kid who’s been hunted for stealing the wrong pocket.”

She took the card. Her hands trembled.

“You know they’ll never stop looking for you,” she warned.

Rico nodded. “I never expected to live long. But if I die… make it count.”

---

Three days later, Verlot’s airwaves exploded with scandal.

Footage. Documents. Names.

The corruption went all the way to the top. Arrests began within hours. Protests flooded the streets.

And Rico?

Gone.

Some said he skipped the country. Others claimed he was taken out quietly. A few believed he still roamed the streets, just another ghost in the city.

But every now and then, in the chaos of the crowd, someone swore they saw a kid with sharp eyes and fast hands — watching, waiting, surviving.

Because when a pickpocket crosses the wrong hands, survival becomes the ultimate crime.