3rd Person

"Jack," she sighed as he laughed at his own crude and offensive joke about some women making their way down the street. He dismissed her disapproval before he continued talking to the boys about nothing while she sat silently beside him just as a loyal girlfriend would.

She met Jack a couple months ago while Racetrack and him were breaking into one of the mansions in New York. Neither Racetrack nor Jack were good at picking locks, and it just so happens that picking locks were her specialty. Her and Jack immediately hit it off with their mutual hate for middle-aged men with too much money, and the rest is history.

"I'm like... Robin Hood," he smirked patting himself on the back for the analogy.

She scoffed quietly knowing Robin Hood steals from the rich and gives to the poor. But Jack- he steals from everyone and keeps everything for himself. He's nothing like Robin Hood.

But he wasn't always like this. And that saddens her the most. How could this once generous, kind, and strong person turn so greedy and foul?

She remembers when they first started their operations. The newsies and other orphans were starving and freezing in the winter while Pulitzer and everyone else in New York turned a blind eye and showed no mercy. So they took matters into their own hands. And ever since then, they've been stealing from the rich in order to help those who can't help themselves.

But Jack- he changed.

....

"This is our next hit?" Racetrack asked in disbelief as they walked up to an everyday apartment building.

"Yeah. The ol' folks ah beginnin' tah get suspicious, so we gotta downgrade foah a bit," Jack explained. But neither Racetrack or her were on board. "Mr. Wright is ouah next tahget," Jack filled them in on the plan, but she wasn't listening. The name sounded so familiar.

She picked the front door in seconds before they barged into the apartment, immediately searching for anything of use. As she was searching, she looked at a family photo. Mr. Wright, his wife, and his two daughters, both of them at the most five years old. That's when it clicked. Mr. Wright worked at a bakery. He was a respectable, hardworking man who barely made enough to support his own family. He used to sneak leftover bread to give to the newsies whenever he could.

"This is 'is safe," Jack smiles maliciously. "(Y/N). Da lock."

"No. I don't want to do this anymore," she crossed her arms and shook her head.

"What da hell ah ya talkin' 'bout?" Jack furrowed his eyebrows, becoming agitated since he didn't know how long they had until the bulls showed up. "Just pick da damn lock," he told her sighing.

"No-"

"Fine. I'll do it," Jack, now angered, bent down and began fiddling with the knob. How hard can it be? He wondered, but after much difficulty, banged his hand on the door and yelled profanities.

"Jack, we gottah go. Da bulls," Racetrack warned hearing them get closer and closer. Jack nodded as they made their way across the apartment and down the fire escape before anyone noticed.

They all make it to the lodging house before all the newsies clear the room so her and Jack could talk.

"What's goin' on, (Y/N)?" he wonders out loud knowing he could have been coming back with enough money to send him to Santa Fe. "Don't ya believe in da 'cause' anymoah?" He was becoming increasingly iritated with her, and she only reflected those feelings.

"The 'cause'? I didn't even know you still went by that! I believed in the 'cause' when we took from people who made boatloads of money off of scamming people and used the money so we and the other newsies wouldn't go to bed starving. But when you're taking from people who work all day everyday just to support their family and make sure their kids don't go to bed starving just so you can have a new pair of shoes, that's when I don't believe in it," she yelled, her body coursing with anger. How could he be so selfish and cold?

"Well if ya don't believe in dis, den leave!" he roared with his eyes darker than ever before. Without having to think, she grabbed her few belongings and her share and left without another word spoke.

She made her way through the lodging house and out the door as the other newsies exchanged looks between themselves. But as she made her way through the streets of Manhattan, she wasn't mad anymore. She pitied him. He's all alone in this world, and he will forever be lonely. He wasn't going anywhere in life and will become one of the wasted street scums he makes fun of every night.

But for now, he needed to be stopped. His only motivation nowadays was greed, and he was detrimental to everyone in Manhattan. It's only time before he decides he needs a better weapon than a small pocket knife. And she did not want anyone near him when he surrenders himself completely to the dark.

"How can I help you, Miss?" the secretary asked, looking right at her through her metal glasses and a friendly smile.

"I have information for Mr. Snyder on Francis Sullivan."

A-N- so this one is based on Getaway Car by Taylor Swift which is a very good song. Sorry I've been so inactive and made Jack a jerk.

Anyways, as always, please vote and comment what ya think! Thank you all! Love you all!