"Sh**." Ghoulies hid in every spot of the Southside. Dion should've known he'd come across them at some point.

There was one across the road, two standing in the alleyway, and two more watching him in the old Southside playground.

Dion knew he couldn't take all of them at one time, so he did what any logical teenage boy would do, he ran.

6'4, Dion Meek had the chance of being a track legend in freshmen year. That was a long time ago though, he dropped out of high school. The thought of running that far left him breathless.

The Ghoulies would catch up to him. Five men to high to walk straight would be able to run fast enough to catch up a perfectly sober teenage boy. It was just Dion's luck.

The men smirked. "We have orders from Malachai to take you in." One of the younger guys, with an army cut, and wobbly legs pulled out a switch blade. "He said alive, but he did give us the green light on roughing you up a bit."

Dion smirked, "I'd like to see you try."

There were too many. There was no way Dion could beat all of them, not when they were all attacking at once. Then, it happened, a 1967 jet black Impala pulled up next to the group.

The window was down. Everyone could see Indigo, but she didn't quite care. "Get in!"

Dion lurched forward. Lying in a double sized bed, staring at the Starry Night which happened to be by one of Indigo's favorite artists, Vincent Van Gough.

Joyful scents wafted into the room. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and even sausage. Confusedly, Dion pinched himself making sure it wasn't just a strange dream.

That's when he realized he was shirtless. He wasn't shirtless last night. On the desk, under the Van Gough painting was a folded t-shirt, and a sticky note lying on top of it.

You passed out in the car. This is my brother's shirt bc urs was ripped.
——Indigo

Dion ripped the note away pulling on the shirt, and stepping out of his room. "Hey," Indigo greeted, surprisingly cheerful for the morning. "You hungry?"

Dion knew he should've said no. He needed to leave, no more relaxing in the house. When Indigo asked though, his stomach did an eager back flip ready for food. "Yes."

Indigo smiled warmly handing the Ghoulie Prince a platter full of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and sausage. Dion knew he should've thanked the girl. She was being unnaturally kind.

He was so hungry though. Indigo let slip a giggle watching the boy scarf down his food. It reminded her of Christian. "Okay," Dion stopped meeting her gaze. "I'm not gonna ask any questions, yet. I'm trusting you'll stay here if you know what's good for you. I have to go to school."

Dion, not meaning to, grinned. He had no intention of leaving such a nice house. Especially if Indigo planned on making more food, and he could sleep. The Ghoulies will come, they'll destroy it all.

Almost as if she heard his thoughts, "The Ghoulies won't find you here. I ditched my license plate. They're not smart enough to find you here."

"Thanks."

"Alright. There's leftovers in the fridge from Mr. Andrews, but I'll leave you some money in case you want to get Pops. Leave your dishes in the sink, and please rinse them off at least." Indigo tugged her backpack over her shoulder.

With that, she left. Dion couldn't quite understand why she was being so kind to him. Maybe she's a Ghoulie. She'll gain your trust, then take you to your brother.

Dion wandered around the house. It definitely wasn't the biggest one he had seen in the Northside, but it was much bigger than his trailer.

Dion came across a door. Taking up a good half of it, was a black and white painting of Indigo in a boy. Dion assumed it was her brother.

In an annoyingly loud creaakkk, Dion pushed open her door. Her walls were white. What once looked like yellow sheets, were stained with so many paints, it didn't seem to quite have a color.

Easels littered her room. Most of them were covered with blankets as if she herself, couldn't handle looking at them.

In the middle of the room, was a painting that caught Dion's attention. Half of it was light. Girls and boys danced in Pops holding milkshakes, the other half was dark. The only actual color she used on the bottom was red.

Serpents, and Ghoulies battling. It was a bloody war, and it was disturbingly realistic. Dion felt as though he was staring at a painting in a museum of a war that already happened.

That's when he saw it. It looked like just a piece of leather, stashed away in the top shelf of her closet. Dion hoped it was nothing. Just an old leather jacket, but he had to be sure.

Dion didn't need the stepping stool leaning against Indigo's wall, he could reach it himself. The Ghoulie prince pushed up the box that laid on top of the jacket, gingerly pulling it out.

"Sh**."