It was midnight, the stars out and glittering frostily in the biting, cold wind; the streetlamps guttered alongside a tall house, something like a personal apartment block in appearance. On the second story, a window slid open and a figure slid out, landing with a slight clang on the fire escape below. He looked around hurriedly, and then began climbing down. The moment his feet touched the pavement a face appeared in the window.

"Duke! Where are you going?"

A fifteen-year-old Duke l'Orange looked up with a sigh. He'd been that close to escaping unnoticed. His younger brother's eyes were wide and frightened; they had always been very close, and now Duke felt a pang of guilt about leaving Rance behind, alone.

"Go back to sleep, Rance," he called softly.

"Where are you going? Are you running away?"

Duke paused a few moments before answering, "Yeah, I am."

"Look, Da' didn't mean what he said, Duke! Honest! He was just angry, he doesn't think that you're an.."

"Don't say it!" Duke growled. "And that's not the reason. I'm leaving ta get a life, I'm wasting it 'round here. What are my future jobs? A clerk or a policeman, yeah, that's great freedom of choice."

"Duke, please," Rance begged. "At least let me come with you!"

"What? No! You have to stay, Rance, I can't look after us both."

"You can't cook," his eleven-year-old brother stated. "You can't cook anything but scrambled eggs... burnt scrambled eggs."

Scowling, Duke shook his head. "I can learn. Ya have to stay, I don't want to drag you off the tracks, Rance, Mom would die..." He hung his head. "Give her a message for me, kid? Tell her it's not her fault, that it's neither of their faults. Okay?"

Rance gave a strangled sob, but nodded. "Bye Duke. Maybe we'll meet up again some day soon, huh?"

"Of course we will." Duke smiled. "Keltor ain't such a big place y'know!"

And turning his back on those he loved, Duke vanished into the darkness of the lonely streets.

THREE YEARS LATER

"DuuuUUUUUUKE!!"

The yell startled him from his bunkbed and he barely managed to grab the edge of the bed as he tumbled off the side. He hung there for a moment, aching, and then dropped down to land with a thud on the floor. Cursing softly in his mind the young man rubbed the muscles on his upper arms and then grabbed his clothing and put it on hurriedly. As he ran downstairs he passed by the clock, and swore out loud. 9:15. Damn but Mr Duckovney was going to be pissed...

"WHAT THE HELL TOOK YOU?" The snarling visage of a huge Mayalan stormed up to him, hair pulled back into a bun. There was a smell of alcohol on the air, and Duke was not surprised to find it was coming from Mr Duckovney's beak. He WAS pissed... "I'm trying to run a business here and YOU sleep on your goddamn butt! GET TO WORK!!"

"Mother of Ducks," Duke muttered. "It was only fifteen blasted minutes and this place don't open 'til ten..."

The back of Mr. Duckovney's hand connected with the side of his head, and with a yelp the youth scuttled for the kitchen, openly cursing the man from behind the safety of the closed door. He hated this place, but it was the only source of money coming in for him, and also had been his home for the last three months. Duke sighed softly as he got to work. Every job he'd gone through had ended badly for him; he just couldn't get the hang of working! It was beginning to dawn on him now that he should never have left home...

He sat down on the chair and wiped his forehead. He missed his family, Rance especially... Hell, he even missed his late aunty's felid who kept piddling in his room! He smiled faintly as he remembered Rance once holding a trial in the felid's defence... What was it he said? The evidence is undeniable, you are sentenced to 30 seconds having your nose rubbed in the mess. Duke grinned; Rance had always been straighter than him, more by-the-book and law abiding - he shouldn't be at all surprised if he was going to become a policeman someday soon...

Duke was so caught up in his thoughts he didn't even notice the doors opening... but he DID notice when Mr Duckovney's fist connected with his face, and he was punched off the chair to land sprawled on the floor.

"What the f*** do ya think yer playing at?!" The man snarled. "You think you can sit idle and still get paid, do ya? So thish is what yer always doing, why yer always rushin' at the last bloody minute... I'll kill you, ya sod!"

With a yell Duke rolled under the table and scrambled to his feet on the other side, but the table was knocked to the ground as Duckovney's drunken fury gave him strength unbound. Unable to get to the hallway doors Duke turned and ran into the dining room of the hotel, leaping up over the tables in an effort to get to the window. But it was locked! Panicked he whirled around, saw the fearsome shape of his boss charging toward him like a kind of monstrous image of imminent death, and leapt up onto the mantelpiece, kicking the various bits and pieces from it down into Duckovney's face.

He back touched the point of one of the ancient sabers which Duckovney had had in his family for years. It dug in a little way, drawing blood, and wincing he pulled away, grabbing the handle and yanking it off the wall. Holding it with both hands he took a leap from the mantelpiece, landed on the carpet and ran for the kitchen doors again. But a hand grabbed his shoulder and a fist slapped the sword, not out of his hands but into his beak to gouge out a chip. Duckovney threw him to the floor... the next moment was a blur but when Duke opened his eyes again he saw the man staggering backwards, the sword protruding at an awkward angle from his chest.

Gasping, Duke stood up slowly, his eyes wide as he watched Mr Duckovney fall onto his side, twitch spasmodically and then die.

"Oh shit," he whispered. "Oh shit, oh shit oh shit oh shit..."

He killed Mr Duckovney. He'd KILLED someone. He was a murderer. Killer.

Killer.

Killer!

Run. Run away. Run away. Don't stay, you'll be caught, trialed. Executed. KILLER!

Heeding the warnings of that little voice in his mind Duke ran out of the dining room, then paused in the middle of the hallway; he needed money, he couldn't live without money. His eyes rested on the cashier, and his conscience went awry. What the hell, I'm already a murderer, why not a thief into the bargain?

He grabbed a statuette which had been one of Duckovney's prized possessions and slammed it over the cashier, which sprang open revealing a full load of money from the last week. His employer never bothered to clean it out until weekends. Snatching up the cash he tucked it inside his shirt and dashed out the door, across the street - cars slamming to a halt and angrily beeping their horns at him - then disappearing down an alleyway, vowing never to return.

SIX MONTHS LATER

The streets of DuCaine Metropolis bustled; but they always did at this time of the morning, most especially on market day when the main street was filled with goodies to buy. The busy people headed along their busy lives, completely ignoring the busy hands of one youth who was living his own. Duke found picking the pockets of these people a cinch; they were far too focussed to feel the slight tug as their wallet vanished from their jeans. He grinned to himself, eyeing the bulging leather purse of a lady as she set it down beside her to talk to a friendly storekeeper. They were just far too careless with their money. He justified his actions by thinking that if they were so uncautious it must be because they had a lot of money to waste, and this woman in frills and plumed hats certainly looked it.

He walked forward, pretended to bump into her, politely said, "Sorry, sorry, pardon me ma'am," while keeping his head low, and then walked quickly away, tucking the handbag inside his shirt as he headed for the home.

"Stop thief! STOP THIEF!" Damn. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so cocky as to think he could steal a whole handbag just like that... then again, with his hair-do people could recognize him a mile off... don't think, run, run, run! He ran, dodging past the taller adults who made no move to stop him but just leapt out of his way. "Stop thief!"

But the voice was fading into the distance already and as he turned down a one-way he felt he was just about home scot-free... when he slammed into someone with such force that it carried the both of them down onto the sidewalk.

"Ow! Hey, get outta my way, kid!"

"DUKE??"

He blinked and sat upright. "RANCE?? What the.... how the... where...??"

Rance stared at him, a broad grin on his face. He was fourteen now, almost exactly four years younger than Duke, shorter too, and dressed in a green shirt and burgundy-red trousers, in contrast to Duke's stolen red shirt and blue jeans. Rance's hair was neat while Duke's was unkempt, blue eyes against brown... yet even so, anyone could have seen that they were brothers.

"What are you doing here in the Metro?" Duke demanded, blushing slightly as it came out far more angrily than he would have liked. "Sorry, Rance. But why are you here?"

"Da's got a store in the market out there he brought me along ta help him but I was allowed to go to the Park but it was closed so I bought a paper and came back." Catching his breath, Rance lifted up a now slightly tatty newspaper. "But where have you been, Duke?? I haven't seen you for... for three years!"

"I've been... around an' about." He quietly stuffed the handbag behind the trashcans, but unfortunately it was a move that Rance noticed.

"What's that?" Reluctantly Duke brought the handbag out for inspection. "Where'd you get that? It's not yours..." Rance paused, and his eyes narrowed. "You stole it, didn't you."

Having no way of lying, Duke nodded gloomily. "Yeah, I did. I haven't got any money, Rance! And I can't get a job because..." He bit his tongue, and glared down at the handbag.

"Duke, if ya wanted money so bad ya could've come back home." Rance's Keltor accent was always more pronounced when he was angry, even if the words themselves didn't seem to carry anger. "Mom had a breakdown 'cause you left! And Da' went into depression, he thinks it's all his fault, no matter what ya told me ta say! He's forgiven you everything, you can come back home, ya don't need ta become a... a thief!"

Shaking his head, Duke said, "No, he hasn't forgiven me everything, because he doesn't know what I've done. He can't have known. And he's not going to know." He stood up and helped his brother to his feet, snatching the handbag back as he did so. "'Cause you ain't gonna tell him you talked ta me."

"I will tell him, he's got to know!"

"Rance, please! I don't want anyone to know.. not you or Da' or Mom, anyone. I can't live with police breathin' down my neck." His eyes took on a haunted look as the memories spilled back. "Please Rance," he said softly. "I'm sorry. But I can't let anyone know."

His younger brother's face took on a desperate look. "At least... at least let me stick around with you a while, bro! Da's not expecting me back for another hour or two, please! I missed you."

"I thought you didn't like thieves."

"You're still my brother! Please, Duke, just for a while."

Duke sighed. He had to admit it, it would be nice to have Rance around again, if only for a little while... yet what would the kid be getting himself into? He didn't want his brother take up a life of crime when he didn't deserve it... Not like he did...

"Okay," he said grudgingly. "Stick around for a bit. But I warn you, ya won't like my lifestyle at all. I'm gonna go get some breakfast. If you want a meal bought on stolen money then you can come."

Rance frowned, struggling inwardly. "I have some money, I can buy myself something."

"Good. You don't know how glad I am ta hear it." Duke allowed himself a smile. "Come on then, little bro, let's go find us a place to eat."

The hour flew past swiftly; far too swiftly for Duke's liking, because as time passed he realized that he enjoyed his brother's company, even if Rance was disapproving of his lifestyle. Yet however much his brother disliked thieving, conning and bribery, Duke thought with a grin, was not on that list. Rance somehow managed to get a professional photographer to take their photo for only thirty-odd bucks. If it had been Duke, he'd have just taken the camera and then pawned it off for some cash.

But now Rance had gone, and the good-byes had been painful to say the least, yet Duke trusted his brother to keep his word that he wouldn't tell. Now Duke sat on the park bench. It had opened and he was sitting watching the kids play hockey on the icy pond; he usually played with them - using gear loaned to him by one of the other kids there, a very friendly bunch, actually - but today he was just content to watch. He looked down at the photo in his hands, smiling.

He and Rance stood side by side, grinning at the camera... but his own grin was broader because he was making bunny fingers over his brother's head. Rance had his own copy, too, but he doubted it would be shown. Rance always kept his promises...

Always. Unlike him...

He winced as he recalled their final good-byes:

"Duke, please, I promised I wouldn't tell but you don't have to continue being a thief, you don't have to live like this! Whatever you did, it doesn't matter."

"It does matter," he had snapped back, "it all matters! The father I knew wouldn't want a thief and a... he wouldn't want me back in his house, all right? I know it."

Rance had slumped visibly. "Duke... I'm signing into the police force on my sixteenth."

"What??"

"I'm joining the police force. It will matter to me... I might one day be the one who arrests you. I don't want that to happen, Duke, it would tear me apart! Please, reconsider. Da and I will be at the market all morning until twelve, if ya want to come back, drop by."

"Don't get your hopes up, kid," he'd sighed as Rance walked away from him.

Don't get your hopes up. And emphasizing those words, the bells of midday rang out, signaling the end of the market day. Don't get your hopes up.

Oh, Rance, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I can't let anyone know I'm a murderer... You'd hate me and I couldn't take that... Not that...

Duke stood up, angrily wiped away a tear from his eye, and left the park for his decrepit home as the final toll of midday seemed to hang in the air, and rip at his heart.

'I'm sorry...

SEVEN YEARS LATER

The rain poured as though someone had made the oceans fall from the sky; it crashed down on the windscreen of a sleek navy blue car and the occupant turned the windscreen wipers to a faster mode, despite not actually driving at the time. He sat inside the car, watching the museum as it closed for the night; damn the rain. He hated it, and had always thought it a bad sign when on a heist. As the ground floor lights flicked out, he turned the car off and got out of the car, padding into the narrow side-alley that was much dryer than the surrounding street, yet it still drenched him quickly. And his upholstery would be ruined when he got back into the car...

He fired a small grappling cord which wound about one of the impressively ugly stone gargoyles on the concrete pillars of the museum, and abseiled up the two metre-wide gap between the Metropolitan Museum and the lingerie shop. Pausing halfway up he flicked out a small torch and shone it in through one of the small thin windows on the second floor, spotting his target immediately. He'd cased the joint earlier that day, especially the rare gemstones section, which was a new addition to the attractions there. He was especially after the bulyerite diamond, rumored to be worth about a million quid. But he would have to be careful, the security on the building might have been pathetic but when it came to their cases they were intensely paranoid. Twisting the cable around his wrist, he used his other hand to pull out his window-cutting tools...

Once inside, he tucked the cutter away more hurriedly than usual, he walked carefully and quietly to the cases, pausing about a metre from them, barred by row upon row of motion sensing laser beams. But that wasn't a problem. He used the grappling hook again to climb up to the roof, and fired a second line, attached to the first, which caught the ceiling above the case. Sliding across he hooked his legs up around the rope and dangled upside down over the glass cabinet, looking down at the large diamond inside.

Come to papa little million-maker... he thought with a grin, bringing out his special equipment for dealing with touch sensitive glass... and the cutter, which had not been properly put away, slid out of his pocket and smashed through the glass. Alarms burst into existence, and he swore loudly, grabbing the diamond in one hand and twisting around to grab the rope with the other. He swung down onto the floor, snapped the grappling line back into his wrist device, and, as footsteps appeared on the ground floor, he brought out a gas bomb. He rarely used them unless in dire circumstances, but this seemed to be dire enough... He tossed the bomb out into the air, and then gasped as he recognized one of the two officers.

"RANCE!" he yelled as the bomb fell down toward his brother. Dropping the diamond Duke shot his grappling hook to catch the middle ceiling, swung out and ignited his Saber, slicing cleanly through the bomb before it hit the ground. At the moment he touched the floor he had a gun pointed at his head. He stood there silently as the second officer placed handcuffs around his wrists.

"Duke l'Orange," Rance said, sounding as though he only knew him by reputation. "Leader of the Brotherhood of the Blade. You are under arrest on numerous charges too many to mention, not the least of which is theft. You have the right to remain silent..."

"Rance," he said quietly. "I saved your life."

"...but anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." Rance continued to speak of his rights, even though Duke had shut off from it, and the second officer phoned the police headquarters. He could have escaped easily, he could have beaten his brother to the ground and then slipped out of these cuffs and run. But he wouldn't. He couldn't bring himself to strike his brother... not Rance...

"...You have the right to a lawyer."

"You're my brother, Rance, you can't do this to me!"

The younger man paused. "I once had a brother named Duke," he said finally. "He died a long time ago."

And Duke, shocked into silence again, could do absolutely nothing as he was led from the Museum into one of the police cars which pulled up in the rain. Thunder, dry thunder, empty of emotion, rolled overhead, echoing his soul.

NOW - AT THE NEW BOTB HQ

Duke sorted through his small case of belongings, and his fingers touched a piece of strangely textured paper, which he pulled out. It was a photo... the photo... he had always kept it with him; it had followed him to Earth and back, always tucked away in his pouches. Now rather dog-eared and faded, with more than one crease, but he could still see the cheerful grins on his and Rance's faces. Memories. Bittersweet, all of them, but the photo was still special. It made him think of what might have been, had he not left home one night in search of a different life than the one he had been heading for. It also made him remember his brother, and that memory was as much sweet as it was bitter. He heaved a sigh, and folded the photo again, tucking it away into his pocket where it had lived for so long now, so long...

"What might have happened?" he wondered aloud. "Would I have joined the 'force too? If I hadn't become a thief, would I have been the opposite? Or would things still have turned out like they did?" He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "But you can't change the past. What's done is done... and perhaps, perhaps one day things might come right. One day." He patted his pocket comfortingly, and walked out the door.

The End