I was born and raised in a little hovel of a place in the middle of a big city. My mother was the bread winner of the family. She worked as a seamstress for less than minimum wage at the factory. My father was a drunken sod who took all the money she made and bought things for himself only. He didn't work on the house to fix it up, mow the lawn or take me to the park. Instead, he sat at home, drank beer, beat mother and watched TV. When I was 5 years old... my mother died from internal bleeding. Father claimed that someone attacked her in the park when she was walking home from work and I didn't against him.

After mom died, we had no way of making money. I was too young to get a real job, so father decided that instead of himself getting a job, he'd rather sell me out. He bought me things... like little sailor suits, three piece suits, even frilly dresses.. and took me to sex clubs. He'd sell me to pedephilic men and women and I'd have to suck or lick them off for money. This went on for a few years and I guess my name became well-known in the club. He made me go alone after a bit and take the money back to him at the end of the night. When I'd get home with the money, father would beat me. He'd never hit my face, throat or head or hurt my hands. But what a way to learn of my deadly powers... I pushed him away one night, which only made him more angry and full out attacked me. The man I had been with that night had followed me home.

Turns out he was Este, a fire-starter. He came in the door just as father hit me hard enough to send me into the wall and sob dizzily. Firestarter set him on fire and watched me. I watched my own father scream and burn to death with a growing smirk. The fire ball that was my father burned to ashes right in front of me, and all I could do was smile because I hated him with as much fire as the one that burned him. Firestarter took me to Este and stayed with me. He came to my room every night for the same service I had given him that night until he died a few weeks later in a mission.

I never got his name....but i soon found myself on the streets again.......Then....Brad became my father-figure. He taught me that a father doesn't beat his child for any wrong doing. He gave me food, shelter, clothing and even love and understanding... things my real father could never do. I've looked up to him for a long time now, 6 years or so. He's my rock, my leader and my ... my father....untill i was of age....after that he got a little rough with me and i don't mind a whole lot.....i geuss i'm used to this sort of thing.