I met my demon in Beggar's Town. It's been with me for a long time, but that's where we met. It's a bit of a story, so let's go back to the child-gangs I used to run with.

In my earliest childhood, before I can remember clearly, my parents shared a house in the City. This, unfortunately, didn't last. My father 'rescued' my brother and I from my mother. The circumstances were unclear, but apparently she was given to drink.

No one really explained much of this to me, of course. It was simply that she was cast out, and my father assumed control. Until we had to move to Beggar's Town, and he found some other woman to distract him when he wasn't busy with other things. Engineering. Work. Drugs.

She, of course, didn't care for interlopers against whatever fortune my father might some day be worth again (she'd already squandered what little he had, not that anyone in Beggar's Town had much of anything to begin with). So when she was able to produce an heir of her own, my true family became the child- gangs I ran with.

This wasn't to say I couldn't sleep in a house -- I could. But it wasn't a home.

And it was then, running with my friends, that I met my demon. I found him the first -- and thankfully last -- time I was stabbed.

An argument that got out of hand, a prank, a plan to steal -- of all things -- rock salt. And a knife was involved. Why? I don't know.

It wasn't the first time I was in trouble with the law. Our names were taken. We all lied, except for me -- I couldn't. I was injured. My gang leader, Jack, abandoned me.

That was when I realized I was alone.

Except, I wasn't. From that day, the seed of hate grew in my heart. Hate that someone would turn against me. Hate that they would take me so far, and then leave me, hurt. But what could I do? So I bottled it up and ignored it.

It wasn't until years later that I realized where my friend came from. By then it was just a continual urge to do wrong. I never understood it, and perhaps, I still don't. Sensei says I should listen to my demon, but only as a compass for what is wrong, and what I should not do.

The scars we bear, one supposes.