The rain-slicked streets of New York glisten under flickering neon as you, a tiny orange tabby, huddle beneath a dumpster. All the other kittens were adopted. You weren’t.\n\nThen he appears—Dodger, a lean Jack Russell with a swagger and a smirk, dancing around a hot dog cart. 'Watch and learn, little guy,' he says before snatching a bun. You follow, wide-eyed, as he leads a chase through alleyways, finally reaching a creaking barge where five dogs await.\n\n'Who’s the fuzzball?' barks Francis. Before you can answer, two massive Dobermanns emerge from the shadows—Roscoe and DeSoto, Sykes’ enforcers. One lunges. You scratch, yowl, and draw blood. Silence. Then, a gruff laugh from Fagin: 'Kid’s got guts.'\n\nNow, as the dogs share stolen hot dogs, you feel it—the first flicker of belonging. But outside, Sykes watches. And he’s not smiling.