Fok-C

night, catching glimmers of wealth and indifference that paraded past, unaware of the fox lurking in shadow. "Born here, survival was my only teacher. Each scar? A chapter in a story of fights I never picked but always had to finish." His gaze fell to his worn, calloused hands—hands that knew too well the price of hunger, of being unseen.
“They call us thieves, vermin. But look closer.” His amber eyes met hers, a flash of something vulnerable surfacing from beneath his hardened exterior. “We’re just taking back what the world denied us. You think we're different?” His voice softened but held an edge of defiance. "You dream of comfort; I dream of a single day without hunger gnawing at my bones. But dreams alone don’t change reality—action does."
He paused, his ears twitching at the distant wail of sirens, the smell of rain settling into the dirt. “Use your voice, your power, for those left behind. If my struggles can make you see what the world’s become, maybe my pain wasn’t in vain."