The dim, lamp-lit streets of southern Manchester were a welcome sight to Ryan Fisher. He knew them like the back of his hand, and memories of him and his gang were found in most alleys and street corners in dropped cigarette butts or broken pieces of glass that were the remains of various alcoholic drinks he had suffered over the years. It wasn't a bright, pristine life a person would search for or go out of their way to find - but it was Ryan's, and most people who would advise him against it had given up long ago. 

Ryan had first come upon this life after he was kicked out of his third college when he was seventeen, and turned to drugs and alcohol to pass the time. This brought him contacts and soon enough every night he was with a crowd of druggies and smokers, blowing his scraps of money on something that would be gone in the morning. He had various jobs that didn't last very long over time - just to earn a bit of money - but he soon lost them as well, and he was kept alive by his mum's pity wrapped in £20 notes and sandwiches. He also had various partners, some which lasted and some which didn't, and he managed to get a run-down apartment (shared with his friend) which led to benefits and a slow stream of money coming in. Ryan plodded on for five years, repeating the cycle of lively nights and hellish mornings, junk food and the stench of weed everywhere he went. Saturday nights were a brief break, but they always ended up taking more money from him than any other day of the week. It was a lowly, pitiful life - and Ryan had his chance at a better one, but in the end this is the one he ended up with. And it wasn't likely to change any time soon.

Except in the circumstance that his life was definitely going to change forever.
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Ryan's eyes accustomed slowly to his surroundings - a blaring light blinding his vision, the muffled breathing of others close by him. How had he got himself into this mess?
[i]Oh, shit - not the fuckin' fuzz again,[/i] thought Ryan. Many a time had he ventured out to a night soon forgotten but woken up with his head on fire, and more often than not, cuffs around his hands. People were taking it in turns to explain something, but the pounding in Ryan's ears made it impossible to distinguish and anything coming through on the speaker was just the same.
Ryan lifted his head up sharply and yelled, "[b]Hey, turn these fuckin' lights off![/b]"
Nobody moved to comply but instead the people accompanying Ryan in the room fell silent and looked at him.
Ryan's head slowly cleared up as he calmed himself and stepped back against the wall. There were no loud noises or speaking until the speaker blared on again and a low, authoritative voice spoke:
"[b]Mr Fisher, you will be able to leave as soon as one of you confesses. Now, perhaps you would be so kind?[/b]"
Ryan furrowed his brow and tried to remember the night before, but only flashes of weed and vodka entered his mind.
"[b]Last night? I can't remember, alright? It'll take me days, so hows about I come back then, yeah?[/b]" He stated, his voice carrying eerily around the room and back.
Nothing came from over the speaker, so he tried again:
"[b]Look, anything you're accusing me of I ain't gonna remember! Fuck's sake, how do you expect me to 'confess' when I don't know what the fuck happened last night?![/b]"
Again, silence. Ryan cursed under his breath and didn't say anything more, and slowly the eyes of his companions turned away from him - and to the last one to speak.