Musty smoke filled the boy’s lungs as he sat on the ground of a destroyed building, dark grey covering his features, eyes staring towards the bleak obsidian sky. Beads of tears appeared at the corner of his eyes, flooding down his face and pooling upon the ground, staining into a murky colour.
The last thing the boy had remembered was sitting at the dining table of his mother’s small two-story house, running his fingers over the smooth wooden furniture whilst waiting for dinner to be served.
Taking care of a child by oneself was a heavy burden for his only parent to carry, although it seemed as it hadn’t effected her even in the slightest as the boy could recall the amount of times he’d seen her cry upon one hand.
Many a time his eyes would glaze recalling his fathers actions, discovered through cupping his hand against a sealed wooden door, attempting to make out certain words as his only kin burst out into tears whilst speaking over the phone to god-knows who.
However after learning about what had occurred, he no longer felt a yearning for a father for the emotion had been replaced with pure disgust.
If he was that kind of person, surely having him here would bring only harm to mum.
His father was supposedly infertile, so when they had found out that the mother had become pregnant, he was elated.
That was until the birth of the child, dark black hair and two bright green orbs equipped with a large smile drawn upon his small face. Both of his parents had blond hair, his father had grey eyes whilst his mother had hazelnut orbs.
Outraged, the older man whipped his eyes over to his supposed spouse, who was lying on a hospital bed, unable to move much. A torrent of screaming ensued, the mother in a frenzy, tears pouring from her eyes, attempting to explain what happened.
A group of large men who wore strange purple badges coercing a middle-aged woman into a alleyway, gun to her hip, what else could she do but comply? Firm, worn, fingers gripped their blond hair as grey orbs disdainfully glared at the woman. He didn’t believe a word.
Thus, Lucas had been taken care of by her mother for the seven years that he’d been alive. The savoury smell of meat wafting from the kitchen making him grip the wooden table in hunger. Then the happiness in his life disappeared. A blinding light emitted from several walls close to the kitchen, fragments of concrete being shot out everywhere, a pain-filled scream erupting from a feminine voice.
Walls weakening, the house started to crumble inwards, two more bright orange blasts followed, accelerating the process. And then there was nothing.
Taking in a large smoke-filled breath, the small child began to erupt into a fit of coughs as he was reawakened from his short, enforced slumber. Where was he again? What where those bright flashes?
Turning his head around to survey his surroundings the boy didn’t understand where he was. Nevertheless, finding his mother was his top priority, the person who’d raised him. A series of small grunts caught the small boy’s attention, a head popping out of a tower of rubble.
Long brown hair covered in a frightening substance, followed by a voice which beseeched to those near it, interrupted by a few rudimentary grunts of pain, were audible. Perhaps they’d be screams if they could have afforded it. Crawling over to the sounds emitted, the small boy found someone. His mother. But she’d yet to realise who’d found her, or rather it was because she had lost her vision, a few fragments embedded in her orbs.
A few quiet pleas filled Lucas’s ears, ”Kill me, kill me.”was the most common of her requests. If it where possible for more tears to leave the boy’s already swollen eyes, then they would have come out.
The older woman’s beautiful, flawless skin had now become cut and embedded with stones. Her nose was missing, and blood covered her mouth and chin. To be honest, it was a miracle, or perhaps a curse that she was still alive in her condition.
No doubt the rest of her body was beyond repair, blood staining the rocks within her grasp. Lucas’s small eyes absorbed the image in front of him, the woman who was begging for death in front of him, the woman who’d raised him, who’d sheltered him from the pain of the world. Begging for death in front of her own child.
Images of her sweet smile disappearing from his memory, being replaced by this, this... this.
A medium sized piece of rubble caught the small boy’s eyes. Crawling across the rubble, cuts upon cuts arriving upon his legs, his feeble hands caressed the coarse material. Looking back at the destroyed woman writhing in agony, he peered down upon his now blood-stained hands, vision blurred due to the endless tears which stormed down the child’s countenance.
Picking the rock up, there was only one thing he could do with it. One hit. Still alive. Another. And another. Blood splatting upon the rock, her face even more deformed than it once was. Still breathing. Again, and again, and again. Still not dead?
How many times had he struck her? At some point the woman had ceased to exist, her features splayed across the ground. Was it the correct thing to do? Perhaps not. It not, then what should he have done?
How long had it been since he’d stopped her from breathing? A torrent of questions filled his brain, keeping him unaware of the footsteps arriving before him.
A shiny purple pin stuck upon his grey jacket, a cleanly shaved beard decorating his features. He seemed to be a well brought up man, an expressionless expression equipped upon his face.
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“Come with me, young boy.” He stated with a monotone voice. “I’ll show you how terrible this world can be. Perhaps then you can take proper action against them once you understand.”
Lucas looked towards his bloodied hands and then up to the man who looked to be in about his mid-twenties. Who did he have now in his life? He’d made no friends at school, his father had apparently left whilst he was a child, his mother’s parents already deceased.
The young boy took the gloved hand of the mysterious man. He had no other option. Or at least that was what he had believed at the time. Lucas had pondered over how his life may have changed if he never stretched out his hand towards that man. Mostly likely he would have been disposed of. Perhaps he was just trying to justify his choice.
Joining an organised crime ring at the age of seven, Lucas had been trained to be an elite, loyal bodyguard for one of the upper echelons who’d supposedly saved him. He made no friends there, only rivals to beat and eliminate.
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Light shone through a pair of blue blinds; a few birds embroidered upon the material. Lying upon a queen size bed, orange hair cascaded upon the pillows as she laid still upon the bed. A pillow and cover were located upon a sofa a few metres away from the bed, the sound of sizzling being emitted from a large marble kitchen located close to door of the apartment.
There stood Bulldog, his short black hair, styled with presumably a hot hair dryer, came undone drooping over his forehead. Equipped with a plain red T-shirt and some black baggy cargo trousers, a frying pan upon the heated hob as the smell of some eggs and frankfurters escaped from the silver extractor fan.
Chloe groggily sat up upon the bed, feeling slightly uncomfortable in the formal clothes she had been wearing all night. Pushing her fingers through her slightly knotted hair, she winced whilst looking around the clean apartment. Finally, her eyes glossed over to a broad back covered in red.
Noticing the noise, Bulldog looked over to see Chloe’s orbs starring straight at him. Holding contact for a few seconds as he took in her groggy state. Seemingly uninterested about the girl before him, his attention was recaptured back to the frying pan, moving a wooden stick in his hand to ensure that one side of the food wouldn’t get overly cooked or burnt.
Bulldog had thought of the small orange girl as a somewhat quaint comrade. Certainly, anyone who’d been wrapped up in this war was somewhat screwed in the head, but her especially, the cold expression that she usually wore reminding him of his earlier years.
Remembering back to her distraught face that she’d surprisingly shown, he found himself unconsciously comparing it to the stone-cold expression of the girl he’d seen just a few moments ago. Pouring the food onto two identical plates, he grabbed some cutlery and walked over to a cold metal table.
“Foods done, get over here.” He stated, sitting down on one of the chairs whilst observing the small girl trudge over to the table. Lips tightened into a line; Chloe pierced the food with her eyes.
Silence overcame the room as they slowly ate their food, Bulldog glancing to and fro wondering what he should mention to break the ice, cheering someone up wasn’t his forte.
Looking towards Bulldog, Chloe bit her lip before starting to mumble, “I was involved in an accident when I was younger. A drunk driver took my father, my mother never treated me well due to the overwhelming grief she had to deal with. She took it out on me instead.”
“But then I found him. Y/n was my first and only friend. The time I spent with him was the only thing keeping my going. Even though the guilt I felt overcame the joy my interactions with him brought me from time to time, it was all I had. He... was all I had.” Chloe stated, her expression curving into a frown as her eyes glossed over.
“And now he’s gone. Everything is gone. There’s no point anymore.” She solemnly whispered, looking into Bulldog’s bright green eyes.
Bulldog fiddled with his knife for a while, his eyebrows furrowed and orbs sullen, before responding, “If you are wondering why I stopped you, it’s because you reminded me of my Mother. She begged for death after being trapped under rubble. So, I gave it to her. With my own two hands.”
Putting down his cutlery, he peered down at his large, scared hands, tightly forming a pair of fists, then releasing and combed his right hand through his hair to calm himself down.
“Sometimes I wonder If I made the correct choice. Could she have been saved? Perhaps... perhaps she could be alive today, living with me, if I hadn’t taken her life.” Lamented Bulldog, who had put his left hand on his forehead in an attempt to cover his expression.
“If I had let you take your life there, perhaps I’d have another mental burden upon me right now. You say that there is nothing left in your life, but I don’t believe you.” He challenged, no longer covering his countenance, staring into the pair of sunken orbs before him.
“Where is your resolve? What about revenge? You’re going to let the people who’ve destroyed your life get away with it? I live for revenge, to kill that damned Epsilon who killed my mother. There is no damn way in hell that I’ll die before I see him grovelling for forgiveness before me.” Seethed Bulldog, his right hand clenching the knife he’d picked up moments ago.
The small girl thought about it for a short few seconds, a frown appearing upon her face, before responding, “Epsilon will die by my hand, not yours.”
Bulldog peered towards the now spirited girl before him, his eyes now sharply stabbing into Chloe, “Like hell he will.” he frostily replied.
“The boss is planning a large-scale invasion of all the Lion’s hideouts. He’s wants to make sure no one can pick up Epsilon’s reign after we get rid of him. Come with me, we’ll see who get’s to him first. Lucas. That’s the name of the man who’ll kill him.” Lucas exclaimed, his green orbs confidently staring at Chloe.
The orange haired girl spent little to no time thinking about the offer, before she nodded in confirmation.
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Six months. 180 days. 4380 Hours. A thin body laid upon a cold concrete wall. Y/n stared at the metal door in front of him, waiting for his captor to visit him. Every hour in this prison, he’d spent looking over his life, every decision and action. Why was he here?
He’d came to one sole reason as to why he was where he was. Chloe.
If he hadn’t became her friend.
If he had reported her to the police when he first noticed something wrong with the girl after the Derrick incident.
She’d lost her mind after that. Or perhaps, was her mind always broken?
If not for her, he would be living a normal life. If it wasn’t for her. If it wasn’t for her!
‘I wouldn’t have had to do what I’ve done. My hands, these hands would still be CLEAN! It’s not my fault! Of course it isn’t! I’m not that TYPE of person. But... She is... Not me. It’s her fault. So... I just need to get rid of her. Then, and only then, can I reclaim my old life, one where I was destined to succeed!’ he reasoned to himself.
Blaming Chloe was the easiest way for him to cope, no, the only way he could. Being the offspring of a rich family, the world was at his fingertips. He was born for GREATNESS! Therefore, it wasn’t him but her. She had to be in the wrong. It couldn’t have been his fault.
The monumental iron door whaled out as it slowly swung open, Warden finally showing himself before the prisoner.
“How do you wish to proceed?” innocently queried Epsilon, who tightened his red tie.
“I’ll reclaim my old life.” He ardently responded.