[font=Century Gothic]The faint light on the white ceiling flickered, accompanied by a buzzing sound of the faulty circuits..
The slow, but steady sound of the heart monitor was beeping away into eternity, and if you listened hard, you could even hear the tiny drops in the infusion fall.
A very sharp pain seared through his head.. he could not see quite clearly, but could only spot faint figures in the room..
It all started to spin.. he lost consciousness.
Two old men were standing by his bedside.. one was dressed into what apparently should be a white lab coat, but was actually some kind of combination of a pile of mold and half-moth-eaten white fabric. He was a doctor.. well as close as average medical facilities were in the remote areas of Corsair territories.
The other one was Alfredo Navaro, the man that stood up for the little boy's right to live.
They were speaking in hushed tones:
[color=#FFFFFF]" I just don't understand what you want to do with this bastard, Alfredo. Look at him, filthy child of an Outcast!" -he hissed." He deserves to live no more than that wretch that used to be his father."
" I told you what I want done, and by god, it shall be done that way. Don't defy me, slumdog. That boy is under my protection.. I .. I see something in him. "
" Don't tell me he looks like your son.. Here we go again with this.. He's dead, dead. It's over, nothing can bring him back! "
" Don't presume to know anything about that, and besides.. this is something different. I see potential in the boy, who knows, he might grow up to serve our cause well. "
" Fine, fine, whatever you say. But don't come moanin' to me once this kicks you in yer arse! Anyways.. The boy has good chances to survive.. but the cardamine substance in him, although he didn't take it at this young age.. it's still in his blood, cause of that wretched air on Malta. I don't know what we'll do... but he can't survive without steady doses of cardamine in him.. And I don't see how anyone will oversee you getting that blasted drug!"
" Don't you worry about that, I can handle my business. You just keep to what you know, doc. Don't mind me. I am just worried about his psychological condition.. who knows what that lunatic Juan put him through.. you know what kind of a sadist that crazy one is. Anyways.. you know what to do.. just call me if he wakes up again. "
<span style="font-familyalatino Linotype">
<span style="color:#000000">All morons hate it when you call them a moron.
[font=Century Gothic]His eyes slowly opened, and because they'd not seen anything for a week, a light pain seared through his head, because they could not immediately adjust to the brightness.
He got in a sitting position on his bed, and looked around. It was all so unfamiliar, he had no idea where he was, who he was, why he was here.
He got scared, panicked a bit, got out of his bed, and immediately fell on the floor because his muscles were not still awake.
He got up, tried to leave the room, when a figure in a dirty ratty old lab coat stopped him. He screamed, thought he would hurt him, and started punching him as hard as he could. Which was not very hard.
"Take it easy.. just sit back down, you'll hurt yourself."
"Where am I, what is this? WHO am I?"- asked the boy in panic and fear.
[color=#FFFFFF]
"You're safe, you're in one of our hospitals. Don't worry, your erm... father.. will be coming soon. He'll explain everything to you."- answered the 'doctor', flinching a bit when he said father, silently angry at how anyone could consider themselves the father of this trash, this spawn of a dirty Outcast.
The boy lied back on the bed, his mind racing, trying to figure anything out, trying to connect the missing threads. Alas, his mind was blank.
An hour after, Navaro entered the room, looking worried, yet happy.
"Hello there. Are you all right? I know this all must be very confusing.. "
"Who are you? Who am I?"- interrupted him the boy.
"I am your father, you are Ignacio Navaro, a Corsair, soon to become a true one in any case."
It seemed to the boy as if he should feel something about all this.. But he felt nothing. His mind was a blank, at least when it came to emotions.
He didn't know what to think of all this, even whether if it was all true or not.. But he believed it.
Despite that.. something deep inside of him, in his subconscious, tried to scream to warn him, but his conscious mind did not hear it.
"What's a Corsair?"
"My.. you seem to not recall anything.. you'll find it all out very soon. Now, stay here while I talk to the doctor, and then we'll go home."
He turned to the doctor, and they went outside of the room to talk. "So is everything all right with him?"
"Physically all is quite fine it seems, we'll need to see how his state of mind will be though. I suggest you don't rush anything, take your time for the new memories to imprint on his mind, we need him to believe fully in this new identity of his, for both your and his good."
"Okay then.. I'm gonna take him home now, introduce him to his new world."
"You do that.. I don't believe that little scum is worth the effort.. but yes.. yes.. I know.. It's yoooouuur choice"- he said in a mocking voice.
Navaro went back into the room, and took his new son by the hand, and lead him to the docking bay on the transport to Crete.
<span style="font-familyalatino Linotype">
<span style="color:#000000">All morons hate it when you call them a moron.
[font=Century Gothic]The rusty transport descended down the lower atmosphere, it's hull squeaking and shaking under the extreme pressure, and on the inside you could hear the rattle and the sound of the bulkheads buckling. But that's what all ships are built strong for, so it withstood it with little whinging.
As it landed on the docking pad, a metallic thump was heard, and the roaring engines slowly turned off.
Ignacio and his father, walking beside each other, exited the ship through the entrance ramp, and the boy gazed in wonder at the giant city on the planet of Crete. Houses, various strange buildings, stretching over a vast barren area, the ground looking somewhat bleak.
It all looked very majestic from the distant high position, and he immediately felt a curiosity to get to know it all.
It'd do as a home, for now.
[color=#FFFFFF]"Come, we got a little trip to our mansion ahead of us."
Alfredo found the land vehicle and got his son inside on the back seat, and they headed through the city towards their home.
The boy watched lazily as they passed many parts of the city, some incredibly luxurious, with multiple story mansions, great big courtyards, and some slums which looked as if animals were living in them, with dirt and trash covering the streets.
After an hour long trip, they arrived in one of the better looking parts of the city, passing several great mansions, made of white stone, all magnificent pieces of architecture, all looking as if royalty lived in them, they were all headquarters of various esteemed Corsair families. The boy looked at each one, wondering which one was theirs.
They got to the near end of the large street, in front of a big, rustic and not very well looked after mansion. It was obvious that it had been something glorious once before, but was not very well looked after lately. Nevertheless, it was something most would only dream of having.
They stepped out of the vehicle, and headed for the entrance. They passed a roomy courtyard, with semi-looked after green surfaces, and some strange looking sculptures along the wavy path, some of them various men, presumably the ancestors of the familia, and some he did not understand at all.
They walked in through the big wooden double door into the mansion, with a servant greeting them inside, an old man in some kind of suit, not really the most esteemed of servants, but he had a look about him, the boy could not place what exactly it was.
The boy thought that it should feel like home, that it should all be familiar, but he did not have any feelings for it, not in the slightest. But he just wrote it off as a consequence of his amnesia.
He had not lived that long anyways, so it was not as if he had much to remember in the first place.
They entered, a strange scent present inside, the boy could not quite determine what it was. It felt.. felt strange. Felt old, ancient even, and somehow.. powerful. He shrugged it off, and continued on his way.
Alfredo lead him up the stairs, to his room.
The boy stood on the treshold, looking into the large room, inhaling, taking it all in, and stepped in.
It looked strange, somehow did not feel like his own, didn't have the feel of his taste in it.
The walls were decorated with images of Crete, and several plastic models of Titans grazed the wall.
It wasn't so bad, at least it was home.
It was obviously Alfredo's dead son's room, though of course the boy figured it for his own.
The old man, it seems, kept it untouched ever since his son died, and he did not let anyone go in, not even to do some cleaning, wanting to preserve it just the way it was.
Alfredo got out of the room, leaving the boy in order for him to have some time to let it all sink in.
<span style="font-familyalatino Linotype">
<span style="color:#000000">All morons hate it when you call them a moron.
[font=Century Gothic]The boy looked around, letting it all sink in. But it didn't really feel like his, not really him. Something woke up inside him, his calmness evaporated, and he got angry at the inanimate objects, angry that they didn't deliver on the promise to remind him of his life so far.
He felt frustrated, helpless, powerless. He did not like that feeling. It was one of his worst fears, he knew that by instinct, being powerless, he liked to have things under control, every little thing here and there.
He tore down the posters, threw them all into the trash, took down the various ship models, all into the trash.
He rummaged through the room at the same time, trying to find something that could remind him of something, anything.
He kept throwing things away, more after more, until the room looked very empty.
In the bottom of a drawer, he found something though. He did not know what it was exactly. It was purple, with a solid metalish tan bottom. He looked at it from afar, wondering what it was, what it did, what purpose it had, if it held something of mystery within itself. He slowly reached for it, in expectance of something grand.
It felt strange in his hand. It felt.. almost as if alive. He could feel something coursing through his arm while he held it in his hand, he did not know what it was, but knew instinctively that it was something of value. It felt as if it was charging up, his hand shook a bit, and then there was a sudden surge of .. something.. from it. His hand trembled, and he instinctively tried to throw it away, but he couldn't shake it loose. What the hell was happening?!
It suddenly stopped, and he dropped it on the floor. He looked at it again, lying there. He sat on his bed, watching it, as if expecting it'd suddenly do something miraculous. Yet nothing happened. He looked at his hand, and noticed a small symbol on it, like a burn mark, and it looked familiar somehow, had something about it, the
way the curves were put together. The way it all fit into one perfectly.
That feeling. It was.. pure power. He never experienced it before, but now, now he felt raw might course through his veins. It was an addictive feeling indeed.
But he did not know what to think of it yet, exactly.
He slowly reached for it again, and took it into his arm, but this time it didn't feel like anything, it was just inanimate. It felt.. depleted.
He wanted to find out what it was very bad, and he decided he'd definitely ask his father about it.
<span style="font-familyalatino Linotype">
<span style="color:#000000">All morons hate it when you call them a moron.
[font=Century Gothic]
Days passed without any events of larger significance. The boy was getting to know his life, and enjoyed exploring the vast rooms and corridors of their home.
He was slowly getting adjusted to it all, though it didn't truly feel like home. No place did, actually.
One day he got the resolve to go and ask his father about the object he found in his room.
He brought it to the living room, his father sitting in front of the fireplace, the fire in the otherwise dark room lighting the surroundings.
"Father, I have something to ask you. I found something in my room, and I want to know what it is. What does it do? What is it?"
The boy took the object out, the fire lighting it, and it glistening from the energy and warmth, he showed it to his father.
[color=#FFFFFF]"That? Now, how did that get in there?"The man looked at it, holding it in his hand, the boy expecting his father to feel that same energy, that same power he felt when he took it into his hand for the first time.
A very long second was passing for the boy. He could feel a tension rising, he expected something to happen, but after that second, nothing did.
His father shrugged and put it on the table.
"That? That's just an artifact, nothing special. A trinket, left by a long lost civilization. We just sell them to those various gullible scientists, they don't do anything actually, the just sit there and look pretty. It's jewelry, nothing more."
But the boy knew that it was not so. There was something different about it, something.. special.
The boy always watched it daily, waiting, expecting something to happen. But after that first time he held it in his hand, it felt ordinary, it felt dead again.
But he never did forget what had happened in his room that day, the surge of power coursing through his body, it was an amazing feeling, raising tingles throughout his skin, made him feel powerful, special, different. That's what he sought, anyways.
<span style="font-familyalatino Linotype">
<span style="color:#000000">All morons hate it when you call them a moron.
[font=Century Gothic]
Years passed. He was still but a child of twelve years, but advanced for his age. Everyone saw something in him, a potential, now if it was for good or evil, noone knew. And he always did feel very different from others. The same things did not interest him.
He cared little for senseless fun, the waste of time. Even from his youth he knew what he sought.
Throughout his further life, he never did stand the sight of other people too much.
He did appear very social, having a lot of friends, a lot of acquaintances. He was indeed very charming, he could make anyone feel the way he wanted them to feel. But they meant little to him. He felt no loyalty, other than the one he felt for himself. He did not know love, other than the desire for power.
Most of it all was fake. All manipulation. All for making himself fit in more, to avoid mutterings, gossip. Although he always sought recognition, awe, admiration, he never let it be seen.
Those other people meant nothing to him, however, they were just instruments for a further goal.
They were weak, worthless, lacking in challenge.
Little worms squirming through the earth, trying to find a way, but not seeing the big picture. He did not see it yet, but he at least knew there was one. He knew that things are never the way they appear. Everything had a hidden significance, a history, a power lying within.
Even people.
But it all needed to get discovered, all needed to be developed, improved, studied.
Knowledge. That was true power. Knowing the nature of things, their very essence, what makes them tick, how they work, all that lies hidden within. He knew that in instinct somehow, as if something was speaking to him about it, and he knew that, if you gain that sort of knowledge, it would allow you to manipulate things the way you wanted to.
But he still felt aimless, he did not know how to achieve the things he wanted to achieve. He wanted to make himself famous, revered, feared, great.
He could not stand the grime of an ordinary life, the pointlessness of it all.
He needed something to direct him. He was always on the lookout for a new experience, a challenge, something, anything, to give himself purpose.
That little artifact. Now that felt like power, that felt like it could give him the answers. But it was silent, in wait, who knows. He needed to make it speak to him somehow, but it always stubbornly refused.
He'd make it speak. One day, someday. But for now, he decided to wade through life and see what comes along the way.
<span style="font-familyalatino Linotype">
<span style="color:#000000">All morons hate it when you call them a moron.
alatino Linotype">