Chapter 1
The distant hum of a clusterfuck of raging thoughts is what pulls the unfortunate poison slayer to a painful consciousness. Cobras body aches in places he didn't even think could ache and his head feels like it's been thrown in a blender with thousands of needles, each needle threaded with different thoughts and emotions as they pierce through his skull. He never hated his soul hearing as much as he did at that very moment.
He can't help the groan that slips from his lips as he tries to move, starting a riot in his joints. But despite his muscles screaming in protest he still tries to get up. He needs to leave. Now. He doesn't have a inkling of a clue just where the fuck he is, but he definitely doesn't have to open his eyes to know its the last place he wants to be right now. He can't quiet place his finger on why, but he just knows there's something wrong. He lays lax against the bed as his mind tries to put together just why he's here, but he can't quiet grasp the pieces. He must have been in a fight.. That much is obvious. He can't see himself getting into this much pain without someone to inflict it, but... Everything's a haze. It feels like his memories are taunting him. Dangling from a string, lowered just in his grasp. But every time he reaches for them, a higher being tugs it just out of his reach with a sadistic laugh.
"I take it your awake." The voice makes him flinch, thus only causing more pain. He was really hoping he wouldn't have to deal with people right now.
"It would be best if you didn't try to move." The most unamused elderly voice he's ever heard says. He doesn't recognize it, at least he doesn't think he does. His mind is bathed in a painful fog so think, he doubts he would be able to tell, even if he did happen to know her. He opens his single amethyst eye and is quickly greeted by a harsh light seemingly pointed right into his pupil. He shuts his eye hard. He doesn't have anymore eyes left if he looses this one, and being cooped up in darkness with only thoughts to keep him same doesn't sound too ideal, especially when your brain is threatening to bang it's way out your skull because of those said thoughts.
He tosses to his side, barely managing not to cry out in pain. Instead, he gasps. A much quieter and less pathetic-sounding alternative, but the sudden intake of air leaves his lungs in a 'who can burn the most' contest. He starts to cough, which quickly turns to full-body hacking. His throat burns and his eye waters and the only thing he can do his dig his claws into the bed beneath him. Its about when his stomach starts to spur his lungs on with a cheerleading act does the woman acknowledge his pain.
"Drink this" His eye slowly opens and this time adjusts to the bright light glaring down on him. His vision is blurry, but he can make out the wrinkled hand holding a small glass of purple liquid to his lips. He isn't in any position to, well, do anything at all really, so he's forced to let the woman tip the glass just as he inhales between coughing fits. He isn't sure if it was her intention of not, but he inhales the liquid surprisingly easily. A warmth flares down his throat and up his nasal as the taste of bleach fills his mouth. His coughing quickly slows, the mysterious liquid soothing his lungs and somehow convincing his stomach to calm down. It feels very much like poison washing through his system, but not quite.
"Spit." His eyebrows furrow at the command. Not that he's not all for spitting in the floor of this god forsaken place, he doubts she would want him to.
"Yes, on the floor, child. You've already made a mess of it." He spits the alarming amount of blood out of his mouth and watches it splat to the floor along with the rest that he coughed up a minute ago. He watches the red liquid inch its way into a larger puddle, coating the tiles below and seeping into the cracks. He gasps for breath as his mind races a mile a minute.
Why is he here?
He closes his eye and tries to recall something, anything, but that god damned haze his too think. Not to mention all the voices. How many damned people can be in this place anyway? Speaking of which, where even is this place? He opens his eye again and glances around. He doesn't dare move his body, so he's stuck looking at the white tiles coating the floor and a white and grey striped curtain hanging down beside his bed. From there it doesn't take him long to figure hes in an infirmary. He can smell the various medicines and concoctions and wishes he could drink every one of them. The smell of the chemicals is highly compelling, but that could have everything to do with the fact that most would contain traces of poisonous substances.
"Drink" The one-eyed slayer is all to willing to drink the puke-green liquid, even though it tasted like mustard and coffee swirled together. He counts his breaths as he waits for the effect. By the time he gets to 140 he starts to realize this pain isn't going to go away simply by drinking a liquid. No, of course not. Nothing is that easy for him.
"Drink." Another flask is pressed to Cobras lips. Then another, and another, and another..
Its only when he swallows about the 13th one, with no effect once-so-ever, does he start to refuse.
"Whats your name" The woman doesn't seem at all bothered by his resistance, instead just returns to wherever it is she goes when she leaves his line of sight.
"Cobra." He notices his throat feels a lot better, but he doubts she gave him 13 damned potions just to cure a sore throat.
"Age" His eyes widen as he falters. He quickly scrambles through his mind, trying to find something, anything. A fragment of a memory that would give him an age, even a birth date would be great. But nothing. All he can remember is a handful of stray memories of random events in his past. Not enough to know his exact age, that's for sure. He closes his eyes, sifting through the small snippets he has over and over for what feels like hours. Each and every time he comes out with nothing. Its all just a blur of faces he doesn't recognize and patchy events. Tower of Heaven.. Oracion Seis.. Infinity Clock.. The words seem so familiar yet mean absolutely nothing at the same time. One thing he can tell for sure; he did some shitting things to a lot of innocent people
"Can you tell me the last thing you remember doing?" Her voice pulls him from his thoughts and back to his painful reality. The last think he remembers doing... An all-too-vivid memory of a girl with purple hair pops to the forefront of his mind. The voices and the pain settle on the backburner of his mind as he struggles to put a name to her face. He remembers her cupping his cheek, and he has a strong feeling that she means a lot more than all those other people who flashed by. The fact he can still clearly remember her features perfectly is enough to prove that. But still, he cant quiet place it.. An exaggerated sigh is what breaks his concentration, his mind quicly loosing grip of the memory until the woman blurs into nothingness. His hand reaches out, as if he can physically grasp it. However, all he gets is pain. The truth crashes down upon him and he struggles not to show any emotion as he realize just what happened.
Some fucker hit him in the head a little too hard and now he cant remember shit. Hes torn between anger and sadness but, since sadness seems way more pathetic to have to, he lets the anger have center ring.
"Can you recite the alphabet?" She asks from somewhere out of his view.
"I know my fucking abc's" He mutters, but mentally recites them to make sure. He finds he does indeed know his alphabet, along with a fuckton of other useless information that he cant even remember acquiring. Well isn't that just fucking fantastic. He doesn't remember just what the hell landed him in an infirmary with a broken body, but he knows the behavioral patterns of god damned snakes.
"Hm.. I assumed as much" The woman crosses his vision and fades from it just as quickly in her crossing to the other side of the room. "If that's the case, theres not much more I can do for you, child. To my knowledge, you were a criminal with no close friends or any family. I was informed you didn't have any deep ties with anyone, and generally its those ties that trigger memories." He can hear her footsteps as she paces the tile floor. He groans and lets his arm fall lax and hang off the side of the bed. So, apparently, he was a asshole AND a loner. Great.
"Can you just give me some shitty potion to heal me already?" He mutters and glares off at the curtain like it was their stripes that took his memories.
"Youll be better once you get some rest." Rest, ha, funny one. You try resting when you body feels like its just been used as a base ball and you've just been told you've got no memories with no guarantee to get them back. He would assume she's kidding, but she doesn't seem like the type to kid.
"I could give you a sedative." She offers with a sigh, probably coming to the realization that there's not an ice cube's chance in hell that hes getting sleep.
"A sedative would be great"
A/N: I know, I know. This was a really short chapter, but I just thought id do and introduction of sorts. I swear ill try my best to make them longer once I get into the actual plot stuff. I'm not the best with beginnings. Also! I apologize if some characters go ooc, especially cobra. Well, I can blame his ooc-ness on the amnesia.. but that doesn't mean I'm not still trying to stay true to his character, its just its a little difficult since there isn't a whole lot oof his character to mention I'm not too experienced with fanfiction (or really writing in general) but I read a lot of it myself and I wanted to take a crack at it. I hope it wasn't too terrible ^^'