This story tells the tale of young Jack Sparrow and how he became the man he was in the movies. Enjoy!

Chapter One – A Map For A Hat

The ocean at night was always something remarkable to witness: the way it seemed to go on forever beyond the horizon, as if you could sail off the edge of it and never return but, rather, be presented with a world born anew from your very own imagination. Total freedom. Complete and total freedom. That's what the ocean offered, yet only with a ship as a man's vessel could he achieve that open feeling, the salt air in his mouth feeding his hunger, and the cold splashes of water when it hit upon deck. For twenty-six year old Jack Sparrow, it was all he dreamed about.

Sparrow grabbed the small, black hipflask of his and drowned the last bit of water he had. He hated water: It was refreshing at times but often for him, retained too mundane of a taste. He longed for something stronger. And while tea was somewhat stronger, it lacked a feeling to it. He longed for a drink that took on a life of its own and gave him a new one. He had yet to find it.

Throwing the hipflask aside, he returned to the task at hand: mapmaking. He was working on a particularly fine map, expertly being made for years by him – it was his most prized possession. It was made entirely of cloth, had a bright red backing, and the entire Caribbean carefully plotted out. He had been working on it for nearly four years' time and kept it tucked safely away underneath one of his top drawers, so that his boss, Julio Denver, wouldn't see it and put it up for sale.

It was late at night and Jack could hear the waves crashing particularly hard against the port where he worked.

Jack was working on his map again, coinciding its locations with that of a very old and battered map he had been given by Denver's elder brother, Alex, who had said it to be worth a great amount and that one day he would return for it. Jack had thought Alex to be mad as had been said many a times by Julio, but Jack had taken a liking for the map and decided to mimic its looks. The map itself was framed in a large glasscase and Julio had made it clear it was not for selling. As Jack cross-referenced the islands – all of which he had known from memory of drawing them hundreds of times – he noticed something in his calculations: on Alex's map there was an extra island.

"That can't be right," he said, looking it over very carefully with his fingers, shaking his head. Deciding to check it up, he grabbed a nearby map from the shelves and cross-referenced. He was right, Alex's map was wrong. Or was it? He squinted closely at the map, something he was told never to do by Julio. Such things were said to make a man behave strangely, but Jack knew such to be foolish superstition. "Isle de Muerta," he mumbled to himself. That was what the island had been called. He checked again on the other map and could swear he saw the outline of an island erased. "That's very interesting," he said.

Suddenly he heard a crash from the backroom of the store. "Jack! Jack! Run for it! Take the map with you!" It was Julio's voice. Jack grabbed both his map and the old one, and dived under a dusty old desk in the corner.

"What's this, eh?" came a gritty old voice from above. "A store? Look, Ern, a store of nuttin' but maps! What're da chances. Eh?"

"Shut up, Lou, you old fool!" hissed another voice, which Jack guessed to be Ern's.

"The both of ye shut up!" came a very deep voice. Jack knew this one. It was the voice of the man that had accompanied Alex to their shop: a man by the name of Viktor Gorell. He was tall, broad-shouldered, bald, and looked like he could tear any other man to shreds. "Wha's de boy's name?"

"Jack Sparrow," said Lou, with a glee.

Jack gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes in annoyment. "Cartographer. Cartographer Jack Sparrow," he whispered to himself.

Another group of footsteps came into the room. "Did ye find it?" came Alex's voice. They all mumbled their 'no's. "Then he's left already, c'mon, the cap's waitin'."

"But we haven' found a map yet," Ern argued.

"I said c'mon or I'll put ye in the floor and then toss ye out to Davy Jones's locker, where you can spend nigh an eternity serving the damn sea devil."

"I don' wan' dat," said Ern, striding to the door and leaving the room, rambling on in fear of Davy Jones. The rest followed and when Jack was sure they had gone, he got up.

Looking around, he checked for sight of anyone, though not a soul remained. "Julio?" Jack called. He went into the back room and set his eyes upon a dying Julio, shot in the chest. "Julio! Don't worry, I'll help you!"

He ran to the nearby table and grabbed a sword and a dagger. He bent down and moved to cut the bullet out, but Julio stopped him. "Jack," he croaked. "Jack, listen to me. They're after the map. It leads to… to, never mind what it leads to. Jack, Jack, take my boat and get yourself as far away from here as you can. They'll be comin' after ye, Jack. Keep a low profile. Serve on any ship you can find and make a livin'. Remember what I taughtcha, Jack, the best way to keep your enemies offguard is to make them think your not as smart as ye are. Always remember that, Jack."

And with that, Julio Denver died, most likely killed by his own brother. Jack sobbed great tears for several minutes, but a loud roar of thunder brought him back to reality. The only father figure he had ever known was dead. The only person he had ever cared about was dead, and the only person he would ever care about was dead. Never, he swore to himself, would he let himself become attached to another so strongly.

And he would take on a different persona. One of strange behaviors and characteristics. As he got up, he spotted a leather tricorne laying on the floor. It had been Julio's. He grabbed his map and tied it around his long, flowing hair, and put the tricorne atop it. Something was missing. He needed to pass for a pirate. Ah! He took small beads and braided his hair, beard as well. It took him what felt like many hours to do such extensive change. When he was done, he fairly enjoyed the way he looked. It was indescribably different than his former appearance. Barely recognizable.

He stepped out into the cold and the rain, leather hat on his head, sword at his side, he walked over to Julio's boat. Striding into it, he glanced at the old map in its case. Releasing the boat from the dock, he began to sail towards the most infamous pirate port, where he hoped to find a ragtag group of men to join: Tortuga.