Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my second ever story. This one is about my character from shadowknight1121's story "The Shadow Warriors" Red Crosshair. I know that somewhere along the line he is going to explain all of the characters and their past, but I wanted to get out Red's past from my perspective. So here it is, the story of my character, Red Crosshair.

Chapter 1: Past

Red Speaking:

My name is Marcas Valitov, and I am Different. Different as in I don't belong here amongst the calm collective of society, but instead in the battlefields where my capabilities would truly be of good use. What powers do you ask? Let me tell how I got them first, then I will tell what they are.

Date of birth: April 1, 1985

Country: Soviet Union(Russia)

I was born into a military family. My father, Anton Valitov, was four star general in the army and was a well respected individual. My mother, Karina Valitov, was a former KGB agent that retired after fifteen years in service. Even with their occupations they could still show compassion, compassion they showed to me when I was born. I looked at every one of my parents pictures before my birth, and saw the emptiness on their faces. Come to find out they tried for five years to have a child with no success, and then I came along, I gave them a reason to smile.

The next four years I grew up in a prosperous household where we were treated like Americans, like kings. We had servants that served us at our every beck and call, and life couldn't get any better, until that fateful day. My mother had gone out to get food instead of letting one of our servants get some for us out in the markets. She didn't want them to go because she knew that they wouldn't give any food to those that were begging out in the streets. My mother knew it more than anyone else that people were starving. She went out there to help pay for others meals, those others that almost had to steal their food and risk arrest. She drove her state issued vehicle to the market place and was coming back, when a stray vehicle rammed into her side of the car. I can barely remember the look on my father's face when he learned about the accident, but what I do remember is him saying, "It's going to be okay Marcas, mommy is ok." His assuring statements had no resonance with the ever open ears of fate. My mother died on the table from suffocation. When the stray car hit my mother's door, it bent inwards making a fist-like shape. It hit her ribcage like a boxer would in a boxing match except ten times worse. One of her ribs broke and twisted in towards her lungs, and pierced one. I do not know why those that were in the medical transport with her didn't do anything, but they should have been arrested. Eventually they were, and were forced to go my mother's funeral just to see how many people they had caused to suffer, including my father.

Eye Color: Brown

After my mother's death my father changed. November 10, 1989, my father's faith in his country fell with the Berlin Wall. At the age of six, he showed me how to fire his service pistol, and where to find it in case of an emergency. When I turned seven, he started calling the maids upstairs into his room for the night. I thought that he was just asking them to fix or move something by the sounds that came from there every night, but I was wrong. My father was drowning himself in worldly things in order to replace my mother, but he couldn't. One day my father kicked out a maid because she had refused to go to his room, the next day he hired another and brought her to his room to continue the debauchery. He continued this trend until 1992, when it was official that communism in Russia was no more. I was eight years old then, playing with a toy car that was shipped from America. It had a red paint job with white racing stripes, and I couldn't put the thing down. Some of the manservants and maids watched me as I zipped around the room making racecar noises as I went from room to room. I was having fun when all of a sudden the front door slammed open, and there stood my father with a look of pure horror on his face. He scrambled to the top floor of our house and brought down some of his hunting rifles. I didn't understand why, but he started arming those around him, which frightened me. My father at that moment saw me and kneeled so we were face to face. "Son…" he said, "Your father has made a terrible mistake and some bad people are heading this way." He pointed to the stairwell, "Go upstairs and hide in the safe room. Do not make a sound and do not leave until it is completely silent, ok?" I couldn't understand what my father had done, but I nodded and ran upstairs.

Not even five seconds after closing the door behind me gunfire erupted throughout the house. I could hear the screams of the servants as they were mowed down, and my father shouting orders. He still stuck to his instincts even at his age, he would fight for me til the end. He would fight for what was left of his past life with a happy family and never back down. I put my ear on the door and heard a pair of feet scrambling up the stairs, down the hall, and then back into the fray. It had to have been my father, because seconds later he shouted like never before and opened fire with the Kalashnikov that he had in his bedroom. I remember sitting there in the safe room, with a feeling of total defeat. I could help my father, but I would have to disobey his orders.

Hair color: Blond

The gunfire died down, and I thought that it was safe, so cracked open the door and peeked out. I opened the door to the room and saw one of the servants on the floor. His blood covered most of the floor around him, as well as the walls. In his hands were magazines, I guess for my father's weapon, but I didn't know for sure. I couldn't believe that I was handling the man's death so easily. My father told me all about his time in Afghanistan. All about the death, the laughter, and the foolishness of our men in uniform there. They pissed on the bodies of those defeated, and even strung them up for photo opportunities, which sickened my father. I was always taught to expect death after my death, but I didn't know that it would be coming so quickly. I remember walking down the stairs into the foyer and seeing the battlefield that was the front entrance of our home. Servants dressed in formal attire, attire which was covered in blood. I knew all of them by name, and had played with them one time or another. Now they all lie dead because of something my father had done? That is when it hit me, is my father alive? I looked through the main hallway under the staircase and saw the bodies lined up along the walls. All of them were men in body armor and masks. But, my father was nowhere to be seen. I scrambled down the hallway yelling, "PAPA, PAPA, PAPA!"

Height: 5'9

I looked into every room down the hall, only to see shell casings and more dead bodies. I started to think that during the firefight my father abandoned me in an attempt to draw them away, but I was sadly mistaken. When I reached the end of the hall there he was, my father. I ran over to him and hugged his neck expecting him to say that it is over, that we are safe, instead he pushed me away and pointed at me. "What the hell are you doing down here!" he yelled. "I-I-I-It is quiet papa, you told me to come out when it was quiet." Anton leaned his head back against the wall and cursed about childish ignorance. Then he looked back at me and said, "How did you get down here?" I looked at him and pointed down the hall, " I took the stairs papa. Everybody is gone." He stared at me for a moment then looked at his gun. He motioned me to come over and help him up, which wasn't an easy task for an eight year old. "Son, do you remember where the car keys are?" I nodded and I proceeded to drag him down the hallway. " Marcus, I am sorry that…" My father stopped for a moment, as if he had been caught. I looked up at him and asked, "What's wrong papa?" I waited for a moment and then looked forward, there standing before us were five men wearing the same uniforms as the ones in the hallway. My father shoved me away and yelled, "Go son, get out of here!" I turned as fast as I could as gunfire erupted all around me. There were tears streaming down my face, because I knew that something had happened to my father. I couldn't stop and turn around though because I heard footsteps not too far behind, and I didn't want to get caught.

Weight: 206 Ibs

I made it to the garage where my father's state issued vehicle was and pulled out the keys. I scrambled to get them out looking through the hundreds of keys, but it was useless. I dropped the keys on the floor because I felt something on the back of my head and come to find out it was a gun. "Put your hands behind your head, now!" I was scared beyond belief, and couldn't move a muscle, but the stranger moved for me. The other one with him pulled out a rope and tied my hands while another one put a weird smelling piece of cloth over my face. I passed out not knowing where I would go, or what kind of place these men would take me.

TO BE CONTIUED!

Well I hope that the opener was good, because I have been editing and re-editing Red's past in order to make it fit his future. I also hope that I didn't confuse anybody anywhere in this chapter. If you have questions you can Private Message me, or you can submit a review. Until next time!