Stolen Identity

This story was written for a friend privately, never had any intentions of publishing it, but I finished it and here we are. I apologize in advance if it's a bit difficult to follow at times; there is a specific reason for the ambiguity of the phrasing. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.

Ps. I also apologize for the lack of updates with all my other stories. I find very little time for quiet moments to write consistently. This story took over a year to puzzle together on its own.

Namco owns Tales of Symphonia.

Chapter 1:

His reflection was wrong.

He blinked slowly, his mind struggling against the thick fog that seemed to envelope his thoughts as he stared at the foreign face above him. A monotonous hum seemed to vibrate around him, the occasional sound of air rushing out of a machine breaking through.

He blinked slowly, staring at the face. He wanted to sleep, the heavy feeling threatening to bring him back down into the empty slumber he had awoken from. But something was wrong and it prevented him from drifting off.

He shifted his gaze from the face and through the glass that surrounded him. Figures, distorted by the glass, were gliding silently around the room a short distance away. They were dressed in white. Doctors, perhaps? But they seemed different. Something was off…something wasn't right…

His hand twitched, fingers curling slowly. He felt heavy, his body refusing to respond to his mind as he struggled to lift his hand. He felt the gentle tug of tubes on his arm as his hand lifted, touching the side of the glass. It felt cold against his fingers tips and he felt a shiver course through his entire body. His eyes shut for a moment, the hum of the machines droning on as he breathed slowly.

The sudden chill of the cold glass seemed to have stirred his lethargic muscles and he placed his palm fully against the glass, pushing weakly, his arm shaking from the effort. Above him the strange face twisted slightly from the strain. His hand slipped, and his arm flopped limply against the bed. His eyes roamed once more around the room.

The fog in his mind was beginning to clear, his thoughts tumbling over one another. Where was he exactly? What had happened? Where were the others?

His arm once more lifted, hand pressed against the glass firmly.

"H-Hey…" His voice sounded foreign to his ears as it rasped from his mouth. It was then he noticed the plastic that surrounded his mouth, cup-shaped, muffling his voice even more.

"Well…it seems he's awoken."

A face suddenly loomed over the glass, distorted slightly. But he knew that face…

"Don't push yourself, my old friend." The smooth voice seemed to echo in the chamber he laid in, the figure tilting its head as if getting a better of view of him. "You were injured; rest, and we'll discuss things when you have recovered, Kratos."

He frowned as a loud hissing noise from above his head filled the chamber. The face vanished from view and he felt an overwhelming pressure building in his mind. The fog was rushing back, his eyes growing heavier. His arm dropped heavily back to the bed and darkness seeped across his vision.


None of this was right.

He shut his eyes tightly against the distorted reality around him. The room he was in, the clothes that he wore, the face that—

He breathed in deeply, struggling to calm the panic that was once again rising up in his chest.

Let me out!

Just breathe….remember to breathe…

What the hell did you do to me?!

Think about something else…anything else…

Don't call me that. That's not who I am. Stop it!

He opened his eyes slowly, staring at the strange hands resting in his lap. None of this was right. None of it made sense. He knew who he was…right? This was…this wasn't real. It had to be an illusion, a trick.

His breath was shaky as he inhaled deeply again. He reached up, rubbing his face and then immediately flinched, withdrawing his hand as if he had been burnt.

It wasn't right. It didn't feel right.

He scanned the room, nothing of interest really showing itself. There wasn't even a mirror. Not that he would have looked anyway. He didn't dare. He didn't need to. He didn't want to…

Kratos.

He shuddered at the memory of the name being spoken to him, the familiar tone used. The story about how he lost his memory.

It was all a lie. That's not who he was.

He gripped his head, his fingers sinking into the lengthened strands. Different. It was all so different.

He couldn't find anything sharp enough to cut the strands. How long does it take for hair to grow so long? How long had he been asleep?

Even as he searched his brain for the memories of what happened that day. He remembered the tower, he remembered angels…seeing the coffins floating around…Colette….the chosen… hovering dead eyed… blinding light and then pain…

He grimaced in frustration as he struggled to piece together the broken fragments. It was all a lie. It had to be. He knew who he was…he knew his own name, he had the memories right?

He lowered his hands once more to his lap, staring at the strangeness of his own body. It was like he was dreaming and unable to wake up- No in a nightmare. Why did it have to be him? Why him? Why this body…

He sat up straight suddenly, his hair sweeping down across his vision as he stared blankly ahead.

Was that it? Was he trapped in his dream? A coma? Was his brain struggling to piece together a world around him to make sense of his own reality? That had to be it right? His brain was simply confused.

That's the only explanation.


"Why did you do this?"

"Do what, Kratos?"

"You know what! And stop calling me that-"

"Calm yourself, teacher. We don't you to relapse again."

He clenched his hands tightly, eyes shut tight, breathing deeply. It was increasingly frustrating, but he tried to steady his tone. He hated the sound of the voice coming from his mouth. It wasn't his own…

"Why are you doing this? Why are you playing this game? We both know I'm not Kratos."

"Then who are you?"

"Lloyd. Lloyd Irving!"

"Oh really? How interesting…I suppose you became quite attached to the boy according to the reports from the Desians."

"Stop talking as if I'm not him-"

"You're not."

The tone had shifted from reassuring and sympathetic, to slightly more harsh. He clenched his fists once more, struggling to maintain the eye contact he had with other man. But almost as quickly as the anger had come, the green eyes had softened and a soft sigh escaped the man.

"Kratos…I'm sorry. It's my fault you were injured. I didn't expect you to move in to protect the boy from the attack." He paused. "I suppose you don't recall why you did it?"

Breathe

"I didn't do anything."

"Give it time. Hopefully your memories will return." The angel's pale hand reached over and gripped his shoulder firmly. He immediately pulled away, glaring coldly at the man.

"I know who I am!"

He hated the way the man smiled, tilting his head to the side.

"Let me guess. You're a seventeen year old boy, raised by a dwarf, friends with the chosen, raised in Iselia and your mother was killed by desians?"

"S-Shut up-"

"You also caused a bit of trouble in the town, breaking the treaty, killed one of the prisoners as punishment and then were exiled." He sighed shaking his head. "Does it sound familiar, Kratos?"

"Enough!"

His voice was sharp and hard and he flinched from the echo it caused in the room. He turned away, his body shaking as he struggled to maintain a sense of control. He didn't want to 'relapse' again.

"I think you need more time to think it over, Kratos. I don't want you to stress out. I need you to recover."

"I'm not crazy. I don't care what you do to me or say…I'm not Kratos…"

The man sighed again, shaking his head and turning, moving to the door. "Try to focus and think clearly. The truth will make itself known, Kratos. Give it time. More importantly, look at yourself…how could you be Lloyd? He's a child."

He didn't respond and after a moment he heard the door open and shut. He shuddered violently, running his hand over his face, feeling the scratch of hair against his hand.

He didn't need a mirror to tell him that he looked different. He didn't want to see it. He could feel the way his nose was too large, he knew his hair was too long and hung over his face and down his neck. He knew that his shoulders and body were too large. There was a reason, there had to be…

Thank you, Freakyanimegal for always requesting more and more of this story over the year. It's the reason it was written.

Cheers!