Summary: This is the story of each of Francis's relationships since the big bang, and how he slowly falls apart, looking for the one he most desperately needs. Which is really hard to do when you have no clue on who or what it is you're looking for. Basically-HotStreak and anyone I say

Psycho Chan's Note: This is a little depressing…I thought of this earlier today while watching Static Shock, 'Wet and Wild' and thought about how terrible HotStreak must feel. Then I pondered other relationships and this is how it grew. And with me loving drama, abuse and the finding of love after a hard time…I'm just losing points here. I apologize for all the stuff I put HotStreak through. Do not question me, I love Francis. He is my favorite of my favorites. But one thing everyone around me realizes eventually it's that I tend to torture the things I love. Really…I do.

Disclaimer: Alas…I do not own Static Shock…it's still depressing……

…damn…

Warnings: I figure I should probably tell you the things that will appear in here. So…yeah. First, there will be yaoi. That's a given. There will also be course language, self mutilation, rape, and incest. If there are any others I'll add them as I go.

Also, this story will have an awkward flow. Meaning that it is pretty much flashbacks that HotStreak has, so most of the chapters will be sex followed by the break up.

Ten Cuts to the Soul

Final Cuts: Part One

It's late, the sun having long past set with the moon shining dully. The park of Dakota Fields is empty, the only sound is the occasional rustle of leaves from the trees being shook from the wind. It's about two thirty, and the whole city was pretty much asleep. Except a fiery bang baby, who lays on an wooden park bench, shivering from his prison. He was just beaten and raped, and no one in the world gives a damn. Not even himself. In his mind, why the hell should he?

The bruised man lays on his back, his legs hanging lazily over the end of the bench, thinking. He is alone tonight, and he hates it. He'd rather be in jail, listening to the other inmates argue and bitch at one another. Tonight was going to be a long night. HotStreak was confused. He didn't understand why everyone he knows leaves him. He tries so hard to make things work, and even if they don't, he ignores it, hoping things will turn out. They never do.

Digging into his cargo jeans, Francis continues his dangerous ritual he had somehow started over the course of the past four years. When he was sixteen, he was caught in the big bang. Then, his troubles weren't so bad. He lived with his mother and his father, and caused trouble here and there for street cred. Then he gained his powers, causing his mother to abandon her family and his father to be destructive and out of control. Now he was twenty, still homeless, still wanted, and still desperate for someone to help him.

At the moment, HotStreak stares into the sharp blade of his pocket knife. It never really mattered to him how big it was, just how sharp it was. This blade wasn't ever used on anybody else. He looks into his lifeless eyes, having lost their green glow long ago. He toys with the shine of the stained silver as it sways from sheath to tip. Time passes, a good fifteen minutes before he sighs lowly. Today, he was used by two different people.

Lifting his left hand up, Francis places his hand palm up in the air, glancing at the scars on his wrist. One for every failed relationship he's had since his powers were suppose to have changed his life for the better. Eight. Francis had eight scars on his wrist. Each one a mass of flesh from the narrow blade that had separated clean skin, the blade that made multiple runs through the pale tissue. Those were over and done with. The blade connects with his pale skin once more, slicing into hot meat. This one was for Shiv, who had cheated on him with Ebon.

HotStreak watches in comfort as blood bubbles to the surface, seeping out of the slit and down his arm. Pain brings him comfort in the fact that people feel pain. As long as he feels pain, he believes he has a soul. And with blood, it means that he is human. Some nights, the fallen rebel expects his blood to be black instead of the crimson color it always is.

Placing the sharp metal a little higher on his wrist, HotStreak sinks the edge into him again. This one is for Ebon, who had taken it upon him to tell the red head that Shiv is done with him, and that he would never want him again. He had beaten the man hard, then raped his trembling body. The entire time, Shiv had watched, with the most callous grin he had ever seen on the boy. That boy who HotStreak shared his secrets to. His thoughts and opinions. His dreams as a child and ways to fix his life. Once the message was through, the other two had left Francis, alone on the dirty floor of the subway station.

Warm blood gushes down from the two even cuts. Two more scars to add to the list.

HotStreak was at a loss. He was in the exact same position he was in a few months ago before he dated the Korean man. Only now he had nowhere to go and no one else to run to. No friends and no more family. He literally had nobody. Turning to his side, Francis hangs his arm over the side of the park bench, watching the blood drip from his wound to the concrete below. The man desperately fights the tears that burn at his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to cry because of Ebon or Shiv. With his eye sight failing him, a cold feeling slowly takes his body. He watches the dripping of the ruby color as his thoughts drift from tonight's misfortune. To the very first meta human he dated, and how it ended. That was the first time he ever regretted his actions, the things he did and the things he didn't do.

Or the things he couldn't do.

The first time he allowed someone else to have his life in their hands just to have them throw it back to him without care. The first time he allowed that knife to enter his skin.