THE OUTER RIM: ARKANIS SECTOR
Fifteenyears earlier
The sheer sound of it roared with potent rage, penetrating his eardrums and overwhelming his mind with its shrill cry. Relentlessly the scream pounded upon his panic-stricken brain, rattling it with ringing echoes. Intense blinding light followed by an untamed wave of throbbing heat that ruthlessly crashed into his body; launching him into the air as if he were weightless, and then violently slamming him back down to the hard, rocky ground; taking away any breath he had been given.
The unabated pain, disguised as adrenaline, convulsed within his beaten form as he lay there still and defeated. He was bleeding, he was sure of it. The feeling of that thick warm liquid pooling around his face, filling his ears, nose and eyes; it was all too familiar.
Get up… He begged his wounded muscles to comply. Get up! You must! The prize of the victor…trumps the torture of the fight! He desperately recited the lectures that had been drilled into his mind for years. Weakness leads to failure, and failure to dishonor. Do not let them see your weakness! All to no avail, however strong his determination, the burgeoning physical anguish of reality weakened his loyal volition and ultimately seized full control over him.
Darkness skulked around the edges of his eyes, stalking his mind and blurring his damaged vision. Its cold shadow began to drift over him, engulfing him in its wake; like a menacing, yet somehow comfortable, cloak of somnolence that quieted the piercing screech and soothed the crippling pain, slowly fading it all into memory.
Memory. The haze of fleeting moments from the past clouded his thoughts and regurgitated themselves into his vision. No longer did he feel himself experiencing the present (older, lying on the ground, bleeding to death) rather in his numbed mind there flowed this sense of remembered fear; irrational and uncontrolled. The images were extremely limited and even the noise had become garbled with age, but the memory and visage of childhood pain chained to it remained clear as day.
He was a mere toddler; the world had only known him for two years at most. There was an increasing black shadow all around him. (The darkness had always been there to surround him, even at such a young age, and though he feared it, somehow, he knew it would never cease to follow him.)
He had been roughly tossed into a cramped storage space and locked away for unsupervised containment. He blinked in staggered movements, trying desperately to clear out the blindness from his puerile sight. Frustration and incomprehensible reasoning as to why he had been shoved so angrily into this blank room brought hot tears to his big green eyes and he could feel a raging scream building up within his tiny throat. However, the terrible noises from outside stayed his outburst as they gradually became louder and full of dangerous fury.
"What the hell were you thinking!?" It was a woman's voice; sounding as if she was poised to kill. "Who do you think you are, bringing that-that illegitimate cur into this household!?"
"I have to!" A man answered. The tone of his words held no kind of apology. No sense of want for forgiveness. "We can't just leave him running around the community wearing my face and-"
"And her hair!?" The woman sunk her teeth into his excuse. "Do tell, did your lovely mistress have flaming red hair!?" Her words were cold and cut with a sharp edge of sarcasm. "How do you propose to hide that from the public, Brendol, when I -your wife, have never been a shade lighter than black!?"
A terrifying growl emanated from the man and he raised his voice into an even louder yell. "Are you fool enough to believe that physical traits are passed on only through the female's contribution!? My hair color is light!"
She snapped her eyes away from him and clicked her tongue. "Not of that intensity."
He clenched his fists and trembled with anger. "It is enough to pass unnoticed! I will not have anyone question this matter, less they be severely punished! And that goes just as well for you!"
The rumble of his boot smacking the floor startled the baby in the closet.
"It is absolutely laughable how you expect me to rear this child when you treat me in such a way!"
Her voice never wavered, and her teeth -the boy could tell, were now clenched and grinding.
"I've been nothing if not good and faithful to you through all these years! And this is what I get for that hardship?"
There was that quaking stomp again.
"I'm not 'expecting' you to accept this burden, Maratelle, I am commanding that you do so!"
The child had had enough. Enough of the screaming, enough of the darkness, enough of the fear. He stood on shaking chubby legs and lunged himself at the locked door. Slapping his soft hands against the surface in rhythmic chaos, he burbled and blathered angry profanity in his infantile dialect. He must become louder than the two involved in their verbal combat if there was going to be an end to it.
He had to have succeeded, for not a moment longer, there came a painfully loud bang on the other side of the closet door that sent the toddler screaming to the floor.
"Shut up in there! I'll deal with you later!" The man's fuming voice was so close and loud; the sheer vibration of it struck a defining fear into the child's very soul.
He sat up in the thick suffocating shadow and freely let the tears fall. They streamed down his face and dripped from his quivering chin. Suddenly, another petrifying slam froze his little heart, making him cry even harder.
"I said quiet!"
"What am I supposed to call him, Brendol?"
Through his blubbering, the boy could hear that the woman's voice had calmed a bit but was still just as icy.
"Surely, you were not fool enough to give away your title to such a disgrace before we've conceived a true heir."
"Of course not!" His raging voice decreased in volume as he was pulled away from the door -the only positive aspect that had come of this argument. "He'll have to take my surname, that point is unavoidable. Honestly, Maratelle, I don't care what you call him behind closed doors, but I've named him 'Armitage' for the public."
There came an audible sigh. No doubt born from the thought of having to appear in public with the child. "How repulsive."
His frightful tears had begun to dry, and the innocent shine returned to his eyes by the time the argument had ceased, and he was regretfully released from the binding prison.
A blur of distant rumbling and gunfire resonated from somewhere above him, but the unconscious darkness in all its persistence continued to fill his senses and paralyze his body. A faint feeling of warm wetness had found its way down to his shoulder and was slowly seeping into his gray uniform.
In attempt to block out the burgeoning pain, his mind took the form of a second memory from another time in his tragic past.
"Armitage!"
It had been five years since he was introduced into the woman's house, and what a dreadful time it had been. Maratelle, or "Madame" as he was instructed to call her, (never mother) found immense joy in finding difficult little tasks for the redheaded boy to do that would likely take up all the hours of his day. Whether it was to keep his fast-paced attention span busied, or just to make him miserable he did not know, but whichever it was, she did it with such cold-heartedness that he felt it was most likely to be the latter.
Ever since she had given in to caring for him, she openly treated him as a simple placeholder until her own child came along; her real son, as she so often called it. And it was made crystal clear to the little ginger boy that she felt no obligation in constantly reminding him of that fact.
The jobs she had him do would range from trivial matters, such as bringing her wine in a tall glass (without spilling), to the grueling work of collecting the rain buckets that served as their water source. He was indeed her slave and with no experience in any other way of life, he obeyed her unconditionally. Stupidly. Almost happy to do it.
Lately, however, the chores had become more strenuous and horribly taxing. The hope of maybe being praised or rewarded for his efforts had fueled his loyal optimism in the past, but even that seemed to be dwindling now. For the woman had grown lazy over the course of several months. Her belly had expanded, the boy noticed with concern, and she almost never left her bedroom. She'd turned into a very unattractive beast indeed. Her moods became unpredictable. One moment she was content in ordering the boy around and then not a second would go by and she'd be screaming at him for something; even when he was following her exact directions.
And now, she was summoning him again.
"Armitage!"
He could only imagine what she possibly needed from him now. The seven-year-old bit down hard on his tongue so as not to answer her with an impatient growl and clenched his fists as he left his cold breakfast for the sixth time that morning. "Madame?" He slowly wrapped his head around the door frame, almost afraid to look inside for her tone held traces of black ire.
"How dare you make me have to call for you twice, you disgraceful little monster!" She stared down at him for a good while, letting her insult sink in.
His thin shoulders slumped and as he looked up, he could tell that her disgusted glower had settled on his mop of messy red hair. "I apologize." His voice shook, and it sounded barely above a whisper. "I will try harder to be faster next time, Ma'am."
"You'll try harder…" She mocked him with a scoff and her eyes narrowed, doubting the boy's sincerity.
Suddenly, the woman wrenched her head backward and cried out.
The child staggered back a few steps -seeing someone else in pain always made him uncomfortable at that age. "Are you alright?" He cried as he watched in horror as she writhed. Realizing right away that she most definitely was not.
"Come over here!" The woman squawked at him through clenched teeth as she trembled with the oncoming waves of agony.
He took hesitant steps and as soon as he was within reach, she shot her hand out, grabbed him roughly by the neck, and pulled him to the edge of the bed; squeezing a small yelp from his now aching throat.
"Go and call the Academy! Talk to one of the officers and have them page your father!" She moaned loudly and let go of his neck to run her hand over her rounded stomach. "Tell… Tell them that it is urgent, the baby is coming and that he must get back here immediately!"
"Father doesn't let me use the holopad…he yells if I go near it…and what baby!?"
His youthful ignorance annoyed Maratelle to a point beyond comprehension and with the pain of going into labor, her patience was nonexistent. "Do not undermine my authority! Just do as you are told!" She swiped the back of her hand across his bony cheek, punctuating her command with a painful slap. "Go! Now!"
Slightly stunned from her outburst of violence, he blinked away the rising tears framing his eyes; knowing that it was always best not to let her see his emotional weakness. Biting his cheek to remain in control, he ran from her and into his father's office; a place where he had been forbidden to enter.
Hesitantly, he rummaged around the desk looking for the communication device. The lingering pain from Maratelle's slap had turned his pale face a deep shade of scarlet and he could no longer muster the strength to hold back his tears.
He was a blubbering sniveling mess once he'd finally found the holopad. Managing, not without frustration, to turn it on and contact the correct channel, he tried to wipe away his emotions before he spoke to anyone.
Alas, the conversation between officer and boy went on with terrible confusion. Aside from the fact that his voice was distorted by tears, the petty officer had never seen the child before. Commandant Brendol Hux had thought it unwise to display his illegitimate son to the world and had done his best to keep him hidden.
Until now.
"Who are you!? How did you decipher the com code?" The angered officer growled at the small wavering blue child.
"I-I My name is…is… Armitage Hux and I need to talk to my father! P-Please, sir, Madame Maratelle says… that it is …u-urgent!" The words were hardly intelligible, but the message was received despite his youthful mumbling.
With his questions gone unanswered, the officer scribbled down what he could make out on a digital notepad: Armitage. Hux. Urgent. Father.
Instantly, the man reached out to slam his hand down on a large glowing button, sending a vibration via remote which acted as a summons to the regal Commandant.
The terrified boy stood alone in his father's private room shaking with the anticipation of relaying the message to the man when surely, the entirety of his rage would be unleashed before one word could be uttered.
"What is the meaning of this, Armitage!" Brendol Hux, however miniaturized in his holographic appearance, was no less intimidating. His deep voice boomed with fury and he spit his son's name out as if it left a bitter taste on his tongue. "I told you never to enter my office! Where is Maratelle!? Why is she not disciplining you, despicable wretch!?"
The young boy physically choked on his fear of the man. His eyes widened, making room for more burning tears and he wished with all his mind that he could forget the entire matter and go back to eating his breakfast. "Father!" He interrupted the man's ranting with a fear-filled screech. "It's Maratelle who told me to use the holopad!"
"Impudent cur! You do not use the first name of your superiors! You shall call her Madame! Do you hear me!?"
Armitage sighed and wiped the tears away from his raw face. "Yes sir! I am sorry, sir!"
"Don't apologize! Never apologize to anyone, Armitage!" There was his name sounding like a curse word again. "Only listen to what your commanders tell you and silently adjust your offensive notions!"
The boy blinked in confusion. Somehow his father had thought this to be a time for a lesson, as if it were not a crisis! "Yes, sir, sorry."
The man grumbled.
"But you must come home quickly! Madame needs you… she… she I think she is dying!" His eyes were beginning to well up again and his voice wavered.
There was a short silence. "Tell her I'll be right there. And for God's sake, boy, stop crying! It is truly degrading for the Commandant to have a son that so easily shows his weakness!"
With that, the blue model of the angry man flickered and was gone. Armitage carefully replaced the holopad back to where he'd found it and slipped out of the room. He could hear Maratelle's painful cries coming from the hall and it caused him to wholly lose his appetite. "Father is coming, Madame." His timid voice barely caught her attention and she groaned loudly in response.
The thought of remaining in the house and having to listen in as the woman met her end twisted his stomach into an irreversible knot. Instead, the young boy with the bright red hair abandoned his meal bowl and stepped outside. He winced slightly as the seasonally frigid rain fell like needles upon his skin; instantly drenching him.
The rest of the memory had become very foggy from that point forward and vaguely he remembered that night being one of the most dreadful moments of his life. Screaming, cursing, crying, with a grand finale that resulted in the birth of his first enemy: A little girl named Woollahra Evina Hux.
