So this is my new story! The Colours Of Comeback. Tell me what you think about it.

Disclaimer: I do not in anyway own Beyblade.

The Boy Abandoned

"Mama?"

The little boy looked out the large window down to the ground three floors down to watch the smartly dressed woman and suited man leave the premises. The snow whirled around their feet as the wind whistled.

The boy watched not understanding why his mother wasn't looking back to see him at the window, a tear ran down his cheek and his big blue eyes glistened with tears. The little red head watched as his parents get in to the back of a limo and were driven away.

"Mama, come back" said the boy quietly putting his hands up against the glass straining to watch the vehicle as it drove out of sight. Now the boy was desperate as he caught the last glimpse of his life leave without him.

"Mama! Come back!" tears ran down his face "mama! I'm not a freak!" the boy cried now sinking to the ground not caring who saw him. "Mama!"

He felt a shadow fall across him and he turned around with renewed hope.

"Mama?"

But no, all that stood before him was a tall man with a cold smile and a cruel look in his eyes. The boy now sank to the floor again tears fogging his vision.

"Where's my mama?" he cried feeling lost, left…abandoned

A hand to hold of his arm and pulled him to his feet, he looked up in to the eyes of a man whom he instantly feared.

The man began to talk rapidly in English to another man standing behind him, only being five the little boy didn't understand all that was said but he gasped with fear as he saw the gun in the man's hands, he knew what guns were alright.

"Let me go!" the boy tried to pull away but the grip on his arm became tighter and the man looked coldly down at the boy and spoke in a clear voice.

"TI005.2, you will behave!"

"No! I'm not a number! I'm_" the boy was cut off by a slap across the face. He cried out and ignored the man's orders to 'cease the tears!' He tried to sit on floor again but the man dragged him down the corridor still gripping his arm tightly.

Down more corridors the boy was pulled and then in to a lift that took them up, then out and down another corridor to a large black door. The man knocked on the door twice and walked in dragging the little boy in after him.

Through his tears, which still hazed his vision thickly, the boy looked around. He was in a large room; in the middle was a large desk. The walls were covered by massive bookshelves filled crammed with books both old and new.

Standing in front of the desk was a man; at first the boy did not see him but when the man in front of the desk addressed the man who still gripped the boy tightly. They spoke in English.

"Boris, is this the boy?"

"Indeed Voltaire, Mrs Ivanov has dropped him off. I think he will settle down once he has had a sleep. It's been a long day"

"What is his number?" enquired Voltaire going to his desk and sitting in the swivel chair

"TI005.2" answers Boris

"No! I'm not a number!" cried the little boy.

Voltaire stood up and walked slowly over to the boy, he raised his hand a smacked the boy across the face sending him flying. The boy cried out holding his cheek.

"You will not speak unless you are spoken to" commanded Voltaire. The boy had trouble understanding the English but he got the tone of the voice and shuffled back. Crying now the boy let out a small whimper as Boris walked over to him and smacked him once more around the face. The boy made no sound this time; he'd learnt his lesson. No sound, no punishment. Boris smiled, the boy was a quick learner and it looked like he could take pain, yes, he would be perfect.

"Grandfather! Grandfather!" there was a little shout from the door outside and Voltaire immediately stood.

"Get that boy out of my sight" he ordered pointing at the red head who was still on the floor. Boris nodded and picked up the blue eyed boy, not harshly or cruelly but just as if he was a child who was lost and couldn't find his way home. This confused the boy, he didn't understand, first pain then kindness…maybe if he was good he wouldn't be punished.

Boris pulled him out but not before the red head saw another little boy with blue hair run in to the room to be greeted by his grandfather. The little red head saw that the other boy was smiling…maybe things weren't so bad here after all. The little red hair caught the eye of the blue haired boy and before the door was fully closed the little red haired boy heard

"Grandfather, who was that?"

"That was a new member of our little home, Kai"

"He seemed nice"

"I'm sure he will be"

Then the door shut and the corridor became dark and cold and the little boy felt lonely and lost. Boris took him down corridor after corridor and at some points it got so cold that the boy could see his breath. He shivered but tried not to make it too obvious, he didn't want to feel that pain again. He wanted to know why his mother had left him, she had loved…hadn't she? Had he done something wrong? What made her suddenly so cold towards him? He remembered them both laughing and walking through the shops looking in the windows. She bought him his first hat on that day, it had been during summer but it was a cold day and a freak snow storm and his head had got cold, she bought a hat. A big one, fluffy and it covered his ears, it had been too big for him but she said he'd grow and it would last him a long time.

He'd loved his mother…his Mama.

Boris took in to a room and sat him down on a chair, his feet didn't touch the ground and he swung them subconsciously. He watched as Boris went over to a cupboard and began to pull out some clothes, boots, jacket, hat, gloves and a bag.

Boris came over to him; the boy didn't flinch or shy away. He just sat there watching Boris carefully and making Boris wonder what was going on behind those bright blue eyes that were almost electrifying.

Boris put the clothes, jacket, hat and gloves on a table next to the boy and put the bag and the boots on the floor. He turned to the boy.

"TI005.2, these are yours to keep, you will keep them in good condition especially the contents in the bag, from now on, you will be known as either Ivanov or your number which is TI005.2. You will speak in English as some of our trainers can not speak Russian, you will only speak when you're spoken to and do what you're told. Your new roommates will tell you of the other rules and the timetable. Do you understand?"

The little boy nodded and Boris repeated in English "do you understand?"

"Y-yes sir I mean…y-yes s-sir"

"And from now on you are to call me Boris"

"Yes- yes Boris"

"Good, now bring your new things with you and will shall introduce you to your new friends" Boris went over to the door and waited impatiently for the boy to gather up the new things and follow him struggling slightly under the awkwardness of his load slowly repeating the English words to himself quietly in order to understand.

Boris led him through yet more corridors and then down some steps, passing many rooms and shut doors. Whenever an open door revealed something he tried to peer in to see what was happening.

In one room he saw a huge saucer dish thing on the floor and two spinning things spinning very fast hitting each other. In another room he saw lots of people doing a kind of funny dance, one arm held out in front of them then the other hand came level with the first for a few seconds before it was drawn back to the body in one swift movement.

In another room he saw tables all lined up in rows, chairs neatly pushed underneath. Another room revealed a swimming pool, long and thin. It was empty and the water was still. Another room showed a classroom (the boy knew about classrooms, he had to go to school…boring!) with the tables neat and symmetrical, the chairs again neatly pushed. A blackboard was at the other end covered with complicated numbers which, if Boris would have let him, the boy would have enjoyed figuring out the answer.

Another room showed a hall, clean spotless even, a stage at the other side and the glossy polished floor reflected the lights above on the ceiling.

There were other rooms which he didn't have time to look at as Boris flew through the corridors and down the steps. Always down further in to the ground, the boy wasn't sure he liked that, there were no windows, the rooms lit by strip lights stuck to the ceiling. Security cameras followed them everywhere they went, watching them, marking their every move.

The boy shivered, it was cold and he was only wearing a t-shirt and trousers. His shoes had been taken off him, as had his coat, hat, scarf, and gloves. He wanted to ask where they were going but was afraid to ask, his face hurt as did his arm.

He was getting tired and his feet were hurting but he trotted after Boris hurrying to keep up with him partly because he didn't want to be shouted at and partly because he didn't want to get lost by himself in this dark maze.

Finally Boris stopped outside a door and turned to him, he waited while the boy tried not to drop his load. When he had the boy's attention he said

"these are your dormitories, this is where you sleep. There's a bed ready for you, near the other end of the room. You will be woken up at five tomorrow. I suggest you get some sleep"

and with that Boris left to open the door by himself. He couldn't reach the handle with the things in his arms, so he put them down and turned the handle. Then holding the door open with a firmly placed foot he grabbed his stuff and went in to the room.

He looked around him, there were suddenly people all around him, all lying on beds, all looking at him. They were boys, all of them. All lying on the beds, most of them tall, lanky, thin but muscular. There were different ages, some looked no older than ten whereas some looked twenty. He walked slowly down the gap in-between the beds, conversations stopped as he past them, heads turned to watch him.

Some of them were cocky mean looking faces with sneered down at him, others as soon as they saw him looked away again quickly, others when they saw him, sighed and looked sadly at him. The ages ranged wider apart now, some looked sixteen while others looked even younger than him.

Someone stuck out a foot and he went sprawling, the stuff in his arms went flying, there was some laughter and some people looked at him with sympathy but no one helped the little boy who picked up his stuff and continued his way down the room which seemed to go on forever looking desperately looking for a spare bed but they all seemed to be taken.

The boy felt like crying, he wanted his Mama, he wanted to get out but he couldn't so he kept going biting back the tears and walking on holding tightly on to his stuff like it was a life. Someone tried to grab it away from him but he pulled back and ran on a few steps away from the laughter.

He looked about him and still there was no spare bed, he was shaking now but he carried on reminding himself he was an Ivanov! He was brave!

With renewed strength he walked on til he reached the other side of the room, he looked about him. On the right, second from the end was an empty bed with a name tag TI005.2 Ivanov. Relived he hadn't done anything wrong and glad to put his stuff somewhere, the little boy dumped his stuff down on the bed and scrambled up on it sitting on the pillow, he looked down at the stuff he'd been given. Grabbing the boots he leaned over the bed and dropped them at the end of the bed like everyone else seemed to have done. All the boots were the same he noticed, same style anyway. The colours however were different. There were three colours, blue, red and black. The boy looked down at him own boots: blue. He looked back at his other stuff, three sets of blue overalls, each with TI005.2 Ivanov stitched on them. A big coat perfect for the snowy weather, gloves and hat also designed for Russian weather and all name tagged. The scarf was white with a blue strip at one end, again name tagged. He hung that up on a hook by his bed, along with the coat and put the hat on top of that, then he saw that everyone else had put the scarf over the coat. So he took the hat, coat and scarf off the hook and then placed the coat on first, then the scarf and finally the hat. He looked for a place to put his overalls, in the bed next to his he notice a drawer at the base of the bed. He looked down at his own bed and saw the same, pulling the drawer he shoved the overalls in and shut the door…and then opened the drawer pulled the overalls out again, folded them and placed them back shutting the drawer again, careful not to trap the sheets.

By now people had lost interest and had gone back to softly talking to each other both in English and Russian. No one shouted or spoke out loud almost as if they were scared to be heard. No one laughed or smiled, no jokes. Nothing to make a person feel better.

The little boy sighed. He was about to open his bag to have a look inside when he saw someone out of the corner of his eye to his left. Looking he saw a tiny boy, age unidentifiable, bluesy hair and a large nose, beside him was a large long object that looked like a gun and much too big for him to carry.

The little red head looked at the tiny one. The tiny one's eyes narrowed and the little red head shrank back.

"who are you?" asked the red head

The tiny one didn't answer, he just stared

"I'd rather know who you were" came a young hard cruel voice full of malice from behind the red head. The little red head whirled round to the bed on his other side to see a boy maybe a couple of years older than him; cold light coloured eyes glared at him under floppy violet hair. The little red head swallowed.

"Well?" snapped violet eyes

"T-Tala, Tala Ivanov" stammered the little red head, then so as not to seem totally pathetic asked, "who are you?"

Violet eyes looked deeply at Tala with a cruel gaze "Bryan" came his response "Bryan Kuznetsov"

And that's the first chapter complete! Read and Reveiw please!