Title: This is How We Fall Apart

Author: PandaPjays

Warnings: See Chapter 1

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Author's Note: First chapter of the story proper. How exciting! I'm still looking for a beta, if anyone wants the job. You know you totally want the job.

Also, I won't be posting next week because I'll be busy living it up (read: getting horribly sunburnt and reading terrible romance novels XD) in Fiji. I might post the next chapter early, though, so we'll see ^^

That said, enjoy this chapter! I like writing from Bryan's POV. He makes me happy.

I've always been a violent person. Well, at least for as long as I can remember. I doubt that as a small child I was busy thinking up new ways to destroy things. I would have been too busy doing whatever it is little kids do. I haven't had much contact with kids so I can't even guess at what that is.

My first memories are of violence.

I can remember being taken from the orphanage by the man I would come to hate. He seemed nice enough when we left, holding my small, child-sized hand in his own huge one as we left the only place I'd ever known as home. I can remember feeling the cold bite of the Russian wind against the tracks my tears had made as I waved goodbye to the nuns who were the only parents I had ever known.

At least I wasn't going alone. That Man had chosen five of us—all boys, all endowed with the inner strength and hardness borne of growing up the way we did. The nuns did their best for us, I'm sure. But there's only so much love that can be given and so much goodwill that can be shared.

He took us out of the orphanage grounds and bundled us into the back of a large van. I suppose, had I been the type to watch movies or read books, alarm bells should have started ringing in my head then. Instead, I can remember the sense of adventure. I remember thinking that no matter where we went it was all going to be alright and things could only get better.

I suppose we were all idiots as children.

The van drove for hours with us all stuck in the dark confines of the back. I can remember one of the boys, time has robbed his name from me, weeping. It was a constant sound and in the dark of that place I can remember thinking that there had never been a more annoying sound on this planet than that quiet whimpering combined with the occasional snotty breath before the whimpering began again.

Eventually my world began to reduce to the rocking of the van, the hard floor, the feeling of my neighbour's elbow digging into my side and that stupid kid's crying.

Just when I thought I couldn't stand his noise anymore and was about to go over there to make him shut up the van stopped.

The door opened, letting blinding light into the van. I squinted up at the silhouette of That Man, hopeful that our journey had come to an end.

"Get out."

None of the warm, comforting tone he had used in the orphanage was left in that voice. Instead there was an icy coldness that some instinct in me knew to fear. This wasn't the man who had cajoled us with promises of a new home. This was the man who frightened us into following him into the gates of hell.

We all climbed out of the van, stumbling on legs that had been cramped into one position for hours. Far from taking us to a destination the van had taken us to the kind of place desolate doesn't accurately describe.

That Man sneered as the weeping boy emerged from the van, stumbling like the rest of us and blinking his reddened and puffy eyes in the harsh sunlight.

I wish I could remember his name. His face will forever be burned into my memory. He had one of those faces that looked like all the features had been pinched too close together—something not helped by his hours of crying, mind you. But it's the shock of bright green hair that stuck up at all angles that will stay with me for life.

Or, at least the way the hair turned from a bright green to a murky reddish colour when That Man pulled a gun faster than my child-eyes could register and shot him. The boy collapsed on to the hard ground, never to cry again.

"I don't tolerate weaklings," he said, looking down at our terrified faces. "You would do well to remember that."

We all nodded again, too terrified to do anything else. The nameless boy's blood was soaking into the ground. I was unfortunate enough to be the closest to him and I could see the puddle drawing closer and closer to my shoes. I didn't dare move, however, I didn't want to be the next body hitting the ground to lie pathetic and broken.

Maybe it was in that thought that everything started to go wrong? If not then, then definitely in the next few minutes. That was when my fate was sealed and my contract with violence was signed.

"Turn and look at the person next to you."

Now that he had killed one of us, there were only four left so we paired up neatly. I looked into the frightened eyes of the boy next to me. I'd never talked to him at the orphanage. I've never been much of a talker. But I had shared my life with him. I had played childish games with him and fallen asleep in the same room as him for my entire life.

"Only two of you will get back in that van. Who that is, is up for you to decide," he smirked, seeing the confusion on our faces. "Well? Get on with it."

Before I understood what was going on, my vision exploded into white-hot pain.

I looked up at the figure of the boy I'd known all of my life, looking down at me with his fists clenched. His face was set in a mask of determination and fear but his eyes told a different story. Even as a child I knew what those eyes were saying: I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I don't want to die.

I'm pretty sure my eyes would have said the same thing had I the time to think about it.

Before that moment I'd never hit someone with intent to hurt. Sure, as a child, I had gotten into my fair share of fights. That's what happens when you're stuck in an orphanage with limited resources.

But this was different.

I bared my teeth in a primal snarl and launched myself at my former playmate. If there was any thought in my mind at that moment I'm sure it would have been along the lines of not wanting to be like the nameless boy in the snow. It wasn't that I didn't want to die—it was that I didn't want to end up like him. I didn't want to be a pathetic, cooling heap on the ground unremembered by anyone except as a source of trauma and as fuel for their nightmares.

I saw my opponent's eyes widen with shock as my fist came in contact with his stomach, winding him. I inexpertly tried to push my advantage by hitting him across his back to little effect, only managing to hurt my arm.

The crack of That Man's gun going off made both of us jump. The victor of the other match had already been decided.

Spurred on by wild panic, I pushed the other boy over while he was still trying to catch his breath from my first blow. He looked up at me as he landed on the dirt, still clutching his stomach. His eyes widened as he realised that he wasn't going to win.

I brought my foot down on those eyes, trying to stop them from looking at me. I knew I wouldn't be the one left here. It wasn't for me to be an abandoned carcass in the vast Russian wasteland. There were things I had to do.

Before I had the chance to stamp on him again, I was pushed aside by That Man and another crack echoed through the air.

I snarled at him, ignoring the now-dead boy at our feet. Fear had changed something in me and I don't think I had registered that it was over. It had maybe been a minute since we had been ordered to fight. Maybe three minutes since I had seen that first, nameless boy crumple on to the ground with his bright green hair turned dark by his own blood and brain.

In those three minutes I gave up any chance I had of being normal and learned that emotion which keeps even the most hopeless of men going: hatred.

My snarl made That Man smirk and casually swing the gun to point at my head. "Back in the van," he ordered.

I did as I was told, locking eyes with my fellow victor. They looked dead. Like whatever he had done in order to survive had killed a part of him he used to hold dear but could now no longer comprehend or even imagine.

To this day I wonder if I had the same look in my eyes.

When we arrived at our destination we were ushered into a room where we were issued with what would become our key to survival: our beyblades. Then we were separated. I'm not sure what happened to him after that. I didn't see him again after that day.

A small miracle happened then. Maybe the one redeeming part of my story. The part that makes me less of a monster and the part that gave me the ability to feel something other than that all consuming hatred.

I met Tala Ivanov, my best friend, my captain and the one thing that anchored me to my humanity in that dark, dark place.

Tala was the reason I survived that place.

When That Man saw the way I reacted to his first... test? I guess you can call it that, I think it triggered some kind of sadistic switch in his brain. He wasn't adverse to experimenting on his charges- in his mind he could always get replacements. There were no shortage of orphans desperately looking for homes in Russia.

And so I became his experiment to see how far he could push me. How vicious and animalistic I could become before I broke. I'd rather not go into details about the ways he slowly destroyed anything resembling humanity in me, torturing me until all that was left was for me to lash out and hurt others. I was out of control.

The only reason they didn't write me off as a failed experiment was Tala. Tala who would pick me up after every session, would endure any blows I managed to land before I realised who it was and would slowly teach me that even in that place there was some small vestige of humanity left.

Tala was the reason I wasn't shot like the vicious animal they had turned me into. Because of him I learned to pretend. I learned to pretend that they hadn't taken away the person I was and replaced it with violence.

Here he paused to look at me, eyes narrowed in a calculating way. "You are the reason I survived those first few years. Without you they would have put me down like a wild animal. You gave me the ability to hide my true nature behind a façade of humanity." He smiled bitterly and closed his eyes.

"I don't think I can ever forgive you for that."

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