A/N: This is a summarized background story for Moses. I've been wanting to do this for a while. I hope you like it!

I'll also be working on one for James, Sarah, and Henri. Hopefully, you'll look forward to those!

James: Nah, don't. Spare your eyes.

Author: *glooms*

Sarah: Be nice to her!

Moses: *sighs* The author does not own Liberty's Kids.

Here and There: Chapter 3 - Moses

In Africa, he was happy. He was loved. He was with his people. He was free.

Mother was a lady who loved to sing; her hair was always wrapped in a wonderfully patterned green cloth, and she would lull Moses to sleep with her strong, melodic voice. Father was lucky to have a beauty that held the voice of rivers.

Even though the extreme heat of Nigeria was bothersome at times, the children would play. "Go, my son. Take your brother with you," Uwa would say as she stayed home, making dinner. He really should be helping with the farming, but the community has been doing well. And Uba agreed anyways.

"You have earned it," Uba told him. So Moses (was he even called that back then? He couldn't remember) took his brother Cato to play.

Then Moses gave a loving hug to his father and ran off.

Yes, life was great. He would grow up, and maybe have a family of his own. Uba and Uba would always be there for him. And his little brother – even though they would fight sometimes – would live to tell of great adventures together.

But peace didn't last that long; The future had something else in store.

When he was five, his home was destroyed.

"Son, wake," his father ordered gently in a language he had long forgotten. A hand grabbed his shoulder and his eyes flew open, only to meet darkness. What time was it?

"Uba," young Moses began. "What is wrong?" He heard men yelling outside and women screaming. Children, too. The expression on his uba's face only added to his growing fear; He looked stern, concerned, but mainly terrified.

What was happening?

His brother beside him stirred.

"Wake your brother," he said, with a tinge of worry, but still strong. "There is no time. Stay with your mother until I return."

And with that, his father left the home. Moses would never see him again.

Uwa sat next to them, with a look of sheer fear on her face. "Listen to me, son. Remember what I said about strangers of the village?"

Moses remembered. "If they come, pretend that we are not related."

"And?"

"Stay together as much as possible."

"Good." She kissed her son's forehead.

Some Africans of a different village invaded and raided their crops. The warriors kidnapped many men, women, and children, including Moses' family. His father was nowhere to be found, and he was separated from his mother. Around him, strangers that were also victims.

At least he kept his brother close.

The invaders shoved them in an open pen and brought them by the sea, where many of his kind were rounded up. A number of ships were docked by the shore, and Moses was amazed. He had never seen such a ship before.

"Brother," Cato asked, scared. "Where are we going?"

"I do not know," was all he could reply. Moses didn't know the answer himself.

A man, with a skin color as white as the sand, picked many from their line. So far, Moses' luck has been going well; they placed him and Cato together.

Then they forced a branding iron on their skins.

It was burning hot – hotter than the African sun. Moses never remembered how he endured it (he'd rather not remember the pain) but he did remember his little brother's screams.

Afterwards, they were all chained together by the ankles and moved into the ships. By this time, Moses realized his life wasn't going to be so good. Chains were bad. Chains were for criminals. Chains meant slavery, and Moses was no slave. No, he was born free.

So why was he chained?

What did we do wrong?

The ship was horrible; they were pushed in violently because they could not fit. It was hot and musty. Coughs and moans filled the air, along with the stench of rotten corpses. Once, out of sea sickness, he vomited. Moses wondered if he was living in his own coffin.

For weeks, he stayed in a crouched position, pressed against the flesh of other men. He lost track of time; they rarely were exposed to sunlight. Every now and then, the captives would be ordered onto the deck and forced to dance (or as these white-skinned people called it, "dance the slave"). It was humiliating, but it was almost better than sitting in that awkward state for days.

Soon, they arrived in a place called America, and Moses' luck ran out.

He overheard the men talking. Cato was to be sold in a place called Virginia, while Moses goes to South Carolina.

"B-brother!" little Cato cried in the midst of chaos. They weren't the only ones being separated; Mothers screamed after their sons and daughters. "No! Do not leave me, please!"

"Cato!" Moses tried to struggle against the slave traders' strength, but they held the boy back well enough. "Let me go!" he demanded, attempting to reach out to his brother. "Cato!"

He promised Uwa they would stay together!

"Help me here, will you?" a slave trader yelled behind him. "This strong boy is holding up quite a fight."

Moses thrashed and punched, but Cato was taken far away, out of his sight. Only then did Moses calm down, his resistance powerless. They ushered him onto a wagon and he sat. He didn't care that his head was bleeding from a white man's blow during his quarrel. He didn't care when someone asked him if he was alright.

He stayed in silence with the rest of the slaves.

Forgive me Uwa.

He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by despair.

I have failed. I am all alone now.

A silent tear.

I have nothing.

In the Virginia block, he was sold to a young couple that owned five children.

You was lucky, the neighboring slaves told him. You's got a nice mass 'a.

"Old Ma", the oldest in the household, told Moses, "Be grateful, boy. Mass 'a don't beat the chill'in. So mind yourself." She advised. "And don't you run. Don't you eva run."

But he did. And he regretted it.

It happened after a year of being at the plantation. He was sick of the treatment; doing farmland for nothing. They grew nonedible food: cotton. Sweat and labor, day and night. He didn't understand this unfairness. So he tried to sneak out one summer, and was caught while his master was out walking his dog.

What a fool he'd been.

The master was easy on him (this was the first time) and gave him a beating before he returned to the shacks where the slaves lived. Old Ma shook her head when she saw that the boy was covered in bruises and contained a black eye.

"I told you, boy. Don't eva run."

Moses still didn't listen until another eight attempts along the course of six months, with a set of flogging after each try.

Old Ma was tending to his back after his last punishment. "What can I do then, Old Ma? I cannot run."

"Some buy their freedom, Moses," she replied as Moses hissed in pain. "Gotta use yo' head, not yo' legs."

Moses sat, puzzled. How can he earn money?

Suddenly he remembered of the blacksmith that worked by the master's home. People around the neighborhood gave that slave some coins if he helped them out. Maybe he could learn that too, whatever that was.

Blacksmithing, huh? Moses thought. Maybe Master will let me.

Oddly enough, the master did.

"Master, I would like my freedom."

"Pardon?"

"I would like to pay for my freedom, sir."

"Young man, do you even have money?" The master laughed, clearly amused.

Over the course of fifteen years, Moses carefully saved money, little by little. He was confident that he could pay for whatever price his master would demand.

"Maybe. How much would my freedom cost?" he continued.

The master's expression turned into a serious one, realizing that Moses was not joking.

"Eighty pounds."

"Done."

His master was taken aback. "Impossible. Ninety."

"You said eighty. No more."

"Fine. Show me the money. I cannot bring myself to believe you obtain such a sum."

Moses pulled out a sack of coins, and dumped it on his master's desk. He grabbed a handful from the bag, and placed it in front of his master. Master was shocked.

He continued to count, separating eighty pounds. Then, he slid the sum towards the older man, and returned the extras with the rest of what he owned.

"Well?" Moses waited expectantly.

"…You may go," he finally replied in awe.

"Thank you," Moses said, more or less in a dull tone. He walked out with the spare money he had, smiling at the fact that he had regained his freedom after fifteen years. All that hard work paid off.

Praise the Lord.

This was ridiculous. Moses couldn't find a job. Anywhere.

After buying his own freedom, he moved to the northern states, believing it was safer for a former slave as himself to live there. But because he was African, no one would allow him to work for them. Even a shopkeeper in New Jersey who was desperately looking for assistants turned him away.

Whatever; New Jersey was weird anyway.

He quickly moved to Pennsylvania after hearing about the bustling city of Philadelphia. Moses needed work soon, because the leftover shillings he earned from before wasn't going to last too long.

Hours passed, and by noon, there still was no job offered. White people didn't give him a second glance.

"How hopeless can this be?" Moses muttered to himself as he walked down the street, disappointed. He was about to pass by a wagon stationed in front of a print shop, but stopped. He noticed an old man, trying to unload some heavy boxes, was clearly about to fall. Moses immediately took one from the stack in the man's arms. "Careful there, sir."

"Oh, quite kind of you," said the old man. He had a bald spot, and was a little… Round. "I'm too old for this."

"No, it would be my pleasure. I'd like to help," Moses offered.

"Oh!" The man smiled. "Well then. If you do not mind…"

"Moses. I'm Moses," he said as he took the box inside the print shop. "Do you own this place?"

"Most definitely," answered the man. "However I am understaffed."

"Shall I set it here?"

"Rather by that corner, if you may," replied. "Also, please, call me Dr. Franklin."

"Well, Dr. Franklin," Moses continued. "May I offer myself to work for you? You mentioned you were understaffed, correct?"

"I was hoping you would say that, Moses." Dr. Franklin grunted has he handed the heavy boxes to Moses. "You sure are a strong lad, and I've already taken a liking to you." He patted Moses' shoulder. "Consider yourself hired!" Then he chuckled and walked out of the shop, getting the rest of the wooden boxes. Moses followed. He couldn't believe at how fast this man had agreed with him.

Then, Moses grinned. He liked Dr. Franklin. He was a little bit peculiar (what was the man singing about?), but hey…

…He gave him his first job.

A/N: I revised this chapter a little (just little grammar mistakes). However, I really do not like any of my chapters. I apologize for my ineptness. I think I will revise all of them one way or another eventually. I don't know why, but as I was looking at all of my old writings (ones I never published), my writing from three years ago was much better than my writing now. I'm impressed by my old use of vocabulary. So yeah, I guess I am a little rusty. Ugh.

I think I did the characters wrong. I'm still figuring out more definite characteristics of the characters of Liberty's Kids, but since the series wasn't a popular one and each episode was written by different people, the traits of the fictional characters were a bit... vague. We do have a few definite qualities, but i'd say there was no deep character development. As a kid, I think that was what I had wanted to see. Even now, too. So, I will be in the process of revising the chapters while updating.

I have nothing against New Jersey. It's just a thing (if have ever seen Turn: Washington's Spies. Don't watch it without parental guidance) that I got from a scene where an officer was saying "This is mutiny!" and the soldier with the rifle yelled back, "This is New Jersey!" And I thought, wow, well weren't they weird back then.

Uba and Uwa mean "father" and "mother" respectively in a Nigerian language. We don't know if Moses is Nigerian, but I made it a headcanon because I like Nigeria and a lot of my friends are Nigerian. Also, Moses and Cato are names that usually given in America during that time, so maybe those aren't their real names. I assume that Moses forgot his real one (the Nigerian name) unless Evangelists were already spreading Christianity to their country when Moses was young, but I don't know. I can never assume that.

Please review! I want to know how I can improve. Plus, I'd love to hear from you!