Black.

All Freddie - no, Strayton could see as he slowly ascended was black.

A tight smile spread across his face. Black hair, black heart, black soul. It was all black.

Black was a formal, elegant, and prestigious color, everything Strayton thought himself to be. It was powerful. He felt powerful.

Without thinking about it, Strayton reached out and picked up his sharpest pair of scissors, holding them close to him, as if they were a newborn baby. His tight smile grew as he continued staring at his reflection.

He was powerful.

His whole life had been a living hell, shunned by his father for not being boyish enough and teased by his classmates for being himself. But now...now it was going to change. Strayton wasn't going to let anyone hurt him ever again.

As he left his bathroom, his hair began to dry. Not too sure as to what to do with the style just yet, Strayton let it dry naturally. As a result of this, his usually dead straight hair curled slightly. It was different but, as he passed a mirror, Strayton decided he liked it.

Walking into the room with the big window and sitting down, Strayton held his scissors up again, examining them in the light.

They were so...beautiful.

The way the scissors just seemed to gleam in the light, almost speaking to him. They had been locked away for the duration of the move, hidden from the world, but now they were free...he hadn't seen anything more beautiful.

Well, except a certain Miss Beckett downstairs.

Strayton smirked. Laura was intriguing. Very intriguing.

"These are my friends. See how they glisten. See this one shine, how he smiles in the light. My friend. My faithful friend..." He sung softly to himself.

"Freddie!"

Strayton jumped up, quickly tucking the scissors into his pocket, as Mrs Beckett walked in.

"Freddie, love, I've just - oh my!"

Mrs Beckett stared at Strayton in shock, her brow furrowing and her lips parted as if to speak.

"Hello, Mrs Beckett." Strayton greeted her quietly, politely.

"Freddie, dear, what have you done?" Mrs Beckett asked. Strayton flinced at the word Freddie.

"Strayton." He muttered.

"Pardon?"

"My name is not Freddie Carter. It's Terrel, now. Strayton Terrel."

"Oh...Strayton...that's an...unusual name."

Strayton didn't respond, his eyes simply staring into Mrs Beckett's. Pleasure ran through him as he realized how uncomfortable and unnerved she was.

"Well...Strayton...Laura has told me about your mother," Mrs Beckett said carefully. "And I've just come up to tell you that if there is anything you need, anything at all, you can come and talk to me, alright? I'll help you, love."

Strayton nodded once. "Thank you, Mrs Beckett."

Mrs Beckett smiled. "That's alright."

As she turned to leave, Strayton spoke again.

"Mrs Beckett."

"Yes?"

"Could you please tell your customers that I am now open for business, should they require a haircut. I specialise in men, mainly."

Mrs Beckett blinked. "Of course..."

"Thank you."

Mrs Beckett finally left, leaving Strayton alone with his thoughts.

The next day, however, wasn't so peaceful.

While Strayton stood by the window, carefully polishing the blades of his scissors and wondering if he would get any business, there was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," Strayton reluctantly called.

"Ok, about yesterday, I - what the hell have you done to your hair?"

Laura stared at Strayton - or, as she still knew him, Freddie - in shock, a comical mirror to her mother.

"I changed it."

"No shit."

Laura ran her eyes down Strayton, her eyes getting wider and wider as she took in more detail. He stood differently, taller and more confident.

"Wow, Fredders, what - "

"NO!" Strayton shouted so suddenly it made Laura jump. "Not Freddie. Strayton! My name is Strayton!"

Laura felt a little uneasy. "Ok...Strayton..."

Strayton ignored her as he went back to polishing his blades.

Just then, Mrs Beckett also walked in.

"Strayton, love, there's someone here to see you. Should I send them up?"

Strayton nodded, not really listening. Mrs Beckett smiled as she bustled off. With her gone, Strayton glanced up at Laura.

"Well?"

Laura glared at him, understanding the dismissal, before following her mother silently.

A few minutes later, Strayton could hear someone approaching the room.

"Well, well, well, Freddie. Look at you."

Strayton froze.

He knew that voice.

Turning slowly, he saw Harry Johnson stood behind him.

Harry Johnson was the same age as Strayton, and had been the most dominant of bullies in his life. It began when they were only young. Thier parents were very friendly, and often pushed the two boys together while they discussed the latest affairs with glasses of wine and expensive chocolates.

Strayton could remember very clearly how Harry would destroy his toys, throw them out the window, hide them from him and generally make his life a living hell.

As they got older, the bullying got worse.

"Get out." Strayton hissed, his fists tightening. Harry smirked.

"Ooh, touchy," He laughed in an obnoxious manner, making Strayton scowl. "That's no way to treat your customers."

"I said, get out."

Harry ignored him, swaggering forwards.

"Shame about your mother, really," He said casually. "What was it? A hit and run?" Harry snorted. "Oh well. It deserved her for being such a stupid cow."

Strayton watched Harry with a murderous glint in his eyes.

"Y'know, it's her funeral next week. You going? I am," Harry's smirk grew. "Do you have any idea who hit her?"

"No." Strayton said stiffly.

"Wanna know a secret, Fred?"

Strayton stood his ground as Harry walked forwards, standing so they were nose to nose.

"I know who killed your mother." He whispered.

Strayton narrowed his eyes.

"You don't even know the day of the week, let alone the bastard that killed her." He said venomously. Harry laughed.

"Oh, so the mouse can roar!" He said in delight. Suddenly, his expression changed from a gleeful one to a serious one. "You wanna know how I know?" He asked. He smirked. "Because it was me. I killed your mother."

"Shut up."

"I'm telling the truth. I didn't know it was her when I hit her, but when I saw her in my rearview mirror, do you know what I did?" Harry leant forwards, a spiteful and malicious gleam in his eyes. "I reversed and ran over her again and again and again."

Strayton couldn't help it.

His anger had taken over him.

All the years Harry had tormented him, abused him, humiliated him. All the years he had called him names, hit him, thrown things at him. All the years he suffered, lying in his room and crying because he was so weak. It had built up and was now taking over Strayton's actions.

Strayton lunged for his throat.