My little test subject

by flower1815

On his quest for world domination, Tord develops a serum that will turn a man into a giant, horrible monster. But after countless failures, he finally realizes what he was missing to perfect the serum formula all along; and he will help him, willingly or not. Dark and angsty Tomtord fic. WARNING: Torture, blood, foul language, and drug use; viewer discretion is advised.

37. Chapter 37

(TW: Child abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse, non-con underage drug-use, and violence. Viewer discretion is advised)

Hey what's up you guys? This is Flower1815 here bringing you a new chapter of My little test subject. It's been a long time, I know, but now there will be frequent updates once again; once every two weeks on a sunday from now on. This story will come to an end soon, but don't be sad. The frequent updates won't end there as I am already scheduled to release a prequel series of one-shots right after, and the updates will go ALL YEAR ROUND!

With that said, this chapter here is a tough one to swallow. It's long, and has some disturbing content to boot. Now I feel obliged to confess that I did not write this chapter with the intent to undermime Reagan's actions throughout the course of this fic, or to justify anything. This chapter is to show you how he came to be the way that he is. Whether his past justifies anything, or if he is in the wrong or right to do what he is doing is entirely up to you. Judge him as you see fit. With that said I am intrigued to see how many of you will switch perspectives on him.

Anyways, that's it for today. Thank you guys so much for your support, I really appreaciate it. I hope you guys enjoy the chapter. Don't forget to leave a review telling me your thoughts, and I'll see ya all later! ;)

Reagan was a boy who followed orders.

Clean the floors, feed the pigs, take out the trash, go to the market – whatever it was, he did it, no hesitation.

For the most part.

He does all his tasks without complaint. But with each passing year as he grows older Reagan finds himself complaining more and more. Especially when his cousins are around. They never have to do any tasks, how come he does? They get to play with the other children and go to school, why can't he go too?

How come they get to live with their mother and he doesn't?

But of course, Reagan would never voice these questions out loud; lest he wants Pops to pull out his belt and give him another beating that would leave him too sore to move for days. He learned early on to never ask Pops questions.

Obedience was the first and most important thing Reagan was taught. So long as he obeys his grandparents they won't have any reason to discipline him, and he would get to see his mother much sooner.

"Foley!"

Reagan tensed up from where he was standing in the enclosure tending to the pigs. He watched as his grandfather marched out the house and stalked toward him. He willed himself not to move. He hadn't done anything wrong this time, so there shouldn't be any immediate danger. But the thought quickly vanished when Reagan caught sight of his grandfather's expression, and his heart sank.

"Hey, Pops." An ominous feeling sat like a stone in Reagan's belly.

"Didn't I order you to go down to the market today?" His grandfather stopped in front of him, green eyes blazing.

"I did." Reagan shrank. Pops is naturally short-tempered but he couldn't understand what he did to make him so angry now.

"Then how come all the milk in the house is spoiled?" His nostrils flared and he drew himself up to his full height. "Don't tell me you didn't check the date before you bought them!"

"I- I'm sorry." Reagan backed away, lowering his head. "I didn't mean to-"

"You wasted my money on spoiled goods?!" His grandfather snarled, slamming his fist on the fence. Reagan flinched. "Get out of my sight, brat. Out!"

Heart pounding in his throat Reagan quickly did as he was told and scampered away back to the house, barely missing a swipe from Pops as he passed. Only when he was inside and far away from Pops did he release a small sigh of relief. Getting yelled at sucks, but it was way better than a beating. Guilt gnawed away at him.

He will have to make up for his mistake twice as hard now if he wants to avoid a beating later. Maybe if he helps Ma out with the kitchen chores Pops will forgive him and skip the discipline today.

Reagan set off to check on Ma who was preparing supper by the stove. His plan hasn't worked even once, but it didn't hurt to be hopeful that maybe this time around they will be more forgiving towards him.

And while Ma may be stubborn, cranky, and bitter she was nowhere near as bad as Pops. In fact, she was often on the blunt end of Pops ill temper at the best of times. Reagan sometimes would feel sorry for her, up until she targets her anger on him in turn; openly degrading him and yelling, and she had no qualms with doing it out in public either, so Reagan always made sure to be in his best behaviour and keep her pleased at all times.

"What do you want this time, Foley?" Ma hissed as he approached. "Can't you see I'm too busy here to be dealing with you now?"

Reagan dipped his head. "I finished my chores. Do you need any help with supper?" He asked politely hoping she would go easy on him now.

His Ma's temper deflated slightly and she looked uncertain for a brief moment. "Actually… supper's nearly done now, but the trash is full and needs to be emptied." She told him with her sickly sweet voice to mellow him up to do her bidding. "Go be a dear and take it out."

Inwardly grimacing, Reagan tried not to show any trace of dismay in his face. It was a twenty minute walk down the hill of his family's farm to deposit the trash. And that's just one way. It was his least favourite task by far. He takes way more enjoyment out of caring for the pigs.

But this wasn't a question. Refusing was not an option. Reagan knew what was at stake and so he obediently nodded. "Yes, Ma."

Ma studied him for a moment with her dark brown eyes. "Good boy." She said at length.

Feeling a little invigorated by the soft praise, Reagan collected the trash bag filled to the brim with onion and potato peels, and hauled it away.

Twilight neared its end as the moon rose behind the horizon into the darkening sky. Stars already speckled the vast dark blue weather by the time Reagan was done with his task and returned home tired and hungry.

Ma and Pops must surely be done with supper by now and retired off to bed already. He hoped they at least remembered to save some for him this time.

However, as Reagan tried to pull the door to his home open he found that it wouldn't budge.

To his dismay, no matter how many times he pulled and tugged the door wouldn't open. Reagan released a defeated sigh. Ma had forgotten to keep the door unlocked for him yet again. He knew she had trouble remembering things as of late and would often lock him out of the house but he expected this time to be different.

Knowing there was no point making a ruckus over this, lest he wants to invoke Pops wrath down on him, Reagan had no other choice but to head for the barn.

Slipping inside the building it was almost completely dark. Stacks of hay dotted the corners of the place as Reagan weaved his way past them to the far wall. A massive pig was there, lying on its side and snoring deeply.

"Hey Miss Mama pig." Reagan greeted softly, pressing his hands anxiously. "I got locked out again. Do you mind if I sleep with you?"

The enormous pig did nothing but snort and snore.

Ever since they sold her piglets a few months ago she refused to do much of anything other than eat and sleep, but Reagan favoured her over all the other pigs in the pen.

Curling up beside Miss Mama pig, he rested his head on her side and tried to get comfortable. The smell was awful but not so bad once you got used to it, and the hay was prickly but beggars can't be choosers. As Reagan settled down for the night he couldn't help but yearn for a day when his family finally appreciates him and finds him worth loving at last.

Reagan snapped his eyes open, staring at the ceiling from where he was lying on the floor. He slept. Or at the very least passed out. He shouldn't have let his guard down like that, it was dangerous. You never know who might be lurking around just waiting to strike you down when you least suspect.

Sleeping is risky. Leaves him too exposed.

He sits up immediately only to groan as his head throbbed with agony. He hadn't drunk a single drop of alcohol yesterday and yet this felt worse than any hangover he's ever had.

What exactly happened last night?

Staggering to his feet Reagan caught sight of an empty broken needle on the floor. Memories from last night flooded his mind. I remember now, Reagan stared down at his hands. I injected myself with the serum.

He gave himself a quick check over. He didn't feel particularly different. Maybe a little sore as though he ran a marathon and his head was killing him, but nothing that necessarily translates to incredible monster turning powers.

And then, very softly, veiled under all the ache, he heard… "Eager to kill people already, are we? ~"

Reagan's head snapped up, and he winced as a bolt of pain crackled through it. This voice — it was unlike anything he'd ever heard before. It sounded crisp and clear and right in his ear, as if it was talking to him.

"I am talking to you, f#cking idiot. ~"

He couldn't believe this was really happening. Reagan chuckled with disbelief. Could he be dreaming?

"Oh come now, don't feign innocence with me. ~" The voice cooed and Reagan felt goosebumps rise along his arms as he felt the distinct sensation of arms gripping him tightly by the shoulders. "You knew exactly what you were getting yourself into when you pushed the serum straight into your veins. You read the warnings but did not care for it, so now here I am. ~"

Reagan suddenly gasped with unbearable pain as a spear stabbed through his back and poked out from his chest. He stared down at himself wide eyed. His vision flickered and he could see the spear fade in and out of existence. There was no wound there. His chest was fine but the pain was there. Reagan grinned. How fascinating.

"There's plenty more of where that came from. ~"

Shaking off the pain Reagan decided to take another look at all the files he managed to acquire on his phone. He read through the warnings again and the risks that come with taking the serum. Normal collateral effects such as a disembodied entity purposefully triggering upsetting thoughts on their host and inflicting physical harmful hallucinations in hopes of taking full on total control of their bodies. You know, nothing serious.

It was sort of creepy, a voice with nothing behind it. He couldn't sense any emotions or thoughts. There was just emptiness, as blank as the walls around him. Reagan could sense it shift around and it could clearly touch and harm him, but he could not make it out. It's as though the speaker was hidden in shadows

"So I take that your presence and… influence is a key indicator that the serum works then?" Reagan worked out, tapping the tips of his fingers together thoughtfully.

The voice snorted. "You tell me genius. This is all part of your big plan, after all. Shouldn't you know? ~" It mused with a hint of puzzlement. "Do you even realize the severity of your actions? Do you know what you just did? You just doomed yourself to a lifetime of mental torture, and for what, exactly? To go after people who don't even give the time of day to remember you and make them pay for things long since past-"

"I am just going to stop you right there because you seem to be under the impression that I care about the repercussions."

Reagan's abrupt interruption surprised the voice greatly.

He giggled. "So what if I traded what's left of my humanity in exchange for power? Power is the only thing that will keep me living a safe and happy life. It will finally give me the justice I have craved for all these years!" He went on. "And if in return I have to put up with you and maybe recede control of my body – which I ain't gonna let it happen, by the way; just fair warning – then so f#cking be it! I am sick and tired of being someone else's plaything. At least this way I get to be powerful for once in my life, and the rest of the whole world be damned. No one will ever mess with me ever again after this!"

The thought of his revenge so close and within reach now thrilled Reagan. He could practically taste it. The voice can torment him all it wants but he won't give in to it so easily. Not when he is this close to being free at long last.

After a long, long while of silence, the voice spoke up again softly. "You are a most unusual host indeed. Nothing like my other useless vessel. ~" Reagan felt the sensation of being circled and studied. The voice hummed. "Perhaps you will serve me better than he ever did. But heed my words, vermin; you may fight and resist me now but I will break you down eventually. It's only a matter of time before you give in to me. Just because you know my tricks doesn't make you any less susceptible to my influence. ~"

"Yeah yeah yeah, got it." Reagan rolled his eyes nonchalantly. "Now how do I get these powers to work, huh? How do I… you know…?"

His eyes darted toward the mirror and he willed himself to turn. For his appearance to morph and shape into that of a vicious beast that would wreck destruction in its wake.

But he remained unchanged much to his disappointment.

"Now why would I give away all my tricks? You seem so confident about this a second ago, I am sure you can figure it out on your own. ~" The voice pointed out. "You don't seem to realize what you're dealing with yet, do you? You may be comfortable with the idea now, but wait a little while and you will find out soon enough that your precious little revenge might not be so worth it after all. ~"

Reagan eyed his hands pensively. "Guess I will need to take the time off for lots of practice then."

(Flashback...)

Reagan loved collecting things.

He enjoyed looking through the trash for any pretty or unusual trinkets his grandparents tossed away and wouldn't miss. But he especially loved heading down the stream and collecting pretty pebbles he may find.

Anything he found worth salvaging, he always used it to create new toys with or plainly for safekeeping.

However he was always very careful with his treasure; hiding it away from view in his room so that no one may ever find it. If Pops or Ma ever discovers his trinkets they will surely get rid of it; such as the time Reagan brought home a little sack of seashells he collected by the shore and made the grave mistake of showing his find to his grandparents, only for Pops to smash them beneath his boot heel.

From then on, Reagan made a point to never willingly show anything he treasured to them ever again.

Reagan was by the stream, playing around throwing stones in the water, when he found an unusual looking pebble. Pale and pink and shiny. A big one, but nothing extraordinary.

He didn't study it for very long as he heard Ma call to him.

Reagan pocketed the pebble and raced back home.

"Foley, where have you been? I've been calling for hours, didn't you hear me?" Ma hissed contemptuously as he approached.

Reagan shook his head fervently, palming the pebble in his pocket for comfort. "No, Ma. I'm so sorry, Ma."

His Ma narrowed her eyes. "What have you got there?" She asks.

"N-nothing." He stammers.

She held her hand out. "Give it to me. Now."

"N-no."

"What did you say?"

"It's mine!"

"Do I have to call your grandfather here to deal with you?"

Reagan hesitated. He wanted to insist on it. He didn't want to hand over the pebble he knew she was going to take away from him. He wanted to fight for it. But the threat of his grandfather's presence kept him subdued.

No matter how much he defends himself he will always lose in the end, and always in the worst kind of way.

Reluctantly he handed over the cute pebble he found and placed it on her hand. He fixed his gaze on the floor, praying that she would see no harm in letting him keep it.

Ma scrutinized his find. "How many times have we told you about bringing garbage home?"

And just like that she tossed his beautiful rare find out the window. She didn't even bother to wonder how much it meant to him. Reagan peered out the window with dismay.

"Focus, Foley." Ma snapped, drawing his attention. "Help me get dinner ready. Today's is your Pops' favourite: fresh mackerel."

Swallowing the bubble of resentment building inside of him, Reagan did as he was told.

God he hated fish. The smell was awful and he hated all them little bones inside. But he helped season it without complaint despite the strong urge to gag.

Sulking, he mopped the kitchen floor after he was done. He wished he could understand why his grandparents hated him so, or why his mother was always so unhappy. Just as he began to wonder what he could possibly do to make her happy again, Ma appeared in his field of vision carrying a heavy pot of boiling stew in her hands.

"Why are you standing around for, Foley? Quit daydreaming and get back to sweeping-"

Her feet slipped abruptly on the wet tiled floor, tipping the caldron over and spilling the hot boiling water all over herself.

The scream that followed was deafening.

Reagan stood frozen, wide eyed in horror, clutching the mop in his hands as Ma wailed in agony as the water scorched her skin. He couldn't move. He could do nothing but watch as she writhed around in pain.

He could barely bring himself to acknowledge Pops barging into the scene if it weren't for his strong ever present fear of the old man.

"What happened?" Pops demanded, his gaze falling on his distressed wife writhing on the floor. He crouched down beside her to help her. "Don't just stand there like a pansy, Foley! Do something!"

Do something? Reagan wondered. What could he possibly do to help Ma in this situation? He's only seven! He can hardly begin to process what happened, much less what he should do next to mend the situation.

Seeing that he was too shaken with fear to be helpful, his Pops scowled at him. "Get out of here, you good for nothing brat! Go! Shoo!"

Reagan didn't need to be told twice.

He turned and stumbled out of the kitchen. Bolting out into the yard, he raced across the field through the falling drizzle toward the barn. His safe space. Entering the building Reagan dived into a pile of hay beside Miss Mama pig and crouched low, trembling.

The vivid images of his grandmother screaming and crying with pain as the hot water boiled her skin kept coming back to him, even in the forefront of his eyelids as he clenched his eyes shut in an attempt to block everything out.

Reagan could hardly believe what just happened. It was absolutely awful and he felt so helpless to do anything about it! He doesn't want to feel as helpless as he just did back there ever again! A surge of guilt flooded him. Was it his fault that Ma got hurt?

But then he remembered how Ma took away his pebble from him. She threatened him then with the promise of another beating from Pops. He was helpless then wasn't he? He's always been helpless when it comes to his family…

Reagan then remembered how she constantly belittles him, even for the smallest mistakes on his part. How she would certainly destroy and get rid of his treasure and toys if she ever got her hands on them. Memories of her yelling at him, making him cower away in fear, sometimes how she would go so far as to slap him at times. Her awful smell of fish that made Miss Mama pig far superior in comparison. How she frustratingly enough keeps locking him out in the cold when she forgets to leave the door unlocked for him – funny how no one else in this family goes through the same ordeal as he does. Or how he would often hear glimpses of Ma conversing with his mother when they thought he couldn't hear them, trying to convince her to get rid of him...

With all these reminders in mind, Reagan lowered his hands away from his face. The incident in the kitchen doesn't seem all that awful anymore. A strange feeling of satisfaction bubbled up inside of him and Reagan couldn't help but giggle with delight in the deepest space of the barn.

That awful wench. She messed with me and she got hurt. Ha! Serves her right. Reagan chortled, but still careful to be quiet in case Pops came looking for him. It would do him no good to see him openly laughing at his Ma's misery. That's what you get for messing with me!

He hadn't meant to hurt her then, but Reagan didn't mind one bit. For every ounce of pain she inflicted him she deserved it ten times worse. He can't deny that the thought of fighting back and hurting both her and Pops had never appealed to him before, but he was too obedient to ever go through with it.

Too… powerless.

Besides, what he could possibly do to them? Anything he dare try they will strike back twice as hard and Reagan would be put back in his place. It was hopeless.

Still, Reagan would take today's incident as a small victory and he could rest easy knowing that the day when he can finally strike back and have the last laugh would come to pass eventually.

Reagan frowned, deep in thought. Now what was that all about? He wondered. He thought it was strange to dream about his past when he woke up that morning, but to drift off into a flashback while he was in the middle of important matters was something else entirely. What are you playing at?

"Oh… nothing really… ~" The voice said, sounding amused and not the least bit dubious.

And I suppose having flashbacks about my past in just something I now do apparently? Reagan thought.

"Could've fooled me – all you think about is the past! Your head is so far back in your own history I am surprised how you can still move forward and know where you are going without tripping everywhere. ~" The voice pointed out. Now it was definitely amused. "But if you really must know, I am merely doing a background check. To see how… worthy you are to me. ~"

Reagan quirked his eyebrows in disbelief. How's that going for you? Do I fit the bill yet or am I going to have to see my entire life history before you can answer that? Also I am in the middle of something, can you save the flashback segments for a different moment?

After a very famished and satisfying breakfast, Reagan had sought out a secluded spot where he could train his new powers in peace. He settled for a clearing out in the dense woods, far away from any trails anyone can come by. He spent the entire day trying to bring out his monster side and accomplish… something. Anything! But to no avail.

Now he sits on a boulder, reading through the notes on his phone yet again for any hints he might've missed.

"According to the test subject, the power works as a flow of energy running free through the veins. When in control the subject can freely control that flux of energy to let it change him whenever he so desires. Only when the subject is at a peace of mind can they call out to it so that the flux shows itself. When in despair, the transformation process occurs at random; most notably in upsetting situations."

Reagan sucked a breath through his teeth. "Peace of mind? Now what kind of sh#t advise is that? How can anyone ever have a "peace of mind"? That's just dumb!"

Sighing, he clenched his eyes shut and concentrated. He tried to search for that flux of energy inside of him and take control, but he felt lost and a little dumb as though he were playing tag in the dark and everyone just left the room to make an idiot out of him.

"God, do I really have to be stuck with you? ~" The voice spoke up deadpanned.

"You can always go back to your other vessel if you think he does a better job than me!" Reagan yelled back in frustration.

"I would, except he stopped being entertaining the moment he began to listen to that annoying Norwegian dipsh#t. ~" The voice hummed nonchalantly.

Reagan stopped. "Red Leader?"

"Yes. He and my vessel have grown fundamentally close these past few months despite all the years of bitter rivalry and hurt and nearly trying to kill each other. Go figure! ~" The voice coiled around his shoulders slyly, very much so like a heavy venomous serpent dangling from a branch. "Red Leader is no better than I, you see. We both use that worm in whatever way we see fit, and yet somehow a petty little apology on Red's part suddenly excuses all the abuse he went through at his hands and I end up as the bad guy in the story. Now he hardly ever pays me any mind. Or at least not as often as he used to… deep down he knows Red is not to be trusted, he just doesn't want to come to terms with it yet. ~"

Reagan listened to all the fresh juicy information intently, palming the pendant of his necklace. This could certainly come in handy later on.

However, he couldn't content himself with that knowledge for long, as he set his focus back on the task at hand.

In order to finally get his revenge and make every single person who ever made a fool out of him pay he needs to learn how to willingly bring out his monster half whenever he wants or this won't work. He can't depend on his powers to activate when he needs it. It's unreliable. He must be able to call out to it at will.

According to the notes on the serum the only way to accomplish such a feat and gain control over the powers is to have a "peace of mind". However, it also states that the more miserable he is the less control he will have. These two facts correlate to some degree. So could it be at all possible that Reagan can find that flux of energy by tricking it somehow?

It's worth a try.

Eyes fluttering shut, Reagan tried to concentrate again. Breathing slowly, he attempted to centre himself so that he can shut the rest of the world out and focus solely within. Memories of his past began to flood his mind; anger and grief flaring up at all the painful reminders he had gone through, making him clench his teeth so hard he thought he could feel them chatter under pressure.

He called out to it, and urged his body to shift and mould at any moment now.

There! Reagan felt something pulse just underneath the surface. He barely brushed against it when it recoiled back, as though flinching away from his touch. Whatever it is, it was certainly very powerful.

Reagan thought harder about his past turmoil. He thought of all the suffering he endured and the suffering he will surely inflict on others once he gets a hang of this. He wasn't sure if this was the voice's doing or not, but he thought he could actively feel every ounce of pain he's ever felt in his life coming back full force. Doubled even.

In darkness, clawed hands seem to grab a hold of him; stab, dismember, burn, gut, slash, and hack away at him constantly as he reached out towards the pulse of energy.

(Flashback...)

Growing up, Reagan heard all sorts of rumours about his family when he was out in town to pick up groceries. From a young age he was very good at hearing and eavesdropping on conversations unnoticed. But by far the biggest mystery in town was why Pops bothered to raise Reagan when he so clearly hates him.

He'd heard the whispers as he passed by and stole wallets from right under their noses. The most prevalent theory was that Pops didn't trust his daughter to raise a son the right way by herself and insisted on taking him out of her hands.

That's what Reagan believes too.

Another common theory he often heard was that his mother hated him and wanted nothing to do with him.

But Reagan never believed it. He refused to.

Even when at times she said it straight to his face, he didn't really believe her either.

She would say mean things from time to time, but every once in a while she could be compassionate too. Sometimes she would let him climb into her lap and rest as she gently ran her fingers through his hair as they watched television together. He would let his guard down around her. Those moments were really what made all those instances of unpleasant comments and shunning worth it. Even if by the end she would roughly shove him away and tell him to leave her alone, Reagan made sure to treasure every moment with her like this.

Up until the fateful day she struck him.

Reagan woke up with a start as freezing cold water splashed onto him and Miss Mama pig, drenching them both wet.

Scornful laughter rang in his ears. "Wake up, Foley! Pops says you have to go to the market, you lazy thing."

Shaking as much of the excess of water as he could, Reagan fixed his glare on the pair of twins standing before him holding an empty bucket. His cousins, James and Alva.

They're one year younger than him and a pair of pests. Reagan detests them. Every time they come over to visit they mess around while he does his chores, beg him to drop everything and keep them entertained, they chase and frighten the piglets in the pen, and they won't stop teasing him either.

Worse still, he can't do anything about it.

He tried to scold them once, or even tell on them about their misbehaviour since he was older and more responsible than either of them. However, the twin's mother, aunt Abigail, had scolded him for it instead with a stern telling to leave them alone.

It made Reagan's blood boil at the unfairness of it all.

But there is nothing he can do about it. He has no power here.

Pops is the man of the house. He controls everything and everyone must obey him always or face his wrath. Ma is his wife and in the second position of power below him. The rest of his immediate family follow third, including his mother. He and his cousins should be on the lowest rank, but sometimes Reagan can't help but notice that his cousins get away with far more privileges than he does, and that leaves him at rock bottom.

"What are you doing here, pests?" Reagan glowered, twisting the hem of his rags to dry himself.

"It's family reunion day." James blurted, throwing the messy mop of golden-brown hair away from his eyes. "Did you forget?"

Family reunion day! The realization of today's date quickly cooled his temper.

Every 19th of November the whole Fitzroy family meets up at Pop's farm and gathers around to discuss recent happenings and future events going forward all while feasting on delicious food. Every Fitzroy gets a turn to speak up about their life the past year, what were their accomplishments, the hardships they faced, and what are their goals for next year and beyond.

But best of all, today means that he will get to see his mother again.

Reagan could picture her already. Her long golden locks cascading around her pale face, her soft brown eyes that were just so caring and loving as she gently runs her hands through his hair as he lies across her lap.

Today would be the day she finally takes him home.

He doesn't get to see her very often, but when he does Reagan always makes sure to be in his best behaviour and do everything he can to please his mother. If he can make her see just how good he is maybe then she will realize what she's been missing out on, and muster up the courage to face Pops and finally take him away from this dreadful place.

Maybe by never giving up on her, Reagan can make her realize just how much she means to him.

Already he could feel the tension shiver through his limbs as he anticipated his mother to look his way.

Just one glance in his direction — one moment where she would finally see him for who he is, her face would soften, her eyes would glow with pride, and the love she has for him would slip through even though Pops has forbidden her from doing so. That was all he wanted. Just a tiny hint of that secret inner love that he was sure she felt and was not allowed to show.

But she hardly ever looks at him. In fact, it's almost as though she made a point to not look at him ever.

She never looked over with others around either; while his grandparents disciplined him, or James and Alva tackled him, trapped the hem of his rags on nails or doors, or buried him in mud.

But Reagan was convinced that eventually his mother would have to notice that he was good enough to be worth loving. She had to.

He is her son, how can she not?

"Don't know why you seem so excited all of the sudden." Alva said, breaking Reagan out of his thoughts. "You know you're not allowed to join in. You're not a Fitzroy like the rest of us."

Reagan snarled. "I am too!"

Alva smirked. "No, you're not." She went on nonchalantly. "Our mom said that you're not a real Fitzroy, which is why Auntie Eliza had to give you up to Pops. She said it was because of your dad that you are a Fitz Foley instead."

"Take that back!" Reagan took a pace forward.

"No!" She protested, stomping her foot.

Reagan bristled and saw nothing but red. He knew he could get into a lot of trouble for starting up fights with his cousins, and will most likely be blamed for, but he couldn't help himself. He hates their bratty entitled attitude, and being constantly reminded that he was truly not a part of this family didn't help things either.

Just as he braced himself to launch at Alva, his uncle's voice drifted from outside the barn.

"James! Alva! Leave Reagan alone." The twins' father demanded as he stepped into view by the barn's entrance. "Ma is baking a cake. Maybe if you two ask real nicely she might let you lick the leftover batter."

Successfully distracted by the prospect of sweets before lunch, the twins scampered out of the barn, shoving each other along the way and leaving Reagan behind. He would follow them too, but Pops won't take kindly to him skipping out on his chores to eat sweets.

His stomach grumbled. Oh how he envied his cousins' luck.

A shadow fell over Reagan and he looked up. Uncle Jirard towered over him with kind brown eyes as he handed Reagan one of Ma's pastries he most likely swiped from the kitchen for him. Reagan shyly took the treat from him with a small 'thanks' while his uncle briefly ruffled his hair affectionately before heading out.

Reagan never knew what to make of his uncle.

Unlike aunt Abigail and the others he doesn't seem to shun or ignore Reagan. On the contrary, actually. He has always been nothing but kind for as long as he can remember. He doesn't speak much, but there were instances where his uncle would be playing games with the twins and he would encourage Reagan to come over and play with them despite his cousins' protests.

However, as nice as his uncle may be, Reagan can't ignore the fact that when Pops or Ma are yelling or disciplining him, his uncle would do nothing about it. Not once had he ever intervened to protect him, unless it was his cousins' doing.

Reagan finished the pastry in big famished bites, wiping away the frosting from his mouth as he stepped outside.

Peering around Reagan searched for his mother but there was no sign of her anywhere. His shoulders slumped with disappointment. She must've not arrived yet. Maybe if he's quick he could head to town for groceries and come back just in time to be here when she arrives.

As Reagan's gaze wandered to the house, the door burst open with James and Alva running out into the open with giggles of delight as they tackled their father. Uncle Jirard staggered, and with an exaggerated grunt, picked them up with one arm each as they squealed while aunt Abigail watched from the porch, smiling in a way that no one had ever, ever smiled at Reagan.

From afar, Reagan watched them play intently. It sure would be nice to have a dad.

He has one somewhere, as far as he is aware, but strangely no one ever mentions him. Reagan wondered what became of his father and why he was not around. Or what about his dad makes him a Fitz Foley…

He once made the grave mistake of asking Pops about his dad's whereabouts before he got bopped in the mouth for it, with his grandfather grumbling something about his father "taking advantage of an opportunity and getting away with it"; whatever that means. Reagan wouldn't dare ask him again. And the one time he tried bringing the subject up with his mother she had been hysterical and broke down into sobs before demanding he'd leave her alone.

His father was a mystery that everyone seems keen to keep it from him for whatever reason. Or at the very least, not want to talk about.

Without further ado, Reagan sighed and did as he was ordered as he took the dirt path down the hill toward town.

The streets were bustling with life. He dodged and swerved expertly, pickpocketing here and there for any useful trinkets or wallets he could use to buy candy or snacks in his own free time. On the market Reagan searched for all the essential items he knew were missing from home and that Ma would need for today's event.

Weaving his way through the market stalls, Reagan caught sight of a fruit stand on the opposite side of the street with a vendor advertising freshly picked strawberries.

That caught Reagan's attention. Strawberries! In this time of year? They weren't rare per say, but it definitely wasn't common to see the fruit being sold outside their usual season.

He paused to observe the stall. His mother loves strawberries. She never explicitly told him that, but Reagan had observed the way her eyes light up whenever she gets the chance to eat some. Making a quick estimate in his head of how much money, his own stolen portion included, he has in his pocket Reagan instantly knew he wouldn't be able to afford it.

The man behind the fruit stand was known for his greed, impatience, and low tolerance for kids or people on a low budget; often increasing the prices of his top quality products to drain them of every single penny from their pockets. God forbid he catches someone stealing from him.

Reagan will have to be extra clever to find another way to get a box.

He assessed his surroundings with quick precision. There was stand of flowers and plants in the next stall over. A man was smoking a cigar as he walked past.

The gears in Reagan's head turned.

He swiftly followed the man, hand deftly darting into his pocket like a snake, fingers wrapping around a small squared shaped box.

Next, Reagan sidled up to the flower stand, feigning innocence as he looked at colourful blooms with mild interest. He opened the little box and ignited match on fire, discreetly tossing in to the bundle when no one else was looking.

The result was almost instantaneous. People gasped in shock and panic, gathering around calling for help, and in the commotion, Reagan managed to snatch the box of strawberries when the fruit stall was left unguarded, store it with his other groceries, and hustle out of the alley, carrying plastic bags on each hand.

Reagan whistled a happy little tune as he crossed the street, keeping a low profile and generally acting as though nothing happened.

"Not bad, kid."

The new voice made him pause. Reagan looked up to find a tall man wearing a purple suit and trench coat, hands in his pocket leaning against a wall as he smoked. He has red hair and sideburns, and blue eyes as he shot Reagan a speculative look as he walked past. This man was certainly unusual, and Reagan couldn't help but note how he looked very out of place in this environment.

Reagan swallowed and dipped his head respectfully. "Evening."

He felt the man's eyes follow his every move. Did he guess he was to blame for the commotion? As soon as Reagan rounded the corner he bolted back in the direction towards his house. He didn't stop running until the farm came into view.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he passed by a truck leaving his grandparent's farm, but didn't think twice about it. He has more pressing matters to deal with.

He was in luck; his mother's car was parked in front of the house just next to aunt Abigail's. She was here! At the same time though, he was also not in luck because he missed her arrival and she was someplace inside the house with the rest of his family. Hopefully the reunion hasn't started yet.

Delivering the groceries to the kitchen and helping Ma stack them away in the cabinets – not even getting a simple thank you for his hard work, not that he expected any from her by now – Reagan took the box of strawberries with him and went upstairs to look for his mother.

There she is! He looked through the gap in the door to see her sitting down on the bed of what once was her old room. She faced away from him, her head lowered as she fumbled with something in her hands.

Knowing his mother was into sewing; Reagan couldn't help but hope that she was making something for him.

He stepped inside carefully, the door creaking open just a tad.

"Mother?" He called out softly.

"Leave me be, Reagan." She hissed.

Reagan hesitated by the doorway. "I- I got something for you." He said. When she glanced back at him he revealed the box of strawberries and held it out to her in his trembling hands. "I got it for you."

His mother studied him and the box for several heartbeats. She rose to her feet, towering over him with an unreadable expression on her face.

"You stole some strawberries?" She echoed. "And you brought them for me?" She took a step closer toward him.

"Yes! From the market." Reagan affirmed proudly. "I know how much you like them, and so I-"

She slapped him across the face, cutting him off.

The box of strawberries was smacked out of his hands and cluttered to the floor. His mother grabbed him by the neck and flung him into the mirror, shattering it in the process. Reagan cried out in pain as a shard of glass buried deep into his left cheek.

"You little thief! Can't you do anything right and stay out of trouble for once?" His mother bellowed at him, trembling. "I didn't ask for this, and I shouldn't have to deal with you! Why can't you just look out for yourself and forget all about me? You'd be saving me a lot of trouble."

Reagan's eyes glistened as he cowered away from her, holding his injured cheek with one hand.

"Now get out of my sight!"

Not wasting another second, Reagan tumbled out of the room and down the stairs. Avoiding his family's gaze he bolted outside and raced toward the barn. He knew now he wasn't welcome in the family reunion, and he certainly wouldn't try to go now that he was humiliated and wounded.

Slipping inside the barn he went to his usual spot only to find it empty. "Miss mama pig?" He called out in the gloom, looking around. Did she finally get up and moved someplace else?

It couldn't be. She was so big and heavy, and she hadn't moved from her spot for so long. Just eating and eating and growing fatter with time. Reagan looked around, growing more desperate now as he fumbled through the stacks of hay in hope she was just buried somewhere. He even went so far as to look up in the loft. But she was nowhere to be found.

Just as Reagan ran out of options he suddenly remembered the truck leaving the farm earlier. Reagan was no stranger to Pops dealings in selling their pigs every now and then. Pops had been wanting to sell Miss Mama Pig for a while now, but Reagan always argued against it despite the threat of harm. Was this why Pops wanted him to go to town for groceries today? To get him out of the way as he got rid of Miss Mama pig?

As realization settled in Reagan fell to his knees with a broken sob. He loved that pig more than anything and she was gone now. Who would comfort him now in his time of need? Who would keep him warm when Ma shuts him out of the house again? Who would he share carrots with?

The pain in his cheek was growing unbearable now.

He carefully lifted his hand to his face, feeling for the glass shard stuck to his cheekbone. He had to pull it out, he knew. It hurts so bad. Bracing himself he tugged and pulled as gently as he could, but every once in a while he had to pause and take a breather as the pain grew too much to bear. Then he mustered the courage to brace through the pain and yanked the glass shard out of his cheek.

Reagan cried out, tears streaming down his face. He tossed the glass shard away from him and bundled into a ball in the farthest corner of the barn, tucking his knees against his chest with his arms wrapped around himself.

Never before had he felt so alone.

"So this is what you truly fear, huh? Loneliness? ~"

Reagan's consciousness faded in and out. His surroundings were blurred; sometimes he was in a clearing in the middle of the woods, training his newfound powers, and other times he was back in Ireland in his grandparents farm. The familiar imagery behind his eyes made his blood pressure spike up and for a heartbeat Reagan had actually considered looking for a place to hide before he had to remind himself he was nowhere near that place.

His head was pounding. His body felt tingly and numb. Everything hurts.

Struggling to blink open his eyes Reagan became avidly aware that the tall trees and dense undergrowth the once surrounded were now completely obliterated. Reagan could barely register the fact that he was missing clothes, he was so dazed.

Reagan had to slap his own face a couple of times to finally process what had happened.

He'd been training, trying to coerce his monster side out by purposefully bringing up his bad memories and he just sort of… blacked out.

Now here he stands – overlooking the consequences of his endeavour. His muscles ached as though he'd been running for days. Even his fingers were sore.

I did it. Reagan realized, triumph and relief surging through him. I shifted at will! Now if only i could gain awareness of my actions… destruction is good and all, but I would really like to see my revenge happen.

"Hmmm, now you got me curious. ~" Said the voice. "After you gore all your targets and finally get your long sought-after revenge, what will you dedicate your life to next? Because as far as I've seen, all you seem to care about is making people pay and nothing else. ~"

The question made Reagan pause.

He never thought about that before. He'd always been so narrowed in on the prospect of revenge that everything else mattered little to him.

Reagan looked down at his hands, imagining all the power he now possessed flowing freely through his veins. It would only take a mere thought to unleash it on anyone he wants. But clearly this was not enough. He needs more training and truly get the hang of this if he wants vengeance to be his.

A few more days of training and causing irrevocable havoc will have to do for now before he is truly ready.

I will be free… He clenched his hands into fists.

(Flashback...)

This couldn't be happening.

This can't be happening to him.

He knew his family hated him, especially Pops, but he never imagined he would go so far as to do this.

One moment he was going about his usual routine. Working numbly to complete all his chores, paying extra attention to do everything right this time. Nothing particularly out of the norm. It was the day after the family reunion and everyone including his mother had already left, so it was just him and his grandparents again now.

She left without so much as a glance or a hug. Just nothing.

Reagan could leave too. Run away from here. But where to?

Every time Pops and Ma talked about the world beyond the farm it was always to emphasize how harsh and brutal it is. That the farm is the only safe space for him so long as he follows the rules. And if here is already bad, Reagan didn't even want to imagine how the outside world will fare out.

He's just a kid. What hope does he have to care for himself?

Then his thoughts were interrupted once Pops ordered Reagan to accompany him to town for business. Reagan thought was odd since Pops usually made his dealings alone and didn't like Reagan anywhere near him and his job, but he didn't dare point that out and merely nodded obediently.

Pops and him got in the truck and headed down to town in silence, driving even farther to a place Reagan had never been before and couldn't identify. They turned left into a one way street leading up to a dead end and Pops stopped the vehicle and got out.

"Come." He ordered.

Confused Reagan unbuckled his seatbelt and jumped out of the truck, staying close to his grandfather. Rain started to fall on their way here and now it was pouring down. Reagan shivered, wrapping his arms around himself and sniffling.

"You came."

The voice made Reagan's head snap up. Through the heavy rain he recognised the strange man he'd seen the day before, watching him in the alley back in town holding an umbrella. The red-haired man angled his head to study him sideways for a moment. Reagan cowered away, hiding behind his granddad's legs. He didn't like what he found in the man's gaze.

"Are you certain about this deal?" Pops hissed. "I personally don't see the appeal. He's a troublemaker by nature, I warn you. Spineless and utterly insignificant! He won't matter to anything worthwhile. You sure seem to be going for a lot of trouble for this."

Reagan listened in to the conversation, alarm rushing in his veins. They didn't bring any pigs here to sell...

The mysterious man scoffed. "Ordinary and worthless to you, perhaps. But I've seen the kid at his best and I believe he will do just fine in my gang. Boss is looking for troublemakers, you see. Maybe he would like the kid to steal him some strawberries. H#ll if I know. Besides, it's none of your business anyway, old man. Whatever happens to him from then on is of no concern to you, because after today you won't be seeing him ever again."

Reagan glanced up at his grandfather with pleading eyes. He didn't dare speak up even if he could, his throat tied to a knot. He silently implored the old man to show some semblance of affection for him now and refuse this deal. Surely, for as much as he hates Reagan, he wouldn't sell his own grandson to a stranger? They're kin!

And for a moment his grandfather appeared to hesitate enough to want to keep him. Or at least was considering the matter at a great length. Except that Reagan glimpsed the greed in his eyes and his heart sank in his chest.

"Give him to me." Said the strange man, driven on by the same flash he found in his grandfather's gaze. "And not only will I pay you handsomely, but my associates and I will stay out of your business, old man."

Pops' eyebrows arched, unimpressed. "Should I even care what your little gang of loonies does? You're not from around here. You pose no threat to me, my family, or my business for that matter."

"And we certainly won't if you take this deal while you still have the chance. I assure you, we will have full control of this city by spring. If we're willing to leave you alone, that's an offer you should jump at." The man stepped closer and beckoned to Reagan. "Come along, little troublemaker."

Huge eyed, Reagan furiously shook his head and clutched at his grandfather's leg. He would never touch Pops under any normal circumstances, but this time he was desperate not to be taken away. How will he ever see his mother then?

"I didn't say you could take him yet, Clyde." Pops snapped.

"Oh? But I am taking him." The man, Clyde, answered calmly as he pulled out a fat stack of money from his pocket. "Just name your price if you are so desperate to keep him."

Reagan looked from one to the other in disbelief. His grandfather was about to back down — and he'd never seen him give in to anyone ever. Just who was this strange man who wanted to take him? And what does he want with him?

He stared in shock as Pops shoved him aside and stepped away, grabbing the wad of cash from Clyde's outstretched hand.

"Not having to deal with you or him anymore is a good enough price for me. Just take 'im and leave."

"A wise decision, really." Clyde dipped his head and smirked.

"But —" Reagan tried to protest, speaking up for the first time throughout this exchange. "My mother. She —"

"Doesn't want you here." Finished Pops sternly. "Are you still on the delusional idea that she wants anything to do with you? Did you really expect her to ever want and care for you? If so, you're dead wrong, Foley."

Reagan's eyes glistened. He blinked hard, trying to hold back his tears. Pops definitely wouldn't change his mind and keep him if he breaks down crying.

"Here's some sage advice for you, brat." Pops said scornfully as he turned away to leave, heading back to his truck. "Try to take care of yourself, Foley. Know that you'll never be great or be worth anything, so don't even bother trying to be something you're not, or you'll just get yourself killed. That would be an improvement in my opinion. And don't you dare show your face around here again. How's that for parting words?"

Reagan could hardly believe what he was hearing and he felt his heart crack inside his chest. Sure this was Pops, but… would mother feel the same way? It can't be. He has to be doing this behind her back. She wanted to keep him and Pops wanted to get rid of him. It's the only way.

A hand clamped down hard on his arm and tugged him away. "Come along, kiddo. You heard him. You're not wanted here." Clyde said nonchalantly as he dragged him the opposite way. "Fortunately I know just the place for you to fit in."

"Let me go!"

Reagan pried his hand away only for Clyde to pick him up and carry him under one arm. He trashed around harder, kicking and screaming to get away.

"Oi! If you keep acting like a brat I will knock some sense into you, idiot!" Clyde warned, but Reagan didn't listen. He writhed in his grasp, trying to twist his neck and bite his hand to free him when something unexpected pricked his neck. "Fine! There you go. This should keep you nice and quiet through the trip until we get to main base."

He didn't know what just happened, but his muscles felt numb and he grew tired fast. Reagan was fatigued. He went limp in the man's grasp. He couldn't fight it anymore and gradually blacked out.

From then on, everything was a blur.

Strange surroundings passed by him, fading in and out. Sometimes he was cast in darkness, other times in light; but he would never stay awake long enough to make anything out as he would pass out again soon after.

He couldn't remember what he'd dreamed and what was real.

Perhaps he was still back in the barn. Perhaps Pops had never asked him to accompany him to town. Maybe this was just one long crazy nightmare that had started with the horrible family reunion day.

But Reagan was sure he could remember his terrifying grandfather taking him aside. The trip to town. The strange man. The deal between them. How Pops unceremoniously sold him without a second thought. Reagan couldn't have conjured that from his own brain alone. That was all real.

And here he is now. Sold to a man to do God knows what, in a completely new and strange place. A scary place; who knows how far away from everything he's ever known. The outside world. And for what purpose, again?

He'd woken up in a room with no windows, full of beds stretched out, lit up by dim yellow lamps along the walls. He'd never been more scared in his life. He climbed the bed closest to him and clutched the sheets around him for comfort.

"Hey, you!"

Reagan looked up to find a fierce-looking boy a few years older than himself marching towards him. He had short dark hair, pale skin, and glaring at him with an eye of each colour; one blue and the other brown. The expression on his face was terrifying and eerily similar to that of Pop's when he found Reagan doing something wrong.

He tucked his knees close to his chest and cowered away.

"That's my bed you're on." The boy snarled. "I would have gotten here before you if that idiot hadn't left the toilet seat up! You have about ten seconds to get off or I'll stab you. I could shoot you right now just for touching what's mine. Then maybe later I will gut you for good measure. How's that sound?"

Reagan stiffened. Say something! He thought he could hear Ma yell at him in his head. Do something. Anything! Don't just sit there like a dunce, you useless pest.

"Five seconds." The intimidating guy hissed, towering over him.

"Whoa! Hey, calm down, all right?!"

Suddenly, aboyhurried toward them and stepped between Reagan and the scary looking guy. He patted Reagan's head in a friendly way.

"No one is getting stabbed or shot or gutted." The boy said to the scary one. "Christ! What is wrong with you? We may be in a gang but we don't have to be jerks to each other all the time. Sheesh!" He turned to Reagan with kind brown eyes. "Hi! I'm the aforementioned idiot, although most people call me Ted. This guy with the permanent frowny face here is Nick. What's your name?"

The most distinctive feature about this boy would have to be the few dark brown freckles that stand out on his nose, which also bore a long scar across his face; his hair was a light sandy colour, and he has olive skin. He was stocky and big for his age, easily dwarfing Reagan. A silver necklace dangled from his neck with the pendant of a fang. He appeared to be only a year or two older than Reagan, but he couldn't help but admire his bravery for talking back to someone so angry and scary. Had Reagan try talking back that way to his Pops he would have gotten the beating of a lifetime!

Rather than answering the cute boy he stretched gingerly, eyeing the door beyond them. It was wide open; as far as Reagan could tell in the dim lighting, he could walk right out the room. Would any of these vicious kids try and stop him? Were there guards posted outside to keep them from leaving? Most likely.

"It's Fitzroy." Reagan found his voice at last. "Reagan Fitzroy." He uttered quietly.

"Nice to meet you! Listen," Ted said. "Since you're brand new here there was no way of you knowing it but this really is Nick's bed and he is pretty temperamental about touching his stuff, so I'm asking you nicely to move someplace else."

"Go near any of my stuff again and I will gouge your eyes out, pipsqueak." The terrifying guy, Nick, snarled.

"You're not helping, Nick! What part of 'asking nicely' you failed to understand?" Ted hissed through clenched teeth. Then he turned to Reagan more kindly. "So? Reagan? May I show you to a vacant bed? A better bed than this one perhaps?"

Ted held his hand out toward him. Reagan stared at it for several heartbeats. He wasn't used to hearing such a soft tone of voice addressing him or being looked at with such warmth, but Reagan instinctively felt drawn to Ted. He seems friendly enough, and Reagan was desperate for some clarity.

Taking his hand Reagan was pulled away from the bed and led to the other side of the room towards a different bed; a good distance away from Nick and his ill-temper.

"Here you go!" Ted released him and sat across from him on another bed. "You can take the one next to mine."

Hesitantly he sat down on the bed. It was firm but cushioned. Not as soft as his bed back in the farm, but definitely not as prickly as the stacks of hay in the barn. Reagan figured it could be worse, and that he wouldn't get a bed at all.

But why was he here?

Ted looked him over, his gaze fixed on his left cheek. "I like your scar! How did you get it?" He asked.

Reagan blinked, self-consciously scratching the mostly healed injury. "That's a… very personal question." He murmured, turning his gaze away. "And you don't have to be nice with me all the time, I know it's embarrassing."

"Embarrassing?"

Ted leaned closer to his face, inspecting his scar. Reagan found himself holding his breath at their close proximity.

"Now that's not the sort of word we would usually describe scars around here, unless you got it in a really dumb way I guess." Ted interjected humorously, kicking his legs. "We have a… soft spot of sorts for scars like yours. You see mine?" He angled his head down so Reagan can see the full extent of the scar stretching across his nose. "I got it from one of our missions. We were in this butcher's place to collect a protection fee, but when the guy refused to pay he went all aggressive and SLASH! He took out this huge knife and started to hack away at us. I got caught right in the middle. Luckily it wasn't that serious. But pretty cool right?"

Ted's buzzing excitement and energetic demeanour would be contagious if Reagan wasn't so scared for his life, and so confused about his situation. But he had to admit that it slightly comforted him.

"We value scars and wounds around here because they show just how much you've been through. That you went through something and survived it. That's how we see them here and we always like to brag about them. We just can't wait to get a new one!" Ted went on, then tipped his head. "So how did you get here, huh? Did Clyde snatch you from the streets? Are you a runaway kid? What's your story?"

Reagan bowed his head with shame and averted his gaze. "I was sold." He sniffled. "My grandfather sold me."

"Yikes. Sorry, kiddo." Ted reached forward to pat him on the head. "Didn't your parents try to stop him or something?"

Choked up with grief he couldn't muster the strength to speak, so Reagan simply shook his head.

"Wow. That really sucks, but it doesn't surprise me. Adults are all #$$h#les anyways."

Ted's words surprised Reagan and he looked up shyly to meet his gaze. Ted smiled at him.

"All my parents ever did was bicker and fight and nothing else. My mom would tell me to be one way, and my dad would say the complete opposite, and then my damn teachers would get involved. It was a mess. So one day I got fed up with all of them and ran away from home. I've been traveling around ever since I was six, until of course this gang of #$$h#les took an interest in me and forced me to work for them or… BOOM! dead."

Reagan rubbed the accumulating tears from his eyes and chuckled. He liked Ted and his funny way of talking. "Why don't you just run away like you did before?"

Ted frowned. "I would, but… not only are we monitored all the time but they have ways of keeping us bound to them. Even if I did manage to escape I wouldn't survive out there again for much longer."

"Why not?"

"You'll see. They inject us with this crazy stuff, and in time you will grow to be dependent on it. It's their way to keep us in line."

Not knowing how to process everything so far, Reagan took comfort in the fact that Ted is stuck in the same situation as him; as selfish as this might seem. He seems so nice, and maybe things here won't be so bad if they're together.

"I-I'm sorry, I am just really confused by all of this." He began shakily. "Where exactly are we? And why am I here?" Reagan asked.

Ted furrowed his eyebrows. "You don't know?"

Reagan shook his head. Ted opened his mouth to reply when a different voice beat him to it. "Foley!"

At the sound of his name he snapped up his head and looked over Ted's shoulders to see Clyde standing in the doorway. At once Reagan immediately wished he was unconscious again. Clyde stepped closer, frowning down at Ted who obediently backed away at the sight of the older man – shooting a sympathetic glance at Reagan as he turned the other way. Clyde then fixed his blue eyes down at Reagan.

"Get up." He commanded. "The Boss wants to see you."

Reagan had no choice but to follow him.

Clyde led the way up a flight of stairs and a winding hallway without ever looking back. Reagan stumbled to keep up with him and his long strides. Everything around them was decorated in black and violet, all the window blinds were closed with not a speck of light shining through, and everything was illuminated by dim lamps. The hallways felt like they were getting narrower the farther they went.

As they moved along the corridor, Reagan picked up a sound from something up ahead — a murmuring sound that grew louder as they approached.

Voices, jumbled and arguing.

Dread prickled through every inch of Reagan's body. If he hadn't been more terrified of what Clyde would do to him, he would have turned and bolted back down the hallway and back to Ted. But he wanted answers.

Finally Clyde and Reagan stepped through an archway into a grand room full of people. Along the dark walls were packed full of strange people, some were standing still and firm, while others leaned against the wall with arms crossed. One by one, heads turned toward them. The gathered crowd fell silent.

Reagan gulped and wondered again if he was dreaming all of this.

"Watch it, brat!" Clyde growled as Reagan stumbled into him and accidentally stepped on the hem of his purple coat, and then pushed him forward.

With a massive effort, Reagan focused on the details of the room around him. He took a deep breath.

There were about fifty or more people present in the room, most of them appearing shorter than Clyde. Many of them had shiny things pierced into their skin, mostly their ears or noses, others had scars that would put Ted's to shame, some had intricate designs and drawings along their skin and bodies, and most of them appear to have a calm and collected demeanour, but Reagan could sense the unveiled threat they carried within them; as if they were just waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Right in front of them in the far wall was a curtain of blue and black beads dangling from a doorway.

The other people kept glancing at the curtains as if waiting for something to happen.

A young girl, about 15 years old, with long flowing black hair, and hooded eyes slipped out from behind the curtains. She wore a cluster of diamonds around her neck, her hands folded neatly in front of her as she regarded Reagan with a peculiar look.

"Really, Clyde? Him?" A girl with pink dreadlocks barked from beside them. "This scrawny wimp is going to be your trainee?"

"Shut up, Roxie." Clyde growled. "I've seen the kid in action. He's got 'em street smarts! With a little bit of training he will fit right in with us."

"If he doesn't mess up first and we get to kill him, that is."

A clamour of voices filled the room.

Not paying attention to any of the on-going commotion around him, Reagan glanced up at the screen of curtains. His skin prickled as though he were being watched. From the moment he stepped into the grand room he felt eyes on him. Even now, someone still has their gaze fixed solely on him.

Just as he began to wonder what could be behind the curtains, the lady standing next to it lifted one hand to silence the clamouring crowd.

A hush fell instantly around the room. Everyone present seemed to be holding his or her breath.

"The Boss would like to speak to the boy. Alone." The girl declared, straightening up again.

Clyde nudged him forward and Reagan gulped. A chill sliced through his skin and made him shiver. The Boss is through there. Waiting for him. Nobody could see them, but their presence was domineering all the same.

Reagan narrowed his eyes pensively. What must be like to hold so much power in your hands? To be so powerful that everyone obeys you without complaint or they get consequences for disobedience. To hold so much respect and confidence that no one could ever lay a hand on you. Have everyone stand below you. It must be nice to be powerful and on top of things all the time.

If only...

The girl parted the way through the beads for him and Reagan ducked inside wearily. The room was smaller than the previous one with a grand intricate fireplace in the corner, low black tables, a trunk packed with shiny goods and gold, and a large throne-like purple armchair sitting in the middle of the room.

Reagan stared in awe at the man seated in the chair, his heart pounding in his ears.

A pale older gent with long layered, slicked back platinum blond hair in the shape of a mullet and icy blue eyes; wearing a long, ragged white cloak, black boots, contoured trousers, and a sparkly black jacket with his legs folded with a glass on one hand, occasionally taking sips of his drink Reagan could only assume was alcohol.

He was no stranger to the bitter beverage. Pops would get drunk from time to time back home and his behaviour would become unpredictable. Sometimes Pops would lash out at Ma, other times he would be lazy and mellow on his armchair and doze off, and occasionally he would purposefully hunt down Reagan to take his frustrations out on him. One time when Reagan was four, he made the terrible mistake of rummaging through Pops stash of drinks and experimenting with them. He got three broken ribs that day as a result.

That's how Reagan came to be a great listener from then on.

"Come closer, my son." The man in white and black drawled out, beckoning him forward with a kink of his finger. His voice was silky and quiet, luring Reagan into a false sense of comfort. His icy eyes were pinning him to the floor like an exotic insect, studying every little detail about him. He smiled. "What's your name, my child?"

"R-Reagan, sir. Reagan Fitzroy." Reagan bowed his head.

"Just Reagan Fitzroy?" The Boss purred playfully, bending down to lift Reagan's chin up to meet his eyes.

Reagan grumbled. "It's Reagan Fitz Foley, sir."

"That's better. And how, Reagan, did you come to be with us?" The Boss prompted.

"I'm… I'm not sure. My grandfather- he… he sold me, b-but there must've been a misunderstanding." Reagan answered plaintively. "My mother wouldn't have allowed this had she known. I'm sure of this! I shouldn't be here. I want to go home!"

"Whatever for? To be unappreciated and beaten up every day, where you are hated merely for existing and can never be free or loved?" The Boss pointed out, not unkindly, before taking a long drawn out sip of his drink.

His words shocked Reagan to his core. He gazed at the Boss, fighting back terror. How could he have known?

"A little birdie told me all about you." The Boss answered as though reading his mind. "That's how you came to be with us. I couldn't let you keep on living in that dreadful place, now could I?" He shifted, making space in the chair as he patted his lap. "You look so small and vulnerable. Come. Sit next to me."

Too afraid to say no, already dreading the beating he'd receive otherwise, Reagan slowly climbed onto the chair as the Boss heaved him up to his lap, wrapping part of his cloak around him as well.

"Would you like a taste of gin?" The Boss offered courteously, already tipping the glass down to Reagan's lips, giving him no choice other than to choke or swallow.

The Boss chuckled when he caught the grimace of disgust on Reagan's face. "You will grow to enjoy it with time." He murmured. "Now… I heard you have a certain knack for taking things that aren't yours. Is that true? Don't lie to me now."

Reagan reluctantly nodded, wiping his lips.

"Good. We can use someone like you around here." The Boss stared at him. "This shall be your new home from now on. One where you will be deeply appreciated for your talents and effort, I promise you. You will be free to do whatever you want… so long as you work hard and follow my every order. Doesn't that sound simple? A big strong lad like yourself will have no trouble fitting in, I'm certain of it."

Unease tugged at Reagan's belly. He didn't want to be here. He wanted nothing to do with this creepy and yet alluring man. However, this man has yet to harm him. So far all he's done is try and fail to make him feel comfortable and talk about the promise of a new loving home. One where he gets to grow up with Ted… now that doesn't sound so bad, as compared to everything else he's been through.

And it's not like he has a choice in the matter anyways! He never does. That's the one thing that seems to remain consistent in his life no matter where he goes.

"Felicity, come in my dear and bring Clyde with you." The Boss commanded, not taking his gaze off of Reagan for even a second as he tenderly combed his blond hair back.

The young girl standing by the doorway earlier waltzed inside, politely dipping her head as Clyde followed her inside.

"Clyde, you are a faithful and skilled member of the Neverlanders. We value your judgement and I trust you to train this boy in our ways and make him a valuable asset… or else." The Boss declared. He sounded casual, but there was something ferociously intense in his eyes. "As for you, my dear child; you are now a trainee of the Neverlanders. You are expected to serve us dutifully from this moment forward. We are your new home. You are to make us proud and never let us down. Can you do this one simple thing for me? It's only fair, after all, since we were so kind to take you in."

Everything else that came after the meeting was done was a blur.

Reagan went back to the dormitory and reunited with Ted. They didn't get a chance to get a word out to each other before Clyde and another man had pulled them aside. They pierced the back of Reagan's neck with something sharp, but it was quick and felt as though they just used a stapler on him.

It was only later on Reagan would find out they put a tracking device on him.

As he was stabbed with needles and injected with an unknown substance, Ted held his hand and squeezed tightly. Reagan appreciated the brief moment of comfort before his vision blurred and his veins were set on fire.

And from then on Reagan's life was dedicated solely to the gang and keeping himself alive. Reagan went through absolute h#ll to be where he is today. But now he will make all of them regret everything they ever done to him. He'd already gotten back at Clyde and some of his old acquaintances during his time spent here grooming Eddie and the other losers to his will, but Reagan won't be satisfied until the whole damn organization is taken down once and for all.

Now here he stands.

Standing idly by, on high alert, in one of the most dangerous parts of town for some of those bastards to come and find him. He knew this area well, and recognised this place as one of the most frequented spots for his old gang to place ambushes on unsuspecting folk.

He'd been training his powers for days on end now, and he feels he has gotten enough control over them to finally set out on his revenge.

"You never had the chance to be innocent. Bad things were expected of you from the moment you were conceived. Nothing more than a troublesome burden nobody wants. ~" The voice hissed at him contemptuously, pressing blades deeper into his body until blood pooled at his feet. "No matter what you did people would always see you as a meaningless pawn they could throw out once they were done and you wouldn't amount into anything other than what you were born to be. ~"

Pipe down, will yah? Reagan snapped through the agonizing pain the voice's words had brought forth. Someone's coming my way.

He could hear the sound of thrumming footsteps with his new enhanced hearing and Reagan turned around, smiling when he saw the glimmer of recognition on the eyes of his former partners in crime. "Nick! Russell! Girl I never met before in my life! I'm so glad to see all of you. How's business going?"

"Foley? You're alive?" Nick growled incredulously as he and his little group reached him. He hasn't changed a bit since their youth, apart from a few new scars and some piercings on his eyebrow. "How can that be? We thought for sure you were a goner after-"

"After that little trade business went to sh#t and you guys left me to fend for myself?" Reagan finished, his grin twitching a little. "Yeah, I get that a lot. But surprise! I'm back from the world of the dead and I would very much appreciate it if you obedient little pawns could take me to the Boss, pronto!"

The girl snorted. "Ha! No one gets to decide when they see the Boss but him. Besides, do you really think you can just stroll in our turf and give us orders? We should kill you right here and be done with it."

Oh I think I'm gonna enjoy killing you soon. Reagan thought with amusement.

"But if you kill me, how can I ever relay the message to the Boss?"

"What message?" Nick sounded wary but not entirely hostile. Reagan and he never got along but now he seemed interested in what Reagan had to say.

"I know the gang has been having some trouble lately with making deals. You even lost the forces we had in Scotland and Ireland didn't you?" He stated nonchalantly. "Someone has been giving you a hard time and taking you out one by one."

Nick hesitated, narrowing his mismatched eyes in suspicion, and then nodding brusquely. "Yes. We lost a good number of our members recently." He shot Reagan an uncomfortable look. "Clyde included."

That look made no sense to Reagan and he had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Does that meathead really think he has some sort of attachment toward his mentor; who physically hurt him on a daily basis and taught him everything he knows now? Sure he was the closest thing to a father he's ever had, but Reagan didn't hesitate one bit to dispose of that sleazy bastard and keep his trusty blade as a trophy. He had it coming for years!

"Well, I happen to have valuable information regarding those who seek to hunt you down, and I think the Boss would very much appreciate to hear me out." Reagan went on. "Besides, I sure would love to reunite with the old gang! Can't stop thinking about those good ol' days of stealing and kidnapping."

The trio exchanged glances before nodding.

"Very well, we'll escort you to the Boss. But you better not start anything, Foley!" Nick warned.

Reagan smiled innocently. "I simply wish to talk."

Nick sent the girl ahead to warn the rest of the gang and their Boss of his arrival. Taking the lead, Nick headed deeper into the alleyways where they grew narrower the farther they went. Russell, a huge guy with a shaved head and tattoos, brought up the rear. Reagan was acutely conscious of him and felt his dark eyes pierce him like a needle.

At last Nick led them toward a grand abandoned mansion standing amidst the worst part of town. It looked worn and more rundown than Reagan remembered, and he vaguely wondered if their Boss is still the same one or were they under new management. Pushing through the set of double doors, Reagan paused to take in his surroundings. It was still a bleak place with barely any lighting at all.

As they walked through the narrow hallways they briefly passed by the trainee's dormitory. Reagan glanced down the corridor and peered into the room to see some kids; some barely ten, others already in their teen years, all of them stuck in the exact same predicament he had once been in.

Reagan won't let that happen. Today he will set them free.

As they entered the vast and dark reunion room where the Boss conducts all the gang's dealings and meetings, all the members already notified of the news and gathered around, glaring at him as he made his way toward the centre; Reagan couldn't help the immense grin on his face. The first time he entered this room he was a helpless little kid scared out of his wits and standing before a powerful and intimidating man. Now he is the most powerful man in the room, and no one has any idea. But they will all learn soon enough.

The Boss's assistant, Felicity, still heavily adorned in diamonds as always, faithfully took her spot next to the bead curtain.

Reagan swallowed his pride for now and halted before them and bowed. "Greetings, Boss." He said. "Thank you for seeing me in such a short notice, and gracing me today with your presence."

Felicity leaned toward the curtain, tipping her head. Everyone waited in bated silence.

She straightened her posture. "The Boss wishes to know how you survived all these years after being presumed dead."

Reagan lifted his head. "I'm glad you asked! Because it is the precise reason why I am here today."

Curious whispers and murmurs rippled through the assembled gang members as they glanced at one another. Felicity held one hand out and everyone immediately fell silent.

"All these years I have been under the service of a new and more powerful organization known as The Red Army. They're very discreet with their business and very under wraps, no one has ever heard of them. Their main goal is to take over the world, you see." Reagan announced once he had everyone's attention. "What does this have to do with you lot, you may ask? By taking over the world they intend to wipe out all traces of the underworld criminal organizations, the black market, and all forms of dealings and traffics. They have a special division dedicated solely on pursuing such activities and ending them." Shocked and outraged murmurs became gradually louder in the room. "I assure you, they will come for you. And when they do, you won't stand a chance against them. They are well equipped to take you down."

"Have you come here to warn us or threaten us?" Nick glowered beside him, fixing him with a baleful glare.

Reagan shook his head. "I have come here out of the goodness of my heart, and the sliver of loyalty I still have for you, to give you all salvation."

Nick blinked. "Salvation?"

"You mean… this Red Army are the ones who have been ambushing us and picking us off one by one these past few months?" Reagan recognised Roxie's snobby voice and her terrible flashy-pink dreadlocks.

"Oh no, not at all!" Reagan chuckled heartily before smirking. "That was me."

Guns were drawn and aimed at him at once. Reagan resisted the urge to burst into laughter. Such a paranoid and sensitive bunch!

"I don't know if you are stupid or if you have a death wish, but did you really think waltzing in here and blatantly admitting to betray us would end well for you, Foley?" Roxie hissed, aiming her twin pistols at him. "You just handed yourself over to us on a silver platter."

"Ahh, but on the contrary." Reagan corrected slyly. "You're the ones who foolishly brought me here, where all of you are gathered around so neatly for the slaughter."

Before anyone else could speak up again, the curtain of beads parted open and the Boss slipped out into the meeting room; looking as fabulous and menacing as he'd always been throughout Reagan's adolescence. Although he appeared old, he certainly did not look frail for his age.

He approached Reagan with the smuggest of smiles, adorning his white cloak lined with sapphires.

"My son," The Boss greeted with mock delight as though holding back his temper, his eyes flicking over Reagan, assessing his features at lightning speed. "What a delight it is to have you back with us again. Although by the look of things, I wished it were on better terms."

Reagan forced himself not to flinch by the clear disappointment and contempt the Boss openly showed to him in his voice alone, though his mannerisms said the opposite. A moment of doubt pierced him.

Standing before the Boss himself with the intention of killing him and everyone else in this forsaken room after so many years made Reagan hesitate, feeling both disloyal and torn. His heart heavy as stone.

The voice cackled. "You still care for his opinion. You seek his praise and affection, even now, after everything this man and his organization have done to you. How pathetic! ~"

Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about.

"Oh, but I do. ~" The voice hissed. "Even though you know by now this man's praise is nothing but soft-veiled lies to trick you into performing better at his plans, it was one of the few rare instances of affection you ever received in your sorry pathetic life, and you grew addicted to it. Despite everything you still care for his opinion on you. ~"

Electing to ignore the voice's taunting antics for now, Reagan focused on the task at hand of confronting his former gang and bringing them to their knees.

"You know, I always had high hopes for you, son." The Boss continued, smiling. "I figured one day you might challenge me for the title and become my successor. You always were too greedy for your own good."

Reagan narrowed his eyes. "That's an interesting offer, but one that no longer concerns me." He said. "I don't need your pathetic little gang to make me strong anymore. I now possess more power than you can ever imagine, you old demented kook."

The Boss smacked his face with the back of his hand, the rings he wore around his fingers bruising him deeply. Reagan foresaw the move coming from a mile away, but figured the old man was such at a disadvantage that he might as well get one good blow in.

Face twisted with fury the Boss chuckled. "After all I have done for you… you dare go up against me? You good for nothing, ungrateful, and spoiled brat. I raised you. Took you in when nobody else would. And this is the thanks I get? Seems to me you have forgotten your place in life." He says with a snarl. He catches himself, and in the long pause before Reagan speaks, he tries pouring honey through his words instead. "How could you even think of betraying me? Did I not keep you alive all this time and teach you everything I know? Who fed, clothed you, and taught you all those years ago? I could have easily abandoned you just as your family did and let you fend for yourself, but I was kind enough to take you under my wing and keep you alive. Did that mean nothing to you?"

Grinning, Reagan wiped the blood off his lips. "Knowing everything I've been through under your reign," He said, his conviction hardening. "I rather you left me for dead a long time ago."

"Liar." The Boss barks out a laugh. "You did everything you could to stay alive in this place, just so one day you could reach my level. I know so, because I've been moulding you to fit my needs. Admit it; you enjoyed working for me."

"How would I know?" Reagan flared. "I only did what I did so that one day I could get back at you for all the pain you put me through. You don't care for me – for any of us, really – and I certainly don't give a single sh#t about you."

"Ahhh but you do still care for me, after all this time." The Boss said, silkier now.

Reagan vigorously shook his head. "It's not fair… I shouldn't have to care for you when you don't care for me at all."

"I care for you… when you're not being unreasonable and disobedient." The Boss pointed out. "Especially right now when you're threatening me and my allies for some misguided sense of revenge you have."

Don't listen to this piece of sh#t. Reagan internally scolded himself for ever hesitating going through this in the first place. I am free from his influence. He has no control over me. I don't need him anymore.

"You only need me now. ~" Purred the voice. "Now I am the one in charge of you. ~"

"Give us one good reason why we shouldn't just gun you down where you stand?" Felicity commanded coolly.

Reagan shrugged, trying to dispel the sadness that threatened to overwhelm him. "Like I said, The Red Army is coming for you whether you like it or not. Sooner or later they will chase you down to the ends of the earth until you are no more than a filthy stain to effortlessly wipe away. Everything you guys worked so hard for will have been for nothing." He explained. Then he paused, his voice turning cold with menace as he glared around the room with blazing green eyes. "But I don't want that. After all these years they are not the ones who should get to finish you off. I will! Only I should get the privilege to take your sorry pathetic lives. I am no longer the powerless little wimp you all know me as. Thanks to the Red Army I have become the most powerful man in the world!"

"And how do we suppose you plan to end us? There's only one of you, and many more of us." The Boss pointed out snidely. "It was foolish of you to think you can stand up to us by yourself."

All at once, Reagan accumulated the rage inside him and let it run freely now. He thought about all the awful sh#t he went through under their reign. The drugs they forced into his veins. The brutal training. The sparring sections. The fights. Living with the threat of death or dismemberment every day of his life. The fear of failure.

His hands clenched at his sides and trembled with fury.

…

Ted...

Sensing that familiar pulse of energy igniting to life inside of him, Reagan couldn't help but chuckle. "I was hoping you'd ask that."

And that's when his body started to morph and shape.

Guns fired away and yet the creature felt nothing. The bullets couldn't pierce its tough skin and cluttered harmlessly to the floor. Grinning wide with razor sharp teeth the monster unleashed its fury on the wretched gang members and tore them apart with its claws. It slashed through them mercilessly like a hot knife through butter. People who a second ago seemed so tough and mighty, have now regressed into terrified shrieking toddlers who couldn't escape it. They couldn't protect themselves. They couldn't do anything. They were helpless to defy him.

The trainees, on the other hand… their involvement is not their fault. They had nothing to do with the suffering he'd been dealt with, and for that Reagan will grant them mercy. With as much control as he had Reagan made sure their deaths were quick and painless.

No one will be left standing.

Everything became a blur once his form shifted into his second larger stage. Reagan receded into the darkest corner of his own mind; aimlessly floating away, distantly aware of his massive form wreaking havoc, killing the last few members left, and destroying the mansion. Getting brief flashes of images popping through his mind.

The monster took great joy in ripping them apart despite their sobbing protests. The Boss was no more powerful than any ordinary man. He couldn't do a dent against the creature as it melted him alive with its venomous breath.

Afterwards, when he finally came to, for the longest time Reagan suspected that he might be dead, except that everything hurt so much. Darkness pressed against his eyes whenever he tried to open them. His stomach and throat ached in a fierce, raw way, as if they'd been scraped out with a toilet brush.

He blinked open his eyes, staring up at the brightening sky. He'd been passed out for quite some time since the slaughter. A whole day, if he had to guess. He sat up, unbothered with the fact that he was missing clothes, and found himself somewhere in the countryside of England.

Part of his vengeance was now complete.

A small piece of himself now felt more at ease than he ever felt before, knowing that his tormentors were finally gone for good. They paid dearly for what they did to him. For what they did to them.

"I did it, Ted."Reagan smiled with glistening eyes as he stared off into space, clutching the pendant of his necklace in his hands. He could hardly believe that it really worked. "I did it for the both of us. We're free now."

(Flashback…)

It was a vicious, cutthroat world in the gang.

Six years went by since he first joined. He went through vigorous and intense training under the hands of his mentor, Clyde. Beaten down mercilessly every single day. Forced to spar with others, Ted included. And just like back in the farm with his grandparents, every day he had tasks to accomplish. He would go out in the streets and steal in their name, he would lure young unsuspecting women away to be sold, and he would accompany the older and more experienced members on dealings with other gangs or to collect protection fees from the residents of their turf.

And if Reagan didn't meet his quota for the day then he wouldn't get his fix of the drugs they had gotten him addicted to, and they'll let him suffer through a minor withdrawal until he can work hard to get his fix the next time.

The Boss hardly ever slips his guise of caring and doting parent figure, though he could very well turn merciless if provoked. He would be stern and disappointed when one of the trainees didn't meet their quota, whispering how it's their own fault for bearing through this pain and had they been better at their task he wouldn't have to discipline them this way, often laying down the guilt heavy on them because 'how dare they not comply and force him to do something so awful to them? Can't any of them see how much he cares for them and how this pains him?'

It was always this song and dance with him. The Boss would have them punished for the littlest of mistakes, and then be all soft-spoken and kind the next instance; praising the ever loving h#ll out of them when they obliged with his demands.

Reagan's only consolation in all of this sh#tshow was Ted.

The older boy was always there for him no matter what. When he'd fail to pin down his opponent and Clyde punished him with another withdrawal, Ted would always be by his side, gently comforting him through it. They often trained together and did well out in the field as well. No one can complain they're not good at what they do when they work together.

After several years living here, Clyde and Ted's ways seem to be rubbing off on Reagan as well. He grew to be more assertive, witty, and a little more arrogant from time to time.

The boys often snuck away from the other trainees in the dormitory to sit on the roof of the mansion and watch the sunrise as they talked about their aspirations for the future. There weren't many options, mind you, but the boys took what they could get.

They would rise up the ranks and one day Ted would be the new boss of the gang, and Reagan would be his second in command. Then everyone will have to do as they say!

"We will go far together, you and I!" Ted had once told him. "If we do whatever it takes to survive we will climb up the ranks in no time."

There were many times Reagan found himself worrying about his friendship with Ted. They never fought, and even in sparring sessions they would only playfully tease each other after, but his issue is that he valued Ted a lot and he was worried Ted didn't feel the same way back. Ted took so much of his headspace it's ridiculous. Reagan often caught himself watching him the same way he used to watch his mother, hoping for a glance that would hint he loved him back. He'd worried his friend would wake up one day, see him for what he really is, and want nothing more to do with him.

A thing to cast aside once you were done with.

But every day they'd wake up, then he'd glance up at him and smile, and in Ted's eyes he could see himself as Reagan, just fine the way he was. Neither a pawn nor a burden.

His friend.

Which made everything better and worse all at the same time.

Clyde has tasked him to spy on his meeting with the Boss, which greatly confused Reagan at first, but he knew that his mentor always has bigger motives behind his orders and didn't dare question him. And even though it meant eavesdropping on the Boss, Reagan has no place to refuse. To do so is a death wish.

Obediently, under the cover of darkness Reagan snuck his way into a vent that led beneath the meeting room and waited for an eternity, his muscles screaming, until the meeting finally began.

He heard their conversation from below their noses, no one remotely aware he was present. Clyde was being dispatched to Scotland on a mission to dispose of some competition that have been giving their business there a bit of trouble the past few weeks, and apparently he wanted Reagan to accompany him.

It took all of Reagan's concentration to keep his mouth shut. He hadn't realized this meeting was going to be about him.

A real mission?!

Outside the turf?

But Felicity, the Boss's assistant, and Roxie, another high ranking member of the gang present in this meeting, seem against the idea since Reagan was so young and inexperienced.

"Yes, but he is a smart kid. Smarter than a lot of our other members, I might add." Clyde argued. "He has a good eye. He can smell weakness in a person the moment he meets them. And when he is driven he can really do some proper damage on our enemies. He won't back down from a fight so easily, but he still knows his place well enough not to f#ck up an important meeting. It's about time he learns how the real world works out there, and fend for himself if needed."

Reagan's heart was threatening to swell and burst right out of his chest. No one had ever praised him for anything. No one but Ted had ever noticed anything he'd ever done right.

In training Clyde had never said such nice things about him. He'd only criticise and beat him into shape. Now this was his chance to rise in the ranks.

Oh please let me become a real member! Please let me go on this mission. I don't wanna be a trainee anymore. I'm so tired of being weak and defenceless.

The gang's secrecy was everything. Which was precisely why they never let trainees make dealings beyond their turf. The older members of the gang didn't trust the trainees to keep their mouth shut if they were ever captured by, say, the cops or a rival gang.

In the end, after much arguing, the Boss made a proposition that chilled Reagan's blood to the core.

"Foley must prove himself to be as good as you claim him to be, Clyde. If he can kill one of the other trainees tonight, in stealth, before dawn breaks, then he can go with you and we will accept him as a full-fledged member of the Neverlanders. If not, then you must choose someone else instead." Felicity declared after a deafening moment of silence as she represented the head honcho of the gang. "This is his one chance, Clyde. If you really think he is ready then this should be an easy test to pass. Or if not, you can choose someone else and end this whole thing now. Spare us a needless loss."

Reagan clenched his jaw determinedly. I am going on this mission. I will climb the ranks today, no matter what.

He wasted no time. He's heard enough.

He snuck his way out of the vent and raced back toward the dormitory before Clyde got there first. Most trainees are scheduled for night training out in the courtyard. That won't do at all. Too many of them in one place, and they were always accompanied by their mentors. He won't get a clean kill that way. But Reagan knew for a fact that Leroy, the grumpy and quiet trainee several years older than him, was fast asleep and defenceless.

The perfect target for an easy kill.

He snuck into the dormitory where the trainees stayed. Reagan crept forward on silent feet. A faint sound made him freeze for a moment.

He waited a moment, and then crept forward again.

And there he was. Leroy, fast asleep, drooling a little. He was stout, and had a permanent scowl on his face, even in his sleep. Reagan remembered him from a sparring session in which Leroy had injured one of the other trainees by kicking them in the face while they were already down and then bragged about it afterward.

He'd be no big loss to the gang. And yet — he was a person. A person Reagan had actually spoken to. A living, breathing human being.

The weight of the order suddenly hit Reagan like a semi-truck. Could he really bring himself to kill someone else? In his sleep, no less?

Whatever it takes. He reminded himself.

If I don't do this, I may never get another chance to rise. Clyde could be gone on this mission for weeks, he'd said.

I need to go with Clyde, no matter what.

Not only that, but going with him would mean leaving the turf, which was every trainee's dream here. To get a glimpse of the outside world again. A world which they no longer belonged to. That's where he longed to be. None of the other members in the gang would hesitate to kill someone. The Boss himself is ordering him to go through with this.

His hands trembled as he reached for his pocket-knife, gifted to him by Clyde. Every trainee gets one eventually.

He went to slit Leroy's throat when footsteps echoed just outside the room. Reagan dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed. He watched as a pair of feet stepped closer to Leroy's bed, and he could hear the harsh whispering voice that spoke next.

"Roy." Hissed a female voice. "Get up, you lazy lump!"

Leroy let out a long grumbling whine but obeyed. Scrambling noises followed. "What's happening?" He yawned as they walked away.

"Silence. Someone is coming to try and kill you." The other voice growled. Roxie! Reagan had guessed from the moment he heard the footsteps. The b#tch is sabotaging my chances to complete the test! "But we're not gonna let that happen. Go to the courtyard and train with the others for now. That should keep you in line, idiot."

Fury and dismay gripped Reagan as he watched his only chance walk away from him and out of harm's way. He climbed out from under the bed, shoulder's drooping. What am I going to do now?

The sound of soft snoring made Reagan stiffen and he slowly turned his head.

On the same spot as always, lying on the bed next to his was none other than Ted. Peacefully dozing off after a long day of training and missions. Completely oblivious to the traitorous thoughts that came over Reagan's head the moment he spotted him.

No… No. No! Reagan shook his head. I can't… No! He's my friend! I can't do this. I won't!

But would Ted feel the same way? If their positions were reversed would Ted have the same courtesy to spare him? He did say to do whatever it takes to ensure their survival. If Reagan can't kill another trainee before dawn breaks he will miss out on his chance and possibly be killed for it. Why would Ted be more interested in being his friend when he can so easily rise in the ranks? Why would he want to spare him of all people? A mistake no one wants. Not even his family wanted him! And what then? Ted kills him, he is left alone in this miserable place to suffer under the gang's reign, and with no hope of ever escaping. Reagan can't let that happen. Perhaps killing him here now, in his sleep, is the merciful thing to do here.

At least then he won't have to put up with Reagan anymore. He won't have to suffer on his behalf then.

With shaky hands, Reagan held up the pocket knife and leaned over him.

He'd do it to me in a heartbeat. He wouldn't need a reason, just an order. That's the real test, isn't it? Can I follow orders? Will I do exactly as I'm told, no matter what it is?

Can I kill my own best friend to get what I want?

Reagan pressed the blade to his friend's neck.

I can. I will. I must.

When everything was over and done with, Reagan was holding onto the bloodied blade, choking down his sobs as best he could before Clyde stumbled upon him and beats him into shape again. He couldn't stop crying. What have I done? His best friend, Ted, was now dead because of him. His first kill.

One of many more to come living in this damned place.

But they can't say he is a useless wimp now, can they? He completed the test. He passed. And now he has grown stronger. They will have to think twice before they decide to pick on him again.

The sound of approaching steps drew his attention. Wiping his tears away as best he could, Reagan took a deep breath and composed himself before leaving the dormitory. He found Clyde pacing just right outside, his eyebrows furrowed with anxiety in a way Reagan had never seen before.

"Foley!" He exclaimed when he manifested from the shadows. "What took you so long, you little twerp? Why didn't you follow my orders? We don't have time to waste we-"

"I did it." Reagan held up the bloodied blade numbly. His eyes conveyed nothing. "I was there. I heard your whole meeting with the Boss and I did it. Ted is dead now."

He received a hard slap across the face.

"Ow! What the f#ck was that for?!" Reagan yelled incredulously. He was already used to the beatings to really give a sh#t about a simple slap anymore.

"Are you lying to me?" Clyde eyed him distrustfully.

"No!"

"There's no use in lying to me, Foley. I know when you are lying." Clyde snarled.

"Evidently not, considering you can't even tell when I am telling the f#cking truth here!" Reagan snapped back.

Clyde stepped back in shock and stared down at the bloodied blade in his hands. He walked past him and peered into the dormitory a second later. "What- what did you-? I can't believe it! You actually went through with it?"

"Does this mean I am a real member now? Can I go on the mission with you tomorrow?" Reagan asked. He didn't wanna dwell on his actions.

Clyde looked down at him and smirked. "Well done, Foley. I knew you had it in you." He praised. Reagan felt nothing at his words. "We can leave… right now."

"So be it. I'm ready."

Clyde turned away and left. Reagan went to follow him but spared the dormitory behind him one last wistful glance, a tear slipping through his facade. He clutched the silver necklace around his neck.

Goodbye, Ted. You're in a better place now. He silently bid his friend farewell and apologized profusely in his mind. I promise you… no matter what becomes of me, I will make every single person who ever messed with me – who ever messed with us – pay for what they did. No one will stand in my way of making things right. I swear it.

Reagan walked down the hallway after Clyde, sealing his fate.

"You killed him. The person that meant the most to you in your sad pathetic life is dead because of you. ~" The voice barked with laughter, strangling Reagan. "All for a promotion, no less? Purely on the basis that he might, MIGHT, have done the same to you in turn. Well, I and anyone with a functioning brain would, certainly. But you had no way of knowing if your little friend would really go through with it. But you killed him before giving him that chance, simply because you were too scared to find out the truth about him. Maybe he would have spared you. You'll never know. But deep down inside you are fully aware that no one wants anything to do with you, don't you? You know your place. ~"

Needless to say, Reagan had a hard time catching his breath as he climbed up the familiar hill leading up to his family's farm. He was trying to be strong and endure it as the painful memories of his past kept resurfacing. The voice wouldn't leave him alone and now he wondered if taking the serum was a good idea.

Of course it was! He berated himself. I got my revenge thanks to this thing. Just don't heed it's words, jackass. It's a small price to pay for ultimate power. It's worth it!

He closed his eyes, trying to shut down the rushing tornado of thoughts going around in his head. The earthy smell of pretichor brought back a rush of painful memories, and for a brief moment he felt a pang of longing; then he pictured all the horrible things that happened to him in this land, and his resolve returned. He steeled himself and nulled his face to neutral, a sly grin stretching across his face as he kept on walking the dirt path up the grassy slope.

After his rampage on his old gang, he found a new set of clothes to wear and was back in Ireland. In his old town; looking forward to delivering the next part of his long-awaited scheme for justice he's so long been denied. He was surprised by how much the town has changed over the years. It was a lot more modern now. The little rundown market he'd buy groceries at was now a top of the line supermarket. No kids or teens spending their time outside now that the internet is a thing. Incredible.

But Reagan wasn't interested in nostalgia, and frankly, he's had enough of relieving old memories for one day.

Today is November 19th. The Fitzroy family reunion day. His whole family will be there and he won't get a better chance than this. And today he will finally get the opportunity to join in on the party. Reagan grinned. He can hardly wait to see the looks on their faces when they see him back.

A soft giggling in the wind caught his attention.

The threshold of his grandparent's farm came into view and loomed ahead of him like a bad dream. Turning his head Reagan spotted a little boy peeking into the pig's pen, standing on his tippy toes to get a better view.

Reagan tipped his head and stepped closer, the grass crunching beneath his feet. Just who was this kid and what is he doing out here anyway?

The little boy must've sensed he was being watched and turned around, giving Reagan the opportunity to get a better look at him. He looked about eight or nine years old, has messy dark brown hair, pale skin, and round, kind brown eyes that pierced Reagan's gut.

He stiffened. His breath hitched in his throat. The voice chuckled with amusement. "Well, would you look at that? Seems to me that she has replaced you. That's how much you meant to her. ~"

Reagan pushed his bitterness aside to study the kid. He didn't look unkempt. He wasn't chubby but definitely not skinny either. Well fed. Not a scratch or bruise anywhere on his skin. And he didn't look scared either. Maybe of Reagan's intense stare, but not a general fear of everything should he act out or fail at anything.

He smiled and waved. "Hey, kiddo!"

The boy shied away, not responding.

Reagan nodded toward the farm. "You live here by any chance?"

Still no answer.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue or something?" Reagan joked.

"Um," The boy finally spoke up in a low, rumbly tone. As though he wasn't sure about the situation. "I'm not allowed to talk to strangers, mister."

Reagan cocked his head, kneeling down to his eye-level. "Well, that's why I am asking, you see." He dipped his head. "I'm Reagan. Reagan Fitzroy. I just so happened to live here. What about you?"

Now the boy furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "I have never heard of you before." He admitted. "I'm Owen. Are you my cousin?"

Half-brother, apparently. Reagan resisted the urge to laugh. "A relative, definitely." He said. "I see you took an interest in the pigs, eh?"

Owen nodded.

"Way better than that old boring family reunion going on in there, huh?" Reagan stood on his feet and peered into the pig's pen next to Owen, folding his arms over the fence. "Ever thought about going in there and playing with 'em pigs?"

"I did. But grandpa told me to stay out of it cuz pigs can be dangerous." Owen replied innocently.

Reagan felt a flash of annoyance. Pops never warned me of such a thing in all my time spent caring for them. "Nonsense! I played in this exact same pen all the time when I was little like you. Pigs are great. You're gonna be fine!"

Owen's eyes rounded with excitement. "Really?"

"Yeah!" Reagan picked up the boy in his arms and dropped him into the pen. "Knock yourself out, kiddo."

"Thanks, mister!"

"Don't mention it." Reagan winked and walked off, heading towards the house where the rest of his immediate family was certainly gathered around.

His time spent in the Neverlanders was definitely traumatic, but Reagan can't deny all the useful stuff he learned living with them. His family on the other hand… it was h#ll. At least with the gang, while filled to the brim with life or death situations, he had a small chance to stand up for himself. And it was a gang. You don't jump into a tank of piranhas and expect mercy from them. But his family? They're supposed to love him! To raise and protect him come what may. Instead they hurt him on a daily basis and cast him aside when they couldn't be bothered to handle him anymore.

Today Reagan will make them pay dearly for what they've done.

The door to the porch was wide open just for him, and he hopped over the fence and strolled right in. It took a moment or two for the people gathered around to finally notice the familiar-looking stranger among them.

The music abruptly cut off.

Reagan grinned, studying the faces of each individual around him.

His cousins, James and Alva, are all grown up now and definitely put on a little weight in his time away as they paused midway stuffing their mouths full of pastries. Aunt Abigail and her husband were seated on the sofa, eyes round with shock as they stared him down. But perhaps most amusing of all was Pops; imagine that. The man that had such a large, terrifying presence in his early life with his uncontrolled rage and cold, calculating glare has now been regressed to a frail, scrawny and weak old man who depended on a cane to stand and move.

It made him want to laugh. He'd never ever laughed about his grandfather before. The tight hands squeezing his lungs eased back slightly.

And then his gaze fell on her.

Reagan caught his breath. His mother was staring at him, recognition sparking in her eyes, clinging to a man he'd never seen before in his life but could quickly identify him as her husband. Reagan felt as if his heart was trying to jitter its way down his arms and out through his fingertips.

"Hello, everyone!" Reagan said. "Long time no see. You guys all look great! Please don't stop the party on my account. Hope I haven't missed the news exchange. That would be terrible!"

A heavy, drifting silence greeted him.

"Why so silent? It's as if you guys have seen a ghost or something." Reagan took one cookie from the platter and munched hungrily. "Did you all miss me? Admit it; you missed me. After all, no one else was around to do all the chores, am I right?"

"How can that be?" Uncle Jirard was the first one to break the uncomfortable silence that fell upon the family. "Reagan? Is that really you? After all this time we-"

"Hoped I was dead? Not quite, I'm sorry to disappoint." Reagan finished. "Couldn't help but notice Ma is missing out on the reunion. Where's the lady of the house at?"

James gulped, exchanging an uneasy glance with his twin. "She's dead. Passed away last year."

Reagan surveyed the decoration, trying not to show disappointment at the news. The old hag is dead then. Gotta research where they buried her and make sure to take a piss there later. "How unfortunate."

"You shouldn't have come here, Foley." Pops growled in a rough, gravelly voice. He pointed at him accusingly. "You are not welcome here."

Reagan smiled. "Oh but I think I do, old man. I am part of this family no matter what you may call me. It doesn't change the fact we share the same blood, and thus, I have every right to attend this reunion."

His grandfather rose from his chair, eyes blazing. Reagan wondered what would be more likely to happen in this scenario. Him tripping over in a pathetic attempt to slap him, or him needing help just to reach him?

"Reagan."

At the sound of his name he shuddered. He turned around and fixed his gaze on Eliza, who had moved away from her partner to step closer to him. She hadn't changed a bit since his childhood, with the exception of their height difference as Reagan easily towered over her now.

"Hello, mother." He narrowed his eyes resentfully. "I see you have been pretty busy since we last saw each other."

"I'm glad to see you safe. But please, don't do this." She begged, pressing her hands anxiously. "Just leave now and don't make this any harder than it has to be."

Reagan laughed. "Oh? You mean "please don't bring up the fact we sold you to a criminal organization in front of my hubby"? Is that what's bothering you?" He asked and felt a flash of satisfaction when a couple of gasps could be heard throughout the room. "Pops didn't tell you? He just took me to town one day and sold me like one of his prized pigs! You have no idea what sort of h#ll I have been through since then… well, not that here was any better, but still!"

Eliza stared at him, her blank gaze giving way to curiosity as she reached out toward him. Reagan forced himself not to flinch; watching her distrustfully as she gently cupped his cheek with the scar. Reagan yelled at himself so as to not be fooled again by her gentle touch, knowing her tendency to turn cruel on a dime.

She studied him from head to toe, tapping his scar. "Did they do this to you?"

"You gave that to me." He reminded her sharply.

"Oh." She said sceptically and stepped back. "You seem stronger. You've grown up fine."

"Fine?" He echoed, barely holding back his fury. "You think growing up in a gang is fine? I had to fight to stay alive every single day of my life!"

"Good. Discipline builds character." Pops snorted from the side-lines.

"All of this could've been avoided if you hadn't been such a pushover!" Reagan went on, his ire directed at his mother now. "Had you only told Pops from the start that you wouldn't let him take me in – that you were going to take me home with you where I belong – then he wouldn't have gone ahead and sold me."

She glanced away, breathing out a small sigh as though bracing herself to say something she didn't really want to. "You're old enough now… I think it's time you learned the truth."

"The truth? About what?" He asked, battering back his rage.

Eliza fixed her gaze back on him, her eyes conveying more than words could ever express. Her gaze clouded and she suddenly looked weary. Reagan didn't like that look.

"Your grandfather didn't insist on raising you, I asked him to take you from me." His mother admitted. "And the day you were sold… was also because I asked him to."

Her words chilled Reagan's blood and he found himself frozen. He stared at her blankly. In the silence that fell, Reagan tried to keep his breathing on track.

"I was so young when I had you. I was foolish and naive. Your father… wanted nothing to do with me after he found out and just left. I was heartbroken. I didn't want to have you, but my parents forced me to carry you to term. I agreed on the condition that I give you away to them so I wouldn't have to raise you." Her eyes glistened as she implored him to understand. "Looking at you hurts. Every time I see you I see your father's child. Never mine. It reached a point that even visiting you became too much. I couldn't bear it so I asked your grandfather to get rid of you. It just so happened someone took an interest in taking you in at the time. But I had no idea that…" She took a deep wavering breath, her arms crossed over her chest. "I can't begin to imagine what sorts of horrors you were put through. And to think you went through all of this because I couldn't bring myself to forgive you. But you're okay now, right? In the end you found your footing all on your own. You have your own life to live now."

Reagan's mind was reeling. He'd always figured that Eliza had him despite Pops wishes – not because his grandfather insisted on it. She never wanted to have him. All the rumours he heard growing up regarding his mother are true. His understanding of his own childhood wavered in front of him like an image in a rippling puddle.

"What blame did I have in all of this besides existing?" Anger hardened his voice. Reagan held his mother's gaze scornfully for a moment longer, then looked away. "Why have me at all if you're going to resent me every step of the way and go through such lengths just to get rid of me? Orphanages are a thing, you know. That would have been the more merciful thing to do. Maybe I could've had a chance then…" his voice lowered to an intense hiss. "But it's far too late for any of that now."

"Enough of this!" Pops spat as he drew closer. "Now that you know the truth you have no more business being here, Foley. Leave!"

Reagan stood unmoving. He stared his grandfather down with a challenging gleam in his eye.

"Oh I am far from done here. And now that I have your attention I would like to start the reunion." He declared, clapping his hands together in anticipation. "Since we last saw each other I have been living with a criminal organization for the last 14 years, as previously stated. I was absolutely miserable living there. Then I found myself a new and better job with a secret organization h#llbent on world domination. Things were looking up for me for a little while… until I got demoted. That sucked. But on the upside I managed to get my hands on something special. And now I am glad to announce that I stand here before you as the most powerful man in the world, and with this power I intend to make every single one of you pay dearly for the abuse I suffered through at your hands. And after I am done with you… I will never be scared or helpless ever again! My reckoning is at hand."

"That's enough nonsense out of you!"

As expected, Pops swung a fist his way to punch him on the jaw. Without even trying, Reagan's reflexes allowed him to effortlessly grab the old man's wrist before the hit could land.

"Sorry, gramps." Reagan grinned with all his teeth as he started to transform, overshadowing his grandfather menacingly. "But I am not the little brat you can smack around anymore!"

With one squeeze of its claw the creature broke the old man's arm in its grasp with a sickening crunch, taking great joy in hearing its childhood tormentor scream in agony. Opening its jaws wide open the monster bit down his head and ripped it clean off his shoulders before spitting it out; head rolling on the floor.

The rest of his family followed suit.

His aunt and uncle reacted first, bolting towards the door with shrieks of horror. The monster glanced up at them, lashed its tail, and pounced after them. It blocked their path and effortlessly tore them apart, dismembering them, feasting on their limbs until they were nothing more than a red, shapeless pulp on the floor; blood pooling at its feet.

Behind the monster, James suddenly lunged around the table, slamming a chair down its head.

The creature didn't even look at him. Its tail snapped around his cousin and held him tightly, squeezing the life out of him as it grinded his bones to dust.

Next, it picked Alva up by the neck and crushed her head in between its claws, releasing her brother from its tail once it made sure he was dead.

The step-father, if you can even call him that, wasn't even worth the time and effort, and the monster got it over and done quickly. With a wrench of its claws, it snapped the man's neck in one clean break.

His mother Reagan saved for last.

After witnessing her monstrous son dispose of her husband and the rest of her family right before her eyes, she was on the ground, backed up against the wall, cowering away from him with tears in her eyes. The monster stalked closer, forked tongue slithering in and out of its mouth. It cupped her face gently with its bloodied claws, pushing back a strand of her hair behind her ear as she trembled. Its soft gaze met hers and it crooned.

She relaxed.

A terrible decision.

Luring her into a false sense of security, the monster scored its claws across her neck and then a line of red slowly stretched across Eliza's throat like a wide grin until her head was barely attached to her body by only a sliver of flesh.

It stared down at her as she gargled in her own blood, blinking at him. The creature studied its own claws curiously, as though it found something immensely interesting about them. Drops of blood spattered the floor. It watched the life drain from her eyes.

It knew it could bite her head off if it really wanted to, but that wouldn't be quite fair, now would it? To think he had faced so much pain because of his wretched family, just so he can swiftly kill them? No. Reagan wasn't that kind. A slow and painful death was more suitable for his dear mother. He wished to make her suffer so this worthless woman could feel a shred of the immense pain he felt when she rejected him all those years ago.

Shifting into its larger form, the monster managed to destroy the remnants of the farm to the ground and make sure to keep the pig pen standing, and the little boy inside safe from harm.

Reagan wouldn't kill him.

As his final act of revenge against his mother, he will allow her second born to live… and let the world raise him as it raised him. See how far he will get on his own with the whole world to stand against him.

Once his revenge against his family had been completed, he vanished from the sight without a trace.

(Flashback…)

"I am so f#cking screwed."

It's been eight years since he became a real member of the Neverlanders. Since then he climbed his way to the top as one of the most efficient members in the gang. He and Clyde were often paired together on missions with always tremendous results.

But it wasn't enough for Reagan. He wasn't a top dog yet. He was one of the top dogs, but not THE top dog. He needs more than that if he ever wants to feel truly safe.

The Boss has had many challengers for the title, but none of them survived the duel. Reagan wasn't foolish enough to throw his hat on the ring. He needed a smarter way to go about this.

If he makes out of this sh#tshow alive, that is.

He and some of his associates were dispatched to make a trade deal with another gang they're constantly at odds against. Something about entering a new realm of business with them or whatever. They met in a warehouse by the docks. Things were tense but seemed to be heading in a good direction when they were suddenly ambushed by an unknown third party.

Reagan got shot in the shoulder and somehow got separated from the rest of his crew. The rival gang had scattered the moment things went south or died.

Shots still firing away behind him, Reagan ducked behind a crater clutching a gun and his wounded shoulder with one hand. He hissed with pain. Knowing his partners in crime, they either died or made it out of this mess already. In the Neverlanders it's every man for himself.

Reagan has no plans to die here tonight and he will make it out of this even if he loses blood along the way.

Shooting back at the bastards, he dodged and weaved his way around the craters, occasionally taking cover, slowly making his way towards the exit.

Outside he didn't have much cover. Lightning flickered across dark clouds and rain started to fall.

Reagan made a run for it. If he could make it into the city, he could lose them. He'd be safe. But his plan wasn't as good as he thought, and another shot rang out with a flash of lightning; this time piercing his back.

Reagan's eyes widened. I can't die here! Not now!

He knew right then and there he wouldn't make it into the city. He wouldn't go anywhere at this rate. Quickly ducking behind another set of crates to take cover, Reagan took this time to reassess his plan. He was surrounded with nowhere to go. Facing all of them alone would mean certain death. Whoever these bastards are they are good and knew just when and how to strike them.

It was at that moment he noticed that the crate he leaned against was hollow and empty. Thinking fast Reagan climbed inside and shut the lid above his head.

His only chance of making it out of this alive now was to hide, hope they don't find him, and wait it out until it was safe enough to come out again.

Everything was dark and he couldn't make out what he was hiding amongst. Thankfully nothing alive. He fought to catch his breath as silently as he could, wincing in pain at his wounds. He could hear them right outside searching for him.

"Where did he go?"

"Check every corner! He mustn't have gone far."

"I think he went that way!"

Reagan leaned back, still panting. Fatigue consumed his body as the adrenaline left him. He couldn't leave now. Not yet. These guys will search the whole area hunting him down until dawn breaks just to find him. Besides, he was getting tired and knew he wouldn't make it to the safety of the alleyways.

Darkness kept pressing into his eyes, but Reagan fought against it. Even though he has grown a habit of not sleeping anymore over the years it was hard to resist the pull of rest when he was alone with nothing else to do. But he couldn't sleep now. He may be tired, but he was still very much in danger. If they find him he was as good as dead.

On the other hand… he could hear footsteps distancing themselves from his location. He was all alone. His gang wouldn't come looking for him. They are well aware that he needs to come back to them if he wants his next fix; plus the tracking device they put on him will lead him right to where he is. But that will take a while after tonight. Surely a little rest won't hurt? He won't get a better chance than this so soon.

Curling up, Reagan leaned back and closed his eyes, unable to fight it off anymore.

.

..

…

BEEP

.

..

…

BEEP

When Reagan finally came to, he was vaguely aware of an annoying, repetitive beeping next to him. Even with closed eyes he could tell he was in a bright place. And the smell was all wrong too; nothing like the dank and awful stench of the alleyways he'd grown so used to. This was… bleach, with a slight metallic tang to it.

He blinked open his eyes slightly, groaning, before he snapped them fully open once he realized the position he was in.

Lying in bed in a strange stark, bright white room, he was surrounded by curtains with a long, thin tube connected into his arm leading up to an IV bag and a device on his finger that was attached to the continuously beeping machine next to him.

This was definitely not the same place he dozed off in.

As he lay there, his breath coming in gasps and the heart monitor spiking up beside him, beeping growing more frequent, he finally took notice of the figure standing on the other side of the room.

Ah, f#ck. Reagan thought, staring at the man with slick dark hair approach him cautiously. Did I get caught by those bastards? He really wasn't too keen to be tortured and killed for the sake of his gang.

But the moment he thought about that possibility he threw it out the window immediately. He was being healed, by the looks of things. No gang would spend their resources on taking care of a prisoner just to torture him for information immediately after.

So where am I?

"Oh, you're awake! Good." The man with a thick accent Reagan couldn't identify said, surveying him with gray eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Reagan stared at him. "Confused, mostly."

The stranger, presumably the doctor, nodded. "Indeed, so are we." He said. "Do you remember anything? Do you have any idea how you got here?"

Reagan furrowed his eyebrows. "I was hiding in a crater and I passed out. And that's about it." He looked around. "I would appreciate it if you could fill me in on the rest. For instance; where… am I, exactly?"

"That's not up to me, I'm afraid." The man replied. "Since you seem well enough to talk, Red Leader would like to ask you a few questions."

Red Leader? Reagan thought. Just what the h#ll did I get myself into this time?

"Fine, so long as I get some answers as well." Reagan muttered. Wherever he is now, he figured he must be safe to some degree. They weren't going to torture him. They are healing him, after all. How bad can this be? Whoever the head honcho of this mysterious place is, he can handle any day.

The doctor left the room for a while, leaving him behind with a girl wearing a strange blue and red uniform who wouldn't stop watching him as she took her position by the door. She wasn't very chatty as he tried to make some small talk with her. He got a feeling she was only there to make sure he didn't escape or something.

How amusing.

The girl was soon relieved of her duty of guard, much to her blatant relief, as three figures filed into the room.

A woman with fair, ebony skin, long dreadlocks adorned with golden beads and rings, lithe figure, and dark brown eyes stared him down. There was this air of power and authority about her that made Reagan shrink on his bed and feel utterly small, and he figured that should she question him on anything he wouldn't be able to deny her. God forbid him if he try to lie to her face. Is she the Red Leader?

Following her into the room was a big, broad-shouldered man with brown hair, brown eyes, a light stubble under his chin, and huge eyebrows, putting out a cigar as he strolled in and threw it away in the bin before fixing Reagan with a curious glare. He looked bigger than some of the members back in his gang. He could probably take out a good chunk of them on his own, no doubt. He looked strong and intimidating. Not someone Reagan should take lightly. He must be the Red Leader.

Reagan hardly paid attention to the third figure that walked in. A man, shorter than the other two, with caramel hair that resembled horns, stood between them, his uniform slightly different from the others with a more vibrant shade of red to his attire. Reagan could not imagine who he was; some sort of assistant like Felicity was to the Boss?

He fixed Reagan with stormy gray eyes. "Greetings." He began, taking a step forward. His voice cold and quiet. "I am the Red Leader, founder and ruler or the Red Army."

That's the Red Leader?! Reagan stared at him with blatant disbelief and had a hard time holding in a laugh. He was so sure one of the other two were the ones in charge. This is the head honcho of this place? This is the one everyone bows to and does as he commands? The freaking doctor looked more intimidating than he does! Just what's so special about this guy?

Reagan watched him closely. On a second look, he could identify the authority in the regal way he holds himself; chin lifted and demanding respect and total attention. There was something inoffensive about him that came off as strangely intimidating. You wouldn't know you are in any danger in his presence until it was far too late. A trick Reagan himself was very familiar with, and for that, Red earned his full attention.

"This is Paul, Commander of the Red Army and my second in command." Red Leader went on, motioning to the man with bushy eyebrows to his right before nodding to the woman to his left. "And this is Erica, General of the Red Army and head of the U.B.P.D. - The Underworld Blackmarket Persecution Division. And who might you be?"

Knowing he was standing before a figure of high power, Reagan knew he had to hold on to his self-control and play his cards just right if he is to make an impression on him. Dipping his head toward the Red Leader, he spoke clearly, so all present in the room could hear him. "Greetings, Red Leader. I am Fitzroy. Reagan Fitzroy. It must say, it is an honour to be in your presence."

The Commander snorted disbelievingly. "Doubt that, considering you probably don't even know what any of this means."

Reagan disregarded the bushy eye browed man's comment, and fixed his gaze solely on the major figure of power in the room. He's the only one that matters here.

"We were awaiting a shipment of weapons from one of our smaller business operations in Britain; however, imagine our surprise when we investigated the cargo only to find an unconscious and injured man bleeding out." Red Leader's voice held the faintest suggestion of a snarl. "I am certainly quite curious to know how that came to be."

"I'll be more than happy to answer all your questions for a few answers of your own in return."

And so, he explained to them what happened. How he belonged to a criminal organization and worked for them for years against his will, how the trade business went south, and how he ended up in their base by accident as far as he can remember.

"So now that you see that I am no threat to your operation, I am very interested in learning more about your work here. Especially this… persecution division. What is this place exactly?"

"In the Red Army we strive for complete global domination in order to establish a new world order. To create a better world for all." Red Leader explained coolly. "We fight for a future where all are free and safe to be true to themselves."

"As for the U.B.P.D. It is a section of our organization that focuses on ending all forms of illegal business that stand against human rights." General Erica added, narrowing her eyes. "That includes you and your little gang."

"Why the interest?" The Commander demanded.

Reagan tapped his fingers together pensively. "Well, since I am under your custody now I humbly ask to join you in your efforts of world domination." He requested, shifting his glance toward the General. "I will tell you everything I know of, and I know plenty. I would give just about anything to see them taken down and I would love to help in your endeavours."

"We don't take in junkies or addicts or any kind, nor do we tolerate slackers." Red Leader pointed out roughly. "If you really wish to join us you're going to have to go through a thorough rehab program. Mind you, I don't have any expectations from you. Why should I take you in? What can you offer me?"

Sitting up in bed, Reagan leaned forward staring intensely at Red Leader as he spoke. "I will do whatever it takes. Intentionally or not, you freed me from that wretched place after years living under their reign with no hope of escape. I can fight, if that's what you demand of me. I can even kill if you give the word. Whatever you want from me I will give it. I have nothing else anyway. Let me join you and I will show you just how much I am capable of."

The three exchanged inquisitive glances. They seem to have an entire conversation without any words, only looks alone.

"We will take your case into consideration." The Red Leader murmured at last. "One of my other Generals will come by to interview you later and fill you in on our operations. If you are deemed fit, you may join our organization. However, we take our work here very seriously. Your loyalty and hard work is all we ask of you. Should be fair, taking into account that we saved you and all."

Reagan grinned, bowing his head.

Another group. Another dynamic. Another set of ranks for him to climb his way to the top.

Hopefully this will go a lot easier for him than it was back in the Grimnoirs. Fourteen years living among them, and he only managed to get to the position as one of the top members. It had its privileges, but he was still pressed down by others above and especially the Boss.

But perhaps he will fare better here. He will learn the ropes and climb his way through the rankings. He will do whatever it takes to be in The Red Leader's good favour. And one day… he will topple him down and be on top of the world for a change.

"I won't let you down, sir."

But in the end, Red Leader was the one who let him down.

After all his hard work to get where he was and earn Red's trust, he was taken down a notch just for obeying him. Red ruined his plans. All because he unknowingly manipulated an acquaintance of his. How was he supposed to know Eddie was off limits?

However, in a way, Reagan wouldn't have acquired all this formidable power if it weren't for Red Leader. He provided him with this beautiful invention. He drove him to find it. And now he was able to lay waste on all those who dare to use him in the past. So in a way he had to thank Red for all the trouble, because now he can finally rest easy knowing no one else can hurt him ever again.

Let anyone try to mess with me. Reagan thought smugly. They will soon find out just what they are dealing with. I am now the most powerful man in the world!

"Not quite. ~" The voice broke in teasingly. "Someone else stands on the same level of power as you do. ~"

Reagan froze.

The voice is right. There is someone else that can still hurt and defeat him. And his vengeance wasn't complete just yet; Red has yet to pay for the humiliation that he caused him. Luckily Reagan knew exactly how to get back at him, and he has just the right pawn for the job.

It's just a matter of striking two birds with one stone.