author's note: hm…I dunno, bad mood transformed into a fic. that's legal isn't it? naturally, this was just a way to spend spare time, I admit, I didn't exactly create the characters hinted at here.

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The ink dropped small dark pools across the page as I wrote. I didn't even know I could write this briskly…with so much emotion behind my words. I didn't even know I could write at all or if I was even writing words. All I felt was hate, all I knew was hate and all I could give was hate. Hate towards that bastard who ruined my life. He was my slave driver, he was my executioner, my nightmare. He was my boss, with all his power and glory.

People thought I was demented, retarded, even insane. Insane it was, how right they were. Running away from my parents was the last thing I ever did on my own free will. Everything else was controlled. If it wasn't controlled, I was eventually punished in the most painful and embarrassing method you could possibly think of. I loathed every night he called me to his office. And I planned revenge. Sweet revenge that would remain embedded in my memory for all my years to come.

Perhaps the only great outcome from leaving the estate was meeting Jessie. The only time I was happy was when I was with her. Only she could possibly forgive him, never me. He probably humiliated her as well. It hurts to think about him touching her like that, to make her squirm and scream in both pain and uncontrollable ecstasy alike. It hurts to awaken during the night, listening to her cry out of agony and despair. She eventually became afraid of me. Why me? What did I ever do? And I couldn't do a thing about it…only watch as her life slowly slipped to nothing as he laughed at my helplessness. And my soul, any feelings of love and compassion, slowly slipped with her.

My boss is a such a sick person. He's a cruel person. All I feel for him is hate. Anything, everything, hate. After so many nights of humiliation, how does one stand it anymore? For ten years: "Oh James, you'd make a great whore. A dollar raise on your next paycheck."

I heard the door to his office slam shut down the hall. I peered out of my small room in time to see a couple of guards discard one of the newer recruits, one of his new toys, into the hall. And the recruit, not even near the signs of puberty, just stood there, tears streaming down his face, unable to move in shock of what had just happened to him. This kid, this child, was a mirror image of me when I was nine.

I walked out, leaving my note on the empty bedspread. The recruit heard me, spinning around in alarm. I stopped and stared at him, feeling sympathetic…finally something other than hate. I strode towards him, the opposite direction of my previous destination. Wide-eyed, he started backing up, until he realized he was heading back toward the boss's room. Realizing that I was scaring him, I stopped, kneeled down and extended my arms. He just stared in disbelief, unsure of where to put his trust. I knew his pain, what he had gone through.

He ran into my arms after a moment, crying out loud for a brief second until it was muffled by my shirt. I felt his tears soaking through, and I felt my own blurring my vision. I stood and started walking down the hall. The rule was that after ten years of serving Team Rocket, you could be promoted to high commander for higher pay or just leave without punishment or payment. I know there has to be a better life than living in an organization led by a leader that kidnaps and rapes little kids. Even though this child is a reminder of my lost childhood, of all the pain I suffered, I could pretend to be the bastard father of this child like my boss was to many others, and save this childhood, the one I never had. And it may not be much of a revenge, or make much of a difference to the world, but at least it'll make a difference to him. That's good enough revenge for me.