Yeah, yeah….I don't own bebop.

Song credits for Born under a bad sign go to Jimi Hendrix, although I do believe that it was a Cream cover.

Born under a bad sign

I've been down since I began to crawl

If it wasn't for bad luck

I wouldn't have no luck at all

Vicious guessed that his earliest memories were when he was six or so. He lived on Mars, in a shitty crater called Hoawa City. Being the son of an unmarried prostitute meant that he wasn't exactly smothered in hugs and kisses. That's probably why he wasn't emotional. It wasn't exactly a loving environment. But hey, at least his mom sent him to his grandmother's house when she had a meeting with a 'client'. So more often than not he was at his grandmother's, listening to her cough and hack. Taking in the scent of her ancient avon perfume and making sure to sniff wherever he sat incase one of her twenty odd cats had relieved themselves on the sofa again. Like his mother his grandmother never showered him with affection either. They both more tolerated his existence than cared for him. I mean it wasn't like he was a planned thing. He guessed that that pack of rubbers was just a little too expensive for his mom's taste that night. Then voila! Nine months later came Vencienzo Kasama. What on earth possessed his mother to give him an Italian first name was beyond him. What was even worse was the assigned nickname of Vinny that he had been given. Especially with a last name like Kasama. Oh well, that's life, you never know what you're going to get. That adage would hold true for the rest of his life as well.

Case in point, early one morning he was roughly jarred from his sleep by his grandmother. "Your mothers dead" she said nonplussed. Just like that. Apparently mom's prices were a bit too high for her John the night before. So he gave himself a little discount by slitting her throat. He assumed that he should feel sad and cry or something like that. But the truth be told, he really didn't even remember what his mom looked like. At nine years old that seemed quite strange, but that's the way it was. He never really got to see her. Let alone know what color hair she had. So even after going to his mom's apartment and seeing the police tape, chalk outline and blood splatters. Even after gathering his things quietly and leaving with his grandmother he never shed a tear. But come to think of it, neither did his grandmother. It must have been a family trait or something. The next five years slowly chugged by. Vencienzo would get up, go to school and then come home. If he wanted meals he had to do chores. It was probably normal for one to do chores. But he always wondered if it was normal for a young boy of his age to do them for food. I mean wasn't that like the whole reason his grandmother got welfare? To feed him? Not spend all of the money on shitty avon and tender vittles?! He wasn't a high authority on such matters, but he sincerely thought that that check was meant for his cocoa puffs and chicken nuggets. Not jumbo sized boxes of depends and five gallon buckets of tidy scoop. Fuck those cats, let them do the dishes for the right to shit in the box.

Bad luck and trouble's my only friend

I've been down ever since I was ten

Alas, his misery was meant to apparently get worse. Lady luck was not on his side the morning he woke to the screams of his grandmother's visiting nurse. He had been up until five in the morning secretly watching an all night Samurai Jack marathon under the covers with a portable tv. Man he loved that show. So he had slept right through the discovery of her body. What he was now hearing was the nurse panicking as the EMT's were trying to assess the situation. Apparently she thought that screaming like a banshee would help matters. ' Emotions don't seem to help every situation now do they?' As he walked into the kitchen, unnoticed at first, he panned around the room too take a good last look before he was shipped off to his next home. OK, so maybe he should have felt the least little pang of sorrow as he stared at his over weight grandmother face down in her cream of wheat. Maybe he should shed a tear as her stupid cats climbed her like a mountain, wondering why mommy wasn't warm anymore. It seemed like it would be a good idea, but he couldn't really bring himself to do it. "Oh man, there's a kid in here!" shouted a policeman. Finally he had been noticed. "It's ok son" the officer offered, "you can come with me now". The man had apologetic eyes and a somber smile. He obviously felt sorry for the young lad. 'Well' Vincienso thought to him self 'can't be any worse than this dump'. Or so he thought.

The only thing worse than living in a dirty urine soaked house with your slave driving grandmother and her herd of cats, was living in a group home in Tharsis run by an organization that rivaled the syndicate. This apparent government run facility was supposed to be a kind and nurturing place. The letters DSS were meant to strike a sense of warmth into a child so that he or she knew that he was loved and cared for. Yeah, maybe on tv it was. This place was awful. So awful that he actually missed the rancid aroma of Odyssey for women and cat piss. On the days that he wasn't in school or wasn't being pushed around by his older roommates, he was saddled with chores once again. He wasn't sure if the chores here were better or worse. At least his grandmother gave him real food for a reward rather than the road kill this place served up. This was his way of life unfortunately for the next two years. By now he was sixteen, five foot eleven, one hundred and sixty pounds with half a head of white hair. So you can imagine he was the brunt of lots of jokes and not very popular with the ladies. He looked like a fucking vampire. You know like that Goth kid that was always in your art class in high school. At the age of sixteen Vencienzo really had thought that his life should have been much better than this. Late at night he would lie in bed planning his escape from this shit hole. He wasn't old enough to live on his own in the governments eyes. Not when they could make money by taking care of him. If that's what you called it.

Born under a bad sign

I've been down since I began to crawl

If it wasn't for bad luck

I wouldn't have no luck at all

After much thought on the subject he decided that living in a dumpster would probably be better than this place. All he had to do was not come back after school. He would have to leave the area though, if he was picked up then he would be sent right back here. Then have to face the consequences of his actions. The crater that they were located in was big enough to hide out for a little while. Until he could get enough money to leave. So the next day after school with a book bag filled up with his personal belongings, Vencienzo took a good last look at his previous life. Then he turned and walked in the opposite direction. It didn't take him long to find a temporary place to stay, an old truck trailer in an industrial park on the out skirts of the city. He found that he could be very resourceful when he needed to be. Finding employment was another issue. He knew that in order to save up enough money to leave the city, as well as afford things like food he would need a job. The big question was what could he do for work. Even though Mars had no such thing as child labor laws he still knew that he would more than likely be recognized as a run away from a group home. DSS probably had his face plastered all over every milk carton in Tharsis. That didn't leave too many options left open to him.

Even though he had had aspirations of leaving the planet, he found it very hard to realize them when he had no way to make any money. He spent most of his time hiding out in his trailer or stealing food from merchant carts in the open air market. What he needed was a plan. A logical solution out of this dilemma. The best way was probably to save up some supplies and hitch a ride to another crater city. That way he could work and find a real place to stay. 'Easier said than done'. His stomach growled snapping him out of his thoughts. After searching about the trailer for food only to find nothing, he decided to go 'shopping'. It was mid afternoon and all of the merchants would be too busy with customers to notice him. Two things that you never did in the five fingered discount business were go shopping early in the morning, or late at night. That's when they most suspected that you would try and steal from them. Not to mention the merchants that stayed open at those hours also carried large guns. He had picked up stealing relatively quickly. Like it was a second nature thing. He knew that it was wrong, but after all, his grandmother was stealing from him for years. He was sure that the group home was getting a lot more per head than they were spending on them. In a world that seemed to love making a profit on other peoples lives Vencienzo really didn't think that him stealing candy bars and comic books would make much of a difference.

Blending in with the hustle and bustle of the afternoon shopping rush was quite an easy task. Every now and again a slender but quick hand would swipe a candy bar or a pastry. The items would be shoved into a book bag for later consumption. Little did the thief with the salt and pepper hair know that he was being watched from afar. If he had known, then he might not of gone down an alley to check out his newly acquired inventory. As he was rifling through his ruck sack, he was startled by the sound of foot steps echoing down the alley. It sounded like more than one set of shoes clicking on the worn concrete at the mouth of the alley. Seven sets to be exact. Vencienzo had gotten very good at picking these things out. It came natural to one whom lived in a group home. You developed these things for your own safety. Being oblivious to the world around you got you hurt or killed. Neither of these things appealed to Vencienzo, so he adapted. Knowing that the alley led to the a crossroads near a corner store, he swiftly and silently made his way to the opposite end of the street. Regulating his breathing so that he could still hear the footsteps in the distance. They appeared to be gaining on him. 'Almost there', he could just start to make out the outline of the store near the intersection up ahead. The footsteps started to get louder and faster, he stole a quick glance behind him and noticed that indeed there were seven young men all around his age in hot pursuit. Looking behind him was a grave error however. As he would soon find out. Vencienzo turned around to face forward and came face to chest with the groups eighth accomplice.

If it wasn't for bad luck

I wouldn't have no luck at all

Stopping in his tracks, Vencienzo looked up and made eye contact with his assailant. "Just where do you think your going?" asked the young man with short blonde hair in front of him. "I was just passing through" Vencienzo replied. He had always been good at talking his way out of a predicament, so he thought that he would give it a shot. "I don't think so", the blonde boy stated. Just then the other seven caught up to him. He cast a glance in their direction. "You're a quick one, aren't ya" a shorter brown haired boy remarked. They proceeded to close in around the young man with the book bag. All assuming a fighting stance around his thin form. Vencienzo could hold his own, but he wasn't sure if he could against all eight though. Before he had a chance to decide, the tall blonde young man at his back dropped down onto the concrete with a loud thud. In his place stood a young man around Vencienzo's age, a few inches taller though, with a wild mane of green hair.

The seven toadies in front of him all changed their target from the man with the salt and pepper hair, to the green haired man. "You know that your out of your territory right?", the green haired boy quipped. Before the brute squad could retort, Vencienzo's new would be ally jumped into the air and kicked the brown haired boy in the stomach. Sending him to the ground in a heap. Being able to take a hint, Vencienzo punched another thug in the face and then leg sweeped another. When he turned around expecting more, he was shocked to see that the green haired kid had laid out the other four already. Not even breaking a sweat.

Born under a bad sign

I've been down since I began to crawl

"What did you do to get them after you?", the lanky boy in front of Vencienzo asked. "I don't know", he replied. Taking another look to at the fallen boys at his feet, reminded him of the fact that this young man had saved his ass. "Thank you for your assistance." "Not a problem" the green haired boy quipped as he extended a hand to him. He ended his sentence with, "Spike". Vencienzo furrowed his brows in confusion at the last comment. As if he read his mind the green haired man added, "Spike, my name is Spike". "Oh", was the only reply to exit the salt and pepper haired boys mouth. ' Spike, that's a name?' he contemplated in his head, 'that has to be made up', he was snapped from his thought by the sound of Spike clearing his throat. Vencienzo looked up and noticed a expectant look on Spike's face. When the hint wasn't taken he decided to take the initiative, "and your name is?". 'Ok, think of something cool' chiding himself for having a name like Vencienzo. He needed something to compete with the word 'Spike'. 'That sounds like a fucking dogs name'. With that thought in mind, he remembered the old woman that lived next to his grandmother and her pit bull. The proverbial light bulb appeared above his head and he let out a broad smile. Spike raised an eyebrow at this sudden action. "Vicious", Vencienzo replied, "my name is Vicious".

If it wasn't for real bad luck

Then I wouldn't have no luck at all……

Ok, incase you are wondering, this is going to be a little on the lighter side. Than meaning that Vicious isn't going to be like he is in the show because he hasn't gotten to that point in his life yet. This is going to be a sort of coming of age saga for him. I know that it's been done before, but I just wanted to take a stab at it. If it seems a little stiff, I apologize. I am new to writing. Flame if you must. But I would much more prefer constructive criticism. Thank you to the two of you who reviewed.