Barbossa watched the strumpet walk out the door, leaving him to his thoughts.

He was disgusted. The sight of people sent resentment coursing through his veins. Why are these people alive? He viewed the population as a whole; a dog waiting to attack at any moment. That is why he felt he always had to be one step ahead and kill if even a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. He growled as he remembered when he had let his guard down, fell behind in his mind, and was captured in Port Royal. He vowed it would never happen again. Murdering was as mundane to him as eating is to a person with hunger. A sour end to a long relationship and being trodden down by the world in the past brought him to this.

So why was Jack on his list?

The man was kind enough. He had not done anything. The feeling of friendship was shared between them. Yet suddenly, tonight, he despised Jack. Jack had always gotten what he wanted; escaped from tight spots with only a few scratches if any. He even got to have Barbossa's own fate in his hands for a time. Barbossa hated being a subordinate to anyone. His revelation tonight was that he had hated being a subordinate to Jack.

His thoughts spun uncontrollably in his head; finally spinning him into the oblivion of sleep.

"We make for Port Royal. Arrive with cover of darkness."

"Aye, Cap'n," Adam replied.

Barbossa stared out over the ocean. He decided that he had to take back what he had worked to gain in the past; the beloved ship that belonged to his former Captain. He had sailed that ship for ten long years, more than Jack had. It was rightfully his, and it would wound Jack greatly if it was stolen again. He would even eventually get Jack, but he was going to take it one step at a time. He knew how to find Jack.

William Turner.

If someone looked close enough, they would be able to see a tall, dark figure darting through shadows of alleys with a swift movement, causing no sound. If someone looked closely, they would be able to make out an outline of a specific wide-brimmed feather hat, known only to be worn by one man.

Barbossa scurried stealthily around the town, going unseen by the most watchful of eyes, until he arrived at a large house. He made his way to the front door and picked the lock with the metal pick. Careful to not wake anyone, he opened the door slowly and stepped inside. He closed it gently and began to walk into the living room. His boots quietly thumped against the wooden floors. The room was completely dark; he was surprised at himself of how well he remembered the layout of the room, knowing where to step to avoid collision with a table or furniture of some sort. He found the chair in the corner that he was looking for and sat down. He then made a boisterous noise by slamming his boot against the floor. Drawing his sword he waited.

Moments later, he saw light. A candle appeared first and then a familiar man. He looked only a small bit frightened, the rest of his expression revealing strength and bravery. He gripped a petite hatchet in his hand and glanced around quickly, though the beam of the candle only lit up his face and mere inches around him.

"Who's there?" he called out to the dark. It was the unforgettable voice of the man Barbossa knew too well.

"Hello, Mr. Turner," Barbossa said in a low, welcoming voice.

A/N: Ok. I must have been fucking crazy when I decided to post this thing back up. I don't know why I did...I think it's just because I hate having it tucked away only for me to read. I hate thatI haven't probably been able to getthe motives across of the character, but I just don't know howat this moment.It's probably going to be just a twisted story and myself only liking it.If people are enjoying this, kudos to me! If ya can, drop a review.