Reborn doesn't remember being exceptional as a child. He was a genius but not the smartest, he was athletic but not prodigy, he was attractive but not a beauty. He was nothing compared to other talents in the world.
He sometime wonders what the world will make of him.
He moved around the world with his family, majority of his life till now was spent traveling the sea, the sky or the land. He never stayed long. Not long enough for him to remember faces of his friends, teachers and anyone on his block. For all his travels, his world was small.
When he was 8 his family stops. Stops moving, stops traveling and stops breathing. He didn't have siblings so the only thing he lost was a man driving a car while making bad jokes and a woman that holds him in his sleep, cradling, soothing, protecting.
His parents, someone had killed his parents with him the room. It was surreal, lying in the bed with two bleeding lifeless bodies. The blood drenched his clothes and stained his hands red; it stains his small hands as the killer held a gun at him ever steady. He wondered why he wasn't dead- why his parents were dead. (They shouldn't have died, not yet, not now, he's too young.)
His parent's murderer takes Reborn with him. Shoving him inside the car, the one where he spent majority of his life in. His heart aches. It twists and turns and forces tears into his eyes. Whispers of despairs echo in his head, they are dark and with all the intention of making the ache in his heart worse.
That night he doesn't die, doesn't stop breathing but his hands are red and he starts moving again. The sun rises and follows him, shining brightly, so warm. It makes his heart burn, Reborn just doesn't know with what.
The next time he woke – he doesn't remember falling asleep – Reborn finds himself on a less than impressive moth-eaten single bed. The sky was clear, although it really wasn't that important of an observation. But it was the only normal detail that he clung to; it kept the anxiety to a manageable level, just barely. The rest of the room was the dirtiest combination of four walls, a bared window, ceiling and floor the child had ever seen. And this was coming from a child that's been through dozens of questionable motels and inns (they were cheap, the only ups side to those places).
Despite he's utter displeasure, Reborn stepped off the bed, careful were he stepped to avoid grim and dirt. From there he stood blankly; what should he do now? What can he do now? Does he walk to the door and try to escape (not that he had high hopes on that happening) or should he obediently stay in the tiny room?
He turned the door knob, already refusing to go cooperate with his capturer.
Surprisingly it was open, which made Reborn even tenser, no scared. One day he will be a figure of danger and the one to strike fear in others. However right now, he was a simply child out of his depth. Reborn dearly hopes the unlocked door was a sign that his kidnapper was overconfident bordering on arrogance.
The door screeched loudly, so so loudly and Reborn cringes. And when he spotted a middle age man sitting on one of the wooden chairs facing directly to him, Reborn flinched. How the bastard was sitting there so confidently and certain? He supposes it was to make him feel small and far below the adult.
Reborn's hold on the door knob tightened and despite the sweat built up under his arms and neck, his hands were dry, cold but certain.
I can kill this man.