Jack started to drift off from their conversation of dear old Norrington. He felt his mind start to wander off…back to when times were much brighter and sunnier before the first darkening cloud came and poured down into the earth with a malevolent force.

He was a little older than Will was when he first laid eyes on the ship that would soon be his. His eyes sparkled to life as he ignored his fathers' rambling about the "proper" way of commandeering a navy vessel.

"So what do you think son?" his father asked him.

"Um…Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but I don't like this one," he said to the one his father suggested.

Back then, he had a strong crisp English accent and paler skin with a head full of raven black hair. His past was a mystery even to him, but it was his father who claimed him as his own and told him not to worry as he draped his dusty leather cloak over Jack's stark naked body.

From the moment he was found to the day he was with his father deciding on which ship to commandeer, he was taught everything a pirate should and shouldn't know. Being a pirate was an education in itself!

Now, it looked more like they were shopping for the night's dinner and not about to steal a ship. Well for the young man he knew what he wanted, it was his father who didn't.

Jack told the old salt about the dismantled ship, his father was a little harsh on him and he left. He watched as the man of who has taken care of him over the short span of three years, walk briskly away from him. It would be more than a decade before they'll cross paths again, but his own father did not recognize him from his startling change over the passing years gone by. If only he went after his father like his gut was telling him to do so, instead of finding temporary solace in the form of a young commanding officer.

"You! Boy!" a voice said.

"Me?" Jack asked.

"Yes you, you twit. Get over here!" a young man said while twirling his cane.

"Yes?" Jack asked the young man apprehensively. A second his father left him, he was already recognized as a pirate.

"Lord Cutler Beckett of the East India Trading Co. and you are?"

"Sparrow… Jack Sparrow," he said. Neither of them lifted a hand to shake the others'.

"Sparrow…That sounds familiar. Oh well, it seems that the captain of that merchant ship," Beckett pointed towards the one that Jack was admiring. Jack could feel his heart thudding deeply and loudly in his chest. It was a wonder no one heard it. "Was found this morning…dead in the bed of a whore. I will be stationed here for a month, but the Wicked Wench, that ship, needs to be captained to the next port near the African continent."

"What does this have to do with me?" Jack asked and swallowed slowly.

"I have a proposition for you. I saw that you had declined that old sailor and you seem the right sort of man to do the job."

"And what sort of man is right for the job?" Jack asked. Somehow he knew the answer.

"Not a pirate. Mister Sparrow, if there is one thing I hate, it is pirates," Beckett said. Jack thought he was done, but the other man continued. "Pirates are evil traitorous men who don't do as they are told and who chose to work for themselves and rather not their commanding officer. Such travesty and treason! All pirates I find, I brand them before their engagement with the gallows."

"Excuse me, but you brand them?" Jack asked. He scratched his head. 'This guy is a lunatic,' he thought.

"Yes," Beckett said. He pointed the end of his cane in front of his face and Jack saw the 'P' at the bottom of the iron.

'Aye, this man clearly had way too much…'Jack thought. He said out loud, "I see…"

"Great! Now you see, I brand them right here," Beckett said.

He grabbed Jack's hand and pressed the unheated iron end on Jack's forearm. His already pale skin has whitened a bit more in the form of 'P'.

"Thank you for the…erm demonstration," Jack said and took his arm back.

"As I was saying, Mister Sparrow, I need a captain for the Wicked Wench and you seem the able kind of man to do so. She already has a crew, the cargo is already loaded up, she's ready to set sail, but all she needs is a captain."

"A captain? Me?" Jack wondered.

"Yes. Now, now I already have the paperwork's done for the next captain; it just needs the man's name and his signature. I've found the previous captain to be irksome and he was always in the whorehouse, drinking. So what do you say?"

"I…" Inside, Jack was jumping joyously, but the shock of becoming a captain within five minutes time of being departed with his father was such a feat, he could not speak!

"Come now, boy! I haven't all day now. This is, after all, such an honor to be promoted from a lowly creature to a captain of a navy merchant vessel belonging to the East India Trading Co.!"

"Aye!...I mean yes! Yes!" Jack said with his back straight and stood tall in front of the much shorter man.

"Good. No need to shout now. Just sign your name here, here…and here," Beckett said after he handed Jack an inked quill which he scribbled down his name. "Good. Welcome to the East India Trading Co. Captain Sparrow."

'Captain…That has a nice ring to it,' Jack thought and mused with the thought. "Don't I have to read that?"

"No," Beckett said quickly. "You can read? Even better! The last captain couldn't tell the letter 'z' from 't'. I am most impressed already, Captain," Beckett said. He clapped Jack's back and led him to the Wicked Wench. "Welcome to your new home, Mr. Sparrow. I know you'll find her to be a marvelous vessel."

Jack ran his hands through the surface of the smooth wood. The sails shown no nicks, singes from cannon fire, or even patches on them. The deck was smooth and as clean as a ship with many men trampling on her floors daily could be. She looked almost new!

"She's beautiful…" Jack whispered in awe.

Beckett hastily, with a hint of boredom in his droning tone, introduced Jack to his new crew and to the crew their new captain. He told Jack that the crew already knew of the coordinates and where the cargo is to make berth, all Jack had to do was make sure no one steals the cargo and that the crew stays together.

His first mission was a success! The merchants were happy with their supply of fine silks and rugs, Jack grew more confident in his skills as a captain. The men were happy, he was happy, what ever could go wrong?

Months turned into a year as Jack was captain of the Wicked Wench. He came back to Beckett repeatedly to report his findings and of what happened. Jack regarded Beckett in a brotherly sort of fashion, while unknown to Jack, Beckett quickly grew tired of the man's constant talkative state about other ports and its people, but he only nodded his head and pretended to pay attention as the other flamboyantly moved his hands about with detail.

Beckett orders Jack to go to the African continent to bring back "precious" cargo and to deliver it back to this port. Jack, being the simpleton back then, obliges to his "friend" Beckett.

"Good," Beckett said and waved him off.

Weeks passed and they reached the African continent. Jack was amazed at the strange birds and darker skinned people.

"Yeah, put the cargo in the bay or whatnot…Now do they understand us?" Jack asked. He was face to face with one of the locals and inspected him.

"Some do, some don't. Doesn't matter seein' as they're just slaves. Do what they're told is best with them, lest they meet the rope's end for their disobedience," the slave master, who Jack did not even know there was on, said cracking his whip with a flick of his chubby wrist.

"That's not very nice," Jack said and glared at the slave master.

"Just doin' mah job, cap'n, just as your doin' yours," he said and spat something foul on the ground near Jack's foot.

Jack looked at the man repulsed by how he treated another person, turned around and watched the crew haul up large crates. They looked heavy…

"That be the last one, Cap'n," one of the crew said. He whipped his brow with his already sweat drenched sleeve.

"Finally! Let's leave now," Jack said.

They sailed away from the dreaded slave master and back home in the West Indies.

"What do you suppose is in them crates?" Jack asked one night.

Three days passed from when they departed from the port where they got the heavy load. Sometimes he catches a few of the crew members going down to the cargo bay with a large platter with little food on them. Jack didn't question them, thinking that the cargo was a bunch of exotic animals. He wondered why their cries sounded more humane than animalistic.

"You don't know?" the same crewman from earlier asked surprised. "They're usually just walked into the ship, but the Lord Beckett, doing nothing but letting us do the work this by the way is what he should be doing not sitting in his office. Well, he thought it best to have them caged in. He didn't want us to feed them either, but we did."

"What do you mean?" Jack asked perplexed.

"About what?" he handed Jack the rum bottle and the captain shook his head.

"About what you meant…Beckett is suppose to be here doing my job?" Jack asked. He loved being captain of a fine ship. He felt an uncertain knot of dread form within himself. "And what do you mean about them being fed? You mean the animals?"

"For Beckett, yeah in a way. He is supposed to be the one making sure everything is in check and whatnot. Instead, he is back there drinking fine wines sitting on his arse doing not a spit of work. He's been obsessing what other lands there are. You should see his wall, on day I caught him looking at some little map with little blotches and the rest was bare. I think it might be some sort of map…"

"Then –"

"Why isn't he the one on the ship finding the lands? Because he's the kind of man that will do the work only when he knows there is work that he is interested in. You're just his lackey, no offense," he said holding his hands up in defeat. "As for the "animals" they're only animals if that's what you think of them."

"What?" Jack was getting confused with every word this man was saying.

"Just go down and look for yourself. As for myself, I'll be going to bed," he said and left a confounded Jack by the stern.

Jack thought about the conversation that just transpired here and concluded that he should go down there and see for himself.

"It's not that terrible, is it?" Jack muttered to himself.

He lit a lantern and descended down the steps with heavy footsteps. He could see the large wooden boxes with flies buzzing around them, there were very few holes the size of bottom of a bottle, the bottom of the boxes looked slightly darker than that of the rest of the box, and the smell would put even a hog to shame.

"What?" Jack asked himself.

The young captain put the lamp close to one of the holes and peered inside. What he found was not what was he expecting and he gave a small surprise yelp and jumped back.

There were many tired, defeated yellowed eyes looking back at him. Not just any eyes, people eyes! These were human beings being crated off to the islands!

"Blimey!" Jack muttered and cursed. "Are you okay? Do you understand me? I'm the captain of this ship. I'm here to help you. Please, wait as patiently as you can. I've got to get you out…"

He looked around and saw a few tools that looked like they were up for the job. He quickly struck the wooden boxes over and over again. An hour passed and he had already discarded his coat, hat, and rolled up his sleeves. He was drenched in his own sweat and his muscles strained with the effort of trying to free people he doesn't even know.

The African people inside watched in wonder at the only man who tried to set them free. They cried out for joy as Jack cracked through the wooden barrier and swung with vigorous strength as he enlarged the crack into a hole. The slaves slipped out and helped those who needed help.

Jack smiled as they rejoiced, but he soon battered the other wooden boxes with what little strength he had left. The slaves that were still healthy, grabbed some more tools and helped Jack free their tribe. He soon was huffing and puffing for breath while his swings grew slower and shakier. His back ached and his arms felt like lead, but that didn't matter, all that did matter was to free the people.

He felt gentle, but strong hands try to pull him away and he stopped for a moment and saw their faces. They knew that it wasn't his fault and all he wanted to do was help them, but they didn't want their only ally to die helping them. Jack looked into their eyes and saw hope. Hope. Had he caused this?

Jack thought of his false friendship with Beckett and his anger grew. The moment the hands let go of him, he turned back to the wooden boxes and imagined it was Beckett that he was plummeting the tool into. He screamed something, but he couldn't recall what it was. He was furious with himself, at the crew for not telling him, and at Beckett for fooling him. He heard something and felt a rush of wind and something sharp strike his face. It seemed something exploded!

When Jack did look up, he saw that all the other boxes seemed to have exploded and the people were free! They cried out and rejoice. Family and friends reunited with each other and danced. Jack sat back and watched them. A woman came up to him.

"You…Jack Sparrow…" she said with a thick accent and it wasn't British, but she spoke perfect English!

"You know me?" Jack asked and regarded the woman before him. Her hair was up in a strange way, her skin was somewhat lighter than her fellow people, she wore various necklaces, and she wore something that once looked like a very fine dress.

She smiled, "I know you, Captain Jack Sparrow of the Wicked Wench. I hope we can get to know each other. You, who don't recall a past, but have a future. You're not of here, but you belong here much more than that large island with people who uncared for you," she said. "I can quell the demon within. Come visit me before it is too late."

"You mean England? I suppose…" Jack said and regarded her. She was much different than the other slaves. "What is a fine woman such as yourself doing here?"

"I was looking for an unusual kind of creature before the hunters belonging to the isles captured me with this tribe."

"And where are your usual whereabouts?"

"In my shack," she laughed. "Perhaps you might find something of interest there."

"I think I already found my interest," Jack said. He leaned in to kiss her, but she stopped him with a pat on his cheek. He no longer felt the pinpricks of where the splinters struck him.

"You've already begun your journey, it won't end with a sunken ship," she whispered in his ear. "I'm Tia Dalma."

"Tia Dalma?" Jack repeated. When he looked up, she was no where to be found.

"Captain!" a sharp cry came from the top of the stairs.

"Aye?" Jack asked. He watched as his crew rush down the stairs and stopped at the bottom step when they caught site of more slaves surrounding them.

"What happened? The slaves…they are free! Hurry men! Fetch the nets! Grab your weapons, but do NOT kill!" The men stumbled back and rushed to get the nets.

"NO!" Jack ordered. "We are to turn back and return them back home where they belong."

"But Captain…"

"I said turn the ship around NOW!" Jack said furiously. He grabbed the navy officers' shirt roughly. "I am captain! Not you! Are you challenging me sailor?"

"Of course not, sir," the first mate said and he visibly shrunk back.

Jack watched the crew and took great care in making sure that the slaves were not being mistreated during the three days back to the African port. Once they landed, Jack set the slaves free and had the slave master and his minions tied up. There was an ample amount of gold in the slave master's shack which Jack pocketed after giving the slaves half of the gold.

They returned back to the West Indies with no cargo of slaves and a grim crew. Jack let the crew restock their stocks. As for Jack, he wanted to have a little chat with his dear pal, Cutler Beckett.

"Welcome back Mister Sparrow," Beckett's cold voice greeted him when he entered.

Jack, for once in the presence of Beckett, stayed silent.

"I see…" Beckett turned around and faced Jack. They regarded each other with contempt for the other's betrayal. "Such treason…failure to complete an assignment as simple as that. My, my you really are stupid."

"Oh tush," Jack said angrily. "They are people too! They do not need to be enslaved. Let them have their freedom and peace!"

Beckett backhanded Jack who took a step back from the surprising blow. The side of his face stung and he felt that his lip had busted from the impact of Beckett's ring, he licked it. When he turned to leave, two officers guarded his only exit.

"You see, Mister Sparrow, a simple slap is not going to reprieve you and your crew. As we speak, if you look out the window," Beckett said motioning towards the open window. The man placed the tip of his cane inside the burning fireplace. "Yes now you will see that I have ordered that your ship, the Wicked Wench, is to be torched and gunned down upon your arrival. Marvelous…The poor fates of your crew. And that's not all…"

Beckett nodded towards the two officers behind Jack. They immediately held him down on the table and they outstretched Jack's right wrist. Jack struggled against their tight hold and managed to knock down one before two more officers piled on top of him. Beckett inspected the red hot iron and silver tip fondly and gripped Jack's right wrist. He didn't even bother rubbing oil on it to help the skin not stick to the metal.

"No!" Jack screamed and continued to struggle despite the heavy weight on top of him.

Jack felt the heat of the branding iron before it touched his skin, melting away the flesh with a scorching hiss and pulled some flesh, and perhaps a piece of muscle, off from this arm. He screamed until his voice grew hoarse from the burnt flesh on his wrist. He didn't even notice they let go of him and regarded him with distaste as Jack cradled his arm close to his chest.

"Take the pirate away," Beckett said turning away from them and pouring himself a glass of wine.

Jack let them lift him up, but once he was straightened out he elbowed the two painfully, despite the pain of his new brand, and tackled Beckett to the ground painfully. He punched Cutler a few times and felt the cartilage of the other man's nose break before hands grabbed him from behind.

Jack laughed manically as they dragged him out, "This isn't over yet!"

They set him to prison without a trial. 'Lock the door and throw away the keys…' Jack fumed in his cage while his branded wrist scabbed over a 'P'. He had no title, no gold, no clothes other than the ones on his back, no crew, no effects, and no ship. They had cut his hair short with a blunt knife the moment he entered and he felt the beginnings of a cold.

"Bugger," Jack said. He tried to open the door of his cell for the hundredth time before giving up.

He sat in his cell night and day with his shorn hair for the past thirteen days. There was no hope. He felt like the slaves back on the Wicked Wench, no one coming to save them…but he had, he had saved them! Will someone save him?

At that precise moment, he heard loud cannon fire outside. After what felt like forever, the canons sounded like they were within range of the prison that Jack was in. A blast and some smoke later, a hole large enough for a man to fit through appeared on his wall. He looked sadly at his fellow prison mates in their grouped cells since he was alone.

"Godspeed, mates," Jack said. He took off an imaginary hat and bowed to them before leaving them to their own demise.

He ran and ran as fast and far as he could from the prison. He dodged the fallen bodies of several men and found himself a small rowboat. Since he had no other man besides himself, he was forced to row it himself. He quickly reached another island over the night of rowing and found out through some people in the pubs that he was not far from Beckett. He also managed to snag a few articles of clothing to disguise himself.

The next day, after hitching a ride, rather more like stowing away, he arrived at the port.
It was the same port where he made berth for the East India Trading Co. during the past year as one of their captains. He snuck out and as he made his way towards where Beckett's office was he passed an apothecary which was widely known for its strong sleeping herbs.

"Might you perhaps have a small sample free of charge?" Jack asked pointing towards one of the stronger sleeping herbs with a small walking stick.

"No," the man said.

"No?" Jack repeated after him. "I'm sorry, you must have been mumbling because I couldn't hear a word you said. Maybe you should one of those herbs to make your mouth less slack so all may understand you."

"Sir, leave the shop now before I alert someone," he said. He walked around the counter and nudged Jack towards the exit.

With the man's back towards Jack, he hastily grabbed a handful of the herbs and stuffed them in his "borrowed" jacket.

"Thank ye," Jack said and walked out.

Jack walked around the office of where Beckett's office was and waited for the man to get ready for dinner. Once or twice, he stopped in front of where he last saw the Wicked Wench and he could feel her calling to him.

That night, Jack snuck into Beckett's kitchen and while the cook wasn't looking, he passed by the broth soup and dropped several broken pieces of the herb inside. It blended well with the garnish on top.

Beckett ate his dinner in silence and alone as usual. His face had long healed of the beating that the despicable Jack Sparrow. He sat hunched over his table with his dinner on one side and his small map of the world on the other. It seemed that if he stared intently over the piece of mostly blank paper, then he would find the unidentified lands, but they didn't.

Cutler Beckett felt his eyes slowly start to close and his head fell onto the wooden table with a heavy thud. When Jack found him an hour later, he found the dear lord sleeping with an almost blank paper pressed against his face. He lifted the paper and held it above the candle's flame. Slowly, he lowered the paper and watched it burn. Now to deal with the man.

Jack lifted the man and carried him off from his shoulder. Outside, there were very few people left awake on the streets and it was very good timing. He slowly made his way towards the docks and lowered the man on the floor. He found some rope, paper, and paint.

The next morning, sailors were surprised to find a naked Lord Cutler Beckett tied and gagged on a post in a bent over position which uncouthly scarred their minds. All around his body in paint were "CJS" symbols and a very large one on his right wrist and forehead. There was a powdery substance, most likely baking flour, in the shape of a set of handprints right on either cheeks of Beckett. Mind you, it wasn't the top cheeks. On his back was a piece of paper that said "To my dear friend with all the love I have for you. From Captain J.S.".

Beckett woke up cold and uncomfortable. Why were people laughing so early in the morning?

"Uhnt?" Beckett said through the gag.

He turned as far as he could and saw his bare skin and men behind him laughing. He screamed in frustration and struggled against the bonds. The harbor master came up and saw what the sailors were laughing about.

"Outrageous! Sir, I am most appalled by this devious act of heresy. When we find this woman, she shall seek punishment as you deem fit. Here now sir, use my coat. It is a bit chilly this morning," the harbor master said and handed Beckett his jacket.

"You will be most rewarded," Beckett said as he buttoned the jacket on him and try to hide his modesty. "As for the rest of you, no wages for a month. Be lucky I am not sending you to the sharks!"

Beckett wracked his brain of the previous nights events, but found nothing unusual. He felt something on his back and he removed it, it was note! He quickly read the letter and first his face paled before turning a beet red.

"It was no woman, but a man. No a pirate," Beckett said seething and crumpled up the letter. He tossed it into the ocean below.

Jack laughed at this morning's event. They each left their mark on each other: Beckett giving Jack the pirate brand which was a physical mark and Jack humiliating and making Beckett the laughing stock which was more emotional.

When he raided through Beckett's office hours before there was nothing he could wear since the man was much smaller than he was, but there was enough gold pieces. He liked his new boots, jacket, shirt, and tricorn. He couldn't find a cheap enough pistol, but this cutlass will do nicely for now.

After the sailors and an embarrassed Beckett had dispersed from the port, he dove in the murky waters. That would be the last time that Jack Sparrow would not be a marked man. Jack swam down to the depths of the sea with a deep breath, but that wouldn't last long. He had vowed to himself that he would go get the Wicked Wench himself from Davy Jones' locker, even if it killed him. He might even have to drag it out from his hands in a sort of like keelhauling.

Less than a minute, he was losing oxygen and darkness crept up on him. Just as he was about to pass out, a ghostly shape grew in front of his eyes and moved towards him.

"What do we have here?" an octopus faced man asked. He swam, more like walked towards the drowning Jack.

"Can't understand a word yer saying, boy! Yer just gurgling out nonsense. Come aboard me ship and I'll strike a deal with ye," the fish-man said. He grabbed Jack roughly by the arm and led him towards the ghostly ship. "Better eh?"

"Yes," Jack said and collapsed on the deck. He coughed out water.

"You know who I am?"

"The man whose parents were an octopus and barnacle?" Jack asked and laughed despite the pain in his chest. It felt good to breathe again.

"No," he said. "Seeing as yer mostly dead by now, it shouldn't matter how stupid of a whelp you are. I'm Davy Jones and you are aboard my ship, boy."

"Okay. So what do you want, fishface?" Jack asked squinting his eyes at the man. How was it that he was able to breathe and talk? He has heard tales for years now about the infamous Davy Jones, but they just seemed unreal, until now.

"It be more of what ye want than what I want. How would you like to live for eternity sailing under me orders? You can delay death." Davy Jones asked him.

"Not much. I want my ship back. I take no more orders from anyone," Jack said.

"Feisty fella you are," Davy Jones said. "How about I get you a ship and you be the captain of her for three years?"

"No. MY ship and no one else's. Best make it thirteen years," Jack said. He glanced around the ship and saw that most of the crew was almost as deformed at their captain.

"Aye, but after yer thirteen years as being called captain, you must accept to the terms of serving aboard my ship, the Flying Dutchman, for one hundred years. Do ye agree to these terms?" Davy Jones struck a claw out and waited for Jack's answer.

"Sure," Jack said quickly not caring about his soul. He sprung onto his feet and gingerly shook the claw of Davy Jones. For a moment there was a black mark on the hand that shook Davy Jones' and it slowly disappeared.

"I shall raise yer ship now…Captain,"Davy Jones said.

He raised his barnacled arms and the water around them shook. Slowly a shape formed from the depths of the oceans. As the Wicked Wench floated back towards the top, the Flying Dutchman was steps ahead. Jack watched and marveled how his ship came onto the surface in one piece as water poured out from the port holes.

"The Black Pearl…" Jack whispered in glee as he re-named his ship, which is of course considered an ill omen to do so.

"There," Davy Jones said. "As part of my generosity, ye be in the middle of the Caribbean than that shabby port."

"I, Captain Jack Sparrow, are in yer debt, mate," Jack said. He grinned and clapped Davy Jones' back happily.

"Thirteen years, Captain Jack Sparrow," Davy Jones reminded the young man.

'Back then,' Jack thought to himself, 'back then, I was but a stupid lad with stranger ideals and speech…I was different. Why am I thinking this? I need more rum.'