Found, re-vamped, sending out feelers to see if I should continue it. It'll get interesting, that's all I have to say. Though, I only have two chapters done, so the plot is free to flow. Meaning, if I continue, it'll take a while to figure out what the hell I'm doing.

Standard disclaimers apply to this, and all fanfics I have written.

Tears of Bloody Innocence- Chapter One

A face always hidden, whether by mask or shadow. Project Apocalypse, Trial Nine, Subject Six Three Zero Eight stood impassive, waiting for the newest assignment. Red eyes flashed as the man handed over a manila envelope. "You will begin the final stage two days from now. Years of study and hard work comes down to the completion of this mission. I don't need to remind you of the consequences should you fail."

And still he remained impassive, face devoid of any emotion. He knew. But failure wasn't an option. He could hear the smirk in his trainer's voice. "Very well. You may tell Six Two Nine Four that it has begun. Dismissed."

6308 turned sharply on his heel, stalking silently from the room, the unopened envelope still in his hand. Moving with an unnerving quiet down the halls, he passed a two-way mirror, not even bothering to look into the training gym, knowing it to be deserted. He couldn't hear the sounds of hearts beating inside. Past the infirmary, where only two nurses tidied up, the last of the battered subjects already stitched up and gone back to the dorms.

Gliding down an endlessly winding metal staircase, 6308 reached a long hall filled with doors. Most of the rooms were empty, dust and a damp cold permeating them, and no one bothered to make them livable again. Only five rooms were needed. Only five subjects had survived out of the single successful trial. Eleven years of harsh training and even harsher punishment left no mercy for the weak, for those less than perfect.

Opening one of the doors, 6308 walked into his room. It was spartan, only what was needed, with nothing to spare. A bed against one wall, a small, three drawer dresser and a chair. All the furniture was a dull, unfinished wood; the only colors were the white of the single sheet that covered the mattress, 6308's black and red training outfit and the blue of his hair and tattoos that marked him an elite of the elite. Pulling off his shirt, 6308 folded it and placed it in the top drawer to be used again. Toned muscle slid smoothly under pale skin that hadn't seen the sun in many months as he sat on the bed, taking the envelope into his lap.

Opening it, he pulled out a sheet of paper with his assignment typed on it, putting it aside after a few seconds, having finished the page. Turning the envelope upside down, 6308 scattered five pictures in front of himself on the bed. An old, bald man with a ridiculous mustache smiled happily and 6308 growled slightly. Him. Oh, that one would pay for almost destroying Project Apocalypse. Turning his attention to the other photographs, 6308 studied them. A boy, no older than twelve, with large glasses and mousey brown hair, a frail little thing that he could easily snap in half with one hand, obviously a braniac. Harmless. A blonde, about thirteen, with large, sparkling blue eyes and a giddy smile. Typical sugar happy teen, no problem. Another thirteen year old with wild navy hair and eyes to match, one eye closed in an over-cocky wink, fingers held in a peace sign as he grinned. Just looking at the boy disgusted 6308, pathetic. And the last, a black haired boy of fifteen, the same age as himself. Golden eyes slit down the middle and a small smile showed pointed fangs. That one may bear watching.

6308 paused when he heard a heart beating outside his door. In a quiet voice no ordinary human should have been able to hear from such a distance, he said, "Come in."

The door opened and a figure slid inside before closing it again. Electric blue eyes locked with blood red ones as 6294 stood in front of 6308. Their gazes broke as 6294 took in the paper and the photographs. A small smile played over his lips. "Don't kill the old man too soon Kai," he said, sitting next to the other on the bed.

6308 snorted, and not from the use of his birth name; Tala and the others called him by that rather than his number and he did the same for them. "They specifically said I couldn't kill Dickenson, it's a scouting mission 'until further notice'."

Tala wrinkled his nose in a semblance of empathy. "Shitty luck, kid," he grinned. Red eyes narrowed at him, but he continued undaunted. "Just finish up quick so we can get this over with. I don't like waiting."

Smirking at the closest thing he had to a friend, Kai quipped, "They say patience is a virtue. But considering all the others that you're lacking, you shouldn't concern yourself with that one."

A flaming eyebrow cocked over icy eyes, only slightly amused. Outside their dorms, such a conversation would never take place. Outside their dorms, the emotionless masks returned and they were once again subjects 6294 and 6308 of Project Apocalypse. The perfect weapons, the perfect killers, all in the guise of teenagers. Teenagers immersed in the popular sport of Beyblade, a sport that allowed them to complete quiet, blameless assassinations, all to meet the ideal of Project Apocalypse.

And such an ideal. To remove all the weaknesses of the human population by weeding out the bad genes. Prevent them from being passed on by eliminating them completely. That was the dream of Boris Bolcov. That was the reality that he had set into motion.

Glancing at the assignment sheet, 6294 looked at the date. His companion would leave early the day after tomorrow. "Are you going to come to practice in the morning?"

6308 snorted again, crossing his arms over his bare chest, falling to lie on his back. "Do you think they'd let me miss it?"

The redhead smiled wryly with a tiny shake of his head, standing up. "I'll tell Ivan, Bryan and Spencer. Get some sleep Kai. You don't look so great." With that, Tala was gone as quietly as he had come.

Rolling over, 6308 replaced the typed sheet and the photographs in the envelope, then tossed it to the floor next to his bed. The automatic lights would shut off at eleven o'clock, ten minutes from now, and he could sleep until they came on again at three to wake him for practice.

The lights came on four hours later, simultaneously rousing five teens from their separate beds. Silently, they filed up the stairs and into the infirmary, where they were each given plain, chalky tasting protein shakes. As the boys finished their breakfast, the nurses came and removed any bandages that had been applied the night before.

Marching quietly down the hall, 6308, 6294 and their companions, the smallest, 6469, Ivan, Spencer, 6198, and the largest of them all coming behind, Bryan, 6637, entered the large training room. They lined up in front of their trainer and awaited instructions. They were simple. Short and to the point, the masked man said, "Stay alive. 6308 first."

The scientist preceded his charges out of the room to stand on the other side of the two way mirror. Placing goggles over the eye slits of his mask, he watched.

The lights went off in the training room, but 6308 didn't flinch. He bent his knees slightly, reaching for his blade and launcher. Fitting them together by feel alone, he stood ready, waiting. Another heartbeat entered the room and 6308's head turned to face it, though he couldn't see. But that didn't matter. The heartbeat belonged to a male, large and strong, one who could probably see him, since the heart rate didn't increase as the opponent entered the pitch black gym. Another entered, smaller than the first; his heart didn't need to pump as much blood to the body, this one just as confidant. Then another, and another, until finally there were eight total. A smart man would lay his money on the fifteen year old.

6308 smiled to himself, but then . . . click. Click. Clickclickclickclickclickclick. Eight hammers pulled back as guns were cocked and full chambers settled into place. Revolvers, old fashioned by the sound, probably with six chambers each. Six shots for each man, that meant forty-eight bullets aimed at 6308. His fingers twitched imperceptibly, taking firmer hold on his launcher. He would have to be fast.

Pulling the ripcord, 6308 called out "Dranzer!" It didn't matter if he gave away his position. He didn't plan on being in the same spot for long.

His blade flew forward, viciously striking one man on the temple, dropping him to the floor. Forty-two bullets left. Dranzer reversed the attack, shooting backwards against an elbow, hard enough to shatter the bone. A metallic clang echoed hollowly over a cry of pain as the revolver hit the ground. Thirty-six.

The remaining six divided their attention, four of them foolishly wasting their ammunition, trying to hit the whirling blade that evaded every shot. The other two turned to 6308. Cut off the snake's head and it ceases to move. But the boy wasn't there.

6308 hung from a ceiling beam by his knees, dangling above the two men that were searching for him. He began to reach . . . the thugs spun around as Dranzer dropped another marksman, then a fourth right in front of their eyes. 6308 repositioned himself, then quickly reached down and grabbed one man on the head and shoulder, jerking harshly, not bothering to hear the bone crack as the spinal column snapped before releasing the ceiling beam and landing on the other man. His fingers curled over the man's forehead and felt the smooth glass covering the grooves where the poor fool's eyes were. Tearing off the night-vision goggles, he wrenched his hand back and up, feeling his fingers bite into soft, wet flesh.

Screams filled the dark room as the blinded man fell to his knees. The spinning blade dropped another, leaving only one. 6308 called Dranzer back to his fist, listening to the man's footsteps as he backed away, unwilling to show the psycho teen his exposed back. Stepping forward for momentum, 6308 slung his blade in a reverse spin, hearing it slice into the skin of the man's throat and the sudden splatter of hot life-blood spilling to the cold ground.

The lights came back on, allowing 6308 to view his handiwork. Yells and howls of pain still came from the man who clutched at his face, blood pouring from between his fingers. Three dead, four unconscious and broken, and one blinded. 6308 caught his partner as it returned to him, stowing it safely in his left pocket. Turning callously from the grisly sight, the boy walked out of the training room.

In the hallway, 6308 walked past the other subjects and Boris, halting when his creator called, "You didn't have to kill them, 6308."

The teen didn't even bother to turn around. Sliding his hand into his right pocket, he pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, putting the stick in his mouth and lighting it. Taking a long drag, he exhaled a steady stream of smoke before replying. "If you wanted them all alive, you should have said something."

And with that, 6308 sauntered away.