Author's Note: So, I'm going to attempt to show Drake's life before the FAYZ. Even though this must have been done countless times before, I'm determined to show Drake as he should be (in my opinion). I'm not even going to try and get inside Drake's head, which is why I'm writing this is third person. Oh, and, don't be put off by the fact Drake hasn't made an appearance yet, he'll be coming in soon, this is just sort of an introduction to the story. Anyway, hope you enjoy this and please leave any thoughts you have about this. (I want to improve and I will do my best to do so) Thank you :)

Mr Kingsley stirred his black coffee carefully, the only sound in the silent office was the clink of metal against china. He sighed and pushed his small round spectacles further up his nose. Mr Kingsley was a serious man with serious dark eyes and an immaculate serious looking black suit. Even though there were no creases in his tailored suit there were creases all over his face, most of them caused by countless years of frowning and stern words. His black hair was combed back and looked a little too much like plastic for comfort when it caught the light. Frederick Kingsley had a reputation for being one of the best psychiatrists in the United Kingdom, who dealt with difficult cases and considerably dangerous people. He hadn't failed yet and he wasn't planning on doing so in the future. At this moment in time he was in America, having been called over by several other psychiatrists to take a look at a case nobody else had quite managed to crack. He was offered a great deal of money so, naturally, he agreed to the job. After all, he hadn't failed yet and what was one more mental person to deal with? Nothing, as far as he was concerned.

The door to the office swung open and a man who went by the name of Alan Farmer strode in, loosening a bright red tie at his neck. "My, it's quite in here!" He exclaimed. Mr Kingsley stopped stirring his steaming coffee and rested the spoon on the saucer. "There is only me, besides yourself, in the room, so of course it would be quiet. I, myself, had nobody to talk to and I'm not in the habit of talking to myself. That is why, Mr Farmer, I am the psychiatrist and not locked up in one of my own asylums." Mr Kingsley spoke softly with a perfect English accent. Although his words were quiet, they were the sort of words with a commanding air about them. This was the sort of man you listened to. "Ah, you have a point there Freddie." Said Alan, chuckling to himself. He sat down on a chair opposite to Mr Kingsley and ran a hand through his mop of unruly brown hair. "Any more coffee?" He gestured to the pot on the table.

"Yes, of course." Said Mr Kingsley in a rather bored tone of voice "help yourself. But, please, call me Frederick." He would, in actual fact, have rather been called Mr Kingsley but it was hopeless trying to get that across to some people. Frederick sipped his black coffee that was so strong it would have had most other people reaching for a glass of water, but he was fond of strong coffee and watched in something close to disgust as Alan Farmer dropped his fourth sugar cube into his own cup. "I have quite the sweet tooth," he said, grinning "so, what's your business over here in America?"

"I have been called to deal with a case nobody else seems to be able to take care of, I am yet to receive to details of the person in question."

"Oh! Wait! You're Frederick Kingsley, aren't you?" Mr Kingsley just about refrained from rolling his eyes at this exclamation, hadn't he just introduced himself to the man a matter of hours ago? He'd been there to greet him at the door. "Yes, Mr Farmer, I am indeed." Said Frederick, wondering how exactly this man had made it into the profession. Surely he needed someone to look at his own head before he was trusted with someone else's? "You're the guy we sent for! The one who's gonna sort out...him." Frederick winced inside at the poor language and pronunciation but his face remained impassive as he sipped his coffee. After a few moments of silence he asked "might I ask who he is?" The look that spread across Alan's face was one of terror, as if the devil himself had made an appearance in the room. "He's a psychopath. A right mental case. We have no idea where his motives lie nor do we know how to change his way of thinking. He's got us all stumped." Alan paused for a moment and then said "he is Drake Merwin."

Drake Merwin, as you may have heard, is something of a strange boy, although this hadn't always been the case. In his early years, Drake had been a normal boy with a normal family. He was a little on the boisterous side and disregarded most rules, but other than that he was just like any other boy of his age. Things started to go downhill as he got older, his behaviour got worse and he found himself in more and more trouble. Drake started off as someone who found it difficult to understand what was right and wrong and didn't know when to keep his mouth shut, just your average irritating child. He had a few friends at school that he gradually lost in later years. Drake had an odd sense of humour, laughing when people fell or hurt themselves and he didn't have very much in common with anyone else. He bullied quite a few students, first scaring them mentally with words about torture and then physically, by hitting them or causing them harm...in a most creative fashion.

It was when Drake was around 10 years old that the teachers at his school felt the need to alert his parents that something was seriously wrong. It was parents evening and Mr David Merwin and Mrs Sarah Merwin were sat in Drake's classroom with his teacher, Mr Higgs. "A pleasure to see you, Mr and Mrs Merwin. It's good of you to come here tonight." Said Mr Higgs kindly. "Drake has always been quite the character but there a few things I've noticed recently that have started to concern me."

"Is it to do with his writing? Dyslexia or something?" Said Sarah, her brow furrowed a little.

"No, no." Replied Mr Higgs, shaking his head "the quality of the writing itself is excellent, it's just the content I'm concerned about."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you're talking about." Said David.

"Well, let me read you a little. I'd asked the class to write a short story, containing two of these words: kitchen, police, tree or shoes and Drake chose kitchen and police and wrote really quite well, just not in the way I had hoped. This is what he wrote: The man lay dying on the floor. The tiles were now stained with blood. Red blood. It dripped off the kitchen knife I was holding. Drip. Drip. Drip. The man's eyes were wide and staring as he twitched in pain. I took great enjoyment in seeing him scream but now he was silent. Soon to be silent forever. One of the neighbours had called the police but it was far too late by the time they arrived. The man was already dead and I was long gone. Gone from the scene of the crime and away from the body in the kitchen. Taking only my kitchen knife with me." Mr Higgs laid Drake's book on the table and watched Sara and David's faces for a reaction.

"Well...well, he certainly has quite an active imagination." Said Sarah, baffled.

"Quite." Said Mr Higgs, looking nervous. "You must understand that, this isn't normal for a boy of his age. Maybe in a few years if he had been asked to write a horror story it would have been acceptable, but now..." Mr Higgs shook his head. "I think you should also take a look at some of the things he's been drawing." Various images of weapons were put on the table and Drake's parents' concern only grew. "I will give you Drake's book for you to have a look at yourself and decide an appropriate course of action, however I would sincerely recommend having a doctor talk to your son. It's not just his work that reflects his thoughts...it's his actions as well. Even though nothing serious has happened yet, it won't be long. As you aware Drake has bullied a few of the other students, something quite a few children go through, it's just part of growing up. However, Drake's way of bullying was quite...unusual and I fear that there may be something...not quite right."

"Are you quite sure you aren't over reacting, Mr Higgs?" Said David, although he too was concerned about his son's mentality.

"Believe me, sir. I'm not."