Talen : Good day, readers. After some deliberation, I have decided to make my attempt at writing a decent piece of fanfiction. I truly hope you enjoy it. As this is my first piece, expect some revision in both the format and story line, though I will always try to warn of those.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of these characters, not even my knowledge of them. I've "borrowed" them for an indefinite amount of time.
Chapter 1: Vision of Nothing
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It wasn't quite pain, but a hurtful soreness that he first registered. His body ached all over, like he had pushed himself too far too fast and was now paying the consequences. The only thing that really hurt was his head; a pounding throb behind his eyes the nestled in the depths of his brain. Eventually, he knew, he'd have to open his eyes to see where he was. Slowly he forced his eyes to open and was rewarded with darkness. It was simultaneously both comforting and disturbing. For one, it meant that his headache didn't get any worse, and for the other, well he still had no idea where he was.
By pushing himself up he was able to get a better look around. He was in a small room of some sort. Mostly bare, there was the bed he was lying in and a chest of drawers on the other side of the room. Closer to the bed there was a desk with a lamp, turned off course. There were other things on the desk, but it was too dark to make anything else out. Also in the room there were two doors, both closed.
Bypassing the desk and drawers, he went straight for the first door. It opened smoothly and silently to reveal a bathroom. A light switch by the door quickly illuminated the room. It was a basic bathroom, nothing special. Toiletries indicated that the bathroom probably belonged to a young male. Clean and functional, there was no luxurious bathtub, only a small shower stall. Against the wall, above the sink, there was a cupboard mirror.
Looking into it, he was greeted with the site of a young man in his teens, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Sharp, spiky, black hair and fine crafted features stared back. But most peculiarly, he was wearing a mask. His hand reached up to touch his face, to confirm what his eyes saw. A thin, black-lined mask that hid the eyes beneath a veil of white. Why am I wearing a mask?
Closing his eyes he scanned for information that would give answers to the questions that were forming in his mind. There was nothing there. No information of what had happened or where he was. Or who he was.
Frantically, he searched his mind for something, anything that would tell him who he was: birthday, family, birth place, social security number, anything. He couldn't even remember his own name! He snapped his eyes open and winced as light once again filled his vision. Lifting the mask caused even more light to pour in to his eyes, so he quickly abandoned that attempt. He couldn't remember the color of his eyes.
Panic flushed through him, and he had to grip the sink to keep from collapsing on the floor. At the height of his anxiety, when his heart was in his throat and his lags turning to jelly, a voice cut through the depths of his mind. Don't panic. Never panic. Panicking might get you hurt, even killed. Strange as it may be, that voice calmed him allowed him to find his center.
He walked through the first room and examined the other door. It, too, opened smoothly and quietly revealing a staircase with a door at the top, this one with light streaming around its cracks. As he crept up the steps, he noticed that he didn't make any noise at all. The stealth came naturally to him as most ingrained instincts do. Still, no information flashed through his mind to explain this usual habit. Forcing himself to concentrate, he pushed aside the reactionary fear at his lack of self-knowledge and continued up the stairs.
The door at the top wasn't locked either, but the light from the other room speared through his eyes as the door opened and left him at a momentary disadvantage. Shutting his eyes was an involuntary reaction, but already his other senses were compensating to cover for that. Sounds of a person moving, pans and other cookware being adjusted. This was reinforced with the smell of food, which turned his stomach ever so slightly.
"Very good, it is time for you to awaken." The voice was smooth, and despite the words, very dangerous. I know that voice. It was tantalizingly close, just out of grasp, were it seemed all of his memories were.
For the second time that day he forced his eyes open. The room was a pleasant, cheerful color. An average kitchen that one might find in any home. By the stove stood a man just putting breakfast on plates to be served. He had bristly brown hair that was showered with gray. His movements were simultaneously gracefully unhurried and still contained a military efficiency. The man turned around and it was immediately seen that he was missing his left eye, cover by a simple black patch.
"Well, Robin, do you feel well enough to eat?"
Talen: I would like to apologize, for I know nothing of how the other character looks without his mask. I am, as always, open to suggestion and constructive criticism. Thank you for your time in reading this small segment.
May the best of luck always follow you.