Hey folks! This is my new fic! The name my change but not yet! This was beta'd by semigothsalz and I am ever grateful! Hope you like it! There will be yaoi, AkuRoku will happen. If you don't like it, fair enough. But it will be in this fic.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. But one day I will (evil look)!
Spanish speech: "it looks like this!"
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
The grey prison skulked around the heated, desert sand of Arizona. It had high, dusty walls topped with coils of barbed wire. These walls surrounded a desolate courtyard, which in turn was surrounded again by reinforced chicken wire fencing. At each corner stood tall, imposing guard towers. Each guard was armed with a gun, each gun was armed with a precise scope.
The main cell block was equally drab and unimaginative. Cell upon cell upon cell lined up like a battery farm for four floors. They surrounded a mess hall at the centre; it was all steel tables and cold stools on a scarred, concrete floor.
At one end of the mess hall was a set of gates from which the guards entered to keep order and count the prisoners. At the other end was a door with a very different purpose. It was thick iron held with large bolts. It was the gateway to the secure cells, cells for prisoners in solitary confinement. Yet it was also the cover for another door, a door that barely any prisoners or guards knew about. It, like another twelve identical doors across the world, kept a very important secret from view. On it was the Roman numeral for thirteen in large black lettering.
Either of these doors were rarely open, the prisoners behind them rarely saw the sunshine. Yet, that day in Arizona was very hot and the guards knew they would need extra time in the yard to prevent a riot. The prisoners sedately wandered out in the courtyard and to the water fountains, even those in solitary confinement were liberated. Yet the door beyond all other doors remained closed.
A doctor, escorted by three guards, entered the cell block. She walked with authority and station, he heels clacking on the lino flooring. She approached the only unopened door. As it was unlocked, she marched into what appeared to be a large white room. In one corner stood computers and a manner of testing equipment, all deactivated. The rest of the room was occupied by a bed, television and an array of coloured pencils scattered across the floor. Across the walls there were drawings or people and places in a childish hand. "Good afternoon," she said primly, addressing the occupant of the room.
A blond boy of about fifteen turned to look at her; he had sea blue eyes and was completely expressionless. He just blinked as she gave him his lunch and medication. "These are new," she said pointing at some of the pictures nearby, "who are they of?"
Again the boy said nothing; he looked down at them carefully. He cocked his head on one side and murmured, "I'm not sure."
The doctor just smiled and told him, "well I'm sure you'll remember soon." She got up and, after checking that he had returned to drawing, left the cold room.
"You should be more careful, ma'am!" one of the guards exclaimed. "He's a military issue prisoner! Straight transfer to the highest security possible! Whatever he's done is so bad that even we don't have the classification to see it!"
The doctor sighed and ran a hand through her long hair. "That is what worries me! He is a boy with no memory, no medical history and no identity. He was just handed to us a few months ago!" She put her hands on her hips with agitation. "They just told us that he had committed a terrible crime! What is so terrible that you lock up a child for it?"
The guard held out his hands calmingly, "easy, ma'am, easy. I don't know the answers," the guard drew in a long breath. "It's so hot today. Maybe we could take him outside in awhile? Once we got the rest of the assholes back in, give him some air?" He led her back across the courtyard to the infirmary, a crumbled building on the east wall.
------
Two years later and a rickety train rumbles along the express line. The passengers are hot, tired and sweating. They were mostly poor, just travelling in search of work or food. As the train continued its journey people came and went, they get on with reluctance and seem to leave in a great hurry.
The train pulled into its twenty third stop with an announcement, passengers begin to rise once more. More specifically a figure wearing a light grey hooded jacket stands, the hood is pulled up and the rest of the passengers are unable to see his face. Along with the oversized jacket he is wearing a pair of patched up jeans and shoes that have clearly seen better days or maybe years. He swings a small bag onto his shoulder and makes his way to the door. Once they have slid lazily open, he too is hurrying out onto the platform.
He emerges into the bright light of a city street, pushed forward by businessmen and women. From his pocket he pulls a scrap of paper to examine it closely. He begins a hasty walk to the nearest taxi and, after a discussion with the driver, gets in the back. He pays and gets out in the suburbs, in front of a large manor house.
The figure pulls back his hood, revealing ocean blue eyes and blonde hair. His skin is quite pale but unblemished. Hesitantly he rings the doorbell. After a moment he can hear shuffling feet coming to the door, an old lady opens it and glares at him reproachfully. "Yes?" she asks curtly. Her hair was short as was her stature. Her voice carried a Spanish lilt, her ethnicity reinforced by her olive skin and dark eyebrows.
"Well, um…" he stutters, intimidated easily.
"Well, what is it young man! I have better things to do than listen to you murmur and mutter all day!" the grey haired woman snaps.
"I was sent here by the f-foster agency…" the boy murmurs.
"Oh! I am sorry! You must be Roxas, yes? Oh come in, dear, you must be tired after your long journey." The old lady led him inside with a warm smile and a gentle. Roxas felt a lot better; maybe this wouldn't be so bad? "Why don't you sit at the table," the lady continued, "while I get you some tea."
"T-thank you, Ms…er?"
"Oh! How impolite of me. First I make you wait and then I fail to introduce myself! I must be losing my manners in my old age!" The old lady laughed and Roxas felt relieved that she wasn't as mean as she'd first appeared. "I am Rosa Flora, pleasure to meet you young man. You are Roxas Twilight, yes?"
"That's right, ma'am." Roxas smiled, his face lighting up. At least he'd made it to the right house; he'd travelled around two thousand miles to get here after all. "It's aweful nice of you to foster me and all."
"Think nothing of it! When my children left home I just felt I needed more to light the house up! Kids like you need a proper upbringing after being left alone," she smiled encouragingly at him. "Now, you've been enrolled at the local school, Bayville High. You'll start day after tomorrow as tomorrow you have to go in for basic testing. They insisted on it! I cannot understand all this raising of standards," she sighed heavily.
"Can I ask a question, Ms Flora?" Roxas timidly said after a moment.
"Of course, dear. Don't be so shy!"
"Are you Spanish? I don't mean to be rude or anything! I'm just curious is all!" he stuttered out, he hated asking questions. Something about it felt wrong.
Rosa simply smiled, "si, I am Spanish, Roxas. Please do call me Rosa; Ms Muerta is so formal…"
Roxas smiled back, "it's just that I speak Spanish too and I was wondering um…I don't remember much about who I am and I heard that if you do something familiar you might remember and -"
"You were hoping Spanish is familiar to you?"
"Yes," he sighed relieved.
"Well then," she exclaimed and immediately switched dialect, "the only language between up in these walls shall be Spanish!" She laughed, "It has been so long since I have spoken to another in my own tongue. Alas my children never spoke it; they spoke English, like their father."
"Thank you, Rosa." Roxas replied, easily slipping into the same language. After further conversation the two ate dinner in comfortable companionship.
----
After dinner Rosa took Roxas up to a small bedroom in the eastern corner of the house. It had a simple bed and was blue in colour. It had a desk, wardrobe and hamper for his washing. She smiled and told him to 'settle in'. He dumped his bags on the bed when she left and pulled open the pale blue curtains. It was a nice day after all.
He pulled books from his bag, placing them on the bookshelves above his desk in a nice and ordered fashion. Next he slid his stationary onto the desk, the formed a cluttered pile on the left side atop his sketch book. In the centre he placed his laptop, which he'd agreed with Rosa could be connected to the internet through the phone cable. His clothes were thrown haphazardly into the wardrobe.
Roxas sighed as he pulled the most important of his items out of his bag. It was a small brown box that was battered at the edges. He opened it and looked inside. Sheets of drawings looked back at him, some yellowed with age. He'd drawn all of them directly after he'd woken up each day. He'd have these dreams, dreams of the past. When he awoke he knew what the images meant, what the memories meant. But when he'd finish the drawings he could never remember.
He taped the most recent ones, the most vivid ones, to the walls above his bed. Sometimes if he looked at a specific image he'd dream it again. Maybe next time he'd remember a name as well as a face. The problem, at first, was that he'd been really bad at art and drawing, so he couldn't recognise the pictures he drew. It sucked. So he'd taken classes and now he was pretty good. He was planning to start art at his new school. The one he was doing testing at.
When he thought about the new school Roxas realised he should probably read up on some subjects. But, he wasn't in the mood for study. He held up a hand, the laptop on his desk shook slightly before shooting into his grasp. Maybe he'd surf the internet for awhile…
----
In a mansion surprisingly close to the blonde's new home, a man in a wheelchair looked up from where he'd been focused on the book he'd been reading. Charles Xavier was a brilliant man, a mutant and a genius. He was completely surprised when, for a split second, a life form had popped into existence. Before there had been no trace of any extra life form, mutant or human. This appearance after an absence was vexing.
It was possible that Cerebro was malfunction, of course. Yet, the system was perfect. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for the life form as it vanished from existence a second later.
So, what do ya think? I hope you like it! Second chap should be up quite soon. Please read and review and love and stuff! Thanks! (bounces away!)