It's amazing, how a long childhood of suffering and woe can be condensed, told through words, each horrific and soul-tearing emotion brutally told with a simple sentence, and each tragic moment of pain, no more than a word.
It starts, I suppose, innocently enough. A Bretonian, an adventurer, traveling through space. He falls in with a bad crowd, and must run for his life. He settles again, on New Tokyo. He meets a girl. They fall in love, and men and women are wont to do, and must flee again, to Liberty. They have a child, a darling boy.
And then the money runs out.
They relocate, to progressively worse and worse places, and, in turn, get kicked out of each. And then...the bottom, the blackest pit of humanity.
Houston, a prison colony in all but name. Daddy can't get a job, and takes to drink, lots of it. Mommy sells herself to the workers, just to buy food.
It is here our tale truly starts, on a prison planet, covered in smog, on every corner the cry of the oppressed, and the screams of victims. A small boy, the son of a Kusari prostitute, with an abusive Bretonian alcoholic for a father, living in a tiny shack on the most rascist, xenophobic, and violent planet in Sirius.
But of course, we must also have a moral; here, it is easy.
For some men just want to watch the worlds burn, and piss on the ashes, and see all that was, crumble, till nothing but dust remains.
Akame ó Dubhuir is one of those people, or at least, he will be, in due time.
gone four years, first day back: Zoners still getting shot in Theta :|
Akame's life was okay. No, wait, scratch that.
It sucked. It sucked to a degree henceforth unknown to any man, woman, child, half cat man, or weird alien species.
He was beaten. Regularly. Probably could have put a schedule on it. His mother whored it out every day in his parents bedroom while his dad was off getting drunk. Half his class at school, on the offchance he ever actually managed to go, were the children of Xenos. And flaming red hair, sharp eyes and a name like Akame ó Dubhuir didn't exactly endear you to Xeno children. Most hated him, and none of the others would dare to say anything to him besides, "I betcha your mommy's a dirty Kusari whore!", and that really hurt, mostly beacuse it was true.
Wasn't a day gone by he didn't have a mass of fresh bruises, or his back and hands slashed to hell by a belt or a rope.
So. His life sucked about as bad as it could possibly suck, worse than any other suck in the entire history of suckitude, which is pretty long, and encompasses whole wars full of pure suckitude.
It was so bad that it cannot be described completely. The only way to truly understand it would be to live it, and that would most likely end at the bottom of a tall cliff.
But Dubhuir didn't kill himself, mostly beacuse, having experienced nothing else, he couldn't understand just how bad a hand life had dealt him.
So, he went on, living in this horrific pit of sheer suckitude, and managed to learn some skills.
Useful skills they were. How to fight, how to run, how to jump and climb, and hide. Recognizing voices, the power of knowledge, how to successfully blackmail someone. Things you need, to survive where everyone hates you. And most important of all, he learned how not to feel, how to simply ignore the pain and suffering, the insults and sheer agony. He learned how to feel nothing.
So. It sucked, really badly. And then, the Xenos came.
gone four years, first day back: Zoners still getting shot in Theta :|
Akame was fifteen when it happened.
The door burst open and his father rushed in, mumbling rapidly as he turned around and shoved the door shut again, bolting and locking it as quickly as possible, clearly drunk as he fumbled with the locks.
Even as he finished the last bolt, and turned away, a series of reports sounded, and the hinges blew, sending the door flying inwards.
Akame knew to hide, and he rushed to his room.
Five men entered the house.
The tall one spoke, with an air of command, waving his pistol in the air.
"Well, boys, what do you think we do with this drunk bretonian, fouling up the sweet air of Liberty?"
"Let's rough 'em up!"
"Yeah! Break some bones!"
Father stirred on the floor, raising himself up to his feet.
"Hey! You get back down on the floor, damn crumpet-eater!"
The tall one strode over and as he tried to shove Dubhuir Sr. onto the floor, Dubhuir grappled with him, fighting back.
The pistol went off.
As the fine mist of blood and fluid settled to the floor, and the bits of bone and brain glopped off the bodies of everybody in the room, and as Dubhuir Sr's headless body settled to the floor, spraying blood from the neck, someone puked.
And then all the others puked.
Akame slowly opened the door, perfectly calm at the sight.
The tall one had recovered enough, and, noticing Akame, reached out to grab him, pistol still in hand.
Even as he brushed his shoulder, Akame grabbed his arm.
The tall one felt the bones in his arm seperate, and then crack as the entire shoulder twisted into an horrific shape. His hand let go, and he dropped the pistol as he landed flat on his back.
Five shots rang out, and then silence.
A short while later, a small boyish figure left the house, carrying a bag laden down with pilfered guns, cash and wallets.
He wore a small amulet, and carried a rifle on his back, the last tokens of his dead father.
And then he set off down to street, to who know's where.
gone four years, first day back: Zoners still getting shot in Theta :|