Haddonfield's Bloody Lovers. // Discontinued

Chapter • || Mature Themes || • One

Gunshots.

I remember my ears ringing, bleeding from the impact of a gunshot that rung through my head like a bell, constantly ringing. I remember my body aching, the feeling of my ribs being been broken, the feeling of my stomach burn as I felt pain, pain I've never experienced before..
No.. I have. I'm used to this. I risk my life to safe dozens of others. I succeed each time but to what cost...

———

I remember my fifth birthday like it was yesterday.
My father screamed at me, told me I was worthless. I was forced to watch my father beat and force mama to do things I knew was wrong. I remember him waking me up later that night, telling me to stay quiet and do what he said or he would kill mama. I didn't want mama to die. I was forced into a dark place, and I remember him talking to someone about how much money I would make.. I knew it then, it hit me, my father sold me to a white man for money. Knowing I was an albino kid would make me more valuable, knowing I was a virgin and was young would make him more money. Not many like me out there.

I remember being abused, forced to do things that no child should have to do, no child should have to be sexually abused.

I remember being put into foster care after killing the white man my father sold me to when I was 8, and I remember the cold pavement under my bare feet as I ran, as I ran hard.

I remember managing to find a police station, remember when I was given a bath, and was given to a white man in a camouflage outfit. He had badges on his chest, stars on his arm. He was ruthless to people, mean and he barked at them like animals. He took one look at me and he patted me on my head, but I remember flinching. He didn't make a noise, he didn't hit me. He just smiled to me.

I remember when he hugged me, and told me it would be alright. That I was safe now and that I was going to be in good hands. I was placed in his care, being only ten when he put me into military school after fattening me up and starting to train me.  He sent me off, being placed in the toughest, most ruthless military schools. I remember how my peers would bully me, would torment me for my skin color and would tell me I wasn't a black man, I was a abomination.

I remember when I bulked, and I tripled in size. By the time I was 15 I was already 6'4, and I was still growing. 

I remember when I was shoved into a white room in only a hospital gown, and told to sit on the metal table in the middle of it all.  I remember the cameras pointed towards me, the men and women coming at me with needles and straps. I don't remember what happened after that.

By the time I was 21, I was 6'8. I had killed so many people within the blank years of my life I had no idea what had really happened.
My first kill was in Iraq, and it was me against an entire squadron of the enemy. I came out victorious.. Years had turned to seconds, and all I could remember was the adrenaline, the rush of killing. I was drugged multiple times, given drugs to keep me awake, to keep me aggressive. They worked, a little too well. I was given steroids and was trained from sun up to sun down, I was shouted and barked at to work and work hard.  I was the best of them all, and I graduated. I climbed the ranks with my brute strength and power. The drugs continuing to keep me in that brutal and horrible state. They had a dim effect on me when I turned 27, so I was chugging energy drinks and I was forcing myself to fight sleep, to stay awake for my crew.

I remember the time I had to protect a wife and child from a suicide bomber in Afghan..  It nearly broke me. The husband had turned on his own family..