A Cold Breeze

Prolouge

"Sometimes, the world appears to mean nothing to you. Why is that?"

Breeze removed his eyes from his scarred knuckles and glanced up at the therapist. He stared at the man, testing him. Putting his elbows on the desk, Breeze leaned closer to him and smiled coldly.

His voice brought down almost to a whisper, he asked, "I ask you, Dr. Davids, what do you imagine as hell?"

The therapist opened his mouth, closed it again, and frowned, unsure of of how to answer.

"I was taken against my will by a scientific branch of our government at the age of 15. Before that, I was pressured into murdering one of my father's closest clients. I had a front row seat to seeing my best friend's face blown out by an AK-47. Teens after teens have been murdered under my leadership. My head was smashed by a faulty terminal door falling from 30 ft, causing these scientists to feed a medicine to me that forever changed my attitude towards life. Whatever "hell" you imagine is most likely a sort of heaven to me. Now I ask you, do you think that at this point you would care about the world?"

Mark Davids said nothing. What did you say after a statement like that? Breeze stared him down once more. Davids' eyes were filled with curiosity and hesitation, but most of all; fear. Breeze stood up and straightened his shirt.

"I think you ought to know that you are the only person to whom I've shared with what happened during those years. Well, at least the only one alive. Let's hope it stays that way."

• • •

Prologue

The vast ocean combed in and out of the sand, pooling in the boys footprints. He walked the shoreline, unsure of whether he made the right decision, or most importantly, what his father would think. The men had come earlier, while his family of three was eating a silent dinner. His mother had finally gotten the courage to come to dinner, despite the fact that she would have to face Breeze. They all wore uniforms and spoke with intelligence that even to the boy, Breeze, there were times when their speech was difficult to process. His father had cleared his throat, set down his napkin, and told Breeze to walk outside to the water; promising of meeting with him soon. Something had been asked of him, earlier in the week; something of great importance in his father's eyes, but incredibly difficult for Breeze. It had been done.

After countless hours of debating himself, he had decided. It was a horrible thing to do, something that could never been forgiven, but he felt it was necessary. Guilt gnawed at the inside of his stomach and he felt that his half eaten dinner would come up any moment. His finger nails were chewed bare and his hair messy from constantly running his hands through it. He knew what he had done was the biggest mistake of his life, but then he didn't. He might have done what his father and the uniformed men wanted, and that could save him and his family a lot of trouble. He pushed his thoughts out towards the quiet ocean and listened to the rustle of palm tree leaves.

The breeze was steady and calm, but pushed his blonde hair into his eyes. His mother had always told him that it was irony that named him, because like the breeze, he was a calm and peaceful kid. He loved the waves and books, always focused on his studies, and never never turned to violence. His mother was awfully ashamed of him and he couldn't stand it. He had never had any fights with her, not more than an argument over who got the last cookie. They were practically the same person. But after hearing what Breeze had done, she had nodded, placed down the book she had been reading, and padded up to the library. The door was shut and wouldn't open for a while. The woman's muffled sobs could be heard from outside the door. Breeze had cried himself, which he rarely did, and his father had looked at him with pure sympathy.

"Breeze." His father's voice was brittle, and as he looked up, he saw that his eyes were uneasy and apologetic. Breeze's heart fell. "I was wrong, wasn't I?"

"No, son. I'm very proud of you, I hope you know that. What you did was. . . not something many men can do. Your mother is too and I.." The man's voice wavered. "I just want you to know that you did the right thing; what I wanted, what was best."

"I did?" Breeze was first mesmerized by the fact that his decision could be right at all. But he knew better by this point. There was a catch somewhere, a "but" or an "unfortunately". This was indeed too good to be true. The guilt would live with him for the rest of his life he knew, but there was something else. Guilt couldn't possibly be the only punishment for the crime that he had committed.

"Yes."

"I don't believe you, not at all." Breeze crossed his arms over his toned chest, slightly shocked by how quickly his body temperature had dropped.

His father sucked in a breath and his lip began to quiver. "Breeze. . ."

The men were coming. All uniformed, sharply pressed and electric blue, with nameplates on the right. The Court.

"I don't understand. You said that I did it right, what do they want? What didn't I do?"

"It isn't want you didn't do; it's what you did do." Breeze still didn't understand and it showed on his face, because his father hurried on. "Breeze, you're intelligence. The way your mind works. They want it, they need it. We all need it." Father had dropped his voice to a whisper because the men were getting closer. "Breeze, you must trust me. They are going to put you with others, like you. I don't know what they'll do to you but you cannot give up, okay? I know this isn't something you can begin to understand, but it is something big. Something bigger than us all."

Breeze's palms began to sweat and his heart beat sped up. The fear was etched all over his father's face.

First came the fear. Then came the anger. How could his father just give him away like this? He was a skilled fighter, better than anyone knew. That's why Breeze had so much money, yes? Why wouldn't he fight them? He could beat them all.

"That's it? You're just going to hand me over?" The words slipped off of Breeze's tongue before he could stop himself. The sharpness of each word seemed to slap his father across the face. He could see the tears shining in his eyes. How could he cry, when Breeze was the one being taken? "You dirty bastard!" The Court had caught up to them. Two mean forced Breeze away from his father. Thankful for his father's short fighting lessons, Breeze made attempts to pull away, giving a short man a bloody nose and another a winded stomach, to the point where he had to be tackled to the ground and restrained.

"Breeze! I'm sorry!"

With blood pumping in his ears and his face masked in anger, the needle was injected into his arm. The world swirled in front of him, and he seemed to melt into the surrounding darkness.

Thanks! Just so you know, the following chapters won't be written like this. This is a prologue, not the rest of an action packed book. Hope you like! Reviews, comments, tips, votes and all are greatly appreciated. :)