A/N For those who watch my dA and see my OC Brice, this isn't him. Yes, when I was little I fancied this character so much that I named my OC after him, but... let's not get into that! XD

This is my own little interpretation about how Brice got turned over the to darkside... I've messed with his characterisation a little, but he's a human in chapter 1 and 2, so... he's a little more moral than he is later. Still a bit of a rebel though. Luci is an OC I invented for the fic, and Rufio is... why am I telling you this? Read "Going for Gold" to find out who Rufio is! He's the anti-Reuben and he rocks. Leela might come into later chapters if I see the need.

Well, hope you enjoy it ^^ If you understand the pop culture references that I slip in there, or can guess what Luci is short for (it aint hard!) you can have cookies.

7th May, 2257, The De Winter Mansion.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing, go away.”

“…Are you painting your head?”

“No. Go away.”

Brice loved his brother, he really did, but sometimes… geez, he could really get annoying. Sometimes it was cute that he wanted to spend all his time with him, trying to copy what he did and everything. But, really, when you’re 15 years old you just want a little bit of privacy.

Holding the bottle of Hydrogen peroxide in one hand, and a strand of hair in the other, Brice De winter carefully squirted the pale white liquid onto his hair, rubbing it in with his fingers and repeating the process on the next strand. Dominic, his 3 year old brother, was sitting on the floor of the bathroom watching with calculated interest.

“Why are you doing it?” The little boy asked, tilting his head to one side in confusion and wrinkling his freckled nose at the foul smell of whatever it was his big brother was putting on his hair. “It looks silly.”

“Of course it looks silly,” Brice replied, not taking his eyes off the mirror. “But it won’t when it’s finished.” He nodded to a photo pinned up on the wall in front of him. “I’ll look like that.”

The photo was printed on the glossy paper that was used way back in the 20th century and showed a man of about 20 with bleached blonde hair cut at crazy angles, some bits long and other parts brutally short. He was dressed in ripped jeans and a mud stained t-shirt, standing on a stage straddling a 20th century style electric guitar- the kind that you needed to plug in to make it work properly. Dominic had seen one of those in his brother’s room once, and he knew that mummy didn’t know about it. Brice had spent all his savings buying it at an antiques fair last year and screamed at Dominic if he tried to touch it. He called it an axe and told Dom that it was the instrument of the Gods.

Dom thought it was quite silly really.

“He looks like Lily’s doll after we dropped it in that neuroprocessor,” Dom pointed out. Considering that he was 3 years old, he came out with some pretty intelligent phrases sometimes. Because Dom wasn’t like other kids, Dom was a genius. And not in the way most parents talk about their children being gifted, Dom was actually a genuine, no fooling, Mensa IQ levelled, 100% genius. Of course, at the age of 3 he was more interested in following his brother around or playing with his friend Lily.

“Well, Lily’s doll has fashion sense then,” Brice replied sarcastically, tossing the now empty bottle into the rubbish bin and turning the taps on at the sink. It had taken him a while to get used to his little brother being creepily smart. At first he’d been jealous that his brother was the wonderfully intelligent one that everyone fawned over, but then… he’d realised that being intelligent meant a lot of attention, and Brice much preferred to be alone. Besides, being left alone meant he didn’t have to speak to his mother more than required, which was always a blessing.

Though Laura De Winter never said it out loud, Brice knew his mother was disappointed with her eldest son. He’d heard her once say that he was ‘just like his father’ to one of her friends, and had soon worked out that that must have been a bad thing. That thought had been confirmed a few hours later when he’d done some research at the library about who his dad actually was.

He’d not been thrilled when he found out, and vowed never, ever to tell Dom anything about him. His kid brother was destined for amazing things and didn’t need the knowledge that his dad was a failure hanging over him like a dead dog for the rest of his life.

The teenager dunked his head into the now filled up sink and started to rinse the white gunk off his hair. Every so often he would lift his head up to rub the water from his eyes and then dunk his head straight back in. While he was doing this, Dom crept over to the wall and reached up to pull down the photo Brice had pinned there.

He squealed loudly when his brother reached out, without even looking, and slapped his hand away.

“Look. Don’t touch,” he pointed out bluntly, his voice muffled by the sink. “That’s John Levén, he’s a God from the 1900’s.”

“He’s a God?” Dom asked, looking confused.

“Figure of speech,” Brice replied, finally pulling his head out of the sink and running his fingers through his hair. What had previously been a beautiful chocolate brown was now a muddy bleached blonde. Brice grinned at his reflection and took a towel from the side to dry his hair with. Some of the dye rubbed off onto the expensive fabric, but it didn’t matter- there were several more where that came from.

“Mummy’s going to be mad at you!” Dom gasped, staring at his brother’s hair in disbelief.

“Good,” Brice grinned, reaching out to pick some scissors up from the shelf above the mirror.

“Brice, no!” Dom’s eyes widened impossibly as his brother began to chop at strands of his hair, the blonde locks falling into the sink and coiling like yellow snakes in the plug hole. He stood transfixed as Brice copied the hair style from the photo in front of him until his expensively styled hair was now something closely resembling a particularly down-on-its-luck hedgehog. “What’ve you done?!”

“Given myself a mullet,” Brice shrugged, putting the scissors back and studying his reflection in the mirror. “With a bit of gel it’ll look fine.”

“Mummy’s going to be so mad,” Dom repeated. He was quite right too; they were going to church in an hour, so Laura De Winter would have plenty to be mad about.

“I know. But doesn’t it look cool?”

“It looks… scary,” Dom said honestly. “It’s… yellow.”

“Bleach blonde,” Brice corrected. “Everyone had hair like this in 1980.”

“But it’s 2257!” Dom pleaded.

“Fashion comes around in cycles,” Brice said passively. “Some of the boys at school have hair like this. Some of my friends.”

“But you don’t have any fr--” Dom broke off when Brice sent him a withering glare. “I mean… I haven’t seen anyone looking like that.”

“Then you’re not looking hard enough.” Brice picked his Sex Pistols t-shirt up from the floor and slipped it on, he’d had to take it off to dye his hair as he hadn’t wanted to wreak it.

“WHAT IN THE WORLD HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR HEAD?!”

Dominic had been right. Laura De Winter was mad.

“I dyed it,” Brice replied. “What’s for breakfast?”

“You haven’t just dyed it, young man!”

“Ok, so I cut it as well,” her son shrugged. “I think I’ll have beans on toast.”

“How… how could you?!” Laura spluttered.

“Quite easily,” Brice smiled. “All you need is a box of hair dye and some scissors.”

“And you can go change that shirt right now as well, Brice,” She continued, looking as if she wanted nothing more than to throw her son out of the window.

“Ok.” Brice continued to smile infuriatingly, like he hadn’t done anything wrong, and casually turned to walk out of the room.

“And don’t smirk at me like that!”

“Sorry, Mother,” Brice smirked.

Brice’s bedroom was as non-conforming as he was. Completely messy and covered in antique posters of rock groups from the 1900’s and 2000’s, he had an electric guitar and amp carefully displayed in the corner and a stack of magazines from series called NME and Zoo. In Brice’s opinion they were the most fantastic things he’d ever read, filled with photos of old fashioned instruments and amazingly bonnie looking girls. They were nothing at all like the magazines you could buy now where the girls were all computer generated in a laboratory, these girls were real. Sure, they’d been touched up a little bit, but they were still based on a wonderfully gorgeous girls who had actually existed once upon a time. At one point he’d put a few of the posters from the magazines up on the walls, but his uncle had ripped them all down after an argument they’d had. Now, to keep them all safe, Brice kept them neatly wrapped up and under his bed where no-one could find them and ruin them. Magazines like this were like gold dust nowadays. Ever since that war which had ended in supposed world peace, there’d been a complete overturn of the media- including new rulings about what you were allowed to print. A blow to hormonal boys everywhere was the ruling on lads’ mags- no real girls allowed, and nothing too suggestive.

If Brice actually had the need to socialise, he could become very popular with these magazines of his.

In addition to the historic magazines he’d collected, he also dressed in clothing from that era as well. Demin jeans and thick soled boots rather than the tracksuits and trainers most of his schoolmates paraded around in.

Fully obeying of his mother’s orders, he took his shirt off and threw it down onto the pile on the floor and took another out of his drawers. It was exactly the same as the one he’d taken off. White, with pink and yellow writing proclaiming “Never mind the bollocks- here’s the SeX PisTOLs”.

He pulled it on in place of his old one and walked downstairs, smirking knowingly to himself and leaning against the doorway of the sitting room.

“Did I not just tell you to change your shirt?” Laura asked.

“I did, Mother,” Brice replied sweetly. “See? This one is cleaner.”

“Bring me your shirt drawer, right now!” Laura ordered, folding her arms sternly and clearly meaning business. “I’m going to pick your shirt for you.”

“Deal.” Brice grinned and trotted back upstairs, returning a few moments later holding the drawer that contained his t-shirts. All of them were identical to the one he was wearing right now.

“Ok, pick one.”

One hour later, after a breakfast that consisted of a stony silence between Laura and Brice, the family sat, accompanied by Laura’s brother, in the Lady of Lourdes church for the morning service.

Despite his attire and attitude, Brice believed in God far more than his mother or uncle did. All they did on a Sunday at church was whisper about Dom’s future whilst the boy in question was sitting in Sunday school confusing the poor teacher with philosophical questions that a 3 year old shouldn’t think about, while Brice attempted to get a spiritual revelation and try to ignore the two adults next to him.

“Dear Lord, grant me the strength to not punch my mother for being a complete and utter cow…” Brice prayed in his head, silently begging whoever was up there to listen to him. “And also, give me the power to protect my brother from my reptile relatives, he’s only a kid.”

Angel watch centre, Heaven.

Although Brice probably wouldn’t believe anyone if they told him, someone was actually listening to him praying. But it wasn’t who you’d really expect.

Orlando leant back in the padded chair in his cubicle in the angel watch centre and listened carefully to everything Brice was thinking. He’d been listening for days now, and felt completely helpless.

The boy clearly needed a guardian angel, but he wasn’t sending out the call to get himself one. Guardian angel assigning was a tricky business, you can’t just decide a human needs one and send him or her in to do the job, the human needs to really really need an angel to protect them and guide them. Brice, it seemed, was too stubborn to realise that he needed some help in his life. From what Orlando had been hearing from his tiny booth in the watch centre, the boy was convinced that he could do it all by himself. He wasn’t asking anyone to help him, he was asking for someone to help him help his brother! It was the sort of selflessness that was rare in humans, and touched Orlando deeply.

But, as selfless as the boy was, he was far too strong willed for his own good!

All Orlando could do was boost the light levels around him and try and send him some good vibes whilst he slept. Orlando figured that if he could get the boy to find his father, then he might have the good sense to move in with him, and take Dom with him. But… after all his influencing, Brice finally researched his dad. After that, Orlando had been unable to get any paternal vibes through to the boy. He hadn’t a clue what Brice had found out, but it cut him so deep he wasn’t even letting himself think about it.

Orlando was an amazing angel, and as such he knew that he couldn’t delve into a human’s subconscious thoughts like that. It just wasn’t right.

The Latino angel pressed the light levels button on the screen in front of him. Blackness clouded the screens.

“Oh, My God…” the angel breathed, standing up and taking a step back from the screen, his back hitting the wall of the cubicle behind him.

Why hadn’t it worked? And why had… that happened? Orlando had been watching Brice for days, and hadn’t felt a trace of the Powers of Darkness about the boy’s person- quite the opposite in fact, Orlando knew that the PODs wouldn’t be able to touch a boy like that- they’d have to try really hard to get him, they couldn’t simply swarm in like they did normally. The angel’s deep brown eyes clouded with worry, and he quickly put on the headset that was hanging on the wall next to him.

“Michael? We need help.”

Lady of Lourdes church, Earth

“Ouch!” Brice slapped the back of his neck, anticipating a mosquito bite or something, but was curious to notice that nothing was actually on his palm when he brought it back, nor was there any mark on his neck.

“Luci! Stop it!”

“Huh?” Brice could have sworn he’d heard someone behind him, he turned around to look, and frowned when all he could see was empty space behind him. They always sat on the back row- the incense made Dom sneeze otherwise- so Brice knew he’d have been able to see whoever it was. “Weird…”

“Shut up, Rufio!”

There it was again! This time it was a different voice, much softer than the first one. Brice tried to turn around again, but his uncle firmly took him by the arm and turned him around, hissing that they needed to set an example.

An example? Jonas obviously didn’t know that talking to his sister in church was rude then.

Brice reluctantly stayed turned around, even though he was sure he could hear giggling behind him and was certain there was someone there. Instead, he tried to distract himself by concentrating on what the priest was saying, but all he could hear was that annoying giggling and his mother whispering to his uncle.

“All I’m saying is that if we push him into that school of Brice’s a year earlier, chances are he’ll excel a lot faster.”

To the untrained ear, it might seem like Laura was doing the right thing, but to Brice- who’d spent the last 3 years listening to his mother talk like this- it was a clear sign that Laura wanted her son to excel so he could make them money. Imagine! Genius boy graduates Pheonix school for the gifted at age 7! They’d be richer than kings on all the publicity, and Brice knew it. Their first son hadn’t turned out to be the lovely little pup they’d wanted, and luckily for them Dom fit the bill perfectly. Why… they could forget all about having Brice if Dominic proved to be as clever as the IQ tests said he was.

“Oh, finally,” Laura whispered when the priest began his final address. No-one, apart from Brice, heard her, so her happy, social, church-going persona was maintained for all those around them. Once the priest had finished, the congregation began to slowly file out until only the De Winters were left.

“Come along, Brice,” Laura said cheerfully, taking Brice’s hand and trying to lead him out of the church. “We need to collect Dominic from Sunday school.”

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Brice answered, pulling his hand away from Laura’s and stepping back into the main section of the church. The priest had finished packing up, so Brice was free to investigate privately.

He glanced over his shoulder to check that he was definitely alone, and carefully closed the large doors so he had complete privacy.

“Ok, show yourselves,” He called, walking into the centre of the chapel and looking around. “I could hear you, so I know you’re here.”

Brice was open minded enough to believe in ghosts, and was logical enough to realise that if they did exist there was little they could do to hurt him. After all, they were dead, he was alive. He spread his arms and called out again, walking around the centre of the chapel as he did so.

“Come on! Show me!” He challenged. “I won’t run.”

“Luci! I told you not to pinch him like that! Now he knows we’re here!”

“Ha! See! I heard you again!” Brice called gleefully. “Where are you?” Maybe at first he’d entertained the notion that it could just be a couple of kids, but those names sounded far too old fashioned to be from this era.

“Ah… shit. Come on, Rufio…”

Brice nearly jumped out of his skin when the voice sounded right next to his ear, he spun round quickly to see who it was, but… there was nothing there. A hand rested on his shoulder, and he turned around once again. Only this time, he definitely saw someone. A boy, his age, stood right in front of him, dressed in very old fashioned clothes.

Brice screamed.

“Shut up!” The second voice was behind him now, and a hand firmly clamped itself over his mouth, silencing the scream that had echoed around the room. Brice tried to turn and look who it was, but was held firmly in place by the owner.

“I imagine this is quite of a shock,” The boy in front of him said calmly, pacing along the centre of the chapel. “But.. You’re a smart lad, I’m sure you can handle it.” He had honey coloured hair in teeny little dreadlocks, and a red bandana tied around them to hold them in place. His clothes were a lot like Sade’s, but clearly a lot more worn out than his were, the rips in the knees of his jeans looked genuine, and the safety pins on one leg looked like they were a necessity rather than a fashion statement. “I’m Rufio.”

“And I’m Luci,” the one behind him greeted. He was the chipper one Brice had heard the first time. He pronounced his name Loo-ki, and Brice was certain it was a made up name. “Now, I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, so don’t scream, ok?”

He removed his hand from Brice’s mouth and walked around to join his friend. He was dressed relatively the same, but his hair was a mad auburn colour spiked up at all angles and decorated with threads and beads. “Wow… your hair is so cool… John Levén, right?”

“Yeah,” Brice replied, sounding a little shaky- hey, the guys had just appeared out of thin air, for heaven’s sake!- but smiling in spite of himself. “Did it this morning.”

“Did your mum blow?”

“…excuse me?”

“Was she mad?” Rufio translated, guessing that Brice wasn’t exactly as fluent in the slang of the 1960’s as they were.

“Yeah, totally. She narked out.” Ok, so it seemed Brice did know a little slang. “Who… who are you?”

“Didn’t we just go through this?” Luci asked, sounding a little confused. He sat down on the front row of the pews and rested his head on his arms against the ledge. “Your memory is kinda slow. I’m Luci, he’s Rufio, and you’re Brice.”

“Ok… What are you?”

“Well I’m a Scorpio,” Luci grinned.

“We’re the Powers of Darkness,” Rufio supplied, ignoring Luci’s attempt at humour. Sade cocked one eyebrow quizzically, indicating for Rufio to continue. “We’re sort of… dead.”

“But, looking great!” Luci interjected.

“And you’re here because…?” Brice asked. These guys looked cool, yes, but… they’d just said they were dead. Ghosts only turned up when… when did ghosts turn up? “I’m not going to die am I?”

“How should I know?” Rufio laughed, playfully punching Brice on the shoulder. “That’s an angel’s job.”

“So you’re not angels?”

Rufio and Luci laughed like that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard, Rufio was even clutching his sides and holding onto the alter for support. “Of course we’re not!” He laughed. “You think angels dress like this? They’re all about the halos, man!”

Finally, the two boys recovered themselves enough for at least one of them to continue, Rufio hoisted himself up onto the alter and sat down on the edge of it so he was looking down at Brice.

“The Powers of Darkness live in hell,” he explained, leaning back rummage down behind the alter as he spoke. “But, we’re totally misunderstood. We help people.” He straightened up again, holding a bottle of wine in one hand. “I knew priests kept a stash somewhere.”

“Isn’t that communion wine?” Luci asked.

“Yeah, but it still tastes good,” The boy shrugged, uncorking the bottle and taking a swig. “Anyway, as I was saying. The Powers of Darkness help people. People like you.”

“What makes you think I need help?” Brice sounded defensive. “Why have you been spying on me?”

“We spy on everyone,” Rufio explained. “It’s for their own good. Everyone who lives and breathes on earth, we have a file on them. And when things go wrong in their lives… we offer some positive re-enforcement. We don’t try and tell you that you’re doing things wrong or try and change your way of thinking- not like Angels- no… we help you with what’s bugging you. We get rid of people who are in your way,” he paused and grinned, climbing off the alter to stand next to Brice once more, lowering his voice to a whisper. “We protect people when they need it, and listen to you when no-one else will.”

“Like… who?”

“Like Dominic.”

A/N There we go, chapter 1... good? bad? Hate the way I write Brice? Love the way I write Brice? Hit review.