Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do NOT own Oni, Bungie does. I, however, own any characters not from Oni. And Muro is my squeeze toy!
Chapter 1: Reminisce
Disappointment. It had been that way for a long time, he supposed. He had always been disappointed in life, always discouraged. He had no family, no friends, no loves, no one to be with him. Well, he had one man as a "friend" – he used to be a scrawny man with pure white skin…until they took him in for testing…
Here he was, standing out at the window blankly, his emerald eyes wandering over the land. Despite all of that disappointment, he also had to deal with the pain of it all, the pain of the truth.
Every day had been a struggle just to survive. As a child, he was beaten and tortured on a daily basis. "Training"…right…His "master" would watch him from behind a wall as the young boy bled and was broken, day in, day out. He would be doused in sweat, blood, and tears as pain overtook him and he blacked out. There was fire there too, just under the surface, burning at his skin and his blood and his insides. Pain.
Once reaching puberty, his life was not in as much danger – he had grown stronger from his daily beatings. But…feelings…had arisen in him. Needs, desires, but those were quickly quelled by his master. All it took was one long afternoon of pain and torture, then all of his desires were gone, shattered in cold blood.
But the rage had always been there, like the fire, just under the surface. As a boy, the rage was just a twisted sense of anger and loathing, until that afternoon. Then, everything changed.
He never let anyone defeat him after that afternoon. All of his opponents failed to break him, and if they were able to hurt him, they were dead moments later. A kick to the head was quickly followed by a swift backbreaker, or a neck snapping. Either way, no one lived. And then he decided to challenge the only one brave enough to stand firm against the boy's piercing eyes. His master.
A whole night had passed before that battle. A long, painful night filled with cuts, bruises, and blood. And by morning, he felt stronger. He felt healed. And he was ready.
The battle was long, tiring. His master knew every one of the boy's moves, and he knew none of the man that was thrashing him. But it didn't matter. He fought to the best of his abilities, until no fight was left in him. It was a terrible feeling, to be helpless. He lay against the wall, his blood and sweat pouring onto the floor beneath him. His master had walked up to him and knelt beside the teen's broken body, and whispered something he shouldn't have.
And something broke. He wasn't sure exactly what, but it was like a dam had broken inside of him. The fire was back, flooding through his body. The pain was gone, replaced by the rage. His power came rushing back to him. His fist collided with his master's jaw, and the man was flung back several yards. The teen stood, the fire now free from its prison, and attacked.
His subordinates told him later that he was like a demon, glowing red with fire. His powers were unimaginable, causing pain from a distance, throwing the man like a rag doll, ripping him apart. When the leader was finally dead – in pieces, really – they said that the glow ceased and the teen passed out, but he had no recollection of the event beyond those whispered words.
I will make you mine
The Syndicate had no choice but to accept him as their leader. He was certainly strong enough for it, but he was a young teenager. It was impossible, improbable that he was the leader of the second largest organization to date. But he was. He freed his old friend from his testing room, now a white skinned man in a tank suit, and declared all-out war on any who opposed them.
Now, he sat, in a new office (he had destroyed the old leader's one), looking out the window at his new territory. He pushed back his dark purple hair with a gloved hand and sighed. "Do I really need all of this…just for one simple thing?"
He sighed inwardly. "Yes, what is it?" He turned around to find a Striker there, holding something under his arm. It looked like a folder.
"Sir, when cleaning out the old leader's office…I found this folder. It's…about your father," he said quietly.
Muro sat up quickly. "What?" he shouted. The Striker handed him the folder. It was thick, but not nearly so like others he had seen. And it was all on…paper. No disc, no small device.
"This is all there is. It's incomplete. Some of the research must be with his accomplice," the Striker continued as Muro pawed like an animal through the papers. The emerald eyes snapped back, capturing the Striker once more.
"A…Doctor Kerr, who works for the TCTF at this time. He's practically Griffin's right hand man."
Muro thought about this, rolling the thoughts around in his head. Finally, he looked back at the Striker. "That will be all," he said softly. The Striker saluted and began to leave. "Wait!" Muro called after him. The Striker turned around.
"Thank you," Muro said. "This isn't much, but it's something. Thank you." The Striker looked surprised, but nodded and left.
Muro sat back down at the desk. He gazed over the new information like it was gold. "My family…my LIFE is here…So…why is something still missing?" he asked himself. He stood and went to the window again. He could easily see his own reflection. He was good looking, 18. His purple hair flopped over one eye when he looked down, but his eyes still held their piercing emerald that they did years before when he destroyed the old leader of the Syndicate.
All in all, he was handsome. He chuckled. He was probably a girl's dream. He was beautiful. And then it hit him, that sickness and the fire and the pain. He had found him beautiful too…and that is why he had punished Muro that fateful afternoon…punished him for wanting others. For wanting love.
He didn't want that kind of sick, twisted love. He wanted real, gentle love. But, he would probably never find the girl that would love him.. He was a strange specimen of a human. Gentle, but aggressive. Kind, yet defiant. He was a paradox, plain and simple. But…it wouldn't hurt to head out into the world, would it? Give it a shot?
He really couldn't do this, though. Leave the Syndicate, even for a day? It was impossible. He looked over to the other side of the room where his dark jacket and cap were. I shouldn't do this…
But he really wanted to.