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[indent][sub][color=#B9BABC]N A U T I L U S[/color] // [color=#ffcc99][i] Graham Tosches[/i][/color] // [color=#B9BABC]Old Wounds[/color][/sub][/indent][hr]
[indent][b]C[/b]old water splashed to the floor of the small metallic coffin in sporadic drops ever muffled by the rumble of water being forced upward from a store tank located somewhere in the belly of the MOV. Graham did not hum nor speak as he stood within the rectangle where even he as lanky as he was could barely fit within standing arm simply pressed against the far wall. The cold rush sent shivering cascades through his body dampening the pounding thump of his skull. The blood and the mud ran down from the clumps matted in his hair now slick and heavy with water down across bare skin before falling to the floor of the shower where blood and earth mixed into a sickly red before falling through the grate upon the floor. Even as he continued to cleanse himself of gore the bruising on his body already began to fade from hues of dark getting lighter and lighter by the passing hour. He could feel it beneath his skin as the spirits began to knit and reform flesh breathing life into what was once dead. This was the blessing and curse, forever locked into an endless cycle of death and rebirth body refusing to give in until its duty is done.

Showers themselves were something that Graham had once forgotten about in their entirety. Living in what even among the Tread would consider the worst of the slums where sleep meant rusty gutters and crowded alleyways and basic needs such as food and drink were foot over by many desperate hands meant that even basic hygiene vanished after a while as you fell deeper into the pits of savagery. The smell was repulsive at first it made you shrink back and your nostrils flare but soon it became the smell of home. The rains were the only deprives of this when they fell all the other urchins danced barefeet slapping against the pavement in joy among the thundering of the storms even as those better off crowded in the beds from the sounds of raging skies. When the men from the military first brought him in after discovering him, the first thing they did was throw him in a military cleaner a lot like the one he was in now. He remembered the shock of the water hitting him even as one of the soldiers instructed him to scrum himself free of the dirt. He was shocked to see the skin beneath all the grime, raw and white after what seemed like an eternity of scrubbing as if a great burden had been removed from it. It took him a while after that to get used to the idea of cleaning himself everyday something that still shows with his refusal to trim his hair down to a respectable length.

As he thought about the past his mind began to wander backwards as the sound of water from the shower began to fade away and the heavy artificial light of the MOV faded into darkness. Slowly they were placed with an overcast sky of gray as rain fell heavily against low rising rooftops of city slums and the sound of heavy panting and bare feet slapping against hard concrete in the rain. He was a boy again maybe barely twelve years of age back in the Tread, back in hell. He remembered the events that would follow and yet his body moved on its own accord charging headlong into fate. As a child underfed and exhausted he did not have the most imposing cut wearing the same worn clothes that he had taken with him when he and Anna had fled a drowned city and the sounds of firing squads. Attached to his shirt poking through the fabric was a small and beautiful flower in contrast to the rest of his ragged physique bright pink in color. A gift from Anna supposedly it was meant for good luck. 

He could hear them coming from behind chasing after him shooting curses as heavy padded footfalls slammed into the roof. They were after the small white cylinder grasped in his left hand even among  the rain and the activity he could hear the rattling of pills as they bounced up in the bottle. They were simple antibiotics and he needed them dearly and so he did the only thing a poor urchin could do in such a situation he stole them. Yet Graham was young and inexperienced though and the pharmacist saw the shape of the little thief leaping out of his window and so a call to the security force went out and now here he was running for his life. If he had just dropped the pills the men would of probably stopped chasing him but he couldn't do that he sister was sick and these pills were what could save her.

He pushed ever onward barreling through lines of drying clothes, over small fences and other fixtures upon the roofs moving like a man possessed even as the sounds of the men grew ever closer. He stopped short as he almost ran dead across the edge of the roof he currently was on. The gap between this building and the next was bigger than ones he was used to opening up to a large alleyway below almost street size in width. Desperately he looked back and saw that the guards were almost upon him. He looked back towards the roof and once more at the guards and then he did the only thing he could do. He jumped. 

For a brief moment in time he was suspended in the air like a bird, free from the clutches of the guards and oppressive chains of the Tread and if he wanted to he could just fly away from it all. Then the opposing roof came back up to meet him and he reached out across the void towards it like the last floating piece of a sinking vessel suspended in the ocean. His right hand hit the edge of the roof but as the force of his body hit into it the worn and dilapidated structure give way and he was holding nothing at all. He hit the rain soaked ground was a solid thud and pain flared through his body as the pill bottle fell out of his hands and rolled some distance away. The fall wasn’t great enough to permanently injure him but ever still his chest heaved as lungs tried to pull back in the air that was forcibly pushed out of them.

Through no small force of effort he managed to roll himself onto his stomach and using his arms slowly pulled his body across the ground towards the bottle even as the pain screamed through his body. When he was about halfway there he found his path blocked by a large pair of legs with a large shadow bearing over him like the specter of death. He looked up to see the grinning face of the lead guard that was chasing him looking down at him. Graham tried to scramble backwards but could not move as the guard grabbed a handful of his long blonde hair and using it yanked him up and onto his knees. The man peered down at the urchin with a cold and unwavering gaze.

“You shouldn't of run boy.” The man spoke in a heavy Tenebraian accent as he pulled at the boy’s hair harder forcing him to look up at him. Graham look and saw that the man’s cohorts stood slightly behind him, one was reaching for the pill bottle that had fallen to the ground while the others stood about menacingly heavy metal truncheons grasped in large muscular hands. Graham looked back at the leader, a giant of a man with a large square face and large bushy mustache he looked almost like a friendly giant from the old stories his mom used to tell but the giants never had the look in their eyes that the man did. Graham unwilling to back down simply spat in the man’s face in defiance. The mustached man dropped his hold on the boy’s hair and before Graham could even see what was happening the man’s hand moved like a blur and his own metal club came smashing right in the space between the boy’s right shoulder and neck making him double over in pain. As he did the guard that had picked up the pill bottle came over and approached the man who re sheathed his weapon, he was a weedy individual not much older than Graham maybe in his late teens with freshly cut red hair and a freckled covered face. When he spoke his voice was high and nasally. 

“This is what he stole.” The mustached man wrenched the pill bottle out of the younger man’s hand and looked upon the labeled. He looked at the boy and then at the label letting out a low laugh as he did using his free hand to pull Graham back up so that he could look at him properly. 

“Well you’re a right idiot risking your life for this.This is simple medication, you can’t sell this for much of anything.” The man explained sternly shoving the bottle of pills in Graham’s face. The boy shook his head knocking the hand away as he looked up at the man and spoke towards him voice surprisingly stern for the situation he was in.

“I wasn’t going to sell it. It’s for my sister!” He explained to the guards and as he spoke the words the freckled one looked uncertain as he caught the eye of his superior who just shook his head. A moment later the mustached man’s hand came down hard across his face in a closed hand slap, the sound ringing outward into the open alleyway cutting through the drip of rain. 

“There is one thing I hit more than thieves boy, and that is little lying rats!” The man yelled and as Graham began to rise his voice in protest he was backhanded again. His face stung with pain but yet again he looked back up at the mustached man and this time he yelled it.

“She needs it or she is going to die!” The mustached man took the truncheon off of his belt once again without speaking and Graham tried to pull away by the red headed youth had moved behind him and prevented his escape. On his knees he looked up at the man who held the bottle of pills and the metal club in the other face stern and emotionless.

“Tell me you were going to sell them you little lying thief. One more chance.” 

“I didn’t.” The next moment his world was consumed with a blinding flash of pain as the men swung hard and connected with the side of the boy’s face sending him sprawling sideways. As the impact sounding Graham felt something in his jaw give as his mouth shifted before he crashed face first into the ground. It was at that point that the rest of the guards began his punishment as a furry of blows began to be released from boot and club. For Graham was nothing but a little thief and nobody would care what happened to him. As blows stroke his small body one of the guards took the bottle of pills and opened it spilling the contents over the boy's head before shoving him hard face first back into the ground. All Graham could do was close his eyes and hope it would end soon.

After what seemed like an eternity the punishment was over and the guards had left leaving what they thought only a small broken fragment in its wake. His clothes were torn and his entire body felt ragged, used and beaten like his very soul had been cast somewhere far away. He tasted blood in his mouth and it hurt to move and the world seemed to continually wobble and rotate on its axis. Any other child or even men would of died long ago but only later would Graham realize it was the spirits laying dormant inside his body that had preserved his body even as his soul lay destroyed. The rain continued to fall around him making the blood wash down his face and body as he forced himself to reach out and grab the pill bottle. Ever so slowly he began to grab the pills from the wet ground some of them dissolving in his touch from the rain but ever still he scoped their fragments and pieces back into the bottle.

All the while he fought back the urge to cry, he fought back the urge to give up. He couldn't give up. Father had told him that since he was going off to war that he needed to be the one to protect his family, he needed to be the strong one to protect Anna. Shaking hands closed the pill bottle the white cap now stained red with his blood and slowly he pulled himself to his feet as even his insides burned. He braced himself against the side of one of the buildings that made up the alleyway and slowly he pushed himself forward step by step back towards where Anna was. And as he moved he didn't notice the tears streaming down his face blending in with the ever constant rain.

His eyes opened and he was back in the shower, back far away from the past and reflexively he brought a hand up to feel his jaw and the crookedness of teeth, a permanent reminder of that day. The shower had turned off long ago as he had overran his limited water ration and yet he stood there still for a moment before he moved ever slowly out of the shower. His footfalls fell to the bench outside where a clean set of military fatigues lay waiting for him along with his weapon and mud covered shoes. In silence he pulled the clothes on, the fabric clinging to his wet body with each movement, the shoes following and after that Sera getting strapped onto his back once more.  He looked into a mirror that was in the room back at his own reflection, he did not look like the cocky arrogant son of a bitch that everybody knew him as, he looked like the boy in that alleyway, a boy that he had said died long ago. 

He forced a smile upon his face the movement coming almost naturally and soon the unrest and unease seemed to vanish from his very appearance. Though the blue eyes were darker and colder than they should of been it was always harder to fake the eyes he found out. He breathed outward and buried the feelings and memories like he always did running away from them whenever he could and when his opened the faint sparkle was there once again. He then moved out of the room and headed towards the meeting area. That boy was dead and Graham Tosches had a world to save.[/indent]