Warning: There is Non-Consensual Sexual Content and possible references to child sex trafficking in this story, as well as foul language, abuse and violence, murder and death. If you aren't cool with that, please exit immediately and do not read.
Mature Audiences Only!
A/N: The video game of Angels of Death (or maybe it was the manga?) mentioned trafficking at the illegal orphanage Zack was dumped off at. And even though it never went into details about it as far as I know, I'd assume that Zack was potentially sexually molested in the orphanage. So I wrote this because it is what I imagine he had to go through as a child. This is more or less, the makings of a serial killer and a more in-depth story of how Isaac Foster was potentially molded into a murderer, taking place when he was a kid. Don't read if you don't like it.
For the rest of you... Enjoy! :)
Mature Audiences Only!
A/N: The video game of Angels of Death (or maybe it was the manga?) mentioned trafficking at the illegal orphanage Zack was dumped off at. And even though it never went into details about it as far as I know, I'd assume that Zack was potentially sexually molested in the orphanage. So I wrote this because it is what I imagine he had to go through as a child. This is more or less, the makings of a serial killer and a more in-depth story of how Isaac Foster was potentially molded into a murderer, taking place when he was a kid. Don't read if you don't like it.
For the rest of you... Enjoy! :)
The Orphanage
Zack laid awake in his bed, writhing from the uncomfortable hunger pains in his stomach. It was cold and drafty and the only blanket he had was thin.
He tossed and turned with a troubled mind and discontent. The moon provided minimal lighting but it was enough for him to see the outline of the door. He stared at it in dread and nervous anticipation. He knew to expect a visitor any moment now.
There were several rows of beds and his was the one closest to the door. The thin mattresses had all been stripped from the other beds because all of the others were vacant, aside from his own and one other. The lump in the other bed hadn't moved or left in days and the smell of rotting was beginning to emanate from that side of the room. His roommate had long died, if not from a drug overdose or beating, then probably from a sexually transmitted disease or starvation.
All of the other kids were all either dead or had been sold off. The ones who died, would be buried in the backyard. He wasn't sure what happened to the ones that left, only that every child that landed themselves in the orphanage, soon disappeared one way or another.
Except Isaac Foster; He was the only one who always stayed. Though they blamed it on his disfiguring burns, the headmistress didn't allow him to be sold. She sometimes came in at night with food. He knew that her charity wasn't an act of kindness but rather an exchange for... other things.
It wasn't uncommon, when the facility had been at its capacity. Strangers, often grown men, would come into the orphanage and 'visit' the children or take more than one with them.
Just then, the knob twisted and fear gripped him. He quickly rolled over to put his back to the door and curled into himself, wrapping his arms around his body in a reserved manner. He clenched his eyes closed, as if he thought if he didn't see her come into the room then she'd cease to exist or she'd leave him alone. He knew that was too good to be true though.
"Quit pretending to sleep, I know you're awake." She scowled down at him, a small plate of dinner scraps in her hand and a whip with a leather-ended flap folded over and attached to the end of it. "You haven't eaten in three days, I know you want this food."
She sighed impatiently and slapped him a few times with the whip in her hand. He recoiled from her assault, and dropped the act seeing as she obviously knew he wasn't asleep. Zack forced himself to open his eyes and sat up slowly, avoiding eye contact and hugging his arms around himself. She shoved the food in his lap impatiently, "Hurry up."
He'd been through this enough times to figure out that the food she gave him always had some kind of drug in it. They used to drug all the kids using needles, shoving them into his arms and leaving tender punctures on the inside of his elbows... so he actually preferred it this way. He was so hungry he couldn't bring himself to care that it was drugged. He scarfed it down within minutes. Afterwards, dread stirred within his belly when he stared down at the empty plate, wishing he hadn't consumed the food on it. Almost instantly, his vision started to blur.
He peered up at her and she was staring back at him expectantly. "Plate," she ordered and he reluctantly handed it back for her to discard on a nearby nightstand along with the leather cane.
Her expression then softened when she turned back to him and she crawled over him to get on the bed. She leaned into his face and he was forced to recline backward a little to avoid her. She reached for his bandages and snaked a finger underneath to touch his bare cheek. His breathing was shaky and uneven.
She grabbed his hair to keep him from evading her and pressed her lips too hard to his, relenting only to force her tongue in. She tasted like stale cigarettes and bad breath. She released him and he turned away bitterly, wiping his mouth with the inside of him arm in disgust. He could feel his stomach churning.
"It's a damn shame, you know." she drawled as she caressed his marred face. "You would have been a looker, had you not gotten these hideous scars." she leaned in to whisper in his ear, "But nobody wants to buy a freak." Her hand touched him and wondered down his body and slipped into his pants until it reached his genitals. He was shaking, face contorting vehemently, yet on the brink of tears. He swallowed hard, trying not to make any sounds. She forced him to lay all the way back. Usually he was completely out of it by now and often couldn't recall but bits and pieces of what she did to him the next day. Maybe he hadn't consumed enough of the drugs this time because even though he felt a little numb and dizzy, he still was aware of everything and still had most of his control over his body. Perhaps he was building up a tolerance.
Her hand massaged him casually and skillfully, feeling himself hardening. Once he was erect, she picked up the pace and pumped his length faster. His mind was becoming hazy. It was tempting to embrace the fog clouding up his head and the sharp pangs of pleasure his body felt, but he fought it. He didn't want to feel it. He could feel the familiar sensation building within. He willed it to stop, but it only got stronger. He felt... dirty.
He tensed up and gasped sharply, pushed her away before he reached climax. Anger flashed in her eyes. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
He leaned quickly over the side of the bed to vomit. After not eating anything for three days, the combination of drugs and eating so much food too fast didn't agree well with his body. His stomach couldn't handle it after so much malnutrition. When his stomach was empty again, he weakly sat back up. He kept his eyes downcast, afraid to face the piercing eyes of the woman brooding and disgusted in front of him.
"Look at me," she ordered.
He lifted his eyes and she slapped him hard across the face, his head snapping in the direction of her hand and a red whelp appearing on his already marred cheek through the bandages. She'd then stood and retrieved the whip from the nightstand. She was going to lash him for sure for throwing up.
"Take off your clothes," she snapped so harshly it made him flinch. She tapped the palm of her left hand with the whip in her right hand.
"I don't want to," his voice trembled and was weak, his eyes pleading.
"Did I ask you? I said do it!" She struck him multiple times with her leather cane of punishment, leaving nasty whelps in its wake. The sound of the whip hitting him cracked throughout the room.
He pressed himself to the wall as if willing himself to disappear, shielding himself as much as possible. Whatever drugs he consumed was likely on the floor with the rest of his stomach contents, and he could already feel the effects of the drugs ebbing away.
When she was finished, she stood over him huffing and seemingly out of breath. She pulled him closer, leaning in seductively. He saw her free hand disappear under her long skirt to pleasure herself. "You know you like it, you little brat. All young boys are perverts," she hissed, sensually licking from the base of his neck up to his jaw. He leaned away, but she still had her grasp on the front of his shirt. "You're still going to give me what I want, and then you're going to clean up that vile mess you made on the floor."
He didn't respond, only stared with resentment.
"NOW!" she screamed, causing him to flinch. She let go of him, shoving him a little as she did so. He slowly lifted the hem of his shirt, struggling to free his tender arms from the garment. Blood from the lacerations tinted the white of his body bandages. She was getting too impatient with him and tired of waiting. She retrieved her hand from under her skirt and roughly forced his shirt off the rest of the way over his head, throwing it on the floor. "Now your pants."
He didn't move right away. His body shivered from the cold air around him, invading his skin through the bandages. He felt numb, but his shaky hands unbuttoned his jeans.
"Hurry the fuck up, you twit!" She roughly pulled them off of him, her jerky, violent treatment making him wince, still sore from the whipping he took. His pants were thrown onto the floor to join his shirt.
"Lay down," she ordered unkindly. He didn't move, his amber eyes narrowing in silent, pent up anger. "Lay down!" she screamed, even more forcefully. When he refused to listen again, she reached for him but he shoved her hands away and they engaged in a fight for dominance.
Just then, the mistress's husband barged in, smelling of alcohol. They both froze at the sudden interruption.
"What the fuck is going on in here?! Why the hell are you fucking around with this freak behind my back again?!" He raged, his face was red and a familiar vein bulged on the side of his head when he was angry.
His wife was momentarily stunned, but then composed herself. She stood up to him in a dignified manner. "What do you care?" she spat venomously, looking him up and down, "It's not like you're tending to my needs."
The back of his open hand loudly found her cheek, leaving a bright red imprint. She gasped, her hand covering the throbbing mark where he hit her. "Get the fuck outta here!" he shouted at her. "Before I decide to beat the hell out of you instead." After a moment of hesitance, she trudged out of the room, trying to hide her haste.
When she was gone, he then approached the young boy sitting on the bed in his underwear, yanking Zack upward by his hair. The boy cried out in sudden pain. He threw Zack on the floor, the boy hit the wood floor with a thud.
He groaned, try to recover from the lingering nausea of the drugs and being tossed. The man's boots appeared in his vision and Zack glared upward with a loathsome glint in his amber eyes, growing tired of his unwarranted mistreatment.
"You think you scare me?!" the master asked incredulously, interpreting Zack's murderous stare as a challenge. "I'll show you!" He landed a solid kick to Zack's face. "You enjoy fucking my wife, you little shit?!" He shout as he kicked him again.
Zack spit blood from where he was crouched on the floor, wiping it from his mouth. He held his ground and resisted the urge to cower from the man that was much bigger and stronger than himself. "Your mom was better," he choked, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The man's face contorted in shock and rage. He knelt down to throw a punch and his fist made hard impact, effectively shutting the boy up. He grabbed him by the hair again and proceeded to land two more punches. Zack coughed, thick blood spilling from his mouth and nose.
He did his best to shield himself but he didn't stand a chance against the headmaster. He felt... powerless. He whimpered, almost inaudibly.
The man stood and snickered down at him. "What's the matter? Not so mouthy now, are ya?"
Zack hardened his resolve again. The master wanted the satisfaction of breaking him, but it wasn't gonna happen. Zack stood up shakily, anger fueling him. "When my mom comes back for me, you'll pay! You'll both pay!"
The headmaster chuckled mockingly. "Your whore of a mother is never returning for you, you diluted little brat. She was never coming back, she didn't want you."
"That's not true!" Zack countered bitterly.
"She signed away her parental rights, you dense lil' fuck. Don't tell me you've been waiting for her this whole time- That's so damn pathetic."
Zack backed away and shook his head, refusing to believe him. "No, you're wrong. She said-" His voice cracked and the man cut him off with an amused smirk in his face and in his voice.
"She lied to you. Don't you think if she was really coming back, it wouldn't take her two years? An orphanage like this isn't the place you go to leave a kid when you plan on returning for them... It's where you ditch them when you don't give a shit about what happens to them. You set her boyfriend on fire, you really think she wanted a psycho freak like you hanging around after that?"
Zack fell to his knees, devastated. "But he... he hurt me first." he defended, tears brimming in his eyes. He was finally coming to terms with his denial, reality hitting him harder than the master did. He should've know she wasn't coming back. She was a liar. Many times she told him she'd leave that scumbag boyfriend that hurt him. Too many times to count she swore to stop using drugs... He should've known.
"Christ, kid," he groaned. "You're an orphan now. You have no one in this world but us and you should be fucking grateful."
"Shut up!" he spat. He hated lies. He hated being given false hope. From this moment, he would forever detest liars; he'd never allow himself to feel that kind of betrayal again.
"Useless little shit," the man countered, proceeding to hit and kick him without restraint, aiming for his ribs and upper body. Zack curled up on the floor and tried to cover his face and protect himself but the blow kept coming down on him hard. He could feel the unforgiving steel of the boots the man wore every time they made contact with his body.
When the master was satisfied and got bored of kicking his limp body, he chuckled to himself and trudged from the room. "Stubborn fucking punk," he muttered under his breath. Zack vaguely heard the heaviness of his footfalls leave and fade from his hearing.
As he laid there on the floor in a puddle of his own blood, he stared up at the cobwebbed ceiling through blurred vision. It was hard to breathe. His hair and forehead was sticky and coated in crimson. His face was gruesomely swollen and disfigured to the point he couldn't open his left eye. Blood trickled from the right side of his mouth and he could taste the thick irony copper coating his teeth and tongue.
Even on the brink of life, he refused to give in to death. Instead, he let anger and hatred ferment within him, spreading like a deadly poison. He'd stay alive, if only to spite them. Everyone he'd ever known failed him in some way, deceived or hurt him, found pleasure in his pain and suffering... He wanted them to pay.
Rain poured from the dark heavens, soaking the earth and making the grass slick. Zack breathed heavily, his arms aching from lifting piles of dirt from the ground. His stomach grumbled from neglect. But he ignored it and thrust the shovel into the wet ground again. He was taking out his pent up anger on the dirt, straining his muscles and body beyond their capacity. His swollen face had healed quick but his body was battered and bruised, still healing from the beating he took days ago.
He was tired, tired of everything. He was tired of the abuse, tired of starving and eating trash, tired of fighting an unwinnable battle, tired of watching the other kids die and waiting to meet the same fate himself, tired of digging their grave…
He’d heard the masters talking about him earlier that day. They said he was getting older and too rebellious to handle. ‘Thirteen is a difficult age to deal with,’ he overheard the man say. ‘Our clients like their kids younger and with his… deformities, he isn’t bringing in any money. He hasn't been very useful to us to justify keeping him around.'
A while afterwards, they'd apparently came up with a way for him to make himself 'useful'... They approached him and told him to bury the only other remaining child that had been rotting in the other bed across his room. He'd refused, at first. The body smelled putrid and he didn't want to touch it, but they hit him and threatened him and forced him to do it anyway. He knew if he persisted to resist their authority, they'd get rid of him too, like they'd discussed.
Zack dragged the boy's limp corpse into the yard upon their orders and supervision and the woman told him to dig. She stood over him awhile ensuring he did as he was told, but she left him alone when it started to rain, disappearing into the shelter of the orphanage and leaving him to take care of the rest by himself.
He'd made progress. He allowed himself to feel a tinge of relief at the thought that he was nearly done with the digging part. Suddenly, the shovel hit something solid. He peered down at what he'd uncovered in shock. It was a skull. It appeared a body had already been buried in that same spot already. It was likely a mass grave and if it wasn't... it was about to be. He finished digging and rolled the body into the hole he'd made, straining to move the dead weight of a body that was heavier than himself.
That skull, the corpse... They used to be kids like him. Even if the masters found temporary use for him, he knew it was only a matter of time before he was the one being buried in the yard.
He could see and hear the two of them talk about him and poked fun at his obedience through the window. Little did they know, he was much too stubborn to die. He refused to end up like the others. They would learn, just like his mother’s boyfriend who set him on fire. That man caught fire too because of him, and that man would forever regret hurting him. One day he'd make his lying mother pay for her deceit and for abandoning him there in that shitty orphanage. The masters would regret mistreating him too someday. They thought hurting him could break him and make him weak... But it was only making him stronger. They'd all pay for what they'd done someday.
When he finished burying the body, he came in from outside. He felt on the verge of collapsing in exhaustion. Rain dripped off his clothes and onto the wooded floors. He was chilled to his bones, his body trembling uncontrollably. He thought he might get in trouble for trailing in the water and making puddles on the floor, but thankfully the owners were nowhere in sight to witness. He could hear voices from the other room though. His bare, muddy feet padded into the TV room to find that it had been left on and no one was there to watch it. The light of the TV flickered against the void of the otherwise dark room.
They must have went to sleep. He suddenly realized, he must have been outside digging for a very long time. He was relieved that the mistress would probably sleep through the night without coming into his room.
Strange whimpering sounds from the television brought Zack out of his thoughts. When he finally acknowledged the pictures on the screen, there was a man and a woman touching each other and moaning while leaning against a tree in the woods. The man was thrusting his hips into the woman with all of their clothes off. The scene evoked very bad memories and feelings. He could feel the shiver of that woman's lingering touch still crawling on his skin.
Zack was about to bitterly turn off the TV, but he stopped when he saw another man appear behind them with a sinister gleam in his eyes and a knife in his hand. Zack watched in a fascinated awe as the man ruthlessly sliced and diced the couple, blood spraying and spurting everywhere.
Seeing the people on the TV get slaughtered felt like justice, and the blood was satisfying. The masters couldn't do anything to him, if they were the ones dead. He allowed his pain and anger to fester and flow through him freely, corrupting him and developing a will of its own... cultivating a hunger- a craving that could only be sated with blood. A sinister smile crept into his marred, yet youthful features hidden behind dirty, soiled bandages.
From that moment, he knew what he had to do… to put an end to it all. They'd soon know the wrath of the monster they created.
He was tired, tired of everything. He was tired of the abuse, tired of starving and eating trash, tired of fighting an unwinnable battle, tired of watching the other kids die and waiting to meet the same fate himself, tired of digging their grave…
He’d heard the masters talking about him earlier that day. They said he was getting older and too rebellious to handle. ‘Thirteen is a difficult age to deal with,’ he overheard the man say. ‘Our clients like their kids younger and with his… deformities, he isn’t bringing in any money. He hasn't been very useful to us to justify keeping him around.'
A while afterwards, they'd apparently came up with a way for him to make himself 'useful'... They approached him and told him to bury the only other remaining child that had been rotting in the other bed across his room. He'd refused, at first. The body smelled putrid and he didn't want to touch it, but they hit him and threatened him and forced him to do it anyway. He knew if he persisted to resist their authority, they'd get rid of him too, like they'd discussed.
Zack dragged the boy's limp corpse into the yard upon their orders and supervision and the woman told him to dig. She stood over him awhile ensuring he did as he was told, but she left him alone when it started to rain, disappearing into the shelter of the orphanage and leaving him to take care of the rest by himself.
He'd made progress. He allowed himself to feel a tinge of relief at the thought that he was nearly done with the digging part. Suddenly, the shovel hit something solid. He peered down at what he'd uncovered in shock. It was a skull. It appeared a body had already been buried in that same spot already. It was likely a mass grave and if it wasn't... it was about to be. He finished digging and rolled the body into the hole he'd made, straining to move the dead weight of a body that was heavier than himself.
That skull, the corpse... They used to be kids like him. Even if the masters found temporary use for him, he knew it was only a matter of time before he was the one being buried in the yard.
He could see and hear the two of them talk about him and poked fun at his obedience through the window. Little did they know, he was much too stubborn to die. He refused to end up like the others. They would learn, just like his mother’s boyfriend who set him on fire. That man caught fire too because of him, and that man would forever regret hurting him. One day he'd make his lying mother pay for her deceit and for abandoning him there in that shitty orphanage. The masters would regret mistreating him too someday. They thought hurting him could break him and make him weak... But it was only making him stronger. They'd all pay for what they'd done someday.
When he finished burying the body, he came in from outside. He felt on the verge of collapsing in exhaustion. Rain dripped off his clothes and onto the wooded floors. He was chilled to his bones, his body trembling uncontrollably. He thought he might get in trouble for trailing in the water and making puddles on the floor, but thankfully the owners were nowhere in sight to witness. He could hear voices from the other room though. His bare, muddy feet padded into the TV room to find that it had been left on and no one was there to watch it. The light of the TV flickered against the void of the otherwise dark room.
They must have went to sleep. He suddenly realized, he must have been outside digging for a very long time. He was relieved that the mistress would probably sleep through the night without coming into his room.
Strange whimpering sounds from the television brought Zack out of his thoughts. When he finally acknowledged the pictures on the screen, there was a man and a woman touching each other and moaning while leaning against a tree in the woods. The man was thrusting his hips into the woman with all of their clothes off. The scene evoked very bad memories and feelings. He could feel the shiver of that woman's lingering touch still crawling on his skin.
Zack was about to bitterly turn off the TV, but he stopped when he saw another man appear behind them with a sinister gleam in his eyes and a knife in his hand. Zack watched in a fascinated awe as the man ruthlessly sliced and diced the couple, blood spraying and spurting everywhere.
Seeing the people on the TV get slaughtered felt like justice, and the blood was satisfying. The masters couldn't do anything to him, if they were the ones dead. He allowed his pain and anger to fester and flow through him freely, corrupting him and developing a will of its own... cultivating a hunger- a craving that could only be sated with blood. A sinister smile crept into his marred, yet youthful features hidden behind dirty, soiled bandages.
From that moment, he knew what he had to do… to put an end to it all. They'd soon know the wrath of the monster they created.
A/N: Please leave a review before you go! It's the only way I can tell if anyone is reading or not...