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TheYoungOne

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  1. Clack... clack... ....clack The slavers boots upon the rickety platform above his cage caused the boy to awake from his slumber... or was it a coma? The sound of his skin peeling away from the sticky plastic sheeting that lined the floor of his prison was sickening and further worried the twelve year old. Pushing himself up into an upright and seated position, Fenton took the time to assess his being and what he saw was not pretty. The corner of his mouth twitched a few times before slowly spreading into a scowl. The wounds are not as serious as last time... I just have to make sure infection does not set in, especially after what they did to Tomas. thought Fenton as unconsciously he realized he had been staring at the now vacant cage next to him. It won't be long before someone new fills the void... the slavers can't believe that I continue to come out alive, but they don't know what I know... they don't know how special I really am. The particular slavers that owned Fenton were vile men and women that bought young children, between the age of nine and fourteen for one single purpose. Mortal Combat. The young warrior smirked as he remembered some of his contests that he was forced to participate in. In the early years, Fenton was adamantly against the idea of killing another being, whether they be human or alien. Though when placed inside of that large octagon cage and someone across from you select a weapon... you had better select a weapon, because the only way that you are walking out there is with your opponents head severed from their body. That is the cost that each child must pay... and so, Fenton always made sure to pay in full... the first killing was a result of his body recognizing the fact that it was kill or be killed. For a while, he held onto that belief... that he was doing it because he had to... they had left him with no other choice... "Then why do I like it?..." Whispered the tormented boy. "Did you say something Lil' Monster? " asked Randall, the short stocky fellow that usually did the dirty work. He was the bastard that took the deceased to the pits to the feed to the hounds... and now his attention was solely on Fenton. As he made his way towards him, the young boy could smell the stench of death that simply consumed this man... For I am Groots sake, does this guy bathe in the waste compartment. I do not even get the right to clean myself and I am nowhere near as pungent as that lard-ass. With a shake of his head Fenton attempted to dismiss the horrid stench, though with Randall standing so closely now there would be no escape. Not wanting to make him linger any longer, the boy continued to shake his head as if to answer the man's question. He didn't want to speak... not for fear of what the man would do, but as a means to avoid being forced to taste his rancid scent as well. Yes... he stunk that bad.
  2. FENTON LEE'S CHARACTER SHEET Identity [!ident] Real Name: Fenton Lee A.K.A: N/A Homeworld: Apatros Species: Human Physical Description [!dscrp] Age: 12 Height: 4'7" Weight: 86lbs Hair: Auburn; within dim lighting it appears to be brown, though beneath the rays of the sun it shines a brilliant orange. Eyes: Green, with a sunburst of brown radiating from the pupil. Sex: Male Equipment [!equip] Clothing or Armor: Standard robes. Weapon: None Common Inventory: None, he is a possession of the Galactic Slave Trade. Faction Information [!factn] Force User Alignment: Neutral Current Faction Affiliation: None Current Faction Rank: None History: [!hstry] Force Side: None Trained by: None Trained who:None Known Skills: None Background: There isn't really much to tell. His parents had wanted nothing to do with the baby... he was an accident and would only add the the cost of living. His father worked in the mines of Apatros and barely made enough to keep food on the table every night. A child would complicate things, so the boy was sold to the Galactic Slave Trade for a mere weeks worth of wages. Having been forced to grow up in such a cruel world, Fenton has become cold and withdrawn. Not in the sense that the boy is scared, but one has always got the impression that he were a cornered animal... waiting for the moment to strike.
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