Okay, here's a little original I've also been working on. And if you see a familiar character of mine from another of my fics, don't be surprised. I do that sometimes. Anyway, criticism and reviews are always welcomed, even encouraged. Have at it.

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Blood Ties



Chapter One

Most people are idiots. I’ve come to realize this as I lounge in the darkness, bored from the prisoners, bored from the guards, bored from the stale odor of piss, blood, and other crap that I didn’t even want to think about. When there’s nothing to do besides work out and eat your three meals a day, you find yourself realizing quite a lot. You find yourself realizing that you fucked up, or that someone else fucked up, or that the world is fucked up.

Me, personally, I don’t know who fucked up in my little scenario. I don’t know why the hell I’m here, demanding answers from the guards and receiving beatings instead. I don’t know why I wake up every night, plagued by nightmares of memories that I don’t remember. Amnesia. That’s what they told each other the day I arrived, after they had dressed me in their traditional blue prison suit.

Then they threw me in here. Here being a small, dark isolated cell with a bed that looked like a toilet and a toilet that looked like an ass. It wasn’t that bad though. The only time I could see the cell was when the slot opened in the door and the slop was thrown through.

It was amusing at first, though. Not the cell, of course. There was nothing funny about that at all. It was the other prisoners. When I had first arrived, they called me “fresh meat” and said they couldn’t wait to “break me in”. One in particular, the who was the one making most of the promises, was known simply as “God”.

I remember I had to laugh at that. I’m not a religious person, but even I thought that was a little blasphemous. Still, he had the most respect and fear in here, so everyone pretty much did what he said. And if they didn’t….

Well, after a couple of weeks, when the prisoners were let out in the yard for our daily breathing, I remember God coming up to me with this stupid grin on his face. And it wasn’t one that said, “let’s throw around the ball” or “could you spot me while I lift?”.

“Hey, pretty boy,” he said, scratching his bald head. “Why don’t you go get me a pack of cigarettes?”

I remember raising an eyebrow at his “pretty boy” remark, mostly because I didn’t know what I looked like. They don’t have mirrors in here for some reason, probably because some psycho like him would probably smash it and use the pieces to stab people. All I knew was that I had snow-white hair, stopping a little past my shoulders. And the only reason I knew that was because some of it hung in front of my eyes and I had to keep pushing it away to see.

“I don’t smoke,” I had replied to his little request.

I expected him to blow up right there on the spot, but he laughed to his buddies instead. And they laughed with him of course. If they didn’t cry with laughter, they’d be crying in fear. He stepped forward, right in front of me. And that’s when I realized that he was about seven feet, a foot taller than me. And, not only was he tall, but he was immense and muscular. No wonder they call him “God”, I had thought briefly as I stared up at him.

“They’re for me,” he had snarled, curling his upper lip. “From now on, you’re gonna be doin’ everything for me. You got that, pretty boy?”

By then, everyone was watching, waiting. Watching the spectacle take place, and waiting for my reaction. If I punked out and got his cigarettes, then I’d be the dipping boy of every lonely guy in the place. Yet, if I refused, I might get my ass kicked by God and his gang of giants. But then again, better to get my ass kicked than the scary alternative.

So I had turned around, feigning as if I were about to get him cigarettes, and I saw the smirks on the faces of the other prisoners.

I smirked too.

Because without even a twitch of warning, I turned back around, and punched him right in his face. If I could have taken his picture right before my fist smashed into his nose, I’m sure it would have been place next to the word “surprise” in the dictionary. He slowly fell backward toward the ground, much like a tree. Amusingly, someone in the crowd yelled out, “timber!” Then all hell broke loose.

God’s gang of about ten rushed me, but something surprising happened. Every other gang, squad, crew and posse rushed also. I guess they saw this as their chance to take over and run the joint. Anyway, the next thing I know, everyone’s fighting all around me and I‘m dodging blows left and right. Some guy I hadn’t even seen before swung at me, and I ducked before rising up with an uppercut that knocked him on his ass. Without hesitation, I punched some guy next to me in the back of the head, and he went down like a sack of apples. I shrugged to myself. Hell, I figured if I was going down, I was taking as many people down with me as possible. With that in mind, I kicked some fat guy in the balls, and he squealed, holding his future kids and collapsing to the ground. I laughed in spite of the situation. All’s fair in war, right?

Someone in front of me got punched viciously in the mouth, and I couldn’t help but wince when I heard his jaw snap. I also felt the blood and teeth from his mouth splatter onto me. The blonde guy who did the punching looked up and, seeing me, smirked, before tackling another guy next to him. I didn’t have time to puzzle this, because some one grabbed me from behind, wrapping huge arms around my chest and squeezing. I threw my head backwards, feeling it collide with the guy’s face. The arms let go and I turned to find him holding his nose as blood spilled freely from it. Before he could recover, I gave him a hard fist to the temple and he pitched to his side and lay still.

I took a moment to catch my breath and I was suddenly hit by a train, the momentum sending me into the walls of the yard. I spun quickly, throwing out an elbow as I did, but I missed. The man who threw me into the wall had already leaned back before giving me a nice right to the chin. I staggered, a little out of it before another set of arms picked me up and threw me into the wall. I slammed hard into the bricks, but at least I was face to face with my attackers. The first one struck first, punching right for my head. I couldn’t help but chuckle at what was to come as I dodged ever so slightly to my left. His fist hit the wall and I heard the snap, crackle, and pop of his knuckles and hand breaking. As the second one attacked, the first one recoiled, holding his hand and crying like a baby. I kicked him in the throat before elbowing the other guy in the jaw.

Before I could even stand triumphantly over my victims, I got tackled again. The only difference was, I didn’t get back up. I flew a couple of feet before landing on one of the wooden exercise benches. It collapsed under my weight and the force of the throw, and I lay there for a moment, struggling to breathe.

By then the guards were in the midst of the fight, clubbing any head that wasn’t their own. The prisoners fought back against them too, their blood-lust in full swing. But of course, they were no match for Tasers and tranquilizer guns. Soon, the fight was subdued and the guards got everything under control. I was still lying on my back in the remains of the bench when they dragged me to my feet.

“You’re the one who started this?!” one of them had demanded as they dragged me away.

“No,” I remember replying with this big smirk on my face. “But I sure as hell ended it.” That was right before I finally blacked out, succumbing to the pain and fatigue.

The next thing I know, I’m here in solitary confinement, the proverbial corner that prisoners have to sit in when they’ve been disobedient. I don’t mind though. The only difference is that there’s only one meal a day instead of three. I usually only eat enough just to get by anyway. I think I’ve been in here for about ten days, judging from the amount of meals I’ve gotten, but that doesn’t really mean anything. They could’ve skipped my meal on some days, so it wasn’t really a reliable source of time.

This time though, something was different. The footsteps echoing in the hall as they approached my cell were a familiar occurrence. The jingle of keys and the rusty creak of the lock as it unlocked wasn’t. The door opened and light invaded the shadows, causing me to squint and put an arm up. Instantly though, my eyes adjusted and I saw the head ass of the prison standing there.

Or my future punching bag as I like to dream.

“Here he is,” the guard said, gesturing toward me. From behind him walked a strikingly pretty woman who looked to be in her early twenties. She wore one of those classy business suits made for women. She took one glance at me before turning her smoldering, violet eyes upon the guard.

“Why didn’t you just chain him up like a fucking dog?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm and anger. “It seems as if he’s already living like one.”

I raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She was pretty pissed.

“Look lady, I don’t know if you know, but this is not a good guy,” the guard responded, folding his arms. “Haven’t you read his history? He’s nothing but a punk. ”

“Of course I have,” she snapped, before turning back to me. “It’s my job.”

“Then you know what he’s capable of,” the guard replied gruffly. “Besides all that, he’s also in here because he started a huge fight during exercise time that almost led to an open revolt. Frankly, I don’t care what you say. I think he belongs under the jail.”

Ha. It still would be better than this shit-hole.

“Next time I want your opinion, I‘ll ask for it,” she said coldly, without turning around. “When I’m ready, I’ll send for you. I trust the room is ready?”

“Yeah,” the guard grumbled, pushing the prison door open. “It‘s down the hall and to the left.” With that, he walked out, muttering to himself as he went.

“Can you stand?” she asked softly, once the guard had completely left. I nodded, and staggered to my feet, pushing away her offered hand.

“Who the hell are you?” I asked, my voice raspy from non-use. I know that wasn’t exactly the smoothest thing I could’ve said to her, but I’d like to see you be suave on an empty stomach and bruised ribs.

“My name is Natasha,” she said, holding out a delicate hand and smiling slightly.

Hopefully she didn’t notice my stupid look as I stared into her violet eyes. Finally, I gave myself a mental slap and shook her hand.

“Well, I would give you my name, but I don’t know it myself,” I grinned, continuing to shake her hand and stare at her. When I realized what I was doing, I let go quickly. “Sorry.”

She smirked sexily. “That’s quite alright,” she said, glancing at the guard posted outside. “But how about we talk in private.”

My eyes must have widened to the size of moons. “What…?” was the only reply I could possibly think of.

Natasha rolled her eyes, amused. “Wipe that stupid grin off your face. We’re not going to knock boots.”

I laughed, a little embarassed, scratching the back of my head. “That’s not what I thought at all…”

She laughed as well. “I’m sure it wasn’t, but I just want to inform you that I am only here as your psychologist and lawyer.”

Psychologist and lawyer, I thought amusedly, eyeing the slight bulges under her armpits. She seemed more like someone who was in charge, which wasn’t implausible. Anyone would follow such beauty.

“Then lead the way,” I said gracefully, gesturing toward the outside.

“As you wish, Mr. Saynt,” she replied, smiling sweetly. She started to walk out by I grabbed her arm, pulling her back. She looked back quickly, her long, black curly hair whispering in the air. She looked right into my eyes and, my heart…did something. What the fuck was this? Why was I acting like some love-sick kid?

“Yes?” she prompted, when I didn’t say anything right away. I blinked before mentally kicking myself. You see, you fool? Like some love-sick kid.

“Could you just…say my name?” I asked of her, a little more modest than usual. You’d be too if you were asking for your own name from a complete, and ridiculously hot, stranger.

She stared at me for a moment, her eyes searching. “Andrew Saynt,” she said softly, before walking out. I stood there for a moment, letting her voice echo in my mind. Andrew Saynt. I walked out after her.

The guard was there, waiting with a well oiled, gleaming set of handcuffed. I almost felt honored to wear the things, they were so damn shiny. When I was safely and securely cuffed, Natasha gestured for me to follow her as she walked. As we walked down the hall, many of the guys shouted uproariously, or stuck their hands out patting me on the back or slapping my hand. I was more than surprised.

“You bad, man,” they shouted.

“You the man!” another yelled, slapping me on the shoulder.

You messed em up!”

“You the Devil man!”

I just smirked to myself, continuing to walk. The Devil. As, I walked through the gauntlet of praise, a curious sense of pride flitted briefly through me. We finally reached the end of the cells and the voices were cut off as the heavy door closed shut behind us.

“You’re quite the popular one,” Natasha remarked amusedly as she turned left and continued walking, her steps echoing on the stone steps.

“Yeah, I didn’t realize it before,” I replied truthfully. “Seeing as I was in a box for all this time.”

“That’ll change soon,” she laughed, her pace fast and purposeful. “Trust me.”

I frowned to myself, but said nothing. Not yet. There would be a time for me to talk, but right now, the only person who had some talking to do was her.

She stopped at a door and opened it, gesturing for me to go in first. I did, and found that it was just a small, white room with two chairs and a table. Everything looked pretty harmless, but I was tensed, ready to react if something happened. It's not that I didn't trust her. Hmmm... Actually, that was exactly it. Beauty doesn't necessarily equal trustworthy.

“Please Andrew, have a seat.” she sat at a chair. “This room isn’t bugged or kept under surveillance, so we can talk freely.”

“So then, enlighten me,” I requested, sitting in the other chair. “Who are you again?” I leaned back and put my feet up on the table.

She tilted her head slightly. “I told you. I am Natasha, your lawyer and psychologist. I was appointed by the Mechopolis government to defend you.”

“Yeah…that’s what you said,” I replied coolly. “But wouldn’t it be a little unprofessional to have a visible tattoo in court?” I gestured toward her hand. I then snapped my fingers, as if I had just remembered something. “Oh yeah, and plus the two guns strapped to your sides kind of gave you away too.”

Natasha stared at me inquisitively for a moment before chuckling and sliding a folder toward me. “I see prison time hasn’t dulled your observation skills, Andrew,” she replied. “Truthfully, I’m a whore, although most of us would like to be called mercenaries. And so are you." She grinned. "Or…were, before things got a little crazy.”

I opened the folder and saw a picture of a man with shoulder-length, white hair, deep crimson eyes, and a cocky grin on his face. Beside the picture was the typed name, Andrew Saynt. It gave more information, including my height (6’0’’) and weight (170 lbs), among others.

“Well, he is a handsome devil,” I said softly, barely believing my own eyes. I flipped the page and there were a few contracts for the jobs I had apparently taken, signed by none other than myself.

“He sure is,” Natasha said. I looked up to find her staring at me with a smile on her face, her chin resting in her hand. I looked back down to the folder instead of answering. I didn’t have any kind of witty rebuttal for that.

“Do you have a pen?” I asked, flipping through the contracts. I wanted to check something out, not knowing if it would work or not.

“Yeah, why?” She slid a pen across the table and I grabbed it.

“I just want to see something,” I said, closing my eyes. Without thinking, I scribbled my name on the folder. When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t really surprised to see that my signature matched the ones that were on the contracts.

“So are you with me so far?” she asked, glancing from the signature to me before smirking.

I nodded leaning back. “Yeah, you’ve got my attention. Now, what happened?”

I'm noticing a fondness for first-person perspective here. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it limits your ability to get into the heads of other characters. The work itself is fairly solidly written, although I didn't pay any attention to the content. There are flaws, but they're things that would smooth out with experience as long as you're making a conscious effort to improve.

If you usually only write from first-person, try changing to third-person. Vary your experience a bit. It'll pay off big in the long run.

I'll try and read it sometime when I haven't just gotten outta bed. I hate to read stories from first-person though. I always write in third-person.

Yes, sad to say, I am a first person whore. I just love getting into the main character's head and showing the reader every thing from only his point of view. I have done third person a couple of times and I do love changing perspective from one character to the next. I guess it just depends on what mood I'm in when I start writing a story. Anyway, pay attention to the content Prak. It's gonna be badass.

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Blood Ties


Chapter Two

Life’s crazy. One minute I’m in a filthy, dark box, and the next I’m staring at an angel.

Natasha brushed a thick lock of curly, ebony hair from her eyes before starting. “Well, it was a mission, an easy one, just like any other,” she began, her smile disappearing for only the second time since I‘ve been with her.

“All we had to do was guard this guy, some mayor from Conurb City, when he arrived. Apparently, he had a lot of enemies.” She retrieved some more folders out of her briefcase and slid them toward me. “It was supposed to be easy money.”

From her tone, it sounded like it didn’t go as planned. I stayed silent, however, wanting to hear every detail. I didn’t want to miss anything.

“These are the other mercenaries we worked with,” she explained as I leafed slowly through them, studying each face. “Andrew, Cassidy, and Vaughn. We all still work together.”

“Okay,” I nodded, putting them aside. “Go on.”

Natasha nodded before continuing. “We had just safely escorted the guy to his office and everything was going like we planned. The mayor thanked us for our help and we were getting paid, when…” she trailed off, a cynical smile surfacing on her face. “Well, shit hit the fan. Hard”

“How so?” I asked, frowning. Instead of answering, she just slid one, lone folder across the table. I glanced at her before opening it up. I was puzzled to see my face staring back up at me. Except this one had long black hair, and a deadly serious face. His blood-red eyes, my eyes, stared up at me intently. I shook my head, reading the name next to the picture.

Angra Saynt…?

Open your eyes.

I blinked, confused.

“Well?” Natasha prompted and I looked up quickly, shaking my head. I must've have zoned out.

“He looks just like me,” I said, stating the obvious.

“He is you, basically. He’s your twin brother.”

Speechless wasn’t the word to describe my state. Shocked stupid was a little more apt.

“I…see…” I replied, slowly.

“You okay?” she asked, a small smile on her face. “You look a little…pale.”

“I’m fine,” I replied, leaning back into the chair and closing my eyes. “Just go on with your story.”

“Well, we had just got our clich� briefcase full of money when suddenly Angra whips out his sword and cuts the mayor’s head off.”

“He…used a sword?” I asked, a little surprised.

“Both of you did,” Natasha replied. “I can’t remember a day that you two weren’t sparring together.”

“Sounds like the guy isn’t so bad,” I shrugged.

“He isn’t,” she agreed, her face serious. “At least not to us. Anyway, the mayor’s bodyguards attacked in full force, thinking we betrayed them. While we were taking care of them, Angra disappeared and you went after him. When we saw that you were gone, we started looking for you. Both of you. It took a while, but we finally tracked you down to this place. Lucky for you, you look so…unique. Not many people running around with white hair and red eyes these days.”

I was silent for a while, my eyes still closed. I was thinking. Although I didn’t have any memories left, I still had my instincts. And instinct told me not to grasp for the first hand that offered it’s help. I might get bit.

“Well, what are your thoughts?” Natasha asked, sounding amused.

After another moment of quiet, I asked, “Why are you always smiling?” Random? Yes, but I wanted a little more time to formulate my thoughts. Plus I was a little curious.

“What?” she replied, her voice surprised. I smiled to myself. I could tell she was caught off guard by the question.

“I said, why are you always smiling? I noticed that you always have this little smirk on your face.”

Another minute of silence before she finally replied, “I once asked someone that same question. Every time I saw him, he was smirking or grinning or making some kind of wisecrack about something. Sometimes they were things that most people would get angry at or cry about or be afraid of. So one day, I just asked him. What’s so funny? And he told me...”

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He said, ‘Haven’t you noticed? Life is one big play. Everyone is walking around, saying their lines and acting out their part. But only a few people are in the audience, watching. Once you realize that, then you’ll realize that everyone’s an actor or a comedian or a dramatist. Then it’s impossible not to laugh’.” She laughed softly. “I didn’t know what he meant until he was gone. And now, I’m in the audience.”

I thought about that for a moment before moving on. “Why did he betray you?”

“Us,” she corrected. “He betrayed us."

"Whatever."

She sighed. "The truth is, we don't know why Angra flipped the script," Natasha said. "There was no warning whatsoever."

"So he went crazy?"

Natasha shook her head. "I wouldn't say that. In fact, besides you, he was the sanest guy I knew."

I thought for a minute, trying to forumlate my next question. "So, we both disappeared. Then what?"

"We started to look for you, of course," Natasha replied. "For five years, we looked for you and we finally tracked you down to here."

“Five years?” I repeated, thinking. On the information sheet, it had said I was eighteen. That meant I was twenty-three, or close to it. “So that means that you guys have been looking for me for all this time?”

She nodded. “Yeah, like I’ve said before. It’s been a while, but we’ve finally found you.”

“Why?” I wondered aloud. “Why do you guys care so much?”

“Because…we were all family. We still are family.” She then smiled, a bittersweet one. “And…”

“And what…?” I asked when she trailed off.

“…And…and family sticks together,” she said, issuing her first fake smile of the day. She had meant to say something else, something that was probably personal to her. But I didn’t press the issue.

“So where was I all this time?” I asked, changing the subject. “You know, after the incident and before jail?”

She shook her head. “We have no clue. You seemed to have disappeared, at least from our continent. We couldn’t track you anywhere. We had heard rumors that you were in Virenheim, but we couldn’t confirm them. Then, we were tipped off about a guy fitting your description that was incarcerated in Mechopolis for beating the hell out of a group of guys.”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah…I vaguely remember something like that…” I put a hand to my head, the beginnings of a headache coming on. “Why can’t I remember?”

“I don’t know, and frankly, it doesn’t matter,” Natasha said, her smile returning. “All that matters is that you're back with us."

"Don't you wonder why I don't have my memory, though?" I asked, voicing a question that had been bothering me. "It seemed like you weren't even surprised."

She sighed and looked away. "You've been gone for so long. I'm...just happy that you're alive."

I said nothing, knowing that those were the truest words she had spoken.

Then suddenly, she smiled. "Look, all I know is that you’re getting out of here.”

“Right now?” I asked, an eyebrow raised.

She laughed richly and shook her head. "No, not right now. Breaking you out of prison and then escaping from one of the most technologically advanced and secure cities in the world would be a little...difficult. Even for us."

"So, what then?" I asked. I didn't let it show, but I really wanted to get the hell out. I think it was the smell that was starting to get to me the most.

"Tomorrow, Alex is going to get himself thrown in here," Natasha explained, the smile on her face widening. "The only thing is, he's going to be packing enough heat to melt the polar ice caps."

I couldn't really believe what I was hearing. "Are you saying that he's going to hold a prison hostage?"

"Is there a problem with that?" Natasha asked, smirking.

Yeah. People I don’t remember are willing to risk their lives to save me. There is definitely a problem with that.

I just shrugged. "It just seems a little...implausible to me, you know? I'm pretty sure no one has done it and succeeded."

Natasha smiled. "Then I guess you're going to witness history in the making."

~~~

Night. I was back in a regular cell for "good behavior", although I'm certain that Natasha gave them a little piece of her mind about my solitary confinement. I sighed and put my hands behind my head, stretching out on the small metal cot they call a bed. There were so many things to think about. Natasha. Angra. Myself. I have to admit it was a lot easier when I was just eating and dreaming in the dark.

My thoughts were interrupted by the creak of my prison door opening. I looked to find this skinny kid with glasses standing there. A guard behind him was removing his handcuffs.

"Alright, in you go," the guard said, pushing him. The kid stumbled and fell to his knees and I sat up instantly.

"You don't have to be so rough with him," I said coldly, standing.

The guard laughed, closing the cell door. "And what are you going to do about it, Devil?" he asked sarcastically.

The kid on the ground suddenly looked at me with wide eyes.

"Maybe I'll kill you," I said matter-of-factly.

The guard stared at me for a moment, uncertain, before he realized that he was on the outside and I was in. His grin and bravado returned hand in hand and he pointed his club at me.

"You'll get it soon," he threatened, grinning meanly. "Trust me." He walked away, whistling as he did. I smiled to myself. If I was ever alone with him, he wouldn’t be able to whistle again.

I glanced down at the kid, almost forgetting that he was there. I held out a hand to help him up but he scooted backwards until his back hit the wall. He looked pretty afraid, but the guard wasn't even here anymore. Then I realized.

He was afraid of me. The Devil. I couldn’t help but smirk, which probably didn’t do much to calm the kid.

Whatever. Why should I care?

I shrugged to myself and lay back on the bed, putting my hands behind my head and staring at the bottom of the bed above me. What would I do once I got out of here? If I got out of here. I know that Natasha wasn't bullshitting me, so I could expect that guy Alex to be here promptly. What then? Join these guys who I don't even know anymore? Or what? I had no other options, that's for sure.

What do I want though? I thought endlessly, a little troubled to realize that I had no ambitions, no wants. There was nothing, just an empty, lethargic feeling. If I had no desire, how the hell could I ever be happy?

A fleeting vision of Natasha flashed through my mind, her dark, purple eyes, her thick, curly, ebony hair, her sensuous lips, always turned up in a smile. I laughed inwardly at myself.

So is that your desire, then? To love and possibly be loved?

Someone sneezed and I jumped startled. Then I laughed to myself. I had completely forgotten about the kid.

"You're going to catch a cold sitting on that floor," I said absently, still staring above. "And probably and STD by the looks of it."

Silence met my response and I rolled my eyes. What was up with this kid? I could probably have a better conversation with my blanket.

"I don't like heights," was the soft reply I heard from the kid. I looked over, surprised that he actually responded, to find him staring at the top bunk. I glanced from him to the bed before getting up and climbing the little ladder to the top. I lay back down and assumed my normal position, now staring at the ceiling instead.

I heard the kid get up and walk over to the bed, flopping down into it. A barely murmured, "Thanks..." was all I heard.

I sighed and rolled over, closing my eyes. Better rest up, I thought to myself. Tomorrow was going to be a big day. I smiled.

haham it's good! Liked the chapter 1 best though, A* just for the first line. :P

Hey. I read your Chapter one and I would like to comment on it. I actually really liked it. Here we go. First person is fine in this case since you are inside the person's head. Look at the Pit and the Pendulum by Edgar Alen Poe and I think you can mirror his style and it will probably work very well with what you have here.

There are some awkward things going on but they did not take away from the overall touch. Check you tenses though because you go from past to present to future in some sentences and throws the reader off a bit. Really minor but it can be fixed. In fact, now that I look back I think you may want to go over your tenses a lot. I think you should stick to the past. I am pretty sure he is telling the story after it happened, not while it is happening. For example, your main character (Alex) says that, "Most people are idiots." He says it. Then he goes, I'd come to realize this... and it sounds wierd. I think you should stick to past tense instead of past perfect (yeah yeah I take french and had this drilled in to me). "I realized this when blah blah" is a much better revision.

Bored from gaurds is kind of wierd and maybe you can switch to bored WITH the gaurds?

Secondly, a lot of the sentences in your first two paragraphs are choppy. Try to combine the shorter sentences to increase flow.

That was basically the whole enchilada. The biggest problem you have is tenses. You use "I had said" in the confrontation with God but you switch to "I asked" when dealing with Natasha. I had a very confused sense of time when I read this. When is he (Alex) telling the story? After everything is over? After all of his adventures? Or starting with the solitary confinement?

I usually don't take the time to do this but I think your piece is very interesting and I love the plotline you chose. It is pretty good overall and if you fix the tense errors, I am sure it will be top notch.

-Dragoncurry

Okay, first off, big ups to Dragoncurry. I hadn't noticed that little tense thing until after you mentioned it. The story begins with him in solitary confinement and then he goes on to describe his previous encounters. Then it switches back to present once he finishes telling the story. Hence: "I had walked, i remember saying, etc." Yeah, so anyway, thanks again and nice insight.

Second, I heavily edited the previous chapters, so I strongly recommend reading again:-D. Most notably, I changed the main character's name to Andrew and changed his hair from black to white. Everything else is just added stuff and deleted stuff. I hoped to make the flow less awkward than it was before and hopefully, I succeeded.

Anyway, I'm currently working on the third chapter and trying to mold it from the lump of crap it is right now into a work of art. Or another lump of crap. We'll see. Anyway, thanks for the reviews and, as always, I welcome any other criticisms and reviews.