August 2nd, 2030, 7:30 pm 

I don't think the Captain could've chosen a more run-down, backwoods restaurant in the entire Empire. Seriously. The first red flag was when we turned off of the main road onto a narrow, gravel drive into the forest. I was definitely scared for my damn life, considering the last time I was in the woods wasn't so pleasant. I could hear muffled music before I could even see the shack. 

The name "Bellamy's" glows up against the front wall, above the saloon-esque entrance. The E in Bellamy's, however, is wildly crooked, at nearly a ninety degree angle to the right. One of the window is all busted up, and shards of glass are still lying around on the porch. This place looks more like some poor sap's house instead of a chicken wing joint. Plus a club for old people, considering how damn loud that music is from half a century ago. How can anyone stand listening to that stuff?

The Captain and I walk into the shack, and my eyes bounce to a billion places at once. First of all, my nose is flooded with the stench of stale beer, along with something being cooked longer than it should be. Right ahead is the bar, that stretches from one end of the room to the other, with high stools all the way down. Surrounding the entrance are booths and no tables. Half of the booths are full, and several people are sitting at the bar. There is definitely a cowboy theme going on here. 

A girl, not much older than me, approaches us with a smile. She isn't wearing one of those thick, long dresses like the women in those days used to wear. She is clad in a black t-shirt with matching pants and shoes. Her outfit is far more modern than I expected. Oh well, maybe it's just the whole shack thing that got me thinking. 

"Follow me, you two," The girl motions to let her lead us. In the meantime, I continue to observe the interior of the restaurant. There are lots of teenagers sitting at the booths, sharing multiple baskets of chicken wings. They stop their conversations as the Captain and I pass by their booth. Do they know?

We take a seat at the fourth booth from left side of the door. The Captain sits facing the majority of the restaurant, toward the entrance, and I'm directly across from him. The hostess places menus in front of us and begins to turn away. It doesn't take long until a heavy-set guy edges toward us and calls the Captain by his first name with a scratchy, deep voice. He's covered in grease, and has very little hair on his head. 

The Captain stands up and delivers a strong handshake to the man. After giving him a pat on the shoulder, the man jokes, "Brian, I thought you said you wouldn't be coming here no more. This is the second time in the past month or so; what's gotten into ya?"

"You know me, Scott. I can't stay away from this place for too long," The Captain replies with a grin. He then turns to me, gesturing my way. "Slater, this is Scott Bellamy. He owns this place. And Scott, this is Slater Tross."

In that instant, Scott's cheery expression turns grim. "Is that the kid?" There is no hop in his voice anymore. 

"Yep, that's the kid, all right. He's harmless, I promise."

"Right. Well, then, Slater, it's nice to meet ya." He glances at his friend, giving him a forced smile. "The usual?"

"That'd be great. Thanks, Scott." The owner trudges away, back to the kitchen behind the bar. The Captain returns to his seat across from me. "I've known Scott for a long while now. He's owned this place since I've been married, maybe even before. Believe it or not, this place used to be in good shape, I promise," He chuckles, observing the room in front of him. "This is the spot where kids your age go to beat each other up around here. Discreet location, witnesses are always too drunk to remember fights; it's the perfect spot to dodge any assault charges. Go here any given Friday night during the school year to watch kids from Stanville beat the shit out of each other."

"Do you guys even try to stop it? If you know they fight here, why don't you have guards watch over it to arrest the kids?"

"Whether you want to believe it or not, kids your age are smart. They'll change the venue if word gets out that we're already watching over an area. We can never win, I'm telling you."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Someone yells behind me. I swivel my head around the frame of the booth to see two kids shoving each other away from their seats. One of them is brawnier than the other, and he grabs his victim's collar viciously. "I'll teach you to say shit like that, you piece of shit!" He then proceeds to whip the smaller kid around like a ragdoll, throwing haymakers in the process. It's hardly a fair fight from where I'm sitting.

"Right on cue," Captain laughs, spectating the beating. 

I turn back to him. "Aren't you going to do something? That kid is getting his ass beat."

"It's not my job to fight other people's battles for them. Whatever they're fighting about is between them, and it doesn't involve me. I know it doesn't sound right, but I don't need to get myself into something that I can stay out of."

I press out of my seat and march over to the throwdown. I can hear the Captain urging me to come back, but I can't and won't. If he isn't going to help that poor kid, then I guess that I'll have to. 

Before I can come within ten feet of the brawl, a tall kid steps out from the nearest booth. He shoves my chest with the smile of a snake. "Back up, buddy. You don't wanna mess with Patty when he's pissed. He'll kick your scrawny ass, too." His smile widens with a laugh. "Hold on, aren't you Slater Tross? Like the one that should've gotten popped in the head, but then the Imperial Guard reminded us that they care more about protecting criminals than their citizens. Am I right?"

I ignore what he says about me. "Why is Patty beating up this kid? He's twice his size; it's not fair."

He snorts. "Right, because Slater Tross knows what morals are. What kind of world have we come to, where the world's biggest dickhead is telling me what's fair?"

"Hey, Slater, don't you have some innocent people to go kill?" One of Patty's friends in the booth yells out from his seat. Everyone around him howls in laughter. I don't even remember killing anyone, so his insult hardly phases me. "Fuck off," The same friend adds.

I push the kid between Patty and I, and he doesn't retaliate as I approach his friend. I watch as Patty slams the smaller kid into the floor with a single thrust. He peers up at me, still fuming about the first fight.

"What the fuck do you want, Tross? I'm not afraid to drop you for what you did, and I will. You can't just go around killing random people, especially my friends. Killing people in cold blood is cowardly, and you know it."

"So is beating up someone half your size. You never gave him a chance to defend himself, which isn't fair. If you want to take your anger out on someone, take it out on someone that can stop you from going too far." My face is a foot away from his, and I can see the steam coming out of his ears. The back of my neck turns cold and moist.

Patty grabs the collar of my t-shirt and lifts me up, almost totally off the ground. "Good idea. I'd love to beat the shit out of you, Tross." He swings his fist toward my face, but I duck my head in the nick of time. As he realizes that he whiffed on his punch, I bring my knee up and send it into his midsection. He instantly releases my shirt and keels over. 

"Cheap shot, dude," Patty breathes, wincing, "not cool."

I turn my attention to the kid laying on the floor of the restaurant as Patty tries to recover. He's currently laying on his stomach, face-down, and isn't moving. I roll him onto his back where I can see his face. His nose is drilled in and bleeding profusely. The color of his skin is an unnaturally pale tint. There are bloody drops on his white t-shirt and jeans, as well as on the ground surrounding his body. I'm glad that I approached them when I did; Patty really beat him up good.

I shake his shoulder and whisper, "Hey, man, are you okay?" As I'm moving his arm, trying to wake him up, he twitches. "Hey, are you awake?"

He opens one of his eyes slightly, and heaves. "Is he gone?"

I look back to Patty, who is just now pulling himself up to his seat on the booth. All of his friends glare at me, mumbling to one another. Low-lifes; that's all they are. They're too weak to fight people like them, so they prey on younger kids like this poor guy, and they feel like they accomplished something.

"Yeah, he won't be bothering you anymore. You probably shouldn't go sit back over there though." I stand up, and hold out my hand to him. "You can come and sit with me, if you want."
His eyes light up, and he smiles. Blood drools onto his teeth from his nose. "Really? Thanks, I appreciate it. I don't want to see those assholes ever again." He holds onto my hand and I yank him to his feet.

I lead the kid back to where the Captain sits, keeping a close eye on Patty and his band of goons in the meantime. He slides into the booth where I sat before, and I slump down next to him. He starts hoarding the napkin dispenser against the wall and shoving multitudes of them up his nose. Before long, his nose is clogged and the area around it is clear of any blood.

"Are you okay now?" I ask, glancing at the dam he set up against the river of blood. "What was all that about, anyway? Why did Patty want to hurt you?"

"I'm fine, thanks," He plugs the napkins farther into his nose. "And it was nothing. Patty just likes to start shit," He looks over at the Captain for a second and clears his throat. "I'm sorry, it slipped. I meant he likes to start stuff for no reason whenever he wants to. All I said that he was a fatass and that his girlfriend was a slut, which she is. All the guys at the booth over there all," He glimpses at Manchester again, "you know. Except me, of course. They're all going to be seniors, and I'll be a freshman, so, you know, it's kinda weird."

The Captain chuckles softly. "You sure do talk a lot for a kid that just got attacked." He points to the kid's t-shirt. "You go to Stanville, I guess?"

He nods. "Yep. I live in Lower Moorehead. Kinda close to the school."

"What's your name?"

"Anthony Young."

"Is Greg your father?"

Anthony's eyes widen, surprised. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"He used to be an officer in the Imperial Guard. He was in my class. We used to be real good friends. Tell him Brian Manchester said hello for me, would you?"

"You're in the Imperial Guard?" Anthony asks. I immediately turn to the Captain to witness his reaction. He just stares at the kid with his mouth slightly ajar. I burst out laughing. I've never seen someone get burned so badly with such a simple insult like the one Anthony just used. This kid is a natural.

"He's even the "Captain."" I add, throwing air quotes around his title. Anthony responds with a false expression of shock and a laugh of his own. All the while, the Captain glares at us, trying to not to join in on the banter, and pretending to be really offended. 

Scott Bellamy returns to our table with two baskets of hot wings. Several sticks of celery accompany the chicken, and my meal includes a small container of bleu cheese. The Captain's basket has wings that are doused in a red-orange sauce, and no type of dip or dressing. Scott gives both of us a tall glass of ice water. 

"Not sitting with your soccer friends anymore, Young? I heard about what happened. I hope you're all right." Scott says to Anthony, who grabs more napkins from the dispenser.

"Are they still over there, Mr. Bellamy? My mom will be here soon to pick me up and I don't want to have to pass them when I leave." He pulls the old, bloody napkins out of his nose and stuffs the new ones up there. 

The Captain and I begin wolfing down our wings as the owner and Anthony continue to chat. The wings burn the inside of my mouth, so I find myself sipping water more often than I would. I start dipping them into the bleu cheese, but they're still hot. The Captain hasn't taken a swig of his water yet, and nearly finishes all ten wings before he realizes what I've been doing. He looks up at me, confused, as I'm chugging my water. 

"Your's aren't that hot, you know. Not a wing guy, I guess."

I only finished five of my ten wings, but I reach across the table and steal his last, uneaten one. I lock eyes with him and tear all the meat off of the wing bone at once, and start chewing. It doesn't take long for me to realize that these are extra-hot wings, but I don't show any rejection. If I can haul this one down, I'll be good to go. The only problem is that thinking it is only half the battle. Eventually, I heave it down my throat. My tongue is absolutely scorched. 

"Impressive. You sure proved me wrong."

I feel a tap on my left shoulder before I can reach for my water. "Hey, Slater, I gotta go. My mom is here to pick me up." I slide out and allow Anthony to stand up beside the table. "Thanks a lot for stopping Patty. Seriously. I won't ever forget it. Hopefully he won't beat me up this year at school. If only you could go to school with me and be like my bodyguard."

"Don't worry about it, Anthony." Before I can sit back down, I turn to him as he takes a step away. "Wait, how did you know my name? Did you hear one of the guys say it?"

He swivels back to me, not making eye contact. "You killed my cousin in May. I heard your name and saw your face a billion times. That's how I know you." Anthony starts back for the door with a bit of speed. "I gotta go." Within seconds, he leaves the restaurant. He leaves me staring straight ahead, to the other side of the room, speechless. 

When I turn around and sit down, Scott has disappeared, probably back into the kitchen. The Captain watches me as I refuse to speak. How do I respond to that? I can't just apologize. I've never heard from a relative of a victim up front before. I give Anthony props for not freaking out and trying to hurt me, like those kids up at the front of the restaurant would have. The sad part is that I don't remember killing anyone, so I can't pinpoint who his cousin might have been. That kid doesn't deserve what happened to him and his family.

The Captain shrugs, and I mimic him. "What am I supposed to say to him? I can't tell him that I'm sorry for killing his cousin. It's not fair, I can't even recollect what happened from when I first ran away to when I was arrested. People can't expect me to know what I did when I don't remember shit."

"It's tough, kid. I've been there. I had a call about a hostage situation that I had to attend to, and I ended up have to kill the guy who was holding the people in the apartment building. Afterwards, I had to tell the guy's parents that I killed their son, and they were pretty pissed at me for having to resort to that. I couldn't exactly apologize for doing it, but I had to, to assure them that what their son did was illegal and wrong, and I still felt bad about having to kill him." He sips his water for the first time. "But I understand why your situation is vastly different. You say you don't remember your crimes, which is a problem for everyone, not just you."

"I don't even want to remember. I don't want to look at myself like the monster you guys see me as." I sigh, swirling my finger around the rim of my glass of water. "But I have to know if I want to know what everyone else saw."

"I know what you mean." He reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out his wallet. As he sifts through cash, he looks past me. "Those guys are coming over here. Stay calm, don't hurt them, even if they want to do the same to you. I'm not breaking up any fights today."

"Tross!" Patty yells, drowning out the music. The entire restaurant falls into silence. I can hear four pairs of footsteps come clobbering my way. I want to fight them. I can take them; I know how to now. The Captain is discouraging me, but I've defied his requests before. The idea wouldn't be so foreign. "I'm talking to you, asshole!"

I clench my fists and stand up abruptly. "What the hell do you want?" The four guys are towering around me, hissing like the snakes that they are. "If you want to fight me again, fuck off. I'm not doing it."

"Pussy move, Tross. We either settle this like men, or you leave in a stretcher," The guy that approached me before sneers, "which is technically the same thing, if you ask me." The gang chuckles heartily. I'm now surrounded by some guys who are bigger than me in frame, and could probably kill me. I really have no choice. I'm sorry, Captain, but I have to take them on. 

I plant my shoes into the ground, yet I don't start throwing punches. Celestine taught me to react to the attack and defend instead of being the first to swing and getting caught. My eyes bounce between the four of them, who haven't moved an inch since I prepared myself. I'm awaiting Patty to start the brawl, but he just stares down at me.

He starts backing away. "Is that..." He sticks his finger out at around my torso. "Jennings' mark?" 

Everyone in the room gasps. I stand there, frozen. I know exactly what he's talking about, too. Is that what they call it? "Jennings' mark?" That's not really original, but it's a good way to get out of referring to the Medo when people ask about it. Jennings' mark. I like it. I wonder if the Captain came up with that one. Easy way to not snitch on Roarke and keep my life.

The four of them spring out of the restaurant faster than Anthony did. The music rings back to normal, and the people sitting at the bar swirl in their chairs away from what just happened. Heavy footsteps march around behind me as I just stand there, stunned. Someone is huffing and puffing, and I refuse to discover who it is.

"I'm sorry, Brian, but you and this boy must leave. He has caused nothing but trouble ever since he got here. I'm losing customers because of him." Scott pleads to the Captain behind my back. "He is not allowed back to this restaurant for as long as I own it."

Before he can respond, I turn back to the greasy man. "I'm causing the trouble? Did you not see Patty beat the shit out of that kid? That had nothing to do with me until I stopped it. How about when they approached me just now? I was leaving them alone. I did nothing wrong!"

"Scott, he really didn't do anything wrong. Those kids are thugs. Don't blame Slater for what those kids did," The Captain explains. Thank God he's on my side with this. 

Scott's face turns tomato-red. "Did you not hear me? Get the fuck out! Both of you! You are both banned from this place. I will not be denied in my own restaurant!"

"If you want us to leave, we will. We're sorry for any inconvenience. C'mon, Slater."

And so we left.