Pain. Pain. Pain.

Rei Suzuya was nothing more than an animal after he was kidnapped at a young age. Taken away from his parents.

Parents? What parents? At this point they were just blurs of Rei’s smudged memories of his life before he was stolen from that dream.

An animal to be played with. But a good domesticated animal knows who to sit before, who to do tricks for, who’s the owner; the domesticator, and that he must be a good boy.

His Father. His Mommy. No, no, just the figure people referred to as ‘Biggumadamu’.

She took him in. Taught him new tricks. Taught him to be a good boy.

Her good boy.

And when he did good, she would give him good boy points.

She loved him; he could tell based on her laughs of joy as she hurt him. But in that pain there was love.

Eventually, he was taught new tricks and finally did something he learned to love.

Being a Sukureipa. A Scrapper.

They would put ‘Juuzou’ in his little good boy shows and he would tear people apart. It was quite confusing at first, the way his audience screamed with joy as he slayed his victims.

But it felt good putting on a show for his audience and it also meant good boy points for him. Besides…

Mama knows best.

He could have done his shows forever, glorifying the senseless violence as his weapons tore into his opponent, cutting off their screams, draining their lives away.

But then during what was an average show, things changed for him drastically.

Things were going great for Juuzou so far. He had his victim in the bag. 

Quite literally; the man had a bag placed over his head.

He laughed at this mental joke.

How long would he last? Hmmm? Sixty seconds.

Meh, thought the boy, who was dressed in an elegant outfit, his normal ragged T-Shirt and pants, but with a mask!

I’ll give him thirty.

Exhilaration filled Juuzou as he chased the man down. The audience in the stands filling the stadium erupted in laughter and shouts and squeals of glee as the man tripped and fell, landing on his chest

This was the only opportunity Juuzou needed, although he would have caught up with the well-dressed man anyways and he literally leapt onto the man, pinning his hands to the dirt ground of the arena before his victim was able to get on his feet.

Another point for me, Juuzou thought joyously as he felt the bones crush against the weight of the violent boy inside the hands of the man.

His victim screamed with agony, and Juuzou began to laugh uncontrollably.

Juuzou gripped the knife he had and plunged it into the man’s back.

He had seen this scene, felt it, so many times, but it felt awesome.

He began to stab the man again and again and again while the room became a dizzying spin of cheering at excitement, so much that he was barely aware of the audio of himself laughing as he counted the good boy points Mama would give him each time he stabbed the man.

The blade cut into his back like a hot knife through butter, the wounds so clean there was barely a trace of blood on the end.

Barely aware of the fact that the man was still and cold and most likely dead already.

Barely aware of the gigantic booming noise across the arena; a hole in the ceiling dropping big chunks of solid rock and debris that occasionally crushed some of Juuzou’s audience like ketchup packets that had been stepped on.

Brrrrrm! Badoooom! Screams.

60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69...

Everything was lost to the teenage Scrapper until he was shadowed by some sort of object standing before him.

One last stab. 

When Juuzou looked up, he saw three men.

The man who must have been the leader stood in front of two other men. This guy had short hair with a design resembling a puzzle piece and Juuzou could see the man had muscle despite the large white overcoat the man was wearing.

The other two men were dressed in dark uniforms with a logo displaying three white letters: CCG. They both held mean looking guns that Juuzou envied, wishing he could use one.

Juuzou rose to his feet, still standing above the deceased body, glancing curiously at the foreign group.

The man on the right behind set forward, but white trench coat cut him off, holding his arm out and told him to wait.

Only then did it finally occur to Juuzou that he must look suspicious, covered in blood stains, sticky gooey blood running down his knife onto his hand then making its way down his arm.

Adrenaline flowing through Juuzou’s veins — he could almost feel it pulse through, bulging his arteries— for some odd reason, he smiled at the men.

Had his time come? Were they after him?

Juuzou considered this a possibility as the man came forward and gently removed the knife from him. 

The man’s presence made Juuzou feel weird. It made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time: warm.

Juuzou was lost in this warmness as he followed behind the leader.