The Band of Misfits

Prologue

Let's get things straight. I didn't want to be bad. They started it. I'm not crazy, I'm a dignified person who knows his purpose in life. Not many people can think like me, nor can they achieve what I have. My purpose in life is to get revenge-revenge on those who have wronged me. I'm not crazy, right? Just driven. Yes, yes, I'm just a driven person who seeks revenge. Revenge on those who killed my parents in front of me, and wanted to kill me. I was five then. I was a five year old in the year 1709. Of course, I had been a five year old for ten years. Let me explain.

I was born in London on October 2nd, 1659. I was a lucky child. Usually, when a child was born in London in the 17th century, it didn't live to see adulthood. But you see, I had a distinct advantage over all the other children in London-in the world, even.

My parents were the most brilliant minds in the world at the time, hell, probably still to this day. They are the reason I am still alive today. If it had not been for them, I would have died 305 years ago. My parents developed a serum that slowed down the aging process by slowing down the rate my cells grow, in other words, making my cells move in slow motion, or a cell depressant.

I was five(or 52, if technicality came into play), when my parents were murdered. Of course, they were both aging at the same rate as I was, so they were 27(or in their late 90s). My parents worked for a covert group of the most innovative minds in the world, known as Futurus. Unfortunately, others disagreed with what my parents and their associates believed in. They saw my parents and I as monstrosities. They believed immortality belonged to God and no one else. So when my parents refused to turn themselves ,nor I, in, London officials, who had somehow got word of our practices, took matters into their own hands.

Even with my parent's superior technology and intelligence, the sheer numbers of our opposers were far too great. Before they forced their wretched selves into our private bunker, my mother managed to stash me away into a secret compartment in the walls. Just as I was safely tucked away, the wooden door was struck down, and in came the storm. I watched as the endless number of people rushed through, demolishing all of my parent's work. And when they were done with that, they attacked my parents.

My parents were brilliantly smart, but what they didn't realize was that I could still see through a sliver of uneven wooden planks. I tried to look away, but I couldn't. Fear, shock, grief, rage, and disbelief kept my eyes glued to the scene I would never forget. I remember shaking and I'm not sure if it was because I was weeping or out of rage. When they were done ravaging their bodies, they spit on them, as if my parents were any less human than they were. Then they left...they just...left. I would've went after and done as much damage a five year old could do to a countless number of adults. But then I realized that I might've been smarter than any of them, but not as physically capable. They would all die shortly anyways.

So there I was. A five year old in London, alone, orphaned, and enraged, already plotting my revenge on those who killed the only two people in the world that I loved.

I will do anything to avenge my parents.