Chapter 1: Orphan, Victim, Little Soldier

Andrew watched Jacob warily. He knew Jacob was his equal in the martial arts, he knew Jacob was also a complete psychopath. Andrew's breathing slowed, his heartbeat was slow and steady and his hands were steady. Jacob's eyes showed the multitude of emotions he was feeling, sadness, fear, confusion but mainly fury.

The Room was awash with blood, the furniture broken and overturned. In the center of the room. Andrew's remaining family lay dead. The blood on their corpses still warm, their eyes unseeing. Andrew knew he would be covered in blood. His uncle had never told him just how messy it could be.

That was irrelevant now, all that mattered was the remains of the most beautiful girl Andrew knew. Mary Lou, Jacob's sister, lay naked, her limbs splayed out at unnatural angles, her face contorted in pain, her eyes filled with terror, forever more unseeing. Her neck was broken. Her breats bared and covered in semen. Her vagina was a bloody mess.

She was the epitome or perfection, now destroyed, plundered, beaten and raped.

Jacob's eyes filled with pure hatred at the sight of his sisters corpse. He turned to face me. The bodies between us ignored. His entire body shook with undiluted rage. His hands, previously empty, now contained the knives he always carried on him. His feet were squared and his body tense.

"What did you do?" Jacob spat between his clenched teeth.

That was when things started getting ugly.

[This is the autobiography of Andrew Drake XIV, a memoir of my former life and the events leading to my ascension to power. My tale begins on this day, the day I committed my first murders, gathered my first and most loyal followers and the day I performed my first miracle.

However, I'm getting too far ahead of myself. How I reached this point is just as important as the subsequent events. I began with this moment as I see it as the single most important event in my life. If you can call the pathetic existence I had before now a life.

Prior to this point, I did not live. I merely survived. For as long as I can remember, I was hated. I was different, the outsider, the unwanted nephew, the weird kid next door.

When I was three months old my mother killed herself. In retrospect I can understand why she did it. At fourteen years old she had become pregnant. Her father beat her black and blue when he found out, then hospitalized her when he discovered that she did not even know who the father was. My mother was the victim of constant abuse.

In my grandfathers view my mother was a failure from the moment she was born. When he discovered the baby was female he refused to hold her as a baby and was never affectionate. After all he had three strong sons what need did he have of a weak female baby? Grandfather broke her completely as a child. He robbed her of any hopes or dreams. He tortured her psychologically throughout her miserable life pointing out her weaknesses and her inadequacies.

As a baby my mother was starved of affection and ignored by everyone except her mousy, spineless mother. When she was a child, her brothers started to take advantage. From the age of six she was used to fetch and carry, demeaned by being treated like nothing more than a slave. Deprived of affection, she worked hard for the smallest praise.

At the age of eight she became the family punching bag. All the males in the family were fanatic military men. The youngest brother being eight years older than her at sixteen, was preparing to leave for the marines training facility. Since birth the boys had been trained as ruthless soldiers. The middle brother was a marine. The eldest was in a secret black ops outfit.