Author's Note: I have a very bad habit with starting things in the middle of other things. Forgive me T.T;; But this idea is fantabulous… at least I think so ;; Anyway. I'm actually trying to be a bit more darker with this one, so tell me if it works out okay. If you like it, please review :D Criticism, constructive criticism, feedback—anything is appreciated, as long as it's productive :D Thanks much! And yes, this is centered around Organization XIII. Fun fun. :D
ALSO. In the English version, the translations of the original 6 members of OrgXIII were modified (eg. Bleig is really Braig, etc), and so I'm using the original Japanese transliterations… shouldn't be too hard to follow. :x Braig, Even, Ienzo, Elaeus, Dilan. Okay? Okay. :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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Hidden Beneath a Cloak
Chapter 1
The Cloaked Schemer

If I remember it clearly…

He struck me first.

I know he'd gotten angry at me before, as they all have, but no one had ever struck me before. No one. I was terrified as I stumbled back over my feet. I went crashing into my father's bookshelf, a look of pain and horror bleeding from my face. I couldn't speak.

There was a shrill scream. I believe it to be my mother. My arm was numb, but she came rushing towards me, clenching it so tight that I'm sure that's how I felt it. There were tears in my eyes. I was afraid to blink. I refused to let them fall. I just stared, dumbfounded and inane, at my father… and at his trembling fist.

He had no idea what to do with himself.

His chest rose ferociously, as he took large, angry breaths, glaring paths of hatred through my eyes. My mother began to scream at him, but her screams were no more audible than my whimpering. I bit down on my tongue, trying to contain myself and hold myself from crying. It was inevitable. The first tear fell and I rubbed it away ignorantly. My mother touched my face, caressing my cheeks softly to see if I was okay. I didn't look at her. My eyes could no longer tear themselves from my father's grasp.

He sneered at me.

"Is this what you want?" He asked me, brusquely.

I didn't reply. My throat was dry and my mouth… I could no longer form proper words. Everything that came out was a short breath, a whimper… I didn't want to cry, but I knew that at that moment, I didn't have much of a choice. My father was not the type of person you could remain strong against. He had a will of steel and a mind like gold. What he thought, what he believed and what he owned made up his world of illusionary success. I could never hope for such a world myself. Such a life was never meant to be mine.

"Answer me." His teeth grit, his eyes narrowed… I dared not look away. "When your mother has given everything for you, when I have given the world to keep you safe—you would turn your back on us and desert us—?"

It's not like that. … I couldn't say it, but I wanted to.

Fuck…

… fucking academics were all that ever mattered to anyone. And is my father any different? He is a man of stature and I am a boy of innocence. When I grow older, I want to be a man of knowledge—not, as some so fondly refer to me as, an asshole. Born into the Neves family, I had no choice but to follow a preplanned life and act as if it was my own. I can never remember a time when my life has been my own. I was born, schooled and bred to care about others in such a way that I was to be their keeper. 'He will be a doctor," my father often says, 'a fine man of medicine and surgical procedures!' He boasts about it like no tomorrow, but I know he says it for reassurance. My mother agrees with him because, like her father, she is a doctor as well and knows the benefits this comes with. My cousins—doctors. My grandparents—doctors. My neighbors—doctors. This… is like medicinal suicide. It makes no sense. If the life of a doctor is so beneficial, then why doesn't anyone become one of their free will?

I want to study.

My father says it's a waste if I don't know what I should study. He decided, medicine. I decided, psychology. He threw a fit. The first in a year. He told me psychology, studying minds, studying brains, studying hearts—gets you nowhere. He told me such a life will never belong to any son of his. That wasn't the first time I cursed the day I was born a Neves.

My father reconciles. He told me, 'Ienzo, son, studying anatomy is just as beneficial'. He told me anatomy can tie in with psychology and the study of the brain, and in studying anatomy I can still have enough time to become a successful doctor. I told him—fuck off. He threw a fit. The second that year.

"Answer me, goddamnit!" He yelled at me once more, slamming his hand across his desk. A clutter of papers, books and stationery fell to the ground in disarray. My mother battled with consoling me or rearranging the papers. "Fucking hell, Maria—leave the boy alone!" he snapped at her, shaking an angry fist her way.

She glared at him, tears streaming down her face. "Would you stop yelling at him, Erik! Jesus Christ—he's my son! He's our son—how could you—!" She kept repeating 'how could you' over and over again… enough to make me sick. I had enough of living through this.

"Tell me—" my father spoke up, sternly, advancing towards me menacingly. He stopped short a foot or two away from my face, leering over me like a madman. He yelled at me so loud his voice would ring in my ears. He was standing so close I could feel his anger reverberating off my chest. Scared, scared, scared… "Tell me—what the fuck were you thinking, canceling your application to Briggs?" he asked, heatedly.

Briggs was a prestigious medicine school, as you might have already guessed. My father was a graduate, my mother was a graduate, my grandparents were graduates… it was a pretty damn old school.

I was shaking. My eyes were stinging. My face—it hurt. It hurt. It hurt me… that my father would…

… "Are beneficiaries all that great?" I asked him, coldly. The first thing I had dared to say. He raised his fist at me but my mother forcefully pushed it away. His breathing was heavy and fierce. Mine was worse. I glared at him, hatred pouring from my eyes like water. He didn't look responsive. He didn't have an answer.

I could sense as much.

With great difficulty, I pushed him far away from me. He stumbled back, enraged but bewildered at my words, I figured. "Is it?" I asked him again, just as callously. My voice was no longer trembling as it had been. "Because if that's your only fucking reason, then forget it—"

"Watch your mouth…" he mumbled, bitterly. "…when you're talking to me."

I ignored him. "Do you only want the pride of saying 'that's my son' only if he's a doctor? Because the fucking benefits are good?"

"Ienzo—"

I shook my head. I was shaking now. I could see the anger building up ferociously in his eyes. By now my mother had let go of me. Her eyes filled with a distinct loneliness that, to this day, I will never forget. I felt alienated. But I refused to hold my tongue. "Do you want a doctor for a son, or a son for a doctor? Which one is it? Either way, if I'm old and alone, rich or a fucking beggar on the street, I will never recognize you as being my father!"

That was the end.

I was expelled.

After my father beat the living shit out of me, and my mother, my dearest mother, stood and watched—I left. There was no room for me there anymore. There was no life for a Neves that was not a doctor.

It was raining murder that night. It was just me and nothing more. The wind was howling among the rooftops of Radiant Garden. Suddenly, the garden wasn't so radiant anymore. I sat at the street corner five minutes from my house. I was terrified. I was alone. I had always been alone in the emotional sense, but now that I was alone… truly, really and physically alone… I was terrified. Where would I go? What would I do with my life? By disagreeing to succumb to my father's doctoral dreams, I had thus far disconnected myself with my ex-relations immediately. No doubt every other Neves across town had heard of my spiral towards sin, and they had locked their doors for the fear that I would come and beg for sympathy.

Well. I didn't fucking need any sympathy.

… at that time, all I needed were dry clothes, some food and possibly an umbrella. Neither of which floated gracefully down from the greedy hands of God. If I died and woke up in heaven, I told myself I would have to have a word with them.

Contrary to my belief, I did not wake up dead. I woke up very much alive, in a parlor on an elaborately made velvet chair. I was startled and confused. For one, this wasn't my previous home. And two, I don't remember carrying myself to such a place. I forced myself to sit up and greet my captors with thanks. Just the night before, I remember feeling so pitiful, so unloved, so alone… and now, I was warm, dry and under a roof. A very high, nicely decorated roof too. Judging by the extensive bookshelf, the marble fireplace and the wonderfully polished floors, I was assuming these weren't just ordinary captors that took me in. I was gracious for that because, before I passed out last night, I wondered how adjusting to a different social status might feel like, but lucky me I would never have to encounter such a problem.

The doors cracked open.

A man wearing a white lab coat entered. I froze instantly, clutching onto the chair in a fearful manner. The man had sleek black and grey hair, tied back in a long, messy… greasy ponytail. Scars lined his face, which I quickly assumed to be battle scars, and a black band, an eyepatch, was tied uncouthly across his right eye. He looked like… a pirate. I was in awe, and yet so terrified at the same time. He approached me quickly, taking long strides towards the sofa. When he reached there, he sat down by my feet and stared at me, a haughty look smeared across his features.

"You alright, kid?" he asked, gruffly.

I nodded at once. I dare not hesitate.

He cracked a smile at me. It was really disturbing. The creases of his scars curved, the wrinkles along his forehead bended… though the man was decked with a fair share of graying hair, I never once thought he was old. The way in which he talked, the wrinkles on his face; they weren't signs of aging or the passing of time, they were signs of experience. Although I appeared horrified of him, I felt he had a warm aura about him. My hands slowly unclenched themselves from the sofa.

"You got a name?" he asked me at once, getting to his feet.

I stuttered a feeble reply. "I-Ienzo… Neves."

"Neves?" he answered, surprised, and then bent over to peer wholeheartedly into my face. I was trembling but I didn't have the energy, or the ignorance, to retreat from him. He hummed and scanned my face carefully. I looked away the whole time, hoping he would realize this was extremely uncomfortable and provoked the questioning of his sexuality, but when I looked at him, I noticed he had reached for the band around his right eye. He lifted it slowly to reveal a battered eye, damaged and robbed of pigment. Later, I recall him explaining to me that it was an accident from when he was young; radioactive chemicals left his right eye blind. Although at this time, I was terrified to see such a disfigured article. I gasped, holding my tongue in my throat.

The man laughed. "You a Neves, boy?" he straightened back up and replaced the band around his eye. "I knew a few of them when I used to visit that area. But I don't go 'round there anymore. Too uptight. But hell, if I'd'a known someone like you lived up there, I'd'a done thought that neighborhood had gone to ruins." He let out a slight chuckle.

He was right. If you ever visited the section of town that I was from, you would notice they invest in two things: suits and hair gel. The men's hair was gelled back, short and cropped. Always. No exceptions. The women had mid-length hair, tied back in a respectable bun. Always. No exceptions. My hair not only fell over my eyes, but it nearly brushed my top lip, which was clearly unacceptable. I also owned no suits, one tie and maybe a pocket-watch, but besides that, I was not meant for a life of prestige in the way a Neves usually was.

I gave a short smile at the man's comment. It hurt my face. It'd been so long since I'd shown any other emotion than 'scared', 'terrified', 'horrified', 'pissed', 'shocked'—did you notice? This man's laugh made me feel a bit more comforted and that maybe I wasn't kidnapped after all.

The man introduced himself as Braig Sujan. He was a scientist, an apprentice studying light energy. He explained to me that I was in a castle owned by the great Ansem the Wise, and that it was Ansem himself that found me. When I heard of this, I was, needless to say, shocked and terrified. I had heard legends of Ansem the Wise and although I'd seen him on TV and heard him over the radio, I still couldn't really believe that he existed. Not only was he an acclaimed ruler of Radiant Garden, but he was a scientist, and a magnificent one at that. I had read his works on disruptions of the heart, development of the body in relation to the heart and the studying of shockwaves in relation to emotions. Never have I, in my young age, read something so captivating. It still amazes me that I sat through all those books and read them word for word. Though I loved to study, I had never been one for books. Can you believe it?

I was ecstatic to even hear of Ansem the Wise's name, and so I asked Braig, the first thing I'd really said all day, "Have you… read anything by him?" I felt like a book nerd trying to find someone to gush about a book with, but oh, that's really what I was.

Braig laughed again and shook his head. "I don't see a real need in that stuff." He lowered his voice and told me. "Ansem's a genius, really he is. He's been trying to mix my work with his for ages, and I don't blame him, since there can be a relation. But he really needs to think about what he's doing. Some of the things he thinks—"

"He is a genius." I told him, stately.

Braig looked at me with nothing short of a smirk and scratched his head. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But have you met him?" he asked, leering at me. He gave a short laugh when he saw my stern expression fall so suddenly. "Haven't even seen your rescuer, eh?"

'Well I just woke up, retard', I wanted to say. But I didn't. I looked down at my hands and shook my head. He approached the door in his long strides and called over his shoulder, "Follow me."

I scrambled to my feet and rushed to join him as he left through the door. My joints were aching and I was convinced I would catch a cold from passing out in the rain, but I kept up eagerly. I desperately wanted to see this Ansem. I desperately wanted to see what knowledge I had abandoned my family for.

Braig took me down a long, long corridor decked with paintings and figures hanging off the walls and at every corner. Though the hallway was elaborate, he strode through it as if he constructed it himself. I was sure two or three of the hallways looked the same and I had no idea how he managed to remember where to take a right or to take a left. We eventually reached a marble hallway that began halfway towards a door at the end of the hall. He pushed the door open and we entered a study. I was in awe; there were posters of scientific equations tacked up on walls and a gigantic chalkboard, there was a desk piled up with textbooks—and behind it, was a man.

Golden hair flowed down his head, matched by an accomplice, a golden beard. He looked like everything I wanted to be in life; successful—and intelligent. To me, he was the epitome of knowledge. Though Braig had entered, I stood at the doorway, trembling. If it were, I would collapse then and there in utter embarrassment.

The man looked up at me from behind his books and took a moment to bend his spectacles downwards so he could see me. I looked up at him. When our eyes locked, it was like staring face-to-face with my father. I couldn't look away. The same mesmerized feeling I had with my father, I possessed here. But he smiled at me. Unlike my father, Ansem the Wise… he smiled at me. He surely did tip his glasses, look me in the eye and smile at me, like a father would… to their child.

That made all the difference.

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So what do you think:x

I went crazy with descriptions, I know. :x

By the way, if you haven't figured it out. Ienzo is Zexion :D So… yes. It's his point-of-view. … okay. :D I appreciate it so much if you took the time to read! And I'll love you if you review :DD … so review… please :D Next chapter with feedback