Arthur Kirkland had a short story-an often sad one, but a short one, which ended in a life of crime and treachery. Yes indeed, not long after he'd reached legal drinking age, he sailed to become one of the most feared pirates the ocean has ever known. The title stuck with him, and he earned the name of Captain Kirkland. Once a worthy crew had gathered, he'd set out to plunder and ransack every village that looked even just a little profitable. No one knew whether this was out of his greed for money and treasure, blood-thirst for revenge, or if he was just bored. No one dared question him, either.

He knew all too well, though. He did it for all of those reasons, and many more. In the end, he found himself questioning, "Why not do it?". So, it was left at that. He does what he wants, takes what he wants, and gets what he wants as the fiercest pirate to ever roam the ocean.

That was his life as a pirate, for a good three years.

It all started on the day he decided to investigate the new world. Many rumors had spread across the sea, that a new adventure had surfaced in this area-many unfamiliar to its charm. However, it being uncharted territory left to the British soldiers, not many were brave enough to venture. Arthur Kirkland, however, was a different story entirely.

He docked at a hastily made port at the harbor-half surprised that civilization had prospered so quickly, and made way with his crew to the nearest village.

It was about an hour in, and fairly cold. He and his crew walked on foot to the mysterious hideaway, and drew their swords in preparation for anything that might have been waiting for them.

What they found, however, would burn their brains forever.

The houses were once beautiful cottages from the looks of it, each blown down by a fearsome storm. The crops had withered and died, leaving a minimal food source, and animals had yet to be found. Needless to say, it hardly looked profitable. On top of that, sprawled across the street lie the bodies of dead citizens, young and old. The youngest was a boy who looked at least the age of thirteen, with shaggy blonde hair. His eyes remained closed. The oldest was a man who could have been in his late eighties, who suffered from a serious wound to the chest. Each had died of either gun shots or swipes of the sword.

It was then they realized, they were a bit too late.

Outraged, Kirkland shouted to his men, "What on earth has gone on here! I demand to know what other pirate was foolish enough to tread on new land before me!"

"I say we go home.", sniffed one of his pirates-surprisingly female-Elizabeta Héderváry.

Her spot on the crew was more or less a mistake-everyone (including Elizabata) firmly believed she was a boy.

"Why on earth would we do that?!", he demanded shakily, "There's nothing here we haven't seen or done before!"

The despaired woman pointed to the opposite side of the cottage, where they spotted the bodies of a couple, each dead, holding hands. Many more had died not too far from them, some in a similar position. Either way, it was a devastating site. Even for a pirate.

Growing weary of the crushing pain pulling at his chest, he agreed. They walked back to the ship and sailed far away from the land. However, curious. What pirate could have been so quick to devastate an entire village, right under Arthur's nose? How could this have happened?

On the ship, as they sailed away, his heart cracked just a little more, despite the already well-over broken appearance. The unsettling feeling pushed him away, just as it drew him back only three years later.

"Why are we sailing to America again?", asked Roderich Edelstein.

"Don't question it.", snapped the far-too irritated captain, "We're going to pay the colony a visit and that's that. Surely by now they've had the time to repair."

"Oh I see. So that's why you wanted to leave?"

"What's that supposed to mean, Git?"

"Surely you left because of their frail condition? At the sight of it, the only thing we could have gained from pillaging their village, was a small amount of blood-stained dirt and whatever useless belongings they could have had."

"..Exactly right. That's why I left, and that's why I'm coming back."

"Or could it be the captain has a soft spot for the amount of blood he saw all over the floor?", he half-whispered, walking away.

Arthur heard that loud and clear, but refrained from calling him out. He merely knit his eyes and turned away from his crew. Whatever the reason may be, they were returning shortly. That was that.

The village was in far better shape this time around, to everyone's silent relief. The crew gathered in the village and took the time to quietly admire the way the cottages had been restored, crops had begun to grow once more, and little to no blood was seen at all.

"Tonight I'll make the decision of whether we take what's left of this or abandon the village entirely. For now we'll rest and replenish our health. Either way, we won't be leaving empty handed. Understand?"

They traded reluctant faces, but nodded.

"Good. Head out."

There was a pub not too far outside of town, and they decided to stop for a well-deserved rest and turn up a pint once more. Half in exhaustion and boredom, half in celebration and relief-perhaps of not returning to a tattered, bloody mess of chaos.

Strangely, the captain's drinks remained untouched. He bitterly swallowed half a sip of liquor, before abandoning it entirely. He took a walk outside, much to an oblivious crew, and gathered his thoughts. The village wasn't too far from here, and wandering away for a brief moment while his crew gathered their strength may not be such a bad idea. He was still half-pondering the mysterious crew who could've left such a village in shambles. It was apparent to him that no one was spared-families, seniors, children..Nobody.

Taking a deep breath, he drew further into the forest and made his way around to the docks. Unsure of why he stopped there, he shook it off and cleared his head for a moment. Just for a moment..

That was all he was blessed with before he was interrupted by a tug on the back of his uniform.

"What is it?", he snapped before turning around, "Can't you see I'm-!"

He was greeted by a small face, belonging to a child in the likes of which he'd never seen before. Surely he must have been at least two or three years old..No child of mature age would confront a pirate, obviously armed with a pistol and a sharp cutlass.

"Hi there mister.", the little boy said, "What are you doing here?"

"W-What does it matter?", he replied shakily, unable to hold a proper glare, "I've come for my own personal reasons, that's all. Should you even be out here, what are you doing talking to a pirate anyway? Do you know what kind of trouble you could get yourself-"

He stopped dead in his tracks as the image of dirty brown hair flooded his brain, stained with blood.

"Get out of here!", he commanded, slightly harsh, "Now! Don't you know what a pirate like me could do to you?!"

The boy nodded, as if he'd asked a completely casual, not-at-all life threatening question, "Yeah. Pirates used to come here allot, but they don't anymore. They stopped coming after someone destroyed everything three years ago. Since then, no one really wants to come see us anymore..Not even the British."

Lowering his voice, the captain stared down, complexion mixed with grief and sorrow.

"Besides, I'm not scared of pirates. I'm a hero, so I'll protect the village..Even if they don't want me to."

"What do you mean if they don't want you to?"

"People don't really like me, so it's hard to protect them..But they'll thank me one day when I get big..and tall."

"Don't you mean big and strong?"

"I'm already strong, I just need to get taller, that's all."

Puzzled, he decided to leave it alone at that, "Well..Surely someone likes you. You have parents don't you? Any relatives at all?"

He shook his head, "They died a long time ago, and the pirates took my brother away. No one's seen him since then."

"..I'm..Sorry to hear that."

The boy shrugged, "What's your name, mister?"

"My name is Captain Arthur Kirkland. I'm a pirate too, you know. You should have run away from me the minute you saw me out here..What happened to your brother was only an example of what they could have done to you."

"I'm Alfred F. Jones, and I'm the hero!", he shouted with glee.

Arthur bit back a laugh and gently pat the boy on his head, "I'm sure you are. Now run along, little hero. It's not safe for someone as small as you out here."

Half irritated, the boy twitched his lip and..

Arthur had never been punched in the stomach so hard by somebody half the size of his shoe.