I'll put a little disclaimer: 

This story will contain violence, abuse, mentions of drugs, and weapons. 

It is a backstory for Peresvet Stepanov, A character in Royal and Rebel. 

Do tell me what you think, and please enjoy :) 

The Stepanov household had been in the business of selling illegal goods such as weapons, drugs, and dangerous chemicals for three generations. It was a young business for the field that it specialised in, but in the forty odd years that it had been running, the Stepanovs saw insane profits. They had expanded their business to bigger and bigger buildings five times already, and when Stas Stepanov was born and raised into power in the organisation, they had acquired so much money that their family owned a large compound just off the main city of Saint Petersburg, where most of their business took place.

Stas Stepanov grew up rich, spoiled, and observant. He had quickly learned how he would follow in his parents footsteps, how he would complete duties to the best of his abilities, and how to create and sell products. When he was older, he learned how to mix and create chemicals, how to make powerful chimera weapons and inventions, and how to better sell these. He became a force to be reckoned with.

When Stas’ parents brought him a woman, five years his elder, and told them to marry and produce a child, they did as they were told. Their relationship never contained a hint of love, just tasks that were required to be completed to ensure the safety of the compound and the organisation. They married within the week. They consummated their marriage the night of their wedding, and ten or so months later Peresvet Stepanov was born. He was born a healthy baby with no complications, a quick and well appreciated birth. However, he was born into a family that lacked even the most basic love.

As a baby, Peresvet was left alone a lot. No matter how much he cried for his mother or father’s attention, he usually never got it. He got food at a specific time, he got changed and bathed at a specific time, but was otherwise left alone. When he was eight months, he started babbling small words as an attempt to get their attention, but to no avail. By his first birthday, he was able to walk semi-well. By two and three his parents had begun teaching him sentences and how to use many words at once. By four he was learning the basics of other languages that benefit their trade such as Chinese, English and German as well as Russian.

Between the ages of four and five he was somewhat perfecting all of those languages, every so often learning the basics of new ones such as Japanese, Korean, Spanish and French. On his fifth birthday, he held a knife for the first time, supervised by his mother. When school would have been starting for children his age, he begun training with guns and other weapons.

He performed his first weapons trade when he was seven. The customer was known to like children so his parents used this as an opportunity to teach him how to perform a trade. Every single afternoon he would be taught how to fight, how to use melee weapons, and how to shoot guns. The loud bangs that would be produced from the guns almost made Peresvet cry each time he shot, not to mention the constant pain in his wrists from the gun recoil.

From age eight he was actively participating in trades. He would go to a meeting spot, oblivious to the danger, trade a weapon or a bag or bottle of mysterious chemicals for a wad of cash, then return that wad of cash to his father or mother. He was never thanked. He was never praised. He was simply briefed on the trade, then money was taken after he completed the trade. If he did something wrong, he would get disappointed looks and a stern word.

The first mission that went really wrong was when Peresvet was nine. The customer had decided that he wanted not only the chemicals that Peresvet was holding in his hand, but also Peresvet himself. He had fought back, so the man had taken his money back, taken the chemicals, and run away. Peresvet had been left bruised and broken, with a bloody nose and some bone in his chest area fractured. He had been picked up by his father, and when they got back he was shown not a sliver of sympathy. His father berated him, slapped him across the face, then told him to go to the infirmary and get himself fixed. Peresvet obeyed. He had to. What else could he do?

His nose and rib had been fixed rather quickly. The chemicals that they made and mixed in their compound helped with his recovery. Though, they made him nauseous, and he had to get over wanting the chemicals again and again. He later learned that this was addiction, but he had lucked out on getting rid of this addiction quickly. From the day he was beaten up onwards, he had a sense of constant danger.

Peresvet grew up without any other children, whether his age, older, or younger. He was the only child in a dangerous facility surrounded by adult criminals, most of who were on some kind of drug or had a tendency to lash out in a violent manner. He quickly discovered that it was best to be seen and not heard, if not completely unseen as a whole. Therefore, he spent most of his time in his room, kept company by a small desk with limitless paper where he would either practice writing in every language he knew, write books, or sketch.

Often, what he would sketch would be his surroundings or what he remembered from his photographic memory. Mostly his room, his hands, his little suits, his face without facial features, guns, knives, laboratories, and storage boxes. Whenever he was wounded he would draw the wound in detail in grey lead pencils.

He had never seen the sun.

Not until he was ten years old.