Picture of Raven The Foxross Military Academy had taken her from her home when she was just seven years old. Her parents cried out for her as she was dragged away by men dressed in all black, with masks to match. Her little heart pounded with fear as the man held her from behind, his arms locking under her armpits. That's when she felt it, the man holding her had a heart of his own. It pounded in his chest to where she could feel it in her back, strong and constant. It wasn't human. His heart no longer new regret, fear, or remorse. He did as he was told and simply took Raven from her family. When she arrived at the Academy she was the only child not crying. All the others cried for the loss of their parents, all freedom being stripped from them. Raven sat perfectly still, her gaze straight ahead. They thought she would be easy, they thought she was already broken. But they didn't know of the fear building inside of her. That unnatural heart beating against her back. That would be her fate, and everyone else's. Every night Raven would put her hand on her heart just to make sure it was still her's. They couldn't take it from her. They wouldn't. Four years she spent there, training and sparring and studying battle plans. They were being programmed to be war machines. All of these things needed to be drilled into their skull before they took their humanity. Raven fought them every step of the way, and every punishment got worse. They would ask her if she'd had enough and she would just spit in their faces. After four years of fighting, they branded her on her lower right stomach near her hip. The pain was nothing she had ever experienced before, and with one final struggle she broke free of her bindings and grabbed the knife out of her torturer's sheath and buried it into his chest. Black oil spilled out instead of blood, so this is what they did when you graduated. Raven took his keys and killed everyone in her way, dodging bullets and hands trying to grab her. By the time she made it out of the building she was covered in oil. Her feet traveled quickly across the sand and she ran and ran until the building was far off in the distance. She stopped when her feet could no longer carry her, and collapsed in the sand just as the sun was setting. That was where Scarecrow found her and took her to his hideout where he raised her as his own. The man was tall and was kind of crazy, but he was a wiz at electronics and had an almost fetish for fire. Even with his faults he had taught her how to survive and how to fight with her favorite weapons: twin swords. That was seven years ago, and the sun was rising on another day in the desert. Over the years she had done many things and survived all the odds against the guards of the military academy that she affectionately referred to as Dogs. She couldn't remember the name her parents had given her, and in the Academy she was #5657, so Scarecrow had named her Raven. The eighteen year old girl stood up and stretched as the run rose higher into the sky. It was time to go hunting. She gathered her weapons, her swords, throwing knives, and arrows. The arrows were for prey and the swords were for the Dogs. She didn't bother telling Scarecrow she was leaving, since all he ever did was sleep during the day. The guy was quite the weirdo but she had learned to live with him. Raven set out in search of foot, her years of stealth training with Scarecrow making her footsteps silent in the sand. Even though they were in the desert, it wasn't a wasteland. There were quite a few watering holes around which made for trees and grass and cover. It wasn't exactly easy to be sneaky when it is all just flat sand. She neared an abandoned fishing shop, the sign only hanging on by a thread and all the paint worn away. All that was left was four walls. That was when she heard footsteps. She ducked behind a cactus and watched carefully as someone turned the corner around the fishing shop, and instantly she recognized that uniform. Another Dog? This time she would have some fun with it. Purposely she tossed a rock against a tree to make it turn around. The Dog turned to look at the sound as Raven came out from behind the cactus with her throwing knives. She threw two, which landed just above both his shoulders and buried into the wall, catching the fabric of his shirt and holding him there. Before he could react a few more knives were thrown until he couldn't move his arms. Raven approached her prey with a coy smile, holding one sword in hand. "My, my... Such a shame you became a Dog. You are quite the fine specimen." She chuckled and teased, taking the end of her sword and lifting his shirt to take a look at his sculpted stomach. That's when she saw it. A brand, the same mark she had on her hip. Instantly she looked at him with shock, letting his shirt fall back down. Without warning she less than gently places her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat out of control. Fear. The same fear she had felt when she had been taken away. Without another word Raven reached for his mask and removed it slowly. "So, your blood isn't black, then?" She asked as she removed the mask.