Stitch - Tabula Rasa




Stitch – Tabula Rasa


He’s dragging himself into an abandoned warehouse by the docks, leaving a trail of blood in the puddles of rain-water. Luckily, the warehouse is empty. He can rest here. He slouches onto a few empty boxes and relaxes his body. His body is covered in bleeding holes. Slowly but surely though, the bullets inside his body begin to dissolve and the remnants are being pushed back out again as the wounds begin to heal. It’s been a long time since he last sustained such serious injuries.

That’s what you get for bailing in the middle of a contract. The Family are is pretty fussy about those sorts of things. Perhaps he could have killed them all off or at least have fought back. But for some reason, he just didn’t feel like it… He’s doesn’t even feel angry or vengeful. Just tired…

“There isn’t always someone to stand up for the weak.” Yeah, that’s what she said. That Voidchild woman he met up with a few weeks ago. What if someone had been there to stand up for him when he was young and weak? Perhaps then, things wouldn’t have turned out as they did…


His mother was sick even before she got pregnant with him. But the whole ordeal of pregnancy took too much of a toll on her. After holding on to life long enough to give birth to him, she died. He never knew her, so it didn’t matter much to him. His father knew her though, and he loved her very much. He put the blame on the child, feeling it was because of his birth that she died. The father turned very bitter.

This manifested in constant torment directed onto him. In fact, the only reason his father kept him around was so that he could vent his rage and bitterness at something.

This abuse turned him into an introvert, fragile little boy, which didn’t help him at all when meeting other children, or when school started for that matter. He was constantly bullied on here as well. The teachers never noticed. Either that or they didn’t care. He’d come home to his father with bruises and black eyes every day. Then, he’d only get beaten further for not standing up for himself. He was the perfect victim for all the bullies and bitter people of the world. He was weak.

He spent the first ten years of his life being beaten, abused and heckled. Never once in all these years did he stand up for himself or even let somebody see how angry and frustrated he was. To him, pain was the equality of life. One didn’t exist without the other. After enduring for ten years, there were only two options available to him. Either end his own life, or end the lives of the ones torturing him. His pent up frustration became the judge, jury and executioner in this matter.

When the police arrived at their house, they found him outside in the yard playing with a broken piece of wood while adorning a terrifying and satisfied look on his blood-stained face. They also found the remains of his father inside the house. That was the manifestation of all those years of abuse and torture.


He obviously fell asleep, because the next time he opens his eyes, his wounds are healed. He supports himself against a few other boxes and slowly makes his way outside. His body is healed but a bit stiff and his mind is still worn out from all the pondering.

He is still not angry or vengeful, as he feels he should be. And rightly so… he was subjected to multiple bullet wounds wasn’t he? He looks down on his bare upper body. The holes are gone. The only remaining scars are those he gave himself while spending time at that mental institution Unfortunately, those wounds, along with some other ones, couldn’t heal themselves as easily as the bullet wounds.


He was obviously unstable and could not be held accountable for his actions. So he was brought to the Skyway City Mental Institution for medical care. Here, he’d even give the experienced doctors a good scare with his large white eye-balls almost sticking out of their sockets. His eerie, satisfied smile only added to the frightening appearance he presented.

Also, he began cutting himself as soon as he got his hands on a sharp object… This left terrible scars on his body. The odd thing about those scars though, is that they were somehow symmetric and methodical as if being a recollected pattern from his memory. It didn’t matter how the doctors tried to keep him from cutting himself, he always managed to get a hold of something. At one time, they even found him chewing on his own arm. Still creating the same systematic pattern he’s fashioned over the rest of his body. The doctors had to fasten a mask over his mouth to restrain him. This added even further to his already unpleasant appearance.

He spent four years in the institution. The doctors made some slow progress with him and at least got him back into a somewhat human state of mind. He’d stop cutting himself and even think and speak orderly. He was, however, still very angry and ill-tempered as well as difficult to control or predict.

When closing up on his fifteenth birthday, something began happening. The doctors would find him howling in his room, twisting and turning as if in terrible pain. They deduced that he was beginning to grow conscious of his past actions and that somehow tortured by this. They saw it as a somewhat good sign.

Of course, they were terribly wrong. He wasn’t tormented by past actions. He didn’t regret what he had done one bit. The pain he felt, that made him howl and twist, was physical in nature. He was a mutant, and latent abilities were about to manifest themselves.

During one of the regular sessions with the doctors he once again began howling and twisting his entire body in pain. Ever since he began having these attacks, the doctors always put him in a straight-jacket before their sessions. They didn’t worry at all as long as the jacket was securely fastened. That’s when the spikes shot out from his body nailing everyone in the room and severing his restraints. He hadn’t meant for anyone to die. But now, spikes made of his own bones protruded from his body uncontrollably. He slammed through the door and ran away from the mental institution.

The pain was excruciating and he thought it would never end… But it did. After a few hours he had fallen asleep in a pile of trash. When he woke up, the spikes were gone, as well as the wounds they had brought with them. He could feel them though, moving about inside his body. He could also feel the venom pulsing inside the bones. It hurt, but only for a while. His own body was somehow compensating for the spikes, wounds and venom inside, keeping him alive. These regenerating cells worked very quickly and it didn’t take long before he was used to the process.

After roaming the streets for a while, he found it clear what to use his newly found talents for. Since he had little conscience or remorse, he began his career as a mercenary. At the mere age of fifteen.


He is still wearing the mask the doctors gave him at the mental institution. It makes him look fearsome and he knows that fear can be a powerful weapon. He’s now made his way to Kings Row and onto one of the many desolate rooftops where he could think in peace. Where was he going to go from here? He had bailed on a contract he was assigned to. The rumour would spread and he’d be without business very soon.

In his last job, he was hired to take out a city official for the Family. A fairly easy task, however, this time around was different. As he leaned over the frightened city official for the kill, he saw the reflection of himself in the tear-drenched eyes of his victim. He looked just like his father whenever he would lean over him and start another beating. There was no one around who could stand up for this man, and he certainly didn’t have a chance in hell without intervention. Just like he, himself, never had a chance as a child. That was back when he was weak. Was this man before him also weak? His mind was too unstable, he had to pull out and regain his senses. He cancelled the job. In return, the Family tried to cancel him. Had he become a weakling again for not being able to follow through and finish his appointed task?

He hears a cry for help from down the street and looks out from the rooftop. One of the local gangs is in the middle of molesting some woman down there in the alley.

She’s weak. She should stand up for herself.

But maybe, sometimes people can’t... No matter how strong they are…


At the beginning of his career as a mercenary, things didn’t go so well. He’d often get beaten to a bloody pulp. Without the help of his regenerative cells, he’d been dead long ago. He quickly got the hang of it though and at the age of thirty-one he’d made quite a name for himself in the business of hired goons. The Family were his most frequent customers.

Although, he did do some outside work too. During one of these jobs a few weeks ago, he bumped into a would-be heroine calling herself Voidchild. They battled each other and even he found himself impressed by the strength she displayed. The mission turned out semi-successful, but that’s not important.

After the assignment, he spoke with the woman whom at the end of their discussion told him that she found him to be weak.

The thought of him being weak was inconceivable. He knew he had been as a child, but he had grown since then. He could stand up for himself and do a lot more than most others… She repeated her statement… That she thought he was weak. What did she mean?

He couldn’t shake off what she had said. In what way could he be perceived as weak? For the coming weeks, he pondered on this and asked himself a question, something he had never bothered doing since the answer seemed so obvious: What is strength? He’d always thought it to be the ability to look after oneself and survive by any means necessary.

A change was triggered within him, and over the coming weeks, he began to change. His current occupation provided him with little, if any, satisfaction. For each kill, he began to doubt his perception of what strength really was and whether he was in possession of it. He knew that something had to change.

This leads us to where he is today…


He looks back onto the bloody trail he’s left behind during his life and knows for certain that he’s been fooling himself. He’s been hiding behind a false philosophy while trying to avoid feeling like a tortured child. In the process, he’s become the instrument of all the bullies and tormentors of the world. He feels shameful… shameful and weak.

He knows the answer now! He knows what true strength is, and it’s far from the life he’s been leading. He silently asks for forgiveness. It won’t be enough and he knows it. That doesn’t matter. The change has been triggered, he’s not going back.

He turns his attention down onto the streets once more. The spikes inhabiting his body slowly protrude as he leaps down. He bounces off the walls of the adjacent building until he’s reached solid ground.

His presence is immediately detected. He wouldn’t want it any other way. He sees the frightened woman lying in a pile of garbage. She’ll live, that’s his intention. And that’s what’s going to be.

He smiles behind his mask before directing all of his attention towards the goons. “Did you thugs ever walk into the wrong god damn alley…”

This day, Stitch is reborn. His second slate will stay clean…

((Thanks for taking the time to read about my second characters origin.. ^^ You'll be happy to know that Stitch has found fullfillment by working as a mentor for the Legion of Young Heroes. Training superkids to become supermen and women.. ^^ Thanks again!))