Template:Matthieu De la Cruz/History

 Prologue

For thousands of years, humans have been searching for absolute truth in a relativistic world—searching for an answer to the existential questions: Who am I? What is my greater purpose? What is the meaning of life?

What if I told you that freedom, free-will, and freedom is nothing but an illusion. How do we know that we haven't been living a lie our entire life? How do we know the world was not created last Thursday and everything we thought we knew was just a means to an end. Or perhaps, how do we know that we are not in a simulation and we are only remnants of our former selves in a past that has already played out. The truth is: as far-fetched as this all may sound, we cannot. The life we always knew could be all just a lie

It would be naive to think that the titans did not foresee their imminent defeat—that was the one and possibly only thing they surely were not oblivious of. In a final act of desperation, the titans descended from their stronghold atop Mount Othrys. To preserve the legacy of their bloodline, they procreated with the mortals to create offsprings. Matthieu was one of them. Like the branches of a tree, the destiny of the various demititans diverged from that point onwards. Fearing that their children will be hunted by the Olympians due to their lineage, some of the titans' children were sent to various time periods, eons into the future, with the aid of Kronos. The Titans' last shimmer of hope lies in exerting and expanding what little influence they can across the ages if it comes to the worst. For the young son of Iapetus, his fate rests in the year 1963.



I

It felt like yesterday that Enrique had left a toxic family environment and made his way to the big city.

It is said that a child's mind is malleable, constantly molded by the external world that they are exposed to at a young age. Enrique was no different. He was born into a conservative, Catholic family in a small rural town. He was told his whole life that being gay was immoral and wrong. Unfortunately, he took it to heart, suppressing that part of him well into his teenage years. When he came out as gay to his family, he was shunned and sent off to gay conversion therapy to "cure" his homosexual tendencies. This abusive cycle of shame was undoubtedly one of the lowest points of his life.

Looking back, he sees a kid that was falling apart, a kid that was losing himself in his downwards spiral. Even though he had escaped from his suffocating family when he was eighteen, homophobia and gay discrimination was prevalent in New York City nevertheless. It was seven years before the Stonewall riots that would become a pinnacle moment for LGBT liberation in America—seven years before the first brick was thrown. Even so, it was different; for the first time in his life, Enrique felt free. It was a breath of fresh air and a brand new start, something that Enrique had dreamed of for years. He moved into a small apartment on the edge of Manhattan, sustaining this lifestyle through part-time jobs as a waiter and a bartender. He certainly wasn't living a lavish lifestyle by any means, but he made ends meet—not without blood, sweat, and tears.

Fast forward to one evening, Enrique was walking home to his apartment from a nearby gay bar down in Lower Manhattan when two men approached him from behind. "Hey f*ggot!" they cussed out at him. This wasn't the first time that he'd been called derogatory names. Like he usually does, he hastened his pace and paid them no attention; a confrontation would not be in his best interest. However, that did little to deter the men. What happened next was mostly a blur to Enrique. He remembered being assaulted with a flurry of punches. He could tell from their eyes that they had no intention of stopping. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was seeing another man stepping in and pulling the two men off of him. When he woke up, he found himself hospitalized with a black eye, a busted nose, bruises, cuts, and a swollen face, and the man who saved his life was nowhere to be found. Nevertheless, he knew how much worse things could have been—he was just thankful to be alive.

This incident made Enrique fear for his life as a gay man. For months following the incident, he was too scared to even step outside of his apartment. Whenever he tried to, he would instantly freeze up, hyperventilate, and have a panic attack. It would take months of healing, both mentally and physically, for him to have the confidence to set foot outside on his own. From that day onwards, he also carried pepper spray with him at all times.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">There Enrique sat one evening, about a year and a half later, in a gay bar by himself. He just needed some alcohol to get some things off his mind. A man sat beside him, offering to buy Enrique a drink. It was one of those nights where the bar wasn't tipped off about a raid, but frankly, Enrique has become numb to the police raids. After the incident, Enrique and the man ended up back in Enrique's apartment. The next morning, after a night of fiery passion, the man was gone and it would be the last time Enrique would ever see him again. It has always been like this, superficial overnight flings. Enrique just wanted to love and be loved.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">Enrique always wanted to have children, but being a gay man in the 1960s made it difficult if not impossible for him to go the adoption route. He remembered that day very clearly. April 16th, 1963. The forecast had predicted heavy rain that day. He was awoken early in the morning to a baby's cry. Lying in a cradle in his living room were not one, but two baby boys with the brightest, most beautiful smiles. He named the boys Matthieu and Francesco, after his late grandfather. Unbeknownst to Enrique, the man he slept with a month ago was none other than a god. Fate truly has a funny way of coming around.

<hr style="border:0; border-bottom:1px solid; border-bottom-color:inherit;">

<p style="font-size:36px; text-align:center;">II</b>

<p style="text-indent:50px;">From a very young age, Matthieu and Francesco never quite got along. They were on completely different wavelengths—they were polar opposites and had their fair share of differences, there was little to no doubt about that. There were the occasional moments when they would agree on something, but oftentimes, it was like mixing oil and water. It just does not work. However, when it came time to protect his brother, Matthieu would always put down their differences. Sure, Matthieu won't be winning any Brother of the Year awards, but it's reassuring to know that someone's got your back. Even Francesco could appreciate Matthieu for that. As they grew up, they fell into different friend groups and that only pushed them further and further apart, despite Enrique's best efforts. If it were not for the last name they have in common, people would hardly be able to tell that they are brothers. Enrique has always considered his two sons' strained relationship as a failure on his part.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">Enrique made ends meet by working as an escort providing sexual service to his male clientele. Matthieu and his brother had a relatively uneventful childhood. They had a loving father, so what more can they ask for? Enrique had always tried to keep his area of work a secret from his son until one particular day when Matthieu and Francesco came home from school earlier than usual. In the heat of the moment, Enrique was oblivious to the sound of the front door opening. Enrique immediately ushered his client out the front door and he had no choice but to explain to his sons what had happened.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">During another one of those encounters, a client forced himself on Enrique, beyond what Enrique was comfortable with, and out of self-defense, Enrique pushed the man off of him and into the bedside table. This led to an altercation that quickly escalated and went south.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">Time of death: 4:38 PM.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">Manner of death: homicide.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">Cause of death: Stabbing.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">Mechanism of death: loss of blood.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">Enrique was stabbed nineteen times and was pronounced dead on the scene by the time paramedics arrived.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">Enrique's side of the family wanted absolutely nothing to do with Matthieu and Francesco. Thus, the social workers have no choice but to place the two ten-year-olds into foster care. Undoubtedly, that period of time was tough for Matthieu. Ultimately, they were unable to place Matthieu and Francesco into the same home and they had no choice but to separate them. He never quite fit in with his foster family or felt like he belonged—he felt isolated and more alone than ever. However, something was different though when he was adopted by businessman Matias De la Cruz and lawyer Valencia De la Cruz. Sure, Matthieu attended a private school, a privilege he never had before, but it was never about the affluence or the money. He had big shoes to fill and high expectations to live up to. This new chance at life was not something he'd like to mess up. His adoptive parents loved him as their own child and gave everything to him. Over the years, he lost contact with his brother. Even though he used to preach about how much he hated Francesco, a part of him truly misses him and a part of him feels missing.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">When he was 13, his peaceful ride home from school was interrupted by a monster. The monster caused his personal driver to swerve off the side of the road and into a nearby light pole. Though Matthieu was able to get away from the accident relatively unscathed, that was the least of his problems. The hellhound shadow traveled to close the gap before finishing the distance with a pounce. It was like his instincts took over that split second. A spear materialized in front of him and it pierced straight into the hellhound's chest. He didn't quite know how to process the situation, but he brushed the gold dust off his school uniform and went on with his day like normal.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">This would only be the start of a spree of monster attacks over the years—the start of an inescapable cycle—and it soon became a lifestyle as the years went on. Ultimately, Matthieu graduated top of his class which opened many doors in his life—he was smart, that was something that can't be denied. It all began as a CIA internship, but Matthieu soon became a part of a much greater scheme in the midst of political unrest.

<hr style="border:0; border-bottom:1px solid; border-bottom-color:inherit;">

<p style="font-size:36px; text-align:center;">III</b>

<p style="text-indent:50px;">At a young age of 21, Matthieu was a mole in the KGB, conducting espionage overseas for the Federal Bureau of Investigations (FBI). His cover was compromised when he was identified (along with other assets) by none other than Aldrich Ames, a KGB double agent operating under the guise of a Central Intelligence Agency officer. His ill-fate was further set in stone when his identity was among those confirmed by the FBI mole Robert Hansen. To no one's surprise, he was promptly recalled back to Moscow by the KGB and interrogated as a viable source of intelligence.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">The next week would turn out to be utter hell for Matthieu, but it was only the beginning of many more weeks to come. He was subjected to the SP-117 truth serum, sleep deprivation, and electric shock, among other forms of torture, all meant to get him to spill any information he had. On the fourteenth day, he finally broke, but not in the way you would expect. He instinctively conjured up a spear and controlled it to pierce the KGB agent. When the armed guards came in and fired at him, their attempts were futile—the bullets simply deflected off him. Even with the work of the Mist, one would have been able to tell that something wasn't right. To everyone else, a gunfight ensued.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">However, one person saw through it. As an aftermath of the incident, he was then transferred to the laboratory run by an ex-nazi scientist turned KGB scientist. What he studied would be considered pseudoscience if it wasn't true; he was a clear-sighted mortal and saw his fair share of unexplainable phenomenons in his everyday life. He spearheaded the Enigma Project: a capstone program run by the Soviet government in the height of the Cold War between the United States (US) and the Soviet Union (USSR).

<p style="text-indent:50px;">Matthieu was the first of a hundred, unaware of the many subjects that would come after him—hundreds of pasts to be erased and hundreds of lives to be discarded away as failures. Little is known about the underground human behavioral-modification program that took place; some are even reluctant to believe that it even exists, to begin with. Most, if not all, of the details about the project were lost to time, burned and destroyed decades ago. What little documents remain will likely stay redacted. It's hard to say if it's for better or for worse.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">He was a ghost, forgotten by everyone and everything in this world. Dead to the US and the family he had. The echoing screams, the agonizing cries—that is something he'll never forget. A part of him never left the program. Even behind all the false memories, something never felt right. He was trained to kill—that was his newfound purpose. For the longest time, he tried to hide that part of him, but it will always be a shade of his former self. In the final phase of the experiment, he was ordered to kill a fellow subject, and he did—with unprecedented finesse. Whatever they have done to him, something triggered a part of him that he's never seen.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">The Enigma Project was supposedly terminated at the end of the cold war, or so the USSR claimed. However, we all know that the first thing about politics is that what the government says can never be taken at face value. In an act of prisoner exchange between the two supergiants, Matthieu returned home to the US. Little did he know the truth behind it all: his memories of the program were wiped and replaced, and he was sent back to America as a sleeper agent, destined to live a "normal life" until a situation calls for his activation.

<hr style="border:0; border-bottom:1px solid; border-bottom-color:inherit;">

<p style="font-size:36px; text-align:center;">IV</b>

<p style="text-indent:50px;">九龍城寨.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">The Kowloon Walled City.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">The City of Anarchy.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">The City of Darkness.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">"The only law is triad law." This is the one thing that you must keep in mind as you step within the walls of the 2.7 hectares of brothels, gambling dens, and opium dens-2.7 hectares over-run by triads and crime in a lawless calamity. A no man's land. A lawless labyrinth stuck in limbo. It all began as a squatter settlement. While the British and Japanese were busy fighting their own wars, the walled city became a haven for drugs, prostitution, and crime, sprawling with opium dens, and unlicensed dentists and doctors. Children sat on the edge of the roof in their makeshift playgrounds oblivious of the airplanes looming overhead. Without government intervention, the walled city fell into the hands of the triads corrupting the city inch by inch. Any figment of power was in the hands of the triads. At its height, fifty-thousand and one people. Zero, one. It was the most crowded place on earth with a density of 1,930,000 people/sq km. To the outside world, the city was a place of darkness, but not every person within the walls went down a path of crime. In fact, most people found peace within the dark alleys, even with the rampant poverty and crime.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">Matthieu fled from his former life, hoping to build a new one out of nothing. But without a purpose in his life, he had nowhere to go and no one to turn. He was a lost soul, drifting astray. In the words of Mother Teresa, "loneliness truly is one of the greatest poverties". Some things never do change, no matter how hard you try, and he once again found himself entwined in something much greater. Matthieu was first drawn to the Kowloon Walled City by its functional anarchy. If the American dream was unattainable for him, perhaps this is the next best thing. With the help of an old friend, he assumed the guise of a Hong Kong native under the name 任峻軒 (Yam Chun Hin). He shared a small flat with three other families, no bigger than 250 sq ft in one of the 500 apartment buildings. Nevertheless, it was a roof over his head. Despite its poor reputation, it was a tight-knit community. Neighbors coexisted with one another and became practically family. In the following years, the monster attacks became non-existent. Unknowingly, the rot and filth that most despise protected him from monster attacks during the years he was within the walls. He had plans to lay low and live a quiet, peaceful life, but laying low was simply never really an option for him. Matthieu fought in the underground fighting ring scene inside the walled city and he made his name as one of the top fighters. The rules were simple: fight until the other can't fight any longer, and fight he did. It was a place for him to release all of his pent up anger and it gave him something to strive for. Something took over him during one of those matches. Even though he knocked his opponent out, he unrelentingly continued assaulting him. The man would later die from his injuries.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">Above all, one thing was for sure: he never intended to find love.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">The chaos and vices of the walled city drew Kakia to it. Out of the many within the confines, Matthieu stood out from the many. Kakia was walking down the narrow twists-and-turns of the alleyways when a drunk man walked up to her and groped her from behind. Kakia pushed the man off of her and slapped him in the face, but he was relentless. While this transpired, Matthieu happened to be in the right place at the right time. He was walking back to his flat after a long night of fighting. He didn't know what took over him in that split second, but he grabbed a beer bottle off the ground, smashed it, and stabbed it into the man's chest. Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. It was only after the fourth time did Matthieu finally realize what he had done. He grabbed Kakia's hand and ran. Upon returning to his flat, they had a night of fiery passion tossing aside any inhibitions.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">As fate would have it, he made enemies with the wrong people. The next morning, he was awoken to the sound of his door smashed wide open. Standing in front of him was a man with a gun. His first instinct was to cover Kakia with his own body and he was subsequently shot four times. Once in the shoulder, once in the leg, and two lethal shots to the chest. The man fled the scene. However, it was clear at that point that Matthieu wasn't going to make it. However, Kakia was pleased by Matthieu, so before his dying breath, Kakia granted Matthieu immortality and patched him back up. By the time he woke up, she had disappeared, leaving nothing more than a note that said: "我不會忘記. Kakia remembers." Though Matthieu was bedridden for the entirety of the following month, he was eventually able to make a full recovery. Before Kakia had left the walled city, she took care of those that were after Matthieu and he was never bothered from that day onwards.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">The next six years fell into a routine. Although he had come to love this place, life in the walled city became stagnant for Matthieu. Wake up. Train. Eat. Fight. Sleep. Rinse and repeat. After the fateful encounter, he never saw Kakia again.

<hr style="border:0; border-bottom:1px solid; border-bottom-color:inherit;">

<p style="font-size:36px; text-align:center;">V</b>

<p style="text-indent:50px;">We often find ourselves living life one step at a time, like the lost children we are, blissfully unaware of where life will take us and where we will end up.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">With the looming demolition of the walled city, the life (if you can call it that) Matthieu had created for himself was once again cut short. He, among the remaining residents, was evicted from the walled city with promises of compensation; he once again found himself with nowhere to go. He inevitably found himself falling back into the hands of the triads. He was a promising recruit and he was determined to make the most out of the opportunity. He began as a 四九 (49) of the Sun Yee On triad—one of the most, if not the most, powerful crime syndicate in Hong Kong—as a contract killer. From the day he was initiated into the triad, Matthieu was a usurper. He had no intention of being a street thug for the rest of his life, and he was willing to do anything to ensure that he will not. Through a combination of ambition, manipulation, betrayal, and force, he moved up the ranks of the hierarchy (something some could only dream of). In a matter of a year, he moved up the rank as a 紅棍 ("red pole" enforcer), overseeing and coordinating a fraction of the drug operations run by the organization. He was a prospective member, one who caught the attention of the 龍頭 ("dragon head").

<p style="text-indent:50px;">It was around this time that Matthieu began having a recurring nightmare.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">"December 19th."

<p style="text-indent:50px;">"In spite of his initial reluctance, the subject's progress is promising."

<p style="text-indent:50px;">"He has become compliant with the treatment."

<p style="text-indent:50px;">"The current time is 10:42. We are approaching 36 hours of sleep deprivation and isolation."

<p style="text-indent:50px;">"Subject is exhibiting signs of dissociation."

<p style="text-indent:50px;">"We will be proceeding to the next phase effective next week."

<p style="text-indent:50px;">It was surreal—it was almost as if he was the protagonist in his own psychological horror film. The distinct smells, the smell of the fear, and sounds, the arrhythmic tick-tocks, felt so familiar yet so foreign, as much of an oxymoron as it is. He cannot quite put his fingers on what it is. At first, he humored the idea that this was a manifestation of his inner guilt for all of the lives he had taken, but it was different, it felt real. We all have a dark place inside of us, locked away in the deepest, darkest corner of our mind. We often seek comfort in it, but most of us fear exploring it. We would much rather avoid it and hide in our ignorance than having to confront it. Perhaps this was Matthieu's?

<p style="text-indent:50px;">In late 2015, Matthieu got wind of a newly born organization that goes under the name of Champions of Othrys. It was an enticing opportunity with the prospect of joining the council of five, but one he had to ultimately turn down. With unfinished business in Hong Kong, he was not quite ready to leave the life he had behind. Before long the Champions of Othrys became an afterthought in his great ambition. It was not until four years later did he get the closure he so desired. For the first time in thirty-four years, he was finally ready to leave the life of 任峻軒 behind in Hong Kong. For the first time in thirty-four years, Matthieu returned home to America. By now, his adoptive parents would both be well in their eighties. If either were still alive, that is. He was able to track down their whereabouts with some external help. However, their reunion was bittersweet: his adoptive mother had been diagnosed with early-stage Alzheimer's and his father recently lost his battle against cancer.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">Even after some intensive digging, Matthieu found little to nothing about Francesco aside from a plainly marked grave. In reality, Francesco was a nobody. For most of his teenage and adult life, he struggled with his addiction to the point that it was a disease, a plague. He fell into the wrong crowd in a time of anger and pain and was never quite able to claw his way out. Despite multiple interventions by his friends and countless rehabs, it continued to be a downward spiral for Francesco. He was simply one out of the millions of victims of the opium epidemic—a mere number in a growing statistic. It was a battle where the odds were stacked against him. By his late teenage years, Francesco had his share of run-ins with the police and by his mid-twenties, he lost custody of his two boys, lost his wife, lost his house, lost all of his money, lost everything he had. He stole from his family to get money for drugs and alienated everyone in his life—choosing his druggie lifestyle over them. Some wanted to do everything they could to help Francesco, but most saw him as a lost cause. His body was deteriorating and he was killing himself whether he would like to admit it or not. Perhaps that was his plan all along? Ultimately, Francesco's life is a testament to his poor upbringing and the poor decisions he made—he was and has always been a misguided child.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">Before making his entrance in The Spire, Matthieu made a brief stop at the nearby town. Or rather, what's left of it: ruins of the town that once was. Now, it is nothing more than a mortal reminder to Camp Half-Blood of their foolish resistance. Bloodshed was inevitable, but they have achieved an acceptable conclusion albeit the lives lost in the waging conflict and the traitors in their mix. There are two kinds of people in this world: the oppressors and the oppressed. If a person chooses to live oppressed in the god's corrupted playground, why stop them? However, one thing's for sure, the destruction of the nearby town—a short-lived accomplishment that will soon be overshadowed by the legacy of New Athens—is simply a means to an end, not an end in itself. With all the time in the world, he thus found himself at the Champions of Othrys' footsteps.

<p style="text-indent:50px;">"I bid you our welcome to The Spire, Mr. De la Cruz. Shall I lead you to your quarters?"