During the present king of England's golden years he had been becoming more weary of his responsibilities and sought a more quiet life and since his duties as the king were one of the factors (if just a small one) that led to the separation that shocked the world he was planning on stepping back as a gesture to his still (although separated for many many years) wife in the hopes of some reconciliation and to also gain favour with his only son who hasn't spoken to him for 30 plus years..


After swearing to never speak to his father again and he hit the age of 16, a legal adult now, he disappeared and went on to become the elite of the elite in the British armed forces just to throw a middle finger at old dad, although it was all done somehow anonymously in his new guise all earned by his own blood sweat and tears, his cunning and sheer determination, lets just say that in the early days anybody that even hinted that they might know who he really is, or was, would wake up shortly after doing so unaware as to what just happened, see his nickname has been 'amnesia' ever since he took up Muy Thai and jui jitsu and started putting people to sleep with ease at the age of 10, just 4 months after his mother took him to live with her at her family home.

By the age of fifteen he was a machine, in the last five years he's become deadly in the two mentioned martial arts as well as boxing, Tae kwondo and jeen kun do, he was a walking, stalking ninja, his face showing the damage he's put himself through to just in a way look less like his father, as far from as possible even, his eyes dead and lifeless, knife wounds covering his whole upper body and face from where he'd been training how to use any and every blade with pinpoint precision from both near and far with the long time family chef, a tall thin french man in his early fifties who loves to tell dirty jokes...but always gets them wrong..... and his shooting.... olympic gold medal accuracy with an array of military grade weapons, don't forget he's not even turned 16 yet.

When he'd just turned 13 he asked his mom if he could change his name and knowing the uproar that would cause she brushed him off saying "when you're sixteen you can change it to whatever you want" hoping he'd get over it but instead he'd been fantasising about it ever since, practicing his signature at every chance to the point he could tattoo it on the side of a pig with his pocket knife in one lightning quick swish swash swoosh. "Nascere Verloren" (the Italian for 'born' and German for 'lost' , after learning 6 different languages at this point these two words were his favourite, because of the character he created when he'd sit awake at night terrified and hating the world, the character created to keep him safe)......the blade just kissing the skin with an exuberant capital 'N' and sweeping up and down into the final 'n' then underlining it so neatly that blood only drips at the beginning and end. Only ever doing no more than startling the hog like a tickle as it lay there.....this took practice tho, dozens of pigs in nearby farms wear his tag, so many it had been in the newspaper. At first it was rough, enough ketamine to knock out a horse and he'd be there for hours like a delinquent Zorro or demented surgeon , depends how you look at it. He did try with a cow once but once he stood next to it not realising how big they are and their big staring eyes gazing at him helplessly he couldn't do it, then he got the idea of pigs the next morning over a bacon sandwich and the rest was a nightmare for pigs everywhere. Well saying that, none of them actually felt a thing, he tells himself that to try and convince himself he's not going to hell. He never started on awake swine until he'd mastered it and was able to do it to himself, trying down the inside of his left calf. Which he royally (pun intended) cocked up at the end as he swiped underneath his new name a bit too deep, well way too deep as he was startled by the rooster, he was more pissed off that he'd forgotten the bird was about to crow after hearing it like clockwork for three years, that's what no sleep does to even an accomplished insomniac, which he was even at this early age....blood gushing everywhere so he ripped off his t-shirt and wrapped it around his leg before snorting a pile of ketamine then waking up days later in the bed of the groundsmans cottage just on the outskirts of the forest at the end of the massive garden. His leg stitched and bandaged up. The groundsman being the tall broad man in his mid fifties who taught the young prince to shoot the very first day he arrived at the manor and nearly every day since to the point he could shoot the wings off a fly in a hurricane whilst doing 120 on a skateboard with an ak47 if he wanted to, exaggeration I know but if anybody could do it it would be him.....and remember this is all still before his sixteenth birthday, all before his years of gruelling military training in numerous nations special forces (which he walked with ease I must say), years off the grid killing all sorts for reasons unknown. Years as a mute in the Himalayan mountains with monks, and now for the last twenty years or so the name "Amnesia" has been feared nearly as much as 'Nascere Verloren' nobody ever seeing either, nobody even knowing they are one person, definitely nobody knowing about his bloodline and heritage.....only known as a whisper, a whisper you hear just before it all goes silent..

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