POLICE STATION – CITY V – NIGHT
The neon light was white, raw, merciless. Midas sat on a plastic chair, too small for it, his feet not touching the floor. His hands rested on his knees. He wasn't crying.
In front of him, a wooden desk. Behind the desk, two uniformed officers. One of them, a man with a thick mustache, flipped through a report. The other, younger, looked at him with a mixture of pity and suspicion.
"Are you sure about what you're saying, kid?"
Midas nodded.
"Everyone turned to gold."
"And why didn't you turn?"
"I don't know."
The mustached officer put down the report.
"We ran the tests."
He stood, walked around the desk, crouched in front of Midas.
"Listen to me carefully, kid. You're a pariah."
Midas blinked.
"Your power, you'll never control it. Never."
He placed a hand on his shoulder.
"The law is clear. Pariahs must be locked up. For everyone's safety."
Midas felt his heart tighten.
"But I…"
"You don't get a say."
The office door burst open.
His mother entered. She was out of breath, her cheeks red. She had run.
"MIDAS!"
She took him in her arms.
"He's not going anywhere. He's coming home with me."
The officer stood up.
"Ma'am, the law…"
"I don't give a damn about the law. He's my son. I'm taking him."
She grabbed Midas's hand.
"Come, sweetheart. We're going home."
They left the station.
Behind them, the officers exchanged glances.
"Do we follow them?"
"What's the point? He'll betray himself eventually."
---
MIDAS'S HOUSE – LIVING ROOM
The door slammed. The darkness was almost total.
Midas walked down the hallway.
"Dad?"
No answer.
He entered the living room.
His father was sprawled on the couch. He hadn't turned on the light. The TV was off. The curtains were drawn.
"Dad?"
His father looked up.
His eyes were red. Not with anger. With exhaustion.
"Midas."
His voice was hoarse, broken.
"Come here."
Midas approached, hesitant.
His father stood. He was tall, taller than Midas had ever seen him. He looked at his son. For a long time.
"Do you know what they're saying about you?"
Midas shook his head.
"They say you're an anomaly. A monster."
He approached.
"They say you should never have been born."
Midas stepped back.
"Dad…"
"I should have listened to my parents. Stayed home. Never gone out with your mother."
His voice rose.
"I should never have come to this shitty city. I should never have…"
He clenched his fists.
"…had a son like you."
He grabbed a knife from the coffee table.
Midas backed against the wall.
"Dad, no…"
His father approached, knife raised.
"You're going to disappear, Midas. For everyone's good."
CRACK.
A vase exploded on his father's head.
He collapsed, inert.
Behind him, his mother, hands trembling, eyes wide.
Blood ran from his father's skull.
Midas looked at his mother. His mother looked at him.
"Come into my arms, sweetheart."
Midas ran to her.
He hugged her with all his strength.
She was hard.
Too hard.
He looked up.
His mother was gold.
Her arms, her chest, her face – everything. Frozen in a final gesture of love.
"Mom?"
Silence.
"Mom!"
He shook her. She didn't move.
"MOOOOM!"
She remained frozen. Motionless. Gold.
Midas fell to his knees.
He had no family left.
His mother, transformed by his own power. His father, dead.
He was alone.
---
THE STREET – LATER THAT NIGHT
Midas dragged his mother.
The gold statue slid across the asphalt, leaving a white trail behind it. He had tied a rope around her waist, and he pulled.
His hands bled. His knees trembled. His lungs burned.
He didn't know where he was going. He just knew he couldn't leave her there. She was all he had left.
Behind him, footsteps.
Voices.
"Hey, kid!"
He turned.
Three men. Thugs. Dirty faces, yellow teeth, mean eyes.
"That statue… looks like pure gold."
"You want to sell it, little one?"
Midas stepped back.
"Leave us alone."
One of the thugs sneered.
"'Leave us alone.' He talks like a little prince."
They approached.
Midas gritted his teeth. He positioned himself in front of his mother.
"I won't give her to you."
The thug raised his fist.
"We'll take her anyway."
WHAM.
The thug flew backward.
He hit a wall, crashed heavily, and lay still.
The other two stepped back.
"What the…"
Hair. Black hair, long, thick, wrapped around their arms. They were lifted off the ground, swung from wall to wall, thrown in all directions.
They landed in a heap, groggy, defeated.
A figure emerged from the shadow of the bridge.
Tall. Very tall. A massive, muscular, imposing body. Black hair, long, standing on end like spikes. Eyes that gleamed in the darkness, lit by the moonlight.
He approached Midas.
"Who dared to enter this place?"
His voice was deep, profound, almost a growl.
"This is my bridge."
He crouched in front of Midas.
"And you, kid… who are you?"
Midas stared at him, frozen, unable to speak.
The man studied him.
"You have the eyes of a survivor."
He looked at the gold statue behind him.
"Is that your mother?"
Midas nodded.
The man stood up.
"Yours too?"
Midas didn't understand.
The man extended his hand.
"Come. My name is GAP."
Midas hesitated for a second. Then he took his hand.
Gap lifted him like a feather.
"This bridge is my territory. No one will hurt you here."
He looked at the unconscious thugs.
"Not them either, now."
He turned to Midas.
"So, kid. What's your story?"
Midas looked at him. Then he looked at his mother.
"…I have no one left."
Gap nodded.
"Now you do."
---
TO BE CONTINUED…