Aoma's Home
A team of people in hazmat suits moved carefully through the rooms, collecting and sealing away anything that could be considered evidence. The once warm and lively house now felt cold, sterile, like a memory being erased.
"Hey, you, make sure you search this place top to bottom," the detective ordered sharply. "We're not stopping until we find what we're looking for. And don't change anything. Leave everything as it is."
He watched the team move, determination burning in his eyes.
Mitsuro approached from behind, hands in his pockets.
"So, I heard we're on a special case. Are you sure you're ready for your first real task, Jiro?"
"Quit pestering me and help out," Jiro snapped. "I've been stuck in the office for months reading reports and finally I get a chance to be on the field. I'll prove myself and surpass you."
He glanced over, voice softening slightly.
"By the way, where's your partner? Shouldn't she be here? This kind of case is her specialty."
Mitsuro smirked. "You know how she is. She's not interested in little places like this one."
"Little place? This one?" Jiro asked, confused.
"I'm just saying she's too far ahead of us. To her this would be an open and shut case," Mitsuro replied casually. "I'm only here to make sure everything goes smoothly as your supervisor and trainer."
Jiro sighed and turned back to the search.
Hours passed. Every drawer, every room, every inch of the house was combed through, but nothing surfaced.
When the workday ended, the two detectives stepped outside together.
"Well, today was a bust," Jiro muttered. "We didn't find anything that could help us figure out what really happened. And since the kid's at school, we had to end the search early before he gets home. It's been three weeks now, and still nothing new. How is that even possible?"
As the crew began packing their tools, Mitsuro patted his pockets suddenly.
"Hey, I think I forgot my wallet inside. You guys go on without me. I've got some errands to run after this." He walked back into the house.
Jiro waved him off. "Understood. Just don't make us come back for you."
The cars and cleanup trucks cleared the area, one by one. Silence settled over the house.
Mitsuro stood alone at the doorway. He slowly turned back, then closed the door behind him.
The lights flickered. A faint, dark mist swirled at his feet.
He exhaled and closed his eyes. A cold, ominous aura filled the air as faint visions began to form around him, blurry shapes, shadows of people moving through the house, like echoes of the past. He followed them silently, step by step.
The phantom figure led him upstairs, into the parents' bedroom. It paused before the wall, then ran straight through it.
Mitsuro's eyes snapped open.
He stared at the wall, smirking slightly.
"Found you," he muttered to himself before leaving the house.
The Lab
Only the sound of muffled voices filled the void.
"Hey kid, wake up. I know you can hear me."
The scene faded into a cold, dimly lit lab room. Aoma lay on a steel table, shirtless, covered in wires and tubes connected deep into his back. His breathing was heavy and uneven.
"HELP! HELP!" he screamed, voice trembling.
"Don't make this hard," one of the scientists said. "We're not here to hurt you, we're here to help."
"Hey doc, the patient's awake," another called out.
A man stepped into the room, messy hair, tired eyes, lab coat stained with old chemicals or blood. He barely looked alive.
He walked up to Aoma, picked up his tools, and said calmly, "Hey, Aoma, that's what they call you up there, right? Listen, what is about to happen is going to change your life."
Without warning, he picked up a scalpel and cut open Aoma's chest.
"Don't move," he said firmly. "This requires precision. One wrong twitch, and you die. Nod if you understand."
Aoma, crying and shaking, nodded weakly.
Why is this happening? Where am I? Someone please help me. It hurts so much.
The doctor looked up, saw the boy's tears, and gave a crooked grin.
"Hey kid, I know I've got an ugly smile. I'm just not a happy person."
"What?" Aoma tried to whisper.
"Shhhh," the doctor said, pressing a finger to his lips. "Don't speak. Your body's fragile. Just listen."
He signaled for a clamp. Another scientist passed it to him.
"You see, kid, you're not just any ordinary kid."
Aoma screamed in agony as the doctor pulled something glowing out of his chest, veins of energy pulsing around it. The doctor studied it, fascinated, then dropped it into a tray.
He turned toward the exit.
"Today marks the beginning of a new future," he said, smiling eerily.
His laughter echoed through the metallic hall as the door closed behind him.
Aoma lay motionless, breathing shallowly before finally blacking out.
Aoma's Awakening
Aoma slowly opened his eyes. A cold metallic scent filled the air.
His body ached everywhere, his chest, his back, his arms.
When he looked down, his skin was covered in markings, precise surgical lines drawn across his joints and ribs, like he was nothing more than an experiment waiting to be opened.
He froze. What did they do to me?
The pain hit him all at once, sharp, deep, real. Panic surged through his body.
"They marked me for dissection. I need to get out of here!"
He stumbled toward the glass wall of his cell and started pounding on it.
"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME! I DON'T BELONG HERE!"
A tired voice came from the next cell over.
"Hey, kid. Keep it down. You're loud."
Aoma froze. "Hello? Someone's there?"
"Yeah, and I'm trying to sleep. So shut up already," the voice replied. "No one's coming to help you, trust me. There's no way out of here. If you keep yelling, they might cut out your tongue."
Aoma's heart dropped. He stepped back from the glass until his back hit the wall, then slowly slid down to the cold floor. Tears filled his eyes.
"They must be looking for me. My m--,"
He stopped. His mother was gone. His father was missing. There was no one left. He covered his mouth, trying not to cry out loud, realizing how alone he really was.
The Cells
Moments later, the metallic doors hissed open. A man in a dark mask stepped in alongside the doctor.
The lights in every cell flickered on at once, revealing rows of pale, terrified kids inside their glass prisons.
"Wake up, everyone!" the doctor shouted. "Look alive! We have a guest, a kind man who's here to save one of you. The question is, who's ready to see the light again?"
The room erupted in desperate cries.
"Please! Save me! I'm ready!"
"Get me out of here, I'll do anything!"
Aoma just stood there, silent, defeated.
The masked man walked down the hall, inspecting each cell. The doctor followed behind him, tablet in hand.
"So, Gean," said the masked man, "who's the special one?"
"Funny you ask," the doctor replied with a crooked smile. "We've got someone special, well-trained, obedient, and fully developed. Been here for a while now. Right this way."
They stopped in front of the glass cell beside Aoma.
"This one," said the doctor proudly. "We call him Subject 2."
The masked man leaned close. "Wake up, kid."
From the shadows, a young man uncurled himself and rose to his feet. His sharp blue eyes gleamed like moons cutting through the dark. His face was striking, his build lean but strong.
"Turn around," the masked man ordered.
Subject 2 turned his back to the glass. The masked man's eyes widened as he saw the strange mark on his back.
"How did you get your hands on something with a mark like that?" the masked man asked.
The doctor smirked. "I have my ways. Whether he's useful or not, that's for you to decide."
After a moment, the masked man removed his gloves and said, "I'll take him."
"Excellent choice," the doctor said, shaking his hand.
As the masked man turned, his gaze fell briefly on Aoma's cell.
"What about this one?"
The doctor's smile vanished. "He's not for sale. Not even to you. He belongs to the royals. Someone powerful ordered me to turn him into the perfect weapon."
The masked man studied Aoma for a moment longer, then walked away in silence.
When the door shut, Subject 2 punched the glass of his cell over and over.
"Damn it! Why'd he have to pick me!? I didn't want this!"
He turned toward Aoma.
"Hey, kid. Promise me something. Don't let that doctor live. Do whatever it takes. I've seen what he does to people. If it wasn't for this collar on my neck, I'd tear his head off myself."
Aoma didn't answer, he just stared at the ground, lost in thought.
"Are you listening? Don't let him break you. That's what they want, to crush your spirit. You have to stay strong. One day, I'll come back to this place, and when I do, I'll burn this whole place to the ground." Subject 2 said in a strange but thrilling way which snapped Aoma back into reality.
"Sorry, say that again?" Aoma asked quietly.
"So you are listening." Subject 2 sighed, leaning against the glass. "You're from this place, right?"
"Place? Why do you call it that? It's a city."
Subject 2 laughed bitterly. "A city? Are you serious? Did you get dropped on your head as a baby? Open your eyes. This isn't a city kid, it's a dump. The rest of the world calls this place hell. The real city, no, the big city, is far from here."
Aoma's eyes widened. "Wait, there's more out there?"
"Plenty. I'm from the mountains. High high in the mountains where the world fades away, the air is pure and light, each breath is filled with magic. The clouds act as pathways, bridges that carry you from peak to peak. Up there you don't feel like you're walking on mountains, you feel like you're walking through the sky. My name's Laz. Don't forget it."
"Wait there's really other places?" Aoma asked, his voice trembling with hope.
"Don't get too excited yet," Laz said. "You still gotta survive this place first. And even if you escape, the forest surrounding this town is crawling with monsters. This whole area sits on a field of old blood, a feeding ground. Be careful if you ever make it out."
Aoma's mind raced. More towns, a big city, monsters? It was more than he ever imagined.
"Can I ask you something else?" Aoma said.
"Go ahead," Laz replied.
"Do you think I can become a hero?"
Laz laughed quietly then asked. "Is that your dream?"
"Yeah."
"There's no such thing as heroes anymore," Laz said. Then, after a pause, he smiled faintly. "But there is a way to become one. There's an academy in the big city, the School of Magic. They teach everything there. But the entrance fee's steep, and the trials are brutal. Even if you find the money, you'll need real power to survive."
"What's your name, kid?" Laz asked.
"My name is,"
The heavy door burst open.
"Open Subject 2's cell!" the doctor barked. "By the grace of our work, you are free, my child! Come, your new master awaits!"
Laz exhaled slowly and stepped forward. Before leaving, he turned his head toward Aoma. Their eyes met. Laz raised one hand, placed it behind his head, and pointed at the tattoo on his back silently telling him to remember this mark.
The door shut behind them.
Aoma stared at the ceiling, whispering to himself.
"My name is Aoma. Aoma Neyagawu."