Achieving Thermal Equilibrium | ac

2. FLICKER

In a dark alley, a boy slumped against a graffitied wall. Heavy rain seeped through his hair, ran down his cheeks, and drenched his clothes, but he remained numb. After all, he was used to the cold. Besides, struggling was futile. He didn't even have an umbrella. He was powerless against the rain.

Powerless...

The boy turned the word over in his head. It tasted bitter. He didn't like being powerless. No, no, not at all. Unwanted memories flooded back to him–the factory going bankrupt, his parents leaving him, the bullies at school... He swallowed. Everything he'd ever had had been taken away from him.

More so than ever, he wanted to be strong. That way, he could finally make things right. But he didn't have anything, no, nothing at all. No family (his uncle didn't care for him), no friends, no money, no power. The only thing he had was a burning desire for strength, which kept him trudging through his bleak life. A tiny bit of hope for something more.

A shadow towered over him and rain stopped abruptly. The boy looked up and was met with a strange sight.

A curious man dressed in white from head to toe. And a traditional oil-paper umbrella in his outstretched arm.

What the fuck.

"Nice eyes," the man began. "I can see your vision. In your eyes lies a tenacity for victory."

The boy stared at the man. He didn't want to admit it yet, but the man's words had intrigued him. Just slightly. He liked how the man connected him to victory. Victory, victory... wasn't that what he wanted?

"That tenacity is essential for mastering the powerful cells I've created."

Cells, huh? So that guy's a freak scientist.

"I'll keep it simple," the man continued in his gravelly voice. He leaned down and looked at the boy straight in the eye. "Won't you join me for some 'addition'?"

It was as if a jolt of electricity went through the boy's spine. Cold sweat dripped down his face. What is that freak talking about\–

"I'll worry about which path to take towards victory. Your tenacity, plus my technology, would equal the 'power' to grasp victory." The man made a victory sign with his fingers. "So, what do you say?"

The boy's mind was in a whirl, and his stomach clenched uncomfortably. Cells... what the hell was that? From the looks of it, that white scientist was offering to give him body modifications. His heart leapt. Body modifications. While that sounded freaky as fuck, he could be extraordinarily strong. He could have an edge over everyone, over those stupid bullies, over those bastards who bled them of their money. He could be special. He could be strong. He could finally grasp that sweet victory in his hands.

This was it. A chance. He'd been waiting so long for one. And no, he wasn't going to let it slip from his fingers, no matter the cost. The look in his eyes hardened.

The man had apparently inferred his answer, because he stretched out a hand. Without hesitation, the boy grabbed his hand. Even with the gloves, the hand felt faintly warm.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Horibe Itona."

"So, Horibe-kun–"

Something snapped inside of him. "No. Don't call me that. Call me Itona," he barked sharply.

Itona felt like if the man wasn't wearing a mask, he would've raised both of his eyebrows. His family name aroused unpleasant memories–of his parents' weakness, of their factory's weakness. The name "Itona" wasn't much better because it was given to him by his parents, but at least it didn't have anything associated with "Horibe Electronics".