Disclaimer
Please note: Writing decisions have been made that may not make complete sense in terms of power scaling or characters' actions. These choices are deliberate for the sake of [PLOT]. Thank you for your understanding.
[ MATTHEW POV]
USELESS.
The one word that's haunted him his entire life, the one word that seemed to follow him wherever he went. That was the thought going through Matthews mind as he was getting shouted at by the lump of lard he called his boss. Turning his attention to the man's face, slick with sweat, and other bodily secretions, his un even breathing as a result of his unhealthy eating habits and his wig that he put in place to cover his already balding head was slowly coming undone with each frantic movement he made while screaming his heart out into my face.
The once quiet office industry building had become a regular source of noise complaints, the onlookers, my fellow co-workers kept going about their morning routines, ignoring the spectacle happening before them. My small work station, a cubicle with a moderate office desktop and a printer was littered with months of dumped work given to me by the Shit stain standing before me.
"MATTHEW! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU THAT THE DATA SHEET FOR THE MONTHLY SALES SHOULD ALWAYS BE ON MY DESK AS SOON AS I COME INTO WORK IN THE MORNING! DO YOU KNOW HOW IMPORTANT THIS IS FOR ME! I CAN'T WORK PROPERLY IF I DON'T HAVE THE NECESSARY DATA!"
Said the waste of space.
"I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again, the Analysis department hadn't finished up gathe- "
"EXCUSES! EXCUSES! NOT ANOTHER WORD FROM YOU! HOW YOU GET THE DATA SHEET TO MY TABLE IN THE MORNING DOESN'T MATTER TO ME, MY ONLY CONCERN IS THAT IT MUST BE ON MY TABLE BEFORE I ARRIVE!"
Said the lump of lard, with so much anger in his voice I could hear him popping a blood vessel.
My hands clenched under the oak wood table of my cubicle, my knuckles turning white, as I sat there with a neutral expression on my face, the cold fury slowly rising within me.
This little shit…...deep down he knows damn well that organizing the monthly data sheet is his job, he's just using me as the middle man for his work!
From the end of the room, near the Bosses office, the lards secretary, Britney, blonde brunette, with a shitty pony tail and even shittier glasses had an amused expression on her face. So she's the one that did this.
The anger that was growing slowly melted to that of amusement at the rather hilarious situation I found myself in.
'Just because I didn't respond to your advances and attempts to control me for my job, you're going directly to the boss as revenge huh? Well aren't you petty.'
Looking away from her and to my fellow colleagues I do a quick scan of the room, every one of them locked eyes with me simply turned their head away in guilt, pity or simply amused.
'Tch… they're also part of whats wrong with this shitty job.'
"LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!"
[ * PA *]
The momentary sting of the slap pulling me out of my thoughts, he continued his rant, his remarks leaving an unsavory taste in my mouth and spittle on my circular rim glasses.
But what caught my attention was the side glance my "boss" kept giving Britney as he was shouting at me.
Hmm..oh..OH! I see, she's sleeping her way to the top, that skank.
I'll just wait till I'm paid for this month's work before resigning. Oh, it seems he's done with his rant.
With a huff, he leaves me alone before going back into his office with Britney following in tow, hips swaying like some sort of provocation.
What followed was some rather disturbing noise that all the office staff had gotten used to over the course of a few months, but it didn't stop the expression on my face to grow ever so disgusted.
[ A few minutes later]
Coming out of the office Britney, with her hair and clothes disheveled, still trying to straighten her skirt she approaches me with a stack of documents, dropping it directly on my already sorted pile of documents, causing the place to be even more of a mess than it already was.
'THAT'S IT!'
I abruptly stood up causing my office chair to scratch loudly against the graphite floors of the office, unintentionally getting everyone's attention in the process, the boss included who was still looking gleeful after his two minutes of alone time with his slutty secretary. Britney took a step back at my sudden action, the amused look on her face, turned to that of a scowl as I packed all my stuff before taking my leave. No fighting, no arguments, no begging, having already reached the exit I left them with one final remark.
"I quit."
My abrupt leave and remark caused many heads to turn in shock but none of them made any effort to reach me, the protests of my former boss and his mistress fell on deaf ears as I kept walking with no intention of turning back.
Going down the stairs of the building taking a few turns around corners and different department offices I finally made my egress out of the building, throwing my company ID card in the trash can, I walked off, with my bag in hand as I finally relished in this feeling the feeling of Freedom.
Taking in a deep breath, my nose was greeted with the familiar smell of New York city's air – it reeked of the stench of fake people, fake lives and most importantly fake bonds.
[* RING * * RING *]
Looking at my phone screen I stopped dead in my tracks as a familiar name pops up.
'Dad.'
Running my hand through my hair I ready myself for the onslaught I'm about to receive. And without hesitation I receive the call.
"Hey Da-"
"Matthew is it true that you lost your job? the one I had spent months trying to get for you?"
"….."
"So it is true? What's the latest excuse for this one now? Abuse? Framed? Why must the simplest things be so difficult for you!"
"Nice to hear from you too Dad."
"AGAIN WITH THE SARCASAM! WHY CAN'T YOU TAKE ANYTHING SERIOUSLY!"
"How is it my fault that others can't do their work properly without mooching of others!"
"SILENCE! You will watch your tone when you speak to me boy! It was a simple job! It paid well! Hell even your three-year-old nephew could have done it! But you JUST had to mess it up, its already bad enough that you're not married yet, but the fact you can't even keep a simple job is beyond disappointing!"
His outburst caused the onlookers to throw curious glances at me much to my displeasure.
".... See you Later Dad."
"Martha I really don't understand where we went with this boy…. Why couldn't he be more like his siblings…*sigh*"
Said my Dad under muttered breath, forgetting that he had yet to end the call, so I did it for him.
[ *CLICK*]
With a soft click the call came to an end. For a while I stood in place before marching forward, my destination- home.
******************************************************************************
Every moment in my life I'd always get the same outcome- mediocre and average results.
Tests, exams, social life, lovers, work, career. I always somehow ended up screwing things up.
There wasn't anything noteworthy about me, not like my siblings: Melissa, Kenny and James.
Everything the put their hands in always turned to gold, top of their classes from kinder garden all the way to high school, all three of them got recommended to ivy league colleges with full scholarship, each of them had paved their way and made a name for themselves in their respective fields.
My eldest sibling, Melissa became a lead neuro surgeon of a very renowned Hospital, treating a plethora of wealthy clients on a weekly basis, this inadvertently caused our family to gain connections in high places, which my parents very much cherished.
My eldest brother, Kenny made a name for himself in the opposite side of the spectrum in comparison to my sister, he went on to be a Soldier, moving along the ranks at a rapid pace, reaching the rank of General at half the age of his colleagues.
While my immediate sibling, James, just became the lead engineer in boosting artificial intelligence research.
With siblings like these why would my parents pay attention to me the one who got stuck with the short end of the stick. Ive always been overshadowed by my siblings, any friends I made over the years realized this and immediately tried to use me as a way to reach them.
But the thing is- my siblings hate me and I hate them too, while mine can be explained as insecurity and because of my lack of parental love in my growing years and jealousy of how successful they are compared to me. Their own reason for hating me is a lot more basic- they just hate me for hating sake. Yup, there's no big reason, no false sense of justice, no petty revenge story, they just hating for hating sake.
They've never liked me and they've never failed to show it, the scowl that crawls onto their faces whenever I'm around them is very hard to ignore.
But whats worse is that even though they make about a hundred times more money than I do, they suck at managing it, their monthly salaries either end up being spent in days causing them to always almost be broke a large portion of the time, and whats worse they always somehow end up meeting me as a last resort for money. Sorry excuse me, I mean, demanding for money, like it's their right, with fake promises of paying me back when they never do.
******************************************************************************
New York city.
The big apple, the city where people come to make a name for themselves, as someone once said in a musical "In New-York you can be a new man."
But that hasn't happened to me yet I wonder when it will happen? Probably when one of my siblings receive their 1000th medal/award or something…
'Sigh...'
It was a cold, dreary evening in New York City. The streetlights cast long, flickering shadows over the cracked sidewalks, and the air was heavy with the faint smell of gasoline and rain-soaked asphalt. Continuing at a steady pace he saw the silhouette of the familiar apartment building.
"Another day in paradise," Matthew muttered under his breath as he adjusted the strap of his worn messenger bag.
Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he plugged in his earbuds and scrolled to his playlist. The opening theme from My Hero Academia—his favorite anime—blared in his ears. For a moment, he let the upbeat melody wash over him, allowing it to drown out the noise of the bustling city around him.
He turned a corner, then another, taking the familiar route home. The streets were crowded as always, but Thomas paid little attention to the people around him.
That is, until he noticed the argument.
Up ahead, a heated exchange was unfolding between a middle-aged woman and a young Black man. The woman—a stereotypical "Karen" if there ever was one—was waving her arms wildly, her face flushed with anger. The young man, meanwhile, stood his ground, his posture tense but controlled.
Matthew stopped a few paces away, his eyes drawn to the scene.
"That poor guy," he thought, shaking his head. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was happening. She was racially profiling him.
But what really caught Thomas's attention was the child. A boy, no older than four, stood next to the woman, clutching a red balloon in one hand. Unlike his mother, the boy seemed blissfully unaware of the commotion, a wide grin on his face as he stared at the balloon.
For a moment, Matthew considered stepping in.
"No," he told himself. "Not my problem."
He turned away, ready to walk past the scene. But guilt gnawed at him.
"Maybe I should at least check on the kid," he thought, glancing back over his shoulder.
---
What happened next unfolded in slow motion.
The boy, distracted by his balloon, wandered into the street.
Matthew 's heart stopped as he noticed the oncoming truck—a massive eighteen-wheeler barreling down the road, the driver frantically honking the horn.
[ HONK! HONK! ]
Instinct took over.
Before he could think, before he could even process the danger, Matthew sprinted forward.
"Hey, kid!" he shouted, his voice breaking with panic.
He reached the boy just in time, shoving him out of harm's way.
The impact came a split second later.
Pain.
Searing, unimaginable pain.
The force of the collision sent Thomas flying through the air like a ragdoll. He hit the pavement with a sickening thud, his vision blurring as the world around him faded.
Through the haze, he saw the boy, unharmed, clutching his balloon. He saw the Karen, still yelling at the young man, oblivious to the accident that had just occurred.
'Figures' Thomas thought bitterly. 'She doesn't even notice.'
As darkness closed in, one final thought crossed his mind:
'I never deleted my browser history. Damn it.'
And then, nothing.
******************************************************************************
[ VOID]
I could see and then I couldn't see.
I could feel and then I couldn't feel.
I felt like I was in a suspended animation state. Like time itself had stopped but I could somehow still feel.
And then I saw it, a pair of white shaped orbs in this darkness, a being cloaked by a plague doctor mask, with veiny arms made from rotting flesh, acidic blood and tree bark, looking down, searching for something….
Then it looked at me, its white orb like eyes glowing menacingly as if disturbed by my presence.
[ * KRRKKKKKKKKKKKKK *]
I tried to scream but I couldn't.
My body was going through different sensations all at once.
My body felt like it had been dipped in an ice bath before being assaulted by the heat of a scorching sun in a desert.
My heart felt like it had been filled with lava, that was getting hotter and hotter. The heat spread throughout my body
I felt my veins burn like my blood was acid, eating my body from the inside out.
[ *YANK* ]
But suddenly a tiny sized hole of light pierced through the darkness, and I was pulled by something out of the void, the pain in my chest slowly subsiding but the trauma remained. The light approaching me faster and faster.
******************************************************************************
Meanwhile, in Japan...
******************************************************************************
[ ??? FACILITY ]
Deep within a high-tech facility nestled in the mountains of Osaka, chaos reigned.
Alarms blared, their shrill tones echoing through the sterile, fluorescent-lit halls. Scientists and security personnel scrambled in every direction, their faces pale with panic.
In the control room, Dr. Gyudai Giraki—a short, balding man with wire-rimmed glasses—paced back and forth, muttering curses under his breath.
"How could this happen?!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Experiment 626 has escaped! Do you have any idea how much time and money we've invested in that project?!"
A soldier entered the room, his expression grim.
"Doctor," the soldier said.
"What?!" Giraki snapped. "Speak up!"
"The facility's security network has been compromised. We've stationed guards at all access points, but—"
Before the soldier could finish, the massive monitor at the front of the room flickered, replaced by a grinning symbol—a caricature of a man with a long mustache.
[ALERT! ALERT! OPENING ALL WARD DOORS.]
Giraki's eyes widened in horror.
"Damn you, Robotnik!" he shouted, shaking his fist at the screen. "Even in death, you find ways to ruin me!"
"Sir!" another soldier called out. "Experiment 626's tracker has been disabled!"
Giraki's face turned ashen.
"Forget the other escapees," he said, his voice trembling. "Find that boy. Now."
---
When Matthew opened his eyes, he wasn't in New York anymore neither was he in that void.
He was lying on a cold, white floor in a brightly lit room. The walls were smooth and featureless, giving the space an eerie, sterile quality. The floor was stained with green colored liquid and blood.
"What the hell...?" he muttered, sitting up.
As he moved, he caught sight of his reflection in a nearby glass panel. He froze, staring at the stranger looking back at him.
Gone was his messy black hair and tired brown eyes. In their place were striking blue hair and emerald-green eyes that seemed to glow faintly. His face was different, too—sharper, more angular, unnaturally angular .
"What... happened to me?"
Before he could process the transformation, he heard the sound of footsteps—dozens of them.
He turned to see a group of soldiers filing into the room, their weapons trained on him.
"DO. NOT. MOVE," one of them barked, his voice cold and commanding.
Matthew—or whoever he was now—raised his hands slowly, his mind racing.
"What the hell is going on?"