The hallway lights, a sickly fluorescent glow, stretched into an endless blur as David, with his dark, wavy hair and indigo eyes, pushed his aching body forward. Each ragged gasp for air brought a sharp sting to his lungs, a burning reminder of the chase. Behind him, the mechanical chittering grew louder, closer with every measured step. He risked a glance over his shoulder, his indigo eyes darting back to gauge the threat.
Three figures pressed closer behind him, their bodies a chilling blend of skeletal and industrial. They wore dark charcoal suits, armored with silver plates across their chests and shoulders, and their heads were encased in silver helmets with horizontal, vent-like slats. A single, glowing red sensor pulsed on the side of each head, cold and unfeeling. Their metallic legs scraped against the cold floor, a grating sound that scraped at his nerves, reminding him of his impending capture.
"Just keep moving," he urged himself, his voice a low, rough whisper that barely carried above the mechanical chorus of his pursuers. "Don't stop."
He could feel it in the hum, though, something beyond the harsh tech of his pursuers, a faint, almost imperceptible resonance that resonated deeply within him, a strange pull that suggested an escape, a chance, a way out of this cold, metallic labyrinth.
"You cannot escape, Specimen G-7," a synthesized voice boomed from the lead Trilobite Magia, its glowing red eye seeming to fixate on the boy. "Return to the Grand Order."
A small, translucent figure tumbled from Jazik's pocket, its soft blue body glowing faintly. It looked like a miniature gummy bear, roughly the size of his thumb, with stretchy arms and tiny, inquisitive eyes.
The little creature bounced on the cold floor for a moment, then chittered softly, ( ๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و < GUMMY! GUMMY! It pointed a nubby, almost transparent arm toward the wall ahead.
There, a space shimmered with an ethereal, swirling blue light, pulsing with a raw, untamed energy. It appeared like a tear in the sterile, metallic wall, contrasting sharply with the cold, unfeeling environment of the corridor. The Magia were gaining ground, their heavy footsteps thud-thud-thudding closer with each passing second. Their silver plating reflected the harsh fluorescent lights, making them appear even more imposing.
"This is it," Jazik murmured, his voice barely a whisper against the rising mechanical clamor. "A chance."
The lead Trilobite Magia raised a metallic arm, a rifle materializing in its grasp.
"WEAPON LOCK: TARGET ACQUIRED"
Jazik lunged, a desperate burst of speed fueled by the stark knowledge that failure meant more than just his capture; it meant the efforts of those who helped him escape would be in vain. He threw himself towards the shimmering portal, the little creature clinging to his shirt. The sterile air of the facility vanished, replaced by a sudden rush of wind and the dizzying sensation of falling. He closed his eyes, the blue light engulfing him completely.
Jazik tumbled through a maelstrom of distorted colors and shifting shapes, a swirling tunnel of pure energy that threatened to pull him apart. The little creature, still clutched to his shirt, bounced against him like a tiny, insistent heartbeat. Its muffled squeaks, "Gummy! Gummy!", were lost in the roar of the dimensional vortex.
He didn't have time to respond. With a sudden, dizzying lurch, the chaos dissipated, and he found himself plunging through clear, open air. The wind screamed past his ears, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence of the void he had just escaped.
"What in the...?" he muttered, forcing his eyes open against the gale. His stomach lurched, a familiar sensation he'd grown used to since G.O.D.'s 'experiments' had started.
Below, Paris unfolded like a dream woven from starlight. A vast, glittering expanse of twinkling lights stretched endlessly, painting a vibrant city against the dark canvas of night. The Eiffel Tower, majestic and glowing, pierced the clouds like a colossal, delicate needle, a beacon in the sprawling urban tapestry.
"No way," he whispered, a tremor in his voice. "This is... Paris."
This was his mother's homeland, a place he'd only ever glimpsed in old, faded photographs, tucked away in the forgotten corners of his mind. A wave of unexpected emotion, a bittersweet blend of sorrow and a strange longing, washed over him as the city rushed up to meet him, both beautiful and terrifying. He knew he should have felt fear, but instead, a quiet ache settled in his chest—a yearning for a connection he barely remembered.
G.O.D., the Grand Order of Dimensions, represented a vast, shadowy interdimensional empire that believed itself to be the ultimate authority over all realities. Their core tenet involved imposing a "Grand Order," a meticulously controlled multiverse where every world operated under their absolute rule. They achieved this by systematically raiding dimensions, harvesting unique powers and beings, and then reviving or absorbing defeated monsters and villains into their vast ranks. Jazik himself was a product of their relentless pursuit of power. He was born in Japan, though in a dimension different from this one. His French human mother and Granute father had lived a quiet life, his father adopting a Japanese human appearance to blend in. When G.O.D. had invaded his world and captured Jazik when he was young, his parents were killed resisting the abduction.
Ever since that day, Jazik had been nothing more than a lab rat for G.O.D., an unwilling subject in their relentless pursuit of power. He had spent what felt like an eternity, though he couldn't precisely say how long, enduring endless experiments and procedures that twisted his Granute physiology, trying to unlock and amplify its full potential for their nefarious ends. His escape, a desperate, heart-pounding dash for freedom, had only been possible because another unknown group, a rival faction perhaps, had launched a surprise assault on the G.O.D. base, turning the sterile, cold hallways into a chaotic battlefield of screams and explosions. That unexpected diversion had given him a slim window, a chance to slip through the cracks of their heavily guarded facility.
Jazik hit the ground with a sickening thud. The impact rattled every bone in his body, sending a wave of pain radiating through him. He landed awkwardly in a narrow alley, a forgotten space between two tall, grimy buildings. Garbage cans, overflowing with refuse, clattered noisily as he clipped one, scattering discarded newspapers and empty plastic containers across the damp asphalt. The air smelled of stale cigarettes, something vaguely sweet, and an underlying metallic tang. His vision swam, dark spots dancing at the edges, but he forced his eyes open, his Granute instincts screaming at him to assess his surroundings.
His head pounded. Every muscle ached. He pushed himself up, scraping his hands, and staggered to his feet. The world tilted, but he stayed upright. His body, bruised, began its silent regeneration. Faded graffiti marked a brick wall. A flickering streetlamp cast distorted shadows, making a bistro sign look menacing. Distant traffic murmured. This was Paris, his mother's city, a world from the sterile confines he'd escaped. The unfamiliarity felt heavy. His legs gave out, and he crumpled back to the ground as darkness claimed him.
Jazik's Granute physiology allowed him to survive falls that would be fatal to humans. His dense musculature and accelerated healing capabilities meant that while the impact would be brutal, his body would begin mending itself almost immediately, a silent, internal process that often saved him from worse fates.
The scent of warm bread and melting chocolate, a familiar comfort, usually filled Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie at this hour. Inside, Marinette, her dark blue hair tied in its usual pigtails with red ribbons, hummed a soft tune as she meticulously wiped down the glass display cases, her movements quick and efficient. She wore a simple, flour-dusted apron over a pink striped shirt and jeans, her expression one of focused contentment.
Her father, Tom, a towering, broad-shouldered man with warm brown eyes and a friendly mustache, emerged from the back, carrying a tray of freshly baked croissants. His white apron, perpetually dusted with flour, was tied neatly over a blue checkered shirt, his strong forearms visible beneath rolled-up sleeves. His deep, resonant laugh echoed gently through the bakery.
Sabine, petite and graceful, with her neat black bob and kind almond-shaped eyes, meticulously arranged a stack of cooling baguettes. Her simple green blouse and skirt were covered by her own apron; her hands, though delicate, moved with practiced ease.
"Sales were good today, Dad," Marinette chirped, turning to face him, a faint blush on her cheeks as she thought of her latest design for a new school project. "And I think I finally figured out the pleating for my new skirt design."
"That's wonderful, Marinette," Tom boomed, setting the tray down with a soft thud. "Almost as wonderful as these croissants." He winked at Sabine, who offered a gentle, knowing smile.
"Just about ready to close up, then?" Sabine asked, her voice soft and warm.
Tom nodded, pulling off his apron. "I will just lock up the front." He stepped out, the soft clink of the lock echoing in the quiet street. The warm, golden glow from inside the bakery spilled onto the pavement, pushing back against the encroaching shadows of the Parisian night. As he straightened, his gaze fell upon a figure slumped against the bakery's exterior wall. The darkness of the alley almost swallowed him whole, but the faint light revealed a pale face and dark, unruly hair.
"Sabine! Marinette!" Tom's voice, usually so full of warmth, carried an urgent note. "Come quickly!"
The sudden shift in his tone sent a shiver down Marinette's spine. She rushed out, Sabine close behind her, their earlier cheerful chatter instantly silenced by the unexpected sight. The boy, dressed in dark, unassuming clothes, lay motionless, a small, vibrant blue gummy bear clutched loosely in one hand. It looked fragile, utterly out of place against the familiar brick wall of their home.
Sabine knelt beside the unconscious boy, her small hands gently probing his neck for a pulse. Her touch was light, almost ethereal, her brow furrowed with concern.
"He is so cold," she murmured, her voice a soft, worried whisper. "And so thin."
Marinette watched, a strange feeling twisting in her stomach. The boy's dark, wavy hair fanned out against the gritty pavement, framing a face that looked too young, too vulnerable. She noticed the faint, rhythmic glow around his midsection, a subtle pulse of blue light that faded completely as she looked closer. It had been there only for a moment, a peculiar detail she wasn't sure she had truly seen.
"Careful, Mom," Marinette cautioned, her voice quiet. "Who do you think he is?"
Tom, meanwhile, moved with a surprising gentleness for a man of his size. He carefully scooped Jazik into his arms, the boy's lean frame almost feather-light. A small, blue gummy bear, which had been clutched in Jazik's hand, fell to the ground. Tom looked at it for a moment, a flash of something unreadable crossing his kind face.
"He is hurt, Marinette," Tom replied, his voice firm, his eyes fixed on the boy's pale face. "That is all that matters right now."
Sabine rose, her gaze sweeping over the deserted street, then back to the bakery's warm, inviting glow. "We must get him inside," she insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "He needs warmth."
Marinette, still processing the strange encounter, stepped aside. She looked at the small, discarded gummy bear on the pavement, its vibrant blue a stark contrast to the grimy alley. A silent agreement passed between her parents, a shared look of unspoken understanding. They would help him, no questions asked, just the simple, unwavering kindness that defined their home.
***
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