character design
mr perspective - height 181 cm ( 5 feet 11 inch)
weight - (70 kg / 158 pounds)
Appereance - thin and have dark bag under eye
hair - brown + buzz cut
eye colour - grey pupil
ethnicity- white
power -??????
fact - before memory loss he don't like to be called by his surname
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Darkness came first.
Then pain.
It throbbed behind his eyes, slow and heavy, like something trying to wake him by force. The smell of iron filled his nose. When he tried to move, cold spread across his cheek.
He opened one eye.
Concrete. Dim light. Two blurred shapes standing a few steps away.
> man on floor:: "Who are you?" he asked. His voice sounded wrong. Dry. Strained.
One of the figures stepped forward. A man in a neat suit, gloves pulled tight over his hands.
>man in a neat suit::"You may address me as Detective Glove," the man said calmly. He gestured to the second figure. "And that is Inspector Russell."
The other man didn't speak. He only watched.
The man on the floor swallowed. His head felt heavy. Sticky.
"Why am I here?" he asked. "Where am I?"
>Detective Glove sighed ::. "We were hoping to ask you that. Before someone introduced your head to a metal staircase."
Detective glove glanced at his wristwatch and opened a small compartment along its side. Without hesitation, he swallowed a pill.
>Man visibly confused:: whats happening
>Inspector Russell::. "You're asking a lot of questions for a thug."
Detective Glove raised one gloved finger. "Inspector. Please."
>Detective glove::"If our information is correct,, you are known in the local underworld as Mr. Perspective."
The name echoed strangely. Empty. Like it belonged to someone else.
>Mr perspective::"Perspective," the repeated. "That's my name?"
>Detective glove ::"It's what people call you. "We'll shorten it to Mr. P for now."
Mr. P pressed his fingers into the floor, trying to push himself up. The room spun.
>Mr p::"Why can't I remember anything?"
Russell leaned forward. "Because you got hit hard enough to forget how breathing works."
"Inspector," detective Glove warned.
Mr. P opened his mouth to respond.
Pain exploded.
His vision snapped white. His jaw locked. Foam spilled from his lips as his body convulsed against the floor.
The room faded.
---
Voices.
Children's voices.
First child"He doesn't talk at all."
Second child he is like that since he got transferred here
A boy sat alone at the edge of the classroom. He stared at the desk in front of him, hands folded neatly. His eyes were distant, unfocused.
First child do you think we can get super power
My mom said super power are not real second child said disapointed
Someone waved a hand in front of child in corner face.
"Hey," a child said. "You okay?"
The boy didn't respond.
---
Cold returned first.
Mr. P opened his eyes to a white ceiling. His arms were restrained. Tied to a metal chair pressed into his back.
"Hello?" he said hoarsely. "
A soft click echoed through the room.
Then a voice came from above him. Flat. Controlled.
"Mr. Perspective. You are currently under the supervision of the Power Balance Maintenance Department."
Mr. P swallowed. "That's a long name."
"You have suffered severe memory loss," the voice continued. "Your brain shows signs of abnormal fragmentation caused by power-based trauma."
"What does that mean?" Mr. P asked. "Because I feel like throwing up."
"That is an expected response," the voice replied. "Some memories remain accessible. Others may cause adverse effects if approached too quickly. We advise you to remain calm."
"Hard to do," Mr. P muttered.
"Some individuals are born with abilities," the voice said. "These abilities manifest naturally and demand regulation. We classify such individuals as special cases."
Mr. P frowned. "You think I'm special?"
"We are uncertain," the voice answered. "Your current threat level is classified as C-class from your history."
"So I'm not dangerous," Mr. P said.
There was a pause.
"You were the head of a local drug organization,"the voice said. "You are responsible for the deaths of two powered individuals and many more."
Mr. P let out a slow breath. "Wow. I really screwed up, didn't I?"
"You are being offered rehabilitation,"the voice continued. "In exchange for cooperation."
Mr. P stared at the ceiling.
"If I killed people," he said, "shouldn't I be locked up?"
"Perhaps," the voice replied. "But you are no longer the person who committed those acts. We believe you can save more lives than you have taken."
Another pause.
"Mr. Perspective," the voice said. "Are you prepared to wear blue?"
Mr. P closed his eyes.
"Looks like I don't have much of a choice."
"Your rehabilitation begins tomorrow."
Gas hissed softly into the room.
Mr. P smiled weakly as his vision blurred.
"Figures."
Darkness followed.
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