This was bad.
He might actually die here. The constant blows to his body rained down with relentless brutality, as every limb and nerve ending he could still feel screamed at him to yield. He couldn’t draw enough oxygen into his system to give him even a fraction of a chance to squeeze out of this pinch, and it wasn’t long before he was surely beaten to death. However, amidst the panic of feeling every short, strained gasp for life, he found himself under the weight of another underlying yet imposing emotion: familiarity.
Suddenly, he felt the heavy beatdown subside, as if allowing just the shortest of respite, and with all the strength he could muster, he rolled away and forced himself up on all fours, drinking in as much air as he could for what surely was a fleeting opportunity and potentially a second lease on life. His senses finally returned in his moment of pause, and as he pulled himself up to his feet, he assessed the damage done and returned his attention to the unsettling recognition he’d felt earlier. It hadn’t been short-lived; this was an ominous air that had slowly been suffocating him since he got attacked. It wasn’t until he took a cursory glance around him that another, much more urgent thought intruded into his mind.
Where’d he go?
“Slow. Sloppy. Weak. You really think you can be a hero like this?”
A voice rang out through the empty space. Muffled, soft, yet simultaneously reverberant and deep. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but he managed to respond, feeling his words scratch against his hoarse throat.
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
The assault hadn’t resumed for longer than he’d anticipated, but he kept his guard up as best as he could, knowing this wasn’t even close to over. His body groaned in pain every second he held himself up, begging him to crumple, to fall. To let it end. But he remained as alert as possible, waiting for anything to happen. And sure enough, shortly after he made his inquiry, an sinister, piercing chill sank into his core, nearly causing his body to give way immediately. It was dense, frigid, and it was all he could do to stay focused. Following the sudden cold was a seeping fog, dyed an unusual black and purple hue as it slowly filled the space, barely obscuring the silhouette of a man standing dozens of meters away.
The shrouded figure approached, his footsteps echoing through the air, and the materializing fog seemed to originate from his person, emanating around him like living fire. He came to a halt before the beaten, bruised teen in front of him, though his aura remained ever imposing. It was then that his victim could finally see his assailant, and his eyes quickly widened. He recognized that outfit. Every single detail, every minute mistake made in the sewing. The scarf. The man before him pulled his scarf down below his chin, revealing a scowl dripping with malice and intense in its scorn. His mouth opened to speak, and when he responded to the question asked of him, his voice came as a complete shock.
“SHUN TAKESHI, I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO WAKE THE HELL UP! YOU’RE GONNA BE LATE!”
Soren’s eyes snapped open as he awoke with a startled yelp, abruptly sitting up as he gained consciousness. He felt himself sink into his mattress, the warmth of the comforter draped upon him as he sat in stark contrast to the unnatural cold he’d felt just seconds ago. When the shock wore off and he finally returned to reality, Soren heaved an exhausted sigh and fell back into his bed, feeling the soft pillow cradle his head and staring at the ceiling.
“That’s the second time this week…”
- Monday, September 18, 2044 - 8:28 AM -
After several deep breaths to regain his bearings, Soren hopped out of bed and stretched his arms and legs which, thankfully, showed no signs of injury. He quickly changed out of his pajamas, throwing on a basic tee and slipping into a pair of slim navy jeans. After hurriedly brushing his teeth and washing his face, he brushed through his unkempt, long hair and swept it to the right before throwing on a bomber jacket, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and heading downstairs. However, as soon as he arrived in the living room, Soren was immediately met by a small, red, spherical object hurtling toward his head at breakneck pace and terrifying accuracy. He barely caught the apple in time and took a bite as he passed by the culprit of the attack, who had seemed to immediately return to her busywork in the kitchen.
“You’re running behind, so finish that quickly and be on your way,” she curtly instructed, as her gaze remained fixed on the last few dishes she had to do.
“Got it.”
A brief moment of silence fell between mother and son, but it was broken by the former, who briefly turned off the water and turned slightly to speak once more.
“You were turning in bed and making some weird noises in your sleep,” she remarked, though her voice was bereft of any palpable concern. “Something wrong?”
“Nothing serious,” Soren lied, as he scrolled through his phone while working his way through his fruit to keep himself from thinking about what he’d seen and felt. “Just one of those weird dreams where nothing made sense. I forgot what happened already.”
“...Sure. Well, feel free to let me know when you’re ready to tell me what it really was after school. It’s time to go.”
The water was turned back on, and Soren gave no response as he made for the front door, tossing the apple core in the trash on the way and slipping on a pair of white sneakers. He opened the door, immediately met by a slap of brisk, autumn wind, and before stepping through, he turned back to glance at his mom.
“Love you, Mom.”
“10-4. Don’t do anything stupid.”
And with that, he was off.
---
As he walked, part of him questioned why he’d tried to hide his nightmare from her at all, knowing it was her literal job to deal with liars and criminals. She’d seen right through him, and he was lucky that she didn’t push the conversation any further. It wasn’t that Soren didn’t trust his own mother; after all, she was the Chief of Police. Though, maybe that was where the issue lied. The two of them had found themselves to have substantial differences in their sense of justice, though neither had a desire to argue their perspectives; it was a trivial dispute that meant nothing in this reality. They had their own jobs to form their ideals around. Nothing more to it, and nothing more that could be done.
Few more minutes of quiet walking later, Soren finally arrived at his destination. Parakeet High School. An oddly named but entirely typical institute of secondary education that refused to exceed expectations, good or bad. The buildings and facilities certainly housed the appropriate number of students and ensured a learning environment. The teachers certainly taught their curriculum in a manner so as to allow students to learn about the subject. The provided lunch was certainly an edible, balanced meal. The clubs were certainly student-led groups that shared similar interests. To put it briefly, everything here was… just okay. Nothing incredible, nothing terrible. Parakeet High School was as normal and average as normal and average got.
Soren walked through the front doors and made for his first period class, Algebra II with Mrs. Beaker in room B241. Upon arrival, he sat in his usual seat, in the middle and against the wall. Soren retrieved his green spiral and a mechanical pencil, setting it down on his desk before “relaxing” in his plastic chair as much as a plastic chair would permit. However, any potential moment of quiet was abruptly snuffed out as Soren overheard a group of students outside the classroom chattering excitedly.
“Ohmygod I can’t wait for Homecoming!! Do y’all have your dates already?”
“Not yet--I’ve been putting off asking my crush for so long…”
“Well, you only got like 2 weeks now; you gotta at least shoot your shot before it’s too late!”
“When is it? October 2nd? Ooh, I think I’ve already got plans with my toaster that day…”
“What?”
Homecoming, huh? Soren wouldn’t say he was exactly one for the loud, bustling, crowded parties that sapped more energy from him than he’d like. Not to mention he hadn’t really been looking for a special someone to go with, especially when it had only been a month or so since his high school life had begun. Sure, there were people who went with their friend groups to just hang out and have a good time together… he didn’t have much in the friend department either. As content as he tried to tell himself he was in his solitude, Soren couldn’t help but acknowledge a small but vocal desire to experience such a well-known high school event at least once in the four years he’d be here.
However, the digital 3-hit chime of the bell interrupted his thoughts, signaling one more minute before class began, and as more and more students began trickling into the classroom, Soren snapped back into focus, ready for the day to begin.
He might actually die here. The constant blows to his body rained down with relentless brutality, as every limb and nerve ending he could still feel screamed at him to yield. He couldn’t draw enough oxygen into his system to give him even a fraction of a chance to squeeze out of this pinch, and it wasn’t long before he was surely beaten to death. However, amidst the panic of feeling every short, strained gasp for life, he found himself under the weight of another underlying yet imposing emotion: familiarity.
Suddenly, he felt the heavy beatdown subside, as if allowing just the shortest of respite, and with all the strength he could muster, he rolled away and forced himself up on all fours, drinking in as much air as he could for what surely was a fleeting opportunity and potentially a second lease on life. His senses finally returned in his moment of pause, and as he pulled himself up to his feet, he assessed the damage done and returned his attention to the unsettling recognition he’d felt earlier. It hadn’t been short-lived; this was an ominous air that had slowly been suffocating him since he got attacked. It wasn’t until he took a cursory glance around him that another, much more urgent thought intruded into his mind.
Where’d he go?
“Slow. Sloppy. Weak. You really think you can be a hero like this?”
A voice rang out through the empty space. Muffled, soft, yet simultaneously reverberant and deep. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but he managed to respond, feeling his words scratch against his hoarse throat.
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
The assault hadn’t resumed for longer than he’d anticipated, but he kept his guard up as best as he could, knowing this wasn’t even close to over. His body groaned in pain every second he held himself up, begging him to crumple, to fall. To let it end. But he remained as alert as possible, waiting for anything to happen. And sure enough, shortly after he made his inquiry, an sinister, piercing chill sank into his core, nearly causing his body to give way immediately. It was dense, frigid, and it was all he could do to stay focused. Following the sudden cold was a seeping fog, dyed an unusual black and purple hue as it slowly filled the space, barely obscuring the silhouette of a man standing dozens of meters away.
The shrouded figure approached, his footsteps echoing through the air, and the materializing fog seemed to originate from his person, emanating around him like living fire. He came to a halt before the beaten, bruised teen in front of him, though his aura remained ever imposing. It was then that his victim could finally see his assailant, and his eyes quickly widened. He recognized that outfit. Every single detail, every minute mistake made in the sewing. The scarf. The man before him pulled his scarf down below his chin, revealing a scowl dripping with malice and intense in its scorn. His mouth opened to speak, and when he responded to the question asked of him, his voice came as a complete shock.
“SHUN TAKESHI, I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO WAKE THE HELL UP! YOU’RE GONNA BE LATE!”
Soren’s eyes snapped open as he awoke with a startled yelp, abruptly sitting up as he gained consciousness. He felt himself sink into his mattress, the warmth of the comforter draped upon him as he sat in stark contrast to the unnatural cold he’d felt just seconds ago. When the shock wore off and he finally returned to reality, Soren heaved an exhausted sigh and fell back into his bed, feeling the soft pillow cradle his head and staring at the ceiling.
“That’s the second time this week…”
- Monday, September 18, 2044 - 8:28 AM -
After several deep breaths to regain his bearings, Soren hopped out of bed and stretched his arms and legs which, thankfully, showed no signs of injury. He quickly changed out of his pajamas, throwing on a basic tee and slipping into a pair of slim navy jeans. After hurriedly brushing his teeth and washing his face, he brushed through his unkempt, long hair and swept it to the right before throwing on a bomber jacket, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and heading downstairs. However, as soon as he arrived in the living room, Soren was immediately met by a small, red, spherical object hurtling toward his head at breakneck pace and terrifying accuracy. He barely caught the apple in time and took a bite as he passed by the culprit of the attack, who had seemed to immediately return to her busywork in the kitchen.
“You’re running behind, so finish that quickly and be on your way,” she curtly instructed, as her gaze remained fixed on the last few dishes she had to do.
“Got it.”
A brief moment of silence fell between mother and son, but it was broken by the former, who briefly turned off the water and turned slightly to speak once more.
“You were turning in bed and making some weird noises in your sleep,” she remarked, though her voice was bereft of any palpable concern. “Something wrong?”
“Nothing serious,” Soren lied, as he scrolled through his phone while working his way through his fruit to keep himself from thinking about what he’d seen and felt. “Just one of those weird dreams where nothing made sense. I forgot what happened already.”
“...Sure. Well, feel free to let me know when you’re ready to tell me what it really was after school. It’s time to go.”
The water was turned back on, and Soren gave no response as he made for the front door, tossing the apple core in the trash on the way and slipping on a pair of white sneakers. He opened the door, immediately met by a slap of brisk, autumn wind, and before stepping through, he turned back to glance at his mom.
“Love you, Mom.”
“10-4. Don’t do anything stupid.”
And with that, he was off.
---
As he walked, part of him questioned why he’d tried to hide his nightmare from her at all, knowing it was her literal job to deal with liars and criminals. She’d seen right through him, and he was lucky that she didn’t push the conversation any further. It wasn’t that Soren didn’t trust his own mother; after all, she was the Chief of Police. Though, maybe that was where the issue lied. The two of them had found themselves to have substantial differences in their sense of justice, though neither had a desire to argue their perspectives; it was a trivial dispute that meant nothing in this reality. They had their own jobs to form their ideals around. Nothing more to it, and nothing more that could be done.
Few more minutes of quiet walking later, Soren finally arrived at his destination. Parakeet High School. An oddly named but entirely typical institute of secondary education that refused to exceed expectations, good or bad. The buildings and facilities certainly housed the appropriate number of students and ensured a learning environment. The teachers certainly taught their curriculum in a manner so as to allow students to learn about the subject. The provided lunch was certainly an edible, balanced meal. The clubs were certainly student-led groups that shared similar interests. To put it briefly, everything here was… just okay. Nothing incredible, nothing terrible. Parakeet High School was as normal and average as normal and average got.
Soren walked through the front doors and made for his first period class, Algebra II with Mrs. Beaker in room B241. Upon arrival, he sat in his usual seat, in the middle and against the wall. Soren retrieved his green spiral and a mechanical pencil, setting it down on his desk before “relaxing” in his plastic chair as much as a plastic chair would permit. However, any potential moment of quiet was abruptly snuffed out as Soren overheard a group of students outside the classroom chattering excitedly.
“Ohmygod I can’t wait for Homecoming!! Do y’all have your dates already?”
“Not yet--I’ve been putting off asking my crush for so long…”
“Well, you only got like 2 weeks now; you gotta at least shoot your shot before it’s too late!”
“When is it? October 2nd? Ooh, I think I’ve already got plans with my toaster that day…”
“What?”
Homecoming, huh? Soren wouldn’t say he was exactly one for the loud, bustling, crowded parties that sapped more energy from him than he’d like. Not to mention he hadn’t really been looking for a special someone to go with, especially when it had only been a month or so since his high school life had begun. Sure, there were people who went with their friend groups to just hang out and have a good time together… he didn’t have much in the friend department either. As content as he tried to tell himself he was in his solitude, Soren couldn’t help but acknowledge a small but vocal desire to experience such a well-known high school event at least once in the four years he’d be here.
However, the digital 3-hit chime of the bell interrupted his thoughts, signaling one more minute before class began, and as more and more students began trickling into the classroom, Soren snapped back into focus, ready for the day to begin.
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