Act 3
Eden: Central City of Earth
Amid the quiet night of the capital, Masayoshi walked the streets, a whirlwind of disbelief and fear taking over his being. Each step was firmer, each breath deeper, he observed his own hands, the contours of muscles that hadn't existed before, the stature that now made him stand out in the crowd.
(Darkseid said he would subjugate the universe with these powers. Is what I have in my hands really that powerful?)
(Well... I survived a fall of over three kilometers. Endurance, I already know is one aspect. Maybe super strength? I can test that... I just can't use 100% of this, otherwise... argh, I don't even want to think about what could happen.)
The ring of his cell phone cut the night's silence.
It was Ryan.
Ryan:
"Dude, where are you? You're lucky no one noticed you disappeared. You'll still get paid, at least."
Masayoshi:
"Ah... Sorry, haha! I felt sick and had to run out of there. I was so dizzy I got home and crashed on the bed."
Ryan:
"Alright, but next time let me know, and I'll bring you some chicken soup. My grandma's recipe."
Masayoshi:
"Hahaha, really sorry, today was crazy. But next time, I'll definitely try that soup. Well, I'm about to go into a place now, I'll text you later."
Ryan:
"Cool, buddy."
Hanging up, his gaze was drawn to a dark alley. It wasn't the same one, but the echo of the desperation he had witnessed still hung in the air, a tone of injustice that seemed to stain every stone of the sidewalks, every shadow of the city. He felt the weight of that misery, amplified now by his ideals.
Raising his eyes to the top of a building, a thought crossed his mind.
(I wonder if I can get up there without using the stairs?)
Moving back to the rear of the alley, making sure he was alone, Masayoshi concentrated, pressure in his feet, tension in his legs... and then, the reminder of Darkseid's warning. He relaxed his muscles, controlled the eagerness... Leaned upward and... propelled himself.
It was like being launched from a catapult, his first jump only took him halfway up the building, and he landed with a somewhat clumsy thud.
(Hmm, about 15% at most. Let's try again.)
With a more calculated thrust, he jumped again, this time grabbing the edge of the roof with an ease that surprised him, and with a single movement, he pulled himself up and onto the top.
(Look at that! Apparently, the super strength isn't just in the legs!)
From up there, the vastness of the city opened before him. His eyes saw beyond the illuminated skyscrapers, reaching the poor and forgotten villages on the outskirts, where dispossessed aliens struggled to survive, humiliated by a human society that saw them as inferior. A pain tightened his chest, the injustice wasn't an accident; it was an open and almost incurable wound in the world.
Dark thoughts tried to envelop him, but he repelled them, something inside him had changed. He was no longer the same.
"It would be easier to just give up and leave things as they are."
"But what if Darkseid manages to control me? What I witnessed in that mind... He would do much worse things."
"If there were an easier way... These powers traveled light-years to find me. Maybe I am... special? Why was I chosen?"
He stood up then, and a spark of determination lit in his gaze, banishing the last shadow of doubt.
"Well," declared Masayoshi to the stars, his spirit filling with a newborn conviction.
"I will be one against all then! I want to do good with these powers. They came to me for a reason! I will bring faith and justice back to this world, no matter how destroyed it is, as long as I live... I won't give up!"
And so, he began to run, not through the streets, but across the rooftops, leaping from one to another with a grace that was both powerful and youthful. The cold night wind blew against his face, washing away his doubts, in a particularly daring leap, his heart raced.
(Time for the final test! Flight power!)
He went up, up, and kept going up... but it was just the momentum of the jump. Gravity, relentless, fell upon his body.
He fell, fell, and kept falling, ricocheting between the walls of two buildings before landing straight into a large dumpster.
"Yuck! It stinks in here! What do these people eat, my God?"
Shaking off the dirt, he laughed at himself.
Passing again in front of the restaurant that had traumatized him, an ember of indignation and a deep desire for reparation burned inside him. It wasn't revenge; it was the need to prove that kindness could still win.
In his apartment, a plan formed. Grabbing a common jacket and a motorcycle helmet, he went up to the roof of his building. He put on his "uniform", the most unlikely mantle for a hero, and began running across the rooftops again until he reached the familiar alley.
There, he stopped.
He took a deep breath.
He channeled his power, not the anger, but the conviction. He kept it at a low level, controlled.
[5%]
The restaurant door creaked as he opened it, his entrance was indiscreet, taking him straight to the kitchen. Alien employees looked at the hooded figure for a second, finding it strange, but then returned to work, their tired expressions showing that a strict boss didn't allow distractions.
Ignored, Masayoshi proceeded to the main dining area. There he was, the four-eyed owner, behind the counter.
A cold sweat ran down Masayoshi's spine, his legs threatened to give way, he forced himself to sit in a chair, his presence finally noticed.
The owner looked at him, his four eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Hey, kid, this isn't a race pit stop to keep your helmet on. You can take it off, or you can leave."
All eyes turned to Masayoshi. The pressure was suffocating, his breathing became heavy, his head spun, but then, he remembered why he was there, he slowly stood up and walked to the counter.
Facing the owner, his voice came out as a stammer, but laden with raw emotion.
"Yo... You..."
The owner laughed, a harsh and humorless sound.
"Look at you, boy. If you want something from here, you need to have a firm hand and not stutter." He said this while his hand disappeared under the counter, holding something.
Masayoshi took a deep breath, filling his lungs with courage. His hands rose to the helmet and his voice came out clear and challenging:
"You are different too... Why do you do this?"
The alien seemed confused for a moment, but then his expression hardened. A gun appeared, pointed directly at Masayoshi's head.
"You have ten seconds to leave."
Masayoshi puffed out his chest, his presence seeming to grow, repelling the physical threat with moral strength.
"No one in this world deserves the worst....Those who live in misery have little...They live in fear and hidden so nothing happens to them and their families."
The owner became enraged, starting to count.
"1... 2... 3..."
Masayoshi did not back down, his voice gained volume, echoing in the empty dining room.
"If you think everyone here is different, look again! Think that it's not just you who needs to live and return to your home, millions have lost their planets due to human injustice. And you, being one of them, should understand more than anyone what that is!"
The alien paused for a moment, an anguished pain crossing his four eyes, the count continued, more hesitant.
"4... 5... 6..."
Masayoshi persisted, his passion overflowing.
"This universe was never a stage for heroes, much less for me. But today, on this day, I will do my part! I will show that people like you demonstrate the worst side of this world, change your thinking! Do your part! And have faith that one day everything will get better!"
The owner stopped counting, he stared at Masayoshi, and for a brief moment, something beyond anger and fear shone in his gaze, a glimpse of recognition, of a shared pain.
"One thing you're right about, kid... Living in this world isn't easy, but you have to understand that not everyone is the same. I also have a family to feed....And if I need to do whatever it takes to take care of them, I will. Even if it's the worst thing."
Suddenly, his finger pulled the trigger.
But the world seemed to slow down, in a flash of lucidity and superhuman speed, Masayoshi's hand intercepted the path of the barrel. He didn't try to deflect the gun. He grabbed it.
A flash shone, contained by the palm of his hand, the energy dissipated with a hiss, burning the fabric of his glove, but leaving his skin intact -- and steaming.
[15%]
His eyes, behind the helmet, glowed with intensity.
"There is always a choice," he said, his voice firm and resonant, holding the useless weapon.
"We must be conscious people, no matter how bad the situation is; do not appeal to your worst side because your actions have consequences."