Part 1: The Crossing
The supercars were a blur—streaks of chrome and speed cutting through the heart of Elysium. Asad stood at the road crossing, clad in the black EMP-branded suit—a stark contrast to the bright, bustling city. The weight of it all pressed down on him.
Ah, what's going on? The thought struck sharply, annoying him. Seeing them enjoy this—how long?
He scanned the faces around him. A woman in a vibrant red dress hurried past, her heels clicking against the pavement, her face illuminated by the glow of her datapad. Two men in crisp white suits stood nearby, their hushed conversation punctuated by nervous glances. A young couple, hands intertwined, laughed as they crossed the street.
Then, two figures—young and sharp—stepped onto the crossing line, their voices drifting over advertisements. He heard them before he saw them.
"Hey, it's him," Filin said.
Fuck. Who are they? The thought surged violently. Why are they talking about me? What the hell do they want? Anger rose within him. He hated humans, the way they were. So caught up in themselves, never thinking beyond their petty concerns. If they'd just think about what they could do—solve problems—instead of talking, talking, talking...
Frustration clawed at him.
They didn't know. The signal lights blinked.
Seconds ticked by, each one a hammer blow. He was a cog, yes, but a cog with a choice.
Ahhhhhh, fuck!
Finally, the signal changed. He moved—a perfect machine in motion.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! The thoughts raged, a chaotic storm. How could a disgusting human collide with me? Shit.
As he crossed, he overheard whispers from the crowd.
"Isn't that the guy from the EMP ads?"
"He looks so serious. What's his deal?"
"I heard he's involved in something big."
Rage simmered within him, a silent inferno as he executed each movement flawlessly.
He moved like a perfect machine, but the world had other plans.
A man, forty-five or older, his face etched with the lines of a life lived, stepped out of the flow, still glued to his phone. He didn't see Asad, didn't react, offered no apology.
So you remember not to make the same mistake again. Shit.
He forced his expression into a mask of calm. "Oh, no harm done. Let's go." His voice was even, controlled. But beneath the surface, a dangerous glint flickered in his eyes.
He turned and walked away.
Ahhh... The sigh escaped him, a release of tension. Why did I leave him? Without doing anything?
Self-recrimination followed immediately. Because I'm still lacking in making decisions. My body moves on its own, a result of my past with my parents.
And because I left him, I can't do anything. He knew the rules, the ones he had set for himself. I can't break my own rules. Because I'm a real human, not like those other bitches.
He walked with perfect stride, carrying himself forward. Elysium unfolded around him—a symphony of gleaming glass and steel, designer boutiques, and meticulously manicured green spaces. Everything was so clean, so sterile.
I want darkness in the daytime. The thought was a rebellious whisper. I really want this city to become bloody and red. It would be beautiful.
The setting sun cast long shadows, painting the buildings in hues of orange and purple.
(It's just because he hasn't been in sunlight for a long time. It's normal to feel his skin burning. Don't make any wrong thoughts.)
He continued his walk, the city lights beginning to bloom around him, the darkness of evening offering a sense of solace.
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Part 2: Arrival at Flysim Coffee Shop
He walked, the city lights blooming. His mind, still reeling, drifted. Useless thoughts, fleeting, danced at the edges of his awareness, then vanished.
Finally, he reached his destination.
The view was breathtaking—a wide river reflecting the city's towering buildings like a mirror. A graceful bridge arched across the water, its lights shimmering. The sleek facades of the buildings mirrored the river's surface, creating a mesmerizing iridescence.
Nestled on the edge of the water was the Flysim Coffee Shop. Its warm glow beckoned.
He lifted his head slightly, as if to try the air.
Let's drink coffee, like always.
Let's go in now. The thought was a quiet command. It was already the perfect time.
He reached the door and, with practiced motion, opened it.
As he stepped inside, the familiar scent of coffee washed over him.
He entered just as a whisper, barely audible, brushed against his ears. He ignored it, his gaze sweeping the café without moving his head.
Blast. The thought surged suddenly. So many people, all talking, talking, talking about useless things. Good, I have my own booth to sit in, so I don't need to listen to their useless, shitty gossip.
He started moving toward his usual booth when a figure approached.
"Asad?"
He ignored him, showing no reaction.
What kind of leech is this, Marco? he thought, a wave of anger rising. Always coming for me, trying to get information. But I ignore him every time. Then why is this blasted bitch circling me? Why are these kinds of humans even alive? I want to torture him because he is destroying my peaceful time, but I can't—at least not in this form.
He reached his booth and started watching the outside view through the glass.
It looks good, this view. Like there's no one around me. I'd be good if they really were no one. He looks good from outside. I don't know how...
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft, calm voice.
"Senior, may I bring your usual order?"
He nodded, his gaze already turning back to the scenery outside, a movement so fluid it seemed a natural feature of his body.
He saw Aria again. She looked good, and somehow tasty. (It's just he watch too much fiction in the past, so he accepted some strange habits, and it's become real.)
But she looks like me in my appearance—silver hair, yet she has black eyes. But I know it's not real. I think it's because of Earth's environment.
I feel something special for her, but I don't know what. First, I thought it was love, but I feel the same thing for another girl, so I think it's just they are clean and make me hungry to eat them.( It's because in the past, he watched comments down from a story. Everyone saying how is this possible to say love more than one person.)
Suddenly, a little cute girl, covered in EMP grounding, popped up outside the glass, right in his line of sight.
A cute little girl. She's really cute. And what is a little girl doing outside? I already told the President about not letting anyone less than sixteen come out.
But I really feel hungry. I really want to eat this cutie. How tasty and plump her cheeks are. (He's just making fun, likes devils.) Don't forget, she's not older than six years, okay.
Ah, why did she suddenly stop and look at me? And taking her little hands in her bag...
Let me guess by calculating the situation.
The little girl pulled out a small device from the bag—a simple phone. She held it up, aimed at the glass, and with a quick flash, took a selfie. Asad's reflection was silent, unmoving in the background.
A muffled sound, indistinct, reached his ears from outside.
See, I told you before.
Then, a girl around twenty-three, with sleek black hair pulled back in a ponytail, rushed into view, calling out, "Lia! In a hurry!"
He watched their conversation, his face fixed and unchanged, as if they were still observing the river and bridge, not them.
Oh, look how good their reaction looks—not like they're talking about others.
After a brief exchange, they moved on.
Blast. Now, what do I care for my interest? There's nothing. I don't see anything interesting. Ahhh.
But I feel a lot of euphoria and some familiar things approaching this Earth, so I think I can find a lot of fun in the future. So I just need to wait.
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Part 3: The Coffee Shop Interruption
"Senior?" A hesitant voice interrupted him again.
He didn't turn, thinking it unimportant, but the voice called again.
"Senior."
Ah, again. I think my order is ready.
This time, it was Lily. Her blonde hair framed a thoughtful expression, and he could clearly see the concern in her blue eyes as she placed his coffee on the table. It was the first time she had brought his order; Aria always did.
So she wants to know something from me, but I know she can't ask. I know her better than anyone.
I feel so good seeing her face like this. Let's make this even more interesting.
His eyes shifted—the whites turning to an abyssal black, while his irises and pupils flared into a vivid crimson red.
Look at her cute face. It's really working. Now she's going to become more confused and isn't going to ask anything from me.
Ahhh, she went back to her place. Let's drink my coffee for now. I don't need to see her pitiful face anymore; it's because I'm the reason for her face.
I think I'm going to start to hug and comfort her. It's something I do, so it's just automatic features.
Blast, why am I thinking like I am a robot, automatic?
Let's move on and focus on the things coming here from different spaces.
After that, things finally come to Earth. So every rule made by the President or me is not working because it's only for Earth, not others. So I don't need to follow my own rules.
Let's make decisions for the future. I can become a hero, like in fiction, who saves others.
What a ridiculous thought! Even what I'm thinking—to protect some weak garbage who only see others, not himself. Damn.
So I can become like I really want: a person who kills others and enjoys it.
Ahhh, no, it's not. It's not something I can do.
Why, when I like this? Why am I thinking too much about this?
I just need to be an observer who watches only, and it's not there. No fun.
They're weak, so I can enjoy their struggle. I don't need to help or kill; everything happens on its own.
So if someone tries to pick a fight with me, I can pretend to have the same power as them, use some fictional character ability.
Oh, I already finished my coffee, and I see they are still struggling. Let me interrupt them, and I know Aria is not normal, so she can calm Lily's mind.
He stood from his place, walked towards them, paid, then left the coffee shop.
Their conversation was interrupted.
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Part 4: He Steps Out
He stepped out of the shop, the cool air brushing softly against his face. His eyes briefly scanned the sky, noting the subtle changes around him. A quiet breath escaped as he gathered himself.
He began walking at a steady, unremarkable pace. To any observer, he was just a man strolling through the city—nothing out of the ordinary. Yet somehow, he covered a surprising distance quickly, unnoticed by the bustling crowd.
Finally, he thought, home.
The building loomed ahead—large and striking, with a unique dark black and deep red theme that gave it an almost otherworldly presence.
He pressed the button for the penthouse. The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a spacious, spotless interior. He stepped in, eyes flicking briefly to the polished walls, his expression calm but alert.
Why am I thinking out loud? No one's here to hear me.
The elevator chimed, and the doors opened. He walked down the hall with purposeful strides, his posture straight and confident. At his door, he paused, then knocked lightly.
The door opened to reveal Luna. She wore a dress that seemed from another time, flowing and elegant. Her eyes held a gentle warmth as she smiled.
"You're home early," she said softly.
He nodded, stepping inside. "I don't like it when people do things for me. I prefer to handle what I can."
She opened her mouth to reply, but he cut in gently, "I'm in a hurry. Need to wash up—because some disgusting garbage bumped into me."
Luna's smile didn't falter. "I figured as much."
Without another word, he shed his clothes and entered the bathroom. The space was large, sleek, and designed exactly to his taste—dark tiles with subtle red accents.
He paused for a moment, running a hand through his black hair, eyes closing briefly as if to shake off the day's weight.
He stepped under the hot shower, the water cascading over him. As the warmth enveloped his skin, a subtle transformation began. His short black hair lengthened and shimmered, strands flowing down like liquid silver, catching the light with an otherworldly glow. His teeth sharpened, taking on a vampiric gleam, hinting at something far from human.
His eyes were the most striking change. The whites deepened into pools of pure, inky darkness, while his irises shifted from ordinary black to a vivid, bloody crimson. Within those crimson depths, strange, intricate patterns danced—symbols of dominance and power that seemed to pulse with life.
He closed his eyes briefly, letting the water wash over him as the transformation settled. A slow smile curved his lips. "Ohh, it's finally happening," he murmured, voice low and satisfied. "But I can't go there... not yet. I want to see their cute faces struggle."
He ran a hand through his long silver hair, the strands slipping like silk between his fingers. Opening his eyes, he caught his reflection in the mirror—an image both terrifying and mesmerizing.
"It feels good to be back in my original form," he said, voice tinged with pride. "Look at me... how handsome I am."
His crimson eyes gleamed with a fierce, almost predatory light as he admired the transformation, fully embracing the power and beauty of his true self.
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Part 5: Luna's Presence
As he stood beneath the hot water, the transformation complete, the bathroom door creaked softly behind him. Luna moved quietly, her slender fingers gathering the clothes he had discarded with careless abandon. Her hair, a striking blend of black with streaks of deep red, caught the dim light as she folded the fabric with practiced ease. Her golden eyes glimmered with a quiet intensity, watching the shadows dance across the room.
A closer look revealed faint, almost unnoticeable marks—small teeth impressions—etched into her wrist and the delicate curve of her neck. They were subtle, but unmistakable, remnants of some past encounter, a silent story written on her skin.
He finished his bath, the steam curling around him like a cloak. Wrapping a soft, dark bathrobe around his frame, he stepped out, water droplets glistening on his long silver hair. His gaze settled on the large door ahead—black with streaks of crimson, like dried blood smeared across its surface. The door's ominous presence seemed to pulse with quiet power.
He stood there for a moment, the weight of the day pressing down, before reaching out to grasp the cold handle.
The large obsidian door glided open with a silent hiss, revealing the wardrobe. Black, with crimson energy streaks, the door bore subtle, almost organic patterns. They weren't there because of evil; they were just… there.
He stepped inside, and the cool, pulsating crimson light washed over him. The room itself was a work of art, a testament to power and control.
His reflection stared back at him from a mirror across the room. He couldn't help but acknowledge the image. He was… presentable. Handsome, even. The scene itself felt beautiful: a handsome man opening doors.
His gaze drifted to the wardrobe. The sight of it was always… satisfying. The obsidian panels shimmered, reflecting the light. Within, the black and bloody red dresses hung like trophies, each a masterpiece. They weren't clothes that any human could wear; they were something else entirely.
He sighed. The watches were displayed neatly on a shelf. Each one was a work of art, crafted with the same dark elegance as the rest of the room. He loved the chains. They looked like a bloody thorny rose plant.
He began to consider which outfit to wear.
"Everything is good. For decoration. For my collection," he muttered. "I think I need only one outfit, then I can easily wear that. It's so hard to choose."
He was still wearing the simple, comfortable bathrobe he wore after the shower.
"Luna," he said, his voice calm, almost a whisper, as he looked at the mirror.
A moment later, he heard her footsteps.
"I'll give you a chance to pick something for me," he said, turning to face her. "Help me wear it. Something for my neck, and one for my ear. I'm in the mood for the chains on my hands."
He knew she'd be challenged. She knew he wouldn't choose. Everything was too beautiful.
He watched himself in the mirror. Luna was already at work, helping him choose the clothes. He saw her clothes hanging behind him, and her face was glowing. Even for him, it felt… good, seeing her happy. But her happiness… made him want to eat more. He wanted to control it, though. His marks hadn't even healed.
He saw her clothes, too. They were beautiful. How could she choose one when she wanted to wear them all?
As he looked at his reflection, he saw his eyes—full dark black eyes with glowing crimson irises. So beautiful. The silver hair, long and flowing, made everything more perfect. When he couldn't answer on the door, she looked pale. Now… she looked good. Like she forgot everything.
Luna was helping him with one earring.
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Part 6: Restless Night
Later, he lay in bed, the weight of the clothes and accessories pressing against him. The chains on his left hand felt cool and thorny against the sheets—a constant reminder of their dark beauty. Luna slept peacefully on his right side, her presence a quiet warmth he couldn't quite define.
He wanted to sleep. He shifted, searching for a comfortable position, but it was impossible. He no longer slept like humans did. Not anymore. Maybe… after a few days, he might.
A subtle unease tugged at the edge of his awareness. Something felt wrong. Somewhere, something satisfying was unfolding—a resonance he couldn't quite grasp. He wanted to rise and see what was happening.
Why did she sleep on his side? If he lost control… he could eat her.
His thoughts swirled, leaving him with a feeling of something more—something just beyond his understanding.