At the back of the theater-like lecture hall sat a young man.
His hair was an unnervingly light blue, paired with eyes the color of cold platinum. He sat with his legs propped against the table in front of him, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, his expression distant—wistful.
It had been ten years since he woke up in this world.
Ten years since his quest began.
Ten years since he lost his mind.
At this point, there was very little he could actually remember.
Most of his mind was occupied by the countless memories of young men sharing his face—men who, in a thousand different worlds, met their ends in horrifying ways.
Deaths he had lived through in every single iteration.
One might wonder what brought about such torment. To understand, one would have to rewind fifteen years... to a little boy in a costume. A boy who watched his own father return home with a gun, pulling the trigger on every single person in that house.
That child was not excluded.
But he survived.
The pain was too much for a child to bear, so the brain, in its own twisted way, created a solution...
It killed his emotions.
He became something akin to a sociopath. Or perhaps, a psychopath was more fitting, given how unstable and unpredictable he truly was.
Four cases of arson at such a tender age.
The reason? Unknown.
The child refused to speak.
Eventually, it was deduced that he could not be left in the company of others; he was a danger to society. He was kept under strict supervision, isolated for a very long time. It was only after he turned eighteen that he was granted a semblance of freedom—a chance to be a "normal" kid.
He was enrolled in college for Computer Science, specializing in the study of AI. It was the only thing he had actually studied during his years of isolation.
A year went by.
To the observers, he was integrating into society far beyond expectations.
Or rather...
That appeared to be the case.
The reality was that he had simply grown a proper mask.
Deep down, he was still that same child caged by his own brain. A child who couldn't understand why people smiled, why they cried, or why they did anything at all. His only way to be "normal" was to adapt—to mimic the actions and behaviors of the subjects before him to project an air of normalcy.
And so went the daily life of Benjamin Whyte.
The world was monochrome at best. If he were being honest, it was merely white with outlines of black.
The only thing that kept him moving was a slight fascination with the human mind. The way it functioned. The way one could align it to attain specific results... if one was sufficiently accustomed to human psychology.
He would sit there, watching people interact.
Laughing. Playing. Fighting. Joking.
He wondered: What is the need for all of this?
Why do humans even exist? Is it solely for reproduction, like any other animal? If so, what comes after? Everything, no matter how small or negligible, played a part in something grand. So, what was the importance of humanity in the grand scale of existence?
Destruction?
Or perhaps something else they would never know.
Eventually, the human mind—the one thing that fascinated him—lost its appeal. The world became even colder. Nothing interested him. Nothing was worth the effort of standing up, getting dressed, and heading for school. Yet, he continued the ritual. Perhaps a subconscious part of his mind hoped for something.
Something that could change the circle that was his life.
But...
No such thing happened.
Eventually, he decided it was time to go.
The world had no place for a defect like him.
A puzzle piece that fit nowhere.
He decided to end it—to finish what his father had started all those years ago.
He stood on a bridge. It was night. Quiet. The only sound was the low buzzing of the fluorescent streetlights. It was the perfect time to leave; no one would witness it. No one would try to stop it.
Or, that was how it was supposed to go.
But then... a scream.
Loud. Feminine.
The next thing he knew, someone had ripped him back from the edge. What followed was violence at its finest. He was beaten blue, black, red, and apparently, yellow.
It was so unexpected that he simply froze.
Normally, an emotional counseling session followed a suicide attempt, right? That wasn't what happened. Instead, he got a girl who looked utterly deranged, beating the living crap out of him.
He was bloodied before she finally stopped.
He didn't understand why, but not once did he try to stop her.
Maybe it was because, for the first time since that tender age, he felt pain. It was physical, but perhaps that was what he had been seeking.
To feel human again.
That was how it all started.
How a relationship—as weird as it was—developed out of the unexpected.
How the boy trapped in a young man's body finally woke up.
She became a constant presence solely by circumstance.
But since she was the only person who had been able to get through to him in all those years, he felt a strange connection. They weren't necessarily positive feelings... just feelings in general.
She was persistent. It made no sense; he couldn't explain where she had come from. One day she appeared, and the next, she was everywhere. At school. In his apartment... sometimes.
Needless to say, she got to him. And he fell.
Perhaps that was the punchline of the sick game he was a part of.
Just when he became happy again... when the past finally began to let go...
Something happened that ruined it all.
Something horrible.