NOVEL NEXT Chapter 2: [PROLOGUE]
Disclaimer
Please note: Writing decisions have been made that may not make complete sense in terms of power scaling or characters' actions. These choices are deliberate for the sake of [PLOT]. Thank you for your understanding.
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Average.
That was the one word anyone could use to describe Thomas Anderson, and it fit him like a glove. No matter how hard he tried, how many hours he put in, or how many attempts he made to better himself, the results were always the same: mediocre.
Mediocre grades in school. Mediocre achievements at work. Mediocre relationships—or lack thereof.
Thomas wasn't a bad person, per se. He never caused trouble, never stepped out of line, and never made waves. But perhaps that was part of the problem. In a world that celebrated the extraordinary, Thomas was little more than a shadow on the wall, blending into the background, unnoticed and unremarkable.
This stigma shaped him. Over time, he became reserved, avoiding confrontation and resigning himself to a life of quiet solitude. He had no close friends, no deep passions, and certainly no romantic relationships. What was the point?
"Why make friends," he thought, "when I have nothing unique to offer? Why seek love when I'm no better than the next guy on the street? Why chase dreams when I'll never rise above mediocrity?"
Instead, he settled into a monotonous routine, working a dead-end office job that paid just enough to cover rent for his cramped one-bedroom apartment.
But even Thomas wasn't immune to the small joys life could offer. For him, that joy came in the form of anime.
From a young age, anime had been his escape—a bright, vibrant world that contrasted sharply with the dullness of his own. It wasn't just entertainment; it was a lifeline. The over-the-top action, the emotional storytelling, the hopeful messages—they filled a void in his heart he hadn't even realized was there.
On any given evening, Thomas could be found in his apartment, headphones on, binge-watching his favorite series. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him going.
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It was a cold, dreary evening in New York City. The streetlights cast long, flickering shadows over the cracked sidewalks, and the air was heavy with the faint smell of gasoline and rain-soaked asphalt.
Thomas trudged home after yet another grueling day at work. His boss—a balding, red-faced man who seemed to delight in making his employees' lives miserable—had spent the afternoon berating him for a mistake that wasn't even his fault.
"Another day in paradise," Thomas muttered under his breath as he adjusted the strap of his worn messenger bag.
Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he plugged in his earbuds and scrolled to his playlist. The opening theme from My Hero Academia—his favorite anime—blared in his ears. For a moment, he let the upbeat melody wash over him, allowing it to drown out the noise of the bustling city around him.
He turned a corner, then another, taking the familiar route home. The streets were crowded as always, but Thomas paid little attention to the people around him.
That is, until he noticed the argument.
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Up ahead, a heated exchange was unfolding between a middle-aged woman and a young Black man. The woman—a stereotypical "Karen" if there ever was one—was waving her arms wildly, her face flushed with anger. The young man, meanwhile, stood his ground, his posture tense but controlled.
Thomas stopped a few paces away, his eyes drawn to the scene.
"That poor guy," he thought, shaking his head. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was happening. She was racially profiling him.
But what really caught Thomas's attention was the child. A boy, no older than four, stood next to the woman, clutching a red balloon in one hand. Unlike his mother, the boy seemed blissfully unaware of the commotion, a wide grin on his face as he stared at the balloon.
For a moment, Thomas considered stepping in.
"No," he told himself. "Not my problem."
He turned away, ready to walk past the scene. But guilt gnawed at him.
"Maybe I should at least check on the kid," he thought, glancing back over his shoulder.
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What happened next unfolded in slow motion.
The boy, distracted by his balloon, wandered into the street.
Thomas's heart stopped as he noticed the oncoming truck—a massive eighteen-wheeler barreling down the road, the driver frantically honking the horn.
"HONK! HONK!"
Instinct took over.
Before he could think, before he could even process the danger, Thomas sprinted forward.
"Hey, kid!" he shouted, his voice breaking with panic.
He reached the boy just in time, shoving him out of harm's way.
The impact came a split second later.
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Pain.
Searing, unimaginable pain.
The force of the collision sent Thomas flying through the air like a ragdoll. He hit the pavement with a sickening thud, his vision blurring as the world around him faded.
Through the haze, he saw the boy, unharmed, clutching his balloon. He saw the Karen, still yelling at the young man, oblivious to the accident that had just occurred.
"Figures," Thomas thought bitterly. "She doesn't even notice."
As darkness closed in, one final thought crossed his mind:
"I never deleted my browser history. Damn it."
And then, nothing.
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Meanwhile, in Japan...
Deep within a high-tech facility nestled in the mountains of Japan, chaos reigned.
Alarms blared, their shrill tones echoing through the sterile, fluorescent-lit halls. Scientists and security personnel scrambled in every direction, their faces pale with panic.
In the control room, Dr. Gyudai Giraki—a short, balding man with wire-rimmed glasses—paced back and forth, muttering curses under his breath.
"How could this happen?!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Experiment 626 has escaped! Do you have any idea how much time and money we've invested in that project?!"
A soldier entered the room, his expression grim.
"Doctor," the soldier said.
"What?!" Giraki snapped. "Speak up!"
"The facility's security network has been compromised. We've stationed guards at all access points, but—"
Before the soldier could finish, the massive monitor at the front of the room flickered, replaced by a grinning symbol—a caricature of a man with a long mustache.
[ALERT! ALERT! OPENING ALL WARD DOORS.]
Giraki's eyes widened in horror.
"Damn you, Robotnik!" he shouted, shaking his fist at the screen. "Even in death, you find ways to ruin me!"
"Sir!" another soldier called out. "Experiment 626's tracker has been disabled!"
Giraki's face turned ashen.
"Forget the other escapees," he said, his voice trembling. "Find that boy. Now."
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When Thomas opened his eyes, he wasn't in New York anymore.
He was lying on a cold, white floor in a brightly lit room. The walls were smooth and featureless, giving the space an eerie, sterile quality.
"What the hell...?" he muttered, sitting up.
As he moved, he caught sight of his reflection in a nearby glass panel. He froze, staring at the stranger looking back at him.
Gone was his messy black hair and tired brown eyes. In their place were striking blue hair and emerald-green eyes that seemed to glow faintly. His face was different, too—sharper, more angular.
"What... happened to me?"
Before he could process the transformation, he heard the sound of footsteps—dozens of them.
He turned to see a group of soldiers filing into the room, their weapons trained on him.
"DO. NOT. MOVE," one of them barked, his voice cold and commanding.
Thomas—or whoever he was now—raised his hands slowly, his mind racing.
"What the hell is going on?"
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To be continued...
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