John Myers stirred from his slumber, acutely aware that today held immense significance—it was his 18th birthday. With a sense of purpose, he climbed out of bed, slipped into his clothes, and made his way to the kitchen. His gaze fell upon a picture of his mother, a bittersweet reminder of happier times.
He had intended to fetch some milk for his cereal, but as he swung open the refrigerator door, a note affixed to the milk container caught his attention. The message, simple yet laden with disappointment, read:
"Hi, son. Sorry, but I won't be home until eight."
Bitter thoughts surged through him as he read those words. It was a familiar pattern; his father's relentless dedication to his projects always took precedence over family occasions. A simmering resentment stirred within him.
John muttered to himself, "You know what? I want to know what's so important that he's willing to skip my birthday."
With unwavering determination, he snatched his white samurai jacket and headed out the door. Stepping into the world outside, he couldn't help but marvel at the towering buildings and the flying cars zipping through the sky. As a gust of wind tousled his black hair, its contrast to his otherwise pale face. His eyes, once vibrant but now angular and devoid of sparkle, mirrored the discontent that had taken root in his heart.
He wasn't overweight, but he wasn't exactly slim either, occupying a space somewhere in between—a physical reflection of the emotional turmoil driving him on this impromptu journey to uncover the truth. As John strolled through the bustling city streets, he couldn't help but glance at his communicator. With a swift tap, a holographic screen materialized before him. John swiftly commanded the device to chart a course to his father's lab. As he continued on his way, the familiar melodies of his favorite band, Samurai, filled the air, providing a fitting soundtrack to his determined quest. As minutes ticked away, the lab on the horizon grew closer and more defined in John's sight. His determination pushed him to quicken his pace until he was running through the bustling streets. Within moments, he reached the imposing door of his father's lab. John tried to open it, but a disheartening message flashed on a display: "Biosignature does not match."
A chuckle escaped his lips, and he quickly extracted a cable from his communicator. Skillfully, he connected it to the panel. A holographic interface appeared, and John began the delicate process of hacking into the system. Soon enough, success was his, and the panel's voice took on a different tone.
"Biosignature matches. Welcome. Welcome, Mr. Void."
The lab's door slid open, releasing a wisp of steam into the corridor. As he ventured inside, John left the door slightly ajar. He moved cautiously, dodging behind one of the room's pillars, his breath held and body as inconspicuous as possible. His ears strained to pick up the faint sounds of footsteps echoing through the chamber, accompanied by the jovial laughter of researchers at work. As John eavesdropped on the conversation between Michael and Sandra, their footsteps gradually faded as they exited the building. With a sigh of relief, John finally allowed himself to exhale, stepping out from behind the pillar. He started walking through the entrance area of the lab, determined to find his way further inside.
His journey led him to a staircase, and he began ascending the flights of stairs. It wasn't long before he reached the 69th floor, which he believed to be his father's workplace. As the door slid open, he scanned the area for any signage but found none.Â
"Well, I guess I'll just have to go with the right door," he mumbled to himself.
Approaching the unmarked door, the same monotone voice he had encountered at the entrance spoke again, "Please place your hand upon the tile."
John complied, pressing his hand against the designated tile. The voice confirmed his biosignature, saying, "Biosignature matches. Welcome, Mr. Void." The door slid open, and he entered, but to his surprise, it closed firmly behind him.
Sirens blared, and the voice echoed once more, Suddenly The room was Bathed with a bright white. As His eyes adjusted to the bright light His gaze fell upon the center of the room there in the center footing dark gray metal safer with small blinking white Amidst the flickering lights, John took cautious steps toward the enigmatic sphere. Suddenly, his father's voice reverberated throughout the room, a stern command that sent shivers down his spine.
"Get away from the orb!"
Overwhelmed by fear, John lost his footing, tumbling forward. Out of pure instinct, he reached out for the orb, desperately trying to stop his fall. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as his hand inched closer to the glowing sphere. The moment his hand made contact, a searing pain radiated through his body, and he lost vision in his right eye.
Staring down at the space where his right arm had been, he found no blood, no gore—nothing. It was as if his arm had never existed. A torrent of excruciating pain and fear coursed through his veins as he grappled with the shocking reality.
His left arm instinctively reached for the void left in his shoulder, where his arm used to be. In that surreal moment, the orb began to change shape, shifting as if it were a liquid. The once lustreless gray metal transformed and shot toward the emptiness that was once his arm. The gray liquid metal pierced into the flesh, fusing with what remained.
The shock of the moment proved overwhelming, causing John to lose consciousness.