In the dimly lit prison cafeteria, a solitary figure with tousled brown hair sat at a table, clad in a drab prisoner's suit. He picked at his meal, a variety of bland foods arranged on his tray, lost in his own thoughts.
As he took a bite, one of the guards stationed nearby couldn't resist taunting him.
"Enjoying your feast, Code No. 00?" The guard's smirk was evident even in the low light.
"Savor it, because it's the last decent meal you'll ever have."
Code No. 00, known to some as simply "OZero," paused, his expression unreadable as he contemplated the weight of those words.
*Last meal... tomorrow is my death sentence, huh?*
The scene shifted as the guards roughly escorted him back to his cell. Each shove felt like another accusation, another reminder of the hatred directed towards him.
"Move it, scum," one of the guards spat, pushing him forward with unnecessary force.
"Don't think for a second we're gonna go easy on you just because it's your last day."
Left alone in the confines of his cell, Code No. 00 leaned against the cold stone wall, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions. *Traitor? Huh...?*
With a heavy sigh, he began to unravel the tangled threads of his past, preparing to share his story with those willing to listen.
As OZero began to recount his tale, he hesitated momentarily, grappling with the memories of his past.
"I don't have a name," he confessed, his voice tinged with resignation. "I'm simply known by my code number, 00, or sometimes OZero."
He continued, his words measured as he revealed the truth behind his existence.
"I was one of the test experiments conducted by the government—an expendable asset meant to serve their clandestine purposes."
"But unlike the others," he continued, "I was born with Muscular dystrophy—a weakness that should have condemned me to obscurity. They deemed me useless, unworthy of their cause."
A glimmer of defiance flashed in his eyes as he spoke of his one saving grace.
"But there was something they didn't anticipate—my sixth sense, my intuition. Despite my physical limitations, I possessed an intellect far surpassing their expectations."
Before he could delve deeper into his narrative, the door of his cell opened, and a man in a suit entered with two tall bodyguards following him.
OZero didn't startle; instead, he gave the man a sidelong glance, as if he had been expecting him.
"It's been a while," OZero remarked, his voice neutral yet tinged with a hint of curiosity.
OZero's grin widened as he addressed the man in the suit.
"Well, well, well. What brings the illustrious Mr. President Jordan to my humble abode?"
The man's annoyance flashed in his eyes, barely contained behind a thin veneer of professionalism.
"Seems like they've been playing rough with you in here," he remarked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he gestured towards OZero's bruises.
OZero's smile remained, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.
"You know how it is," he replied nonchalantly, "just another day in paradise."
A frustrated sigh escaped the President Jordan as he regarded OZero with a mix of exasperation and intrigue.
"Alright, let's get down to business," he said tersely, his tone sharp and to the point, hinting at the weight of the conversation about to unfold..
The President Jordan leaned forward, his eyes ablaze with determination.
"I'll grant you freedom," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
"No charges, no pursuit. You'll be a ghost in the eyes of the law."
He paused, his gaze piercing as he leaned back slightly. "But I need that drive,"
OZero's gaze remained steady, his expression betraying nothing as he listened to the tempting offer.
"I don't have it," he stated calmly, his voice a mere whisper in the tense air.
The man's patience waned, frustration evident in the furrow of his brow. "Then where is it?" he demanded, his tone sharp and insistent.
A flash of amusement danced in OZero's eyes as he leaned back, his smirk widening. "I don't wanna," he replied, his voice laced with defiance.
The room fell into a heavy silence, the tension thickening with each passing moment as the two men locked eyes, each refusing to yield to the other's will.
The President's patience snapped like a brittle twig.
With a sudden lunge, he seized OZero by the neck, slamming him against the wall with a furious intensity.
"Do you take me for a joke?" he roared, his voice reverberating with rage.
A guard stepped forward, a note of caution in his tone.
"Boss, we can't kill him," he interjected, his voice tinged with urgency. "He has the evidence."
"We need that evidence," the man in the suit growled through clenched teeth, his frustration boiling over.
Reluctantly, he released his grip on OZero, who slumped to the ground, his back against the cold stone wall.
With a resigned sigh, the President pulled a chair closer to OZero and leaned in, his voice low and dangerous.
"This is your last warning," he hissed, his words dripping with menace.
For a few moments, OZero remained silent, his gaze locked with the president's seething glare.
Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he shifted his attention to one of the guards.
"Can you tell me the time?" he asked casually, his tone disarming.
The president clenched his teeth, his frustration palpable.
"Are you—" he began, but OZero interrupted him with a dismissive wave.
"Come on, I'm just asking for the time," OZero interjected, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
The president's face flushed with anger as he slammed his palm against the armrest of his chair.
With a resigned sigh, he leaned back, defeat evident in his posture.
"Just tell him," he muttered begrudgingly, conceding to OZero's simple request.
The bodyguard glanced at his watch and then turned to OZero.
"It's 7:50 PM," he announced.
OZero's brow furrowed in thought.
"So, there's still 10 minutes left?" he inquired, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.
The president's demeanor shifted instantly at the mention of the remaining time.
With a sharp snap of his fingers, he commanded everyone into a state of high alert.
Caught off guard by the sudden change in atmosphere, OZero took a step back, his confusion evident in his expression.
He scanned the room, trying to decipher the significance of the president's actions.
"Don't even think of escaping," the president declared, his voice ringing with authority, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation.
"Escape?"
OZero's laughter filled the room, a surprising reaction that caught everyone off guard.
"You think I'd waste my time plotting an escape from this place?" he retorted, amusement evident in his voice.
The president's frustration simmered beneath the surface, evident in the tightness of his jaw.
"Then how did you end up in this miserable state?" he demanded, his tone edged with impatience.
OZero leaned back, a sardonic smile playing on his lips as he began to unravel the truth.
"Let's consider this," he began, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "for seven years, you couldn't even catch a glimpse of my shadow. Yet, suddenly, you find me sipping coffee in a café."
A sense of disbelief washed over the room as OZero's words hung in the air, punctuated by his wry chuckle.
"How utterly mundane," he concluded, his disappointment palpable.
President Jordan's sharp gaze bore into OZero as he posed the question, his voice edged with a mix of frustration and curiosity.
"So, you managed to get yourself caught?"
OZero's response came with a resigned sigh, his expression tinged with a hint of amusement.
"Well, looks like you're not entirely clueless after all," he conceded, his tone carrying a note of reluctant acknowledgment.
With a sudden surge of impatience, President Jordan rose from his seat, his movements betraying his growing frustration.
"Trying to outwit me, huh?" he challenged, his voice tinged with defiance. "Don't think you can pull the wool over my eyes."
The air in the room crackled with tension as President Jordan posed the next question, his brow furrowed in bewilderment.
"Why on earth would anyone do something like this?"
OZero's response was delivered with a casual nonchalance, his gaze drifting upward as if pondering the ceiling above.
"Because I got bored," he confessed, the simplicity of his answer belying the complexity of his motives.
President Jordan's confusion was palpable as he struggled to comprehend OZero's rationale.
"Huh?" he uttered, his voice tinged with disbelief, as he grappled with the enigma that stood before him.
President Jordan's laughter erupted like thunder, reverberating through the room with a chilling intensity.
"Bored?" he boomed, his voice teetering on the edge of madness, punctuated by fits of manic amusement.
OZero's gaze shifted from disbelief to concern, watching the president's unraveling composure with a mixture of apprehension.
As the echoes of laughter faded, President Jordan's expression turned steely, his eyes boring into OZero with unwavering intensity.
"Was that the reason you betrayed your comrades?" he demanded, his voice slicing through the tense silence like a blade.
OZero met his gaze with a silent, contemplative stare, his thoughts shrouded in a veil of mystery.
"Since when did you care about your pawns?" OZero countered, his tone laced with bitter sarcasm.
President Jordan's calm facade shattered, replaced by a storm of frustration and anger.
"They were my loyal dogs," he seethed, his voice dripping with indignation. "The best of the best, molded into elite shadow soldiers. I trusted you to lead them. What happened to the chemistry we had?"
"Why betray them?" President Jordan demanded, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and disbelief.
"Why?"
OZero's eyes softened with a touch of sorrow as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of remorse.
"I didn't betray them," he revealed, his words tinged with regret.
President Jordan's anger flared, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.
"Saved them? By Taking their lives?" he snapped, incredulity coloring his tone.
OZero held the president's gaze steadily, his voice calm despite the tension in the room.
"I gave them a chance for freedom," he explained, his expression clouded with sadness. "But they remained loyal to you, choosing to pursue me instead."
A shadow crossed OZero's face as he glanced down at his hands, grappling with the memories.
"I had no choice but to end their suffering," he admitted, his voice heavy with resignation.
President Jordan's fury reached its peak.
"You—" he began, his voice a thunderous growl, but before he could utter another word, OZero interjected.
"Alright, time's up," OZero declared, a smirk dancing on his lips.
President Jordan's confusion was palpable.
"Huh?" he stammered, his eyes wide with bewilderment at OZero's unexpected interruption.
OZero pointed at his wrist with a cocky grin.
"Ten minutes is up," he stated, his tone laced with playful arrogance.
Panic flashed across President Jordan's face as he frantically looked around.
"W-What did you do?" he demanded, his voice trembling with fear and uncertainty.
In an instant, the room erupted into chaos as every gun in the vicinity was trained on OZero.
OZero raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his expression one of calm defiance amidst the turmoil.
"Relax," OZero said coolly, a hint of amusement in his voice as he addressed the panicked onlookers.
"I already told you guys, I have no intention of running."
OZero nodded knowingly. "Yes, your friend. Or rival. Or enemy," he replied with a smirk. "You know, him."
**Scene: Revelation**
"I've been on the run for seven years," OZero stated calmly, a hint of amusement coloring his voice.
"So I thought it's about time we switched places."
A sly smile played at the corners of OZero's lips as he locked eyes with President Jordan.
"You were asking for the drive, weren't you?"
President Jordan's composure wavered, uncertainty flickering across his features.
"It should be in his hands by now," OZero added, his tone confident.
With a sudden surge of rage, President Jordan seized OZero by the collar, his voice reverberating through the room.
"Who? Who did you give it to?"
OZero recoiled slightly, unaffected by the outburst.
"Don't scream in my ears," he retorted coolly.
"I gave it to your friend"
President Jordan's confusion deepened.
"Friend?" he echoed, searching OZero's face for answers.
OZero nodded knowingly.
"Yes, your friend. Or adversary. Or perhaps someone in between," he added with a smirk. "You know, the one."
A realization dawned on President Jordan as he uttered the name.
"Finn."
He released his grip on OZero, sinking back into his chair with a defeated air, the weight of OZero's revelation settling heavily upon him.
Defeated, President Jordan hung his head, his voice barely audible as he pleaded, "Why? Why are you doing this to me?"
OZero's response was deliberate, each word carrying weight. "Because..."
President Jordan looked up, his eyes searching for answers.
"Because this world needed a hero," OZero continued, his tone unwavering.
Silence filled the room as President Jordan struggled to comprehend.
"What?" he managed to choke out, his voice filled with brokenness.
OZero's explanation was calm yet resolute. "When I looked at this world, all I saw was chaos and despair. Criminals reigned unchecked while innocents cowered in fear.
A faint smile touched OZero's lips as he spoke His name, "But then I found Finn."
OZero's voice, smooth and deliberate, pierced the tense air. "Picture this: an orphan, destitute and frail, yet harboring dreams of changing the world. A perfect hero, straight out of a gripping novel.
""But," he continued, his tone taking on a darker hue, "a hero is nothing without the presence of a formidable villain."
President Jordan's eyes widened in disbelief, his voice trembling as he spoke. "You!?"
OZero met his gaze unwaveringly. "Indeed. I orchestrated you as the antagonist in this grand narrative."
President Jordan's rage erupted like a volcano, his voice booming with denial. "LIES! You didn't make me the villain! Did you forget? I shaped you!"
OZero remained calm, his tone cutting through the chaos like ice. "Ah, but that was merely the seed you planted. I cultivated it into a full-blown harvest of malevolence."
President Jordan faltered, his arguments crumbling in the face of OZero's calculated words. But before he could respond, OZero continued with a chilling look.
"But everything else? Every illicit trade, every betrayal, every life extinguished? Those were my symphony. You were but a player in my composition, a pawn in my grand design."
"You were greedy, you despised everyone beneath you, and you hungered for power," OZero continued, his voice dripping with a twisted satisfaction. "I couldn't have asked for a better villain than you. And so, I made you do it all. It was all me."
President Jordan stood there, speechless, his world crumbling around him as he realized the depth of OZero's manipulation.
President Jordan's voice quivered with desperation as he implored, "Why? Why me? You could have done this all by yourself!"
OZero's response was chillingly calm.
"True, I could have altered the world alone. A hero or a villain was superfluous. But..." His smile widened, revealing a glint of mischief. "Where's the thrill in that?"
President Jordan's confusion deepened.
"Thrill? Amusement? Did you orchestrate all of this for entertainment?"
OZero's laughter reverberated through the room.
"Of course! Thanks to you all, my meaningless existence finally had purpose."
President Jordan's defeated demeanor was palpable as OZero continued to taunt him.
"You believed you were the mastermind behind it all, didn't you?"
"Shut up," President Jordan muttered, his voice barely audible.
But OZero ignored his plea, his laughter relentless.
"You thought you held the strings. Yet, in the end, you were all mere pawns dancing in my grasp."
President Jordan's patience snapped. With a swift motion, he seized a rifle from one of his guards.
"SHUT UP!!* He unleashed a torrent of bullets upon OZero until the chamber fell silent, consumed by an eerie stillness.
President Jordan's voice reverberated with fury as he screamed at OZero's lifeless form, "HOW WAS THAT, HUH!? WAS THIS PART OF YOUR TWISTED PLAN TOO, HUH?"
He delivered a vicious kick to OZero's body, his anger pulsating through the air. "YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"
His words echoed through the chamber, carrying with them the weight of his frustration and rage.
OZero's eyes slowly fluttered open, revealing the dimly lit interior of an empty plane. His mind still clouded with the remnants of his previous encounter, he muttered to himself:
"Well, this isn't exactly what I had in mind for the afterlife."
Before he could ponder further, a rough voice shattered the silence. Startled, OZero turned to see a shadowy figure emerging from the darkness.
"I can't let you die, not yet," the figure declared, stepping into the feeble light.
OZero squinted, trying to discern the features of the mysterious stranger. With a jolt, he realized that the man before him was unlike anyone he had ever seen.
The stranger had a commanding presence, his dark hair adding to his enigmatic aura. A prominent scar traced a jagged path from his chin down to his chest, giving him a rugged and dangerous appearance.
Despite the surprise, OZero remained composed, his curiosity piqued.
"Who...?" he began, his voice a whisper, filled with intrigue.