"Are you suggesting that our universe combined with another, one where superpowers exist, and you became the hero who battled a formidable villain in this newly unified universe?"
"Yes"
"And this merger was supposed to happen 5 months ago?"
"Precisely"
"And because of that, conveniently, there isn't any proof of your claims?"
"That's right"
"So you understand why I find it hard to believe that"
"..."
"Mikey, I will only believe you when I see concrete proof of your claims"
"For the time being, you must vow not to abandon your everyday life for a fantasy that may not even exist. Secure a job for now, and if this merger does occur, you can leave your job and concentrate on your grand quest to save the world"
"Can you at least promise me that?"
Mikey appeared hesitant to consent, but ultimately, he ceased his objections and responded, "Alright, I promise I won't abandon my everyday life."
Night and day succeed one another in an endless cycle, akin to the perpetual rotation of yin and yang, symbolizing the relentless flow of time.
And just like that, the years passed.
Over the next few years, Mikey and I have attended college. I pursued finance and marketing, while Mikey focused on physics and history.
Everything appeared to be progressing smoothly, and gradually, the strange events that occurred when we were 18 began to fade from memory.
Mikey's mental state has been steadily deteriorating.
He seemed delusional and helpless. His reactions to even minor provocations have become excessively violent, and he forsook any notion of manners or basic decorum, resembling a beast in human form.
I was so focused on my work and studies, I didn't even notice it.
Attending different universities and living in dormitories, we gradually drifted apart.
We leased our dilapidated apartment and divided the monthly income.
By the age of 32, I had landed a job at a marketing firm and was earning a modest salary, while Mikey had isolated himself in his house.
In contrast to me, he did not complete his education and was unemployed.
He sustained himself with rental income and unregulated loans from dubious people.
I always made a point to check on Mikey and ensure he was okay. He was adept at concealing his struggles, and even though I recognized that my brother was not well mentally, I did my utmost to uplift and assist him.
However, had I been aware of the severity of his situation at home, I would have done much more.
He was so overwhelmed by debt that, short of possessing Midas's touch, he would never have been able to clear it in his lifetime.
When borrowing money from questionable individuals, they will likely use any means necessary to collect the debt.
On the day of our 33rd birthday, Mikey's loans were due for repayment. A large white van pulled up near his apartment complex. Three burly men armed with pistols exited the vehicle, while the driver stayed seated, ready for a quick departure.
Mikey, who was not fully mentally present, recognized them as debt collectors when they knocked on his door, and he opened the door for them.
"I hope you have the money ready, Michael, otherwise things won't go well for you this time," said one of the men, drawing his pistol and aiming it directly at Mikey from point-blank range.
Mikey, known for his quick temper, immediately ducked and delivered a kick that sent two of them tumbling to the ground. Right after, he leaped up and landed an elbow on the face of the third man, knocking him unconscious.
Unfortunately for Mikey, this was not a fantastical world where one could reign supreme through personal power. Instead, it was Earth, where guns and artillery held dominion.
One of the men on the ground swiftly aimed his gun at Mikey, firing three shots.
The first shot missed him, the second struck his right shoulder, and the third penetrated the left side of his skull.
Ridden with bullets, Mikey fell over, unconscious.
"Shit! He's dead! Why did you shoot him so many times? Let's get out of here, quick!"
The three culprits swiftly entered the car and sped off, exceeding the speed limit.
Fortunately for Mikey, the police had already been notified about the situation.
As soon as the three armed men arrived and exited the car, the neighbors called the police.
The police and paramedics reached the scene promptly and transported him to the nearest hospital after administering first aid.
Fortunately for Mikey, the bullet struck his head at an angle, impacting the corner rather than penetrating his brain. It merely shattered a portion of his skull before exiting.
He underwent treatment in the intensive care unit, and the doctors performed a highly risky brain surgery that saved his life.
Upon receiving the call from the hospital, I rushed to Mikey's side. After the surgery concluded, I stood by his bed, observing his unconscious form, wrapped in bandages.
Memories of our father's brutal beatings flooded back, stirring long-buried traumas.
While relief washed over me at the announcement of Mikey's survival, the grim reality of his coma quickly overshadowed it, its duration uncertain to the doctors.
A simmering torrent of rage stirred within me, fueled by the echoes of our father's violence, fueled by years of pent-up resentment.
Some may call it retaliation.
Some may call it vengeance.
Some may call it retribution.
I didn't care about the name, I just knew that I wanted it.