The rhythmic thud of boots echoed through the barren hallways, accompanied by the distant sound of muffled voices. Xander Greys moved with purpose, his tall, broad-shouldered frame cutting through the dimly lit corridor. His face, though handsome, was hardened with the resolve of a man who had seen too much too soon. At only 23, his experience had aged him beyond his years. Smart, strategic, and a master marksman, he had joined the military with a vision—to change the world, to be a hero. But that dream, as it turned out, was nothing but a child's fantasy.

'Some matters can only be grumbled to your pillow... unless you are strong and powerful enough to change them.' His uncle's words echoed in his mind, like a haunting truth he had ignored for too long. It wasn't until now, standing at the brink of his own undoing, that Xander understood. 

He tightened his grip around the handles of his duffle bag, filled with what few belongings the military hadn't confiscated. His uniform, the one that symbolized his honor and pride, was stripped from him. The General had called it "insubordination," but Xander knew the truth. He had dug too deep, asked the wrong questions, and exposed corruption that had sunk its teeth into the very institution he had trusted.

But this wasn't how it was supposed to be.

He had trained for five long years, enduring brutal drills, pushing his body and mind to their limits. Every shot he fired, every tactic he learned, it had all been for this—a chance to serve his country, to lead, to protect. He was a marksman, a tactician, a soldier who believed that justice should be more than just a word thrown around in the corridors of power.

Yet here he was, dismissed, betrayed by the system he once believed in. He had tried to do the right thing, tried to fight for the truth, but in a world ruled by men more corrupt than the criminals they condemned, the truth meant nothing. It was a lesson learned too late.

As he walked through the gates of the military compound for the last time, the cold wind bit at his skin, and with it came the bitter taste of disillusionment. He glanced back over his shoulder one last time. The gates that had once symbolized his future now felt like the iron bars of a prison, locking away the life he had worked so hard to build.

His uncle had warned him. "You can't change the system, Xander, unless you're strong enough to bend it to your will."

He hadn't understood back then. Now, he did. You either played the game and stayed silent, or you fought—and fighting without power only led to ruin. A lesson learned too late.

---

**Three Months Later – Rural Countryside**

The wind carried the scent of wet earth as Xander swung his fist, hitting the target with practiced precision. His breaths were steady, and controlled, as he launched another series of jabs and kicks into the training dummy. The sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow over the hills that stretched far into the horizon. In the distance, the faint sound of the village marketplace could be heard, accompanied by the occasional laughter of children.

He had tried to find peace here, in this quiet village. Away from the betrayal, away from the corruption that had tainted everything he once held dear. He had even found some semblance of normalcy, working as a nighttime vigilante to help safeguard the local shops from thieves. The villagers welcomed him with open arms. His rugged looks and calm demeanor earned him the affection of the women in town, though he never let anyone close enough to truly know him. Trust had become a scarce commodity in his life.

Despite the routine, though, something gnawed at him. A sense of purpose that had long since been abandoned. He didn't belong here, in this quiet life. He belonged on the battlefield, where his skills could be put to use. Instead, he spent his nights chasing petty criminals through darkened alleys, playing the role of the small-town hero.

Tonight was no different. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Xander finished his evening routine and prepared for his vigilante duties. His two colleagues, Bill and Marcus, had been good company. Both were regular men, working the night shift to make ends meet, trying to provide for their families. They weren't soldiers; they didn't have Xander's training, but they had heart. And that counted for something.

The three men met near the town square, as they always did, exchanging brief nods before splitting up to patrol different sections of the market.

"Power's out again," Bill said, frowning toward the flickering streetlamp. "Third time this week."

"Probably some kids messing with the transformer again," Marcus added with a chuckle.

Xander's eyes narrowed, scanning the darkened street. Something felt off tonight. "I'll check it out."

Leaving his two colleagues to continue their rounds, Xander made his way toward the transformer shed, his instincts on high alert. The rain had begun to fall in a light drizzle, the soft patter of droplets against the stone floor, the only sound in the quiet night. As he neared the shed, he noticed the door slightly ajar.

Inside, a young man, barely more than a teenager, stood trembling. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hands shook as he fumbled with the controls.

"What are you doing here?" Xander's voice was sharp and authoritative.

The young man jumped, nearly dropping the wires in his hand. "I-I'm just… I didn't…"

Before Xander could question him further, a sudden loud whistle pierced the air from the direction of the marketplace. Bill and Marcus.

Without hesitation, Xander turned and sprinted back toward the sound, his heart pounding in his chest. When he arrived, the scene was chaos. Bill and Marcus were on the ground, struggling as they were beaten by three masked figures. The thieves had the upper hand, their blows landing mercilessly on Xander's comrades.

"Xander!" Marcus shouted, blood dripping from his nose. "Help us!"

Xander didn't need to be asked twice. His years of training took over, and in a flurry of swift, calculated movements, he descended upon the thieves. His fists and feet moved with practiced precision, striking pressure points, disarming them before they could react. In a matter of moments, two were on the ground, groaning in pain, while the third scrambled to run, only to be caught by Bill and Marcus, who had regained their footing.

"That's for breaking my nose!" Marcus shouted, landing a final punch to the thief's jaw.

While Bill tied up the would-be robbers, Xander's mind wandered back to the boy at the transformer. Something about him didn't sit right.

He returned to the shed just as the young man tried to slip away, but Xander was faster. Grabbing him by the collar, he pulled him back, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Who are you?"

"I didn't want to be part of this!" the boy pleaded, his voice shaking. "They made me do it. I was just a diversion, I swear!"

Before Xander could press further, a loud crack split the air as thunder rolled overhead, and in an instant, the world turned white. 

Electricity surged through the shed as a loose wire sparked, hitting the rain-soaked ground. Both Xander and the young man froze, their eyes wide in shock. Then, the pain hit—an overwhelming, searing sensation that tore through their bodies.

The last thing Xander saw was the flash of lightning, illuminating the darkened night.

Then, there was nothing.