Li is just a nickname of his. His full legal name is Lithion Volt Anderson.
His father was an eccentric scientist who loved his work but loved his family more. His father chose the name Lithion by combining his two favorite elements, Lithium and Neon. Lithion's mother had no part in creating his name, as she was too exhausted from the grueling task of introducing a new life into this world to argue about it. By the time she realized what her husband had done, the birth certificate was already signed.
Lithion had one sister and brother, born after him. Their names were far more conventional, as his mother had learned never to trust her husband with naming children. Cher was born two years after Lithion, and Ryan followed a year later. The family often joked that Cher and Ryan got their mother's practicality while Lithion inherited his father's spark.
His father was working on a groundbreaking project to recycle waste and convert it into energy and other usable products. Food scraps, for example, could be broken down by microbes to produce methane gas, while inorganic waste like plastics could be processed into a synthetic form of diesel. He even claimed to have discovered a way to turn water into electricity, a feat that left Lithion in awe. The shed often buzzed with the hum of experiments, filled with smells that ranged from oddly sweet to outright foul.
Lithion loved watching his father work, even though he didn't always understand the science. To him, it was like magic—a world of bubbling beakers, sparking circuits, and endless possibilities. His favorite evenings were spent in the shed, helping his father measure chemicals or hold wires in place. It was their special time together, away from the noise of the household.
But this summer was different. Lithion had been sent to a summer camp for two weeks, a decision he had vehemently opposed. "You need to make friends, Lithion," his mother had insisted. "It's not healthy to spend all your time in the shed."
"But I like it here," Lithion argued, dissatisfied with being forced to leave the house.
"It's decided," his father said with a smile, placing a hand on Lithion's shoulder. "Think of it as an experiment—a chance to learn about people instead of elements."
Camp was exactly as miserable as Lithion expected. He sat alone during meals, avoided group activities, and spent most of his free time buried in sci-fi and fantasy books. The other kids teased him for his unusual name and his know-it-all demeanor. He didn't care. Despite his reluctance, he occasionally found himself thinking of home. He missed the hum of the shed, the comforting chaos of his siblings, helping his mother cook, and his father's enthusiastic explanations.
Then, on the seventh night, the news came.
It was during a group bonfire when the camp director pulled Lithion aside. The man's face was pale, his lips drawn into a tight line. "Lithion," he began hesitantly, "there's been an accident at your home."
The words didn't register immediately.
"What kind of accident?" Lithion asked.
The camp director's silence was answer enough.
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The house was gone.
Steel supports twisted and bent, brick walls scorched black, and the roof and interior reduced to ash. Firefighters moved through the wreckage, their faces grim as they searched for answers. The shed, once 100 feet from the house, was also obliterated. It made no sense; fires rarely spread so far, so quickly.
A reporter stood nearby, speaking into a microphone. Her voice was measured, her expression grave.
"A devastating fire has destroyed the Anderson residence on Shrub Stream Way. Tragically, all members of the family are presumed dead. The cause of the fire is still under investigation."
Her eyes flicked to Lithion, standing frozen on the sidewalk. For a moment, a flash of excitement crossed her face before she turned to her crew and motioned toward him.
The camera pivoted. The microphone was thrust in Lithion's face.
"This is the sole survivor of the Anderson family," the reporter said, her voice tinged with artificial sympathy. "Lithion, how do you feel?"
Lithion looked up, tears streaming down his pale face, his hands trembling at his sides. The reporter pressed on, her tone sharpening.
"We understand your father was a scientist conducting experiments. Do you think his work might have caused this tragedy? Was he being reckless?"
The question struck him like a physical blow. Lithion's voice caught in his throat, unable to form words. He looked past the reporter, past the wreckage, and into the night sky. His family was gone, and now, even the memory of them was being tarnished.
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Lithion's extended family did not take him in. He was one of four people who attended his family's funeral. One was the police officer who had been tasked with watching over him, though his care felt more like an obligation than a connection. Another was the local church minister, offering platitudes that felt hollow in the echoing emptiness of the chapel. The third was Frank, a once-homeless man whose life the Andersons had transformed. With their unwavering support, he had found stability and purpose.
"Hey, Lithion," Frank began, his voice thick with emotion. Tears streamed down his face as he knelt beside the boy. "I… I am so sorry for your loss." His words faltered, choked by grief. "They were…" He paused, struggling to speak, his voice cracking. "They were some of the best people I've ever known. When everyone else, even my own family, gave up on me, they didn't. They saw something in me when no one else did."
Frank broke down, sobbing openly. His shoulders shook as he buried his face in his hands. The sight of Lithion standing there, silent and alone, seemed to break him even more. "I… I just can't believe no one else is here for them," Frank whispered, his voice trembling. "They deserved better. And you… you deserve better."
The Anderson family had been pillars of the community. They volunteered at the church, cared for animals at the local shelter, and helped with donation drives for underprivileged children overseas. Their generosity had touched countless lives, yet, in the end, no one seemed to remember them.
It would later come to light that their deaths weren't an accident. The government made a statment about a botched operation, not disclosing the only survivors whereabouts. But by the time the truth emerged, Lithion had already been sent away, his life uprooted once again.
The orphanage was nothing like the warm home he had once known. Tucked into the heart of a crumbling slum, it was a place of perpetual chaos. Graffiti-covered walls surrounded the dilapidated buildings, and the air reeked of decay and despair. Inside, the alleys were dimly lit, the paint peeling, and the sounds of shouting and sobbing echoed through the corridors.
The retired CIA operative who ran the orphanage was a mystery to the children. He kept to himself, issuing orders with a cold precision that betrayed little emotion. Some whispered rumors about his past exploits; others feared his stern, unyielding gaze. To Lithion, he was just another stranger in a world that felt increasingly hostile. But the operative's control over the orphanage was absolute, and any misstep came with a price.
School offered no respite. Bullies targeted Lithion relentlessly, mocking his quiet demeanor and his tragic past. Attempts to make friends often ended in betrayal, the same faces he had trusted turning into those who taunted him the loudest. They physically mutilated him, as no one cared in the slums. Each day felt like a battle, each night a lonely vigil against the ache of isolation.
If Lithion caused trouble or fought back against the relentless bullying, the retired operative's punishments were swift and merciless. The man seemed to take a cruel satisfaction in his methods, employing interrogation tactics that left the boy physically and emotionally scarred. Lithion found himself trapped in an unbearable choice: endure the torment of his peers or face the calculated cruelty of the one meant to protect him.
All the gangs, bullying, and torture left him with the scars and deformities he wears today. He would work hard and eventually go off to college. But, a woman would later falsely accuse him of assault and rape.
He would later be found guilty and serve eight years in prison.
He is now 27 years old.