The rain came down in sheets, soaking Jack to the bone as he sat alone on the bleachers after school. He stared at the field, empty and eerily quiet. The hum of the world around him felt distant, like he was trapped behind a pane of glass.
Inside, his thoughts spiraled. No one cared, and why should they? The life he'd taken over wasn't his, and the people around him were strangers. Even the memories of this body's former life felt alien, like borrowed fragments of a puzzle he didn't want to solve. The diary, tucked into his jacket, radiated a faint warmth, a constant reminder of its strange, suffocating power.
Jack clenched his fists. He had tried to blend in, to play along, but nothing worked. Riley's taunts, the cold stares from classmates, and even Alex's biting wit—all of it chipped away at him. The loneliness clawed at his chest like a living thing.
That night, sitting in his dimly lit room, Jack made his decision. He would quit. Quit school, quit pretending to care, quit fighting for a world that had no place for him. He stared at the diary one last time, its glowing seal mocking him. Without thinking, he grabbed it and hurled it against the wall.
The moment it hit, the diary exploded with light, throwing Jack backward. The symbols etched into its pages flared to life, projecting images into the air—memories of battles, blood, and betrayal from his past life. A voice echoed in his mind, harsh and unrelenting:
"You think you can run? You think this world will let you fade away? They will break you, Jack. They will hunt you. And when they do, you will wish you had burned brighter."
The images shifted, showing Riley smirking, Alex walking away without a glance, and his mother's face fading into the void. The rage hit him like a tidal wave.
Jack screamed, his voice raw and guttural, as the glow of the diary consumed the room. His anger wasn't just for this broken, borrowed life—it was for everything he'd lost. His past. His identity. His freedom.
When the light subsided, Jack was left trembling, his hands clutching the diary like a lifeline. He understood now. This wasn't about survival. This was about fighting back. About making the world pay for what it had taken from him.
The next morning, Jack didn't bother hiding his anger. He stormed through the school halls, his presence sharp and dangerous. Riley's smirk faltered when Jack walked by without flinching, and Alex, catching a glimpse of his cold expression, paused mid-sentence.
In the library, Jack opened the diary again, this time without fear. The symbols shifted and twisted, revealing more of their secrets. Instructions, warnings, and something else—a path forward.
Jack didn't need friends. He didn't need allies. All he needed was to burn the lies to the ground and carve out his purpose in the ashes.
The school buzzed with the same monotonous rhythm Jack had grown to despise. Conversations blurred into an indistinct hum, lockers slammed shut, and teachers droned on about things that didn't matter. To Jack, everything felt meaningless. His simmering anger made every interaction sharp and unbearable.
But beneath the surface of his rage, something was shifting. The diary's secrets had begun to unfold, filling the gaps in his fractured reality. It whispered to him now, a voice threading through his thoughts like venom: "You don't belong here. But that doesn't mean you can't own it."
The cafeteria was chaos as usual, but today it felt different. Jack sat alone, ignoring the pitying glances and the occasional snickers from the popular kids. Across the room, Riley held court with his cronies, basking in their attention. Jack's grip tightened on his fork as Riley's laughter reached his ears.
Something snapped.
Jack stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. Heads turned as he crossed the room, the silence spreading like wildfire. Riley noticed and leaned back in his chair, smirking, ready to make another cutting remark.
Before he could speak, Jack slammed his hands on the table. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
"You think you're untouchable?" Jack's voice was low but sharp, cutting through the noise like a blade. The cafeteria froze.
Riley raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but masking the nervousness flickering in his eyes. "Big words, loser. Careful, or you might hurt yourself."
Jack leaned in, his face inches from Riley's. His voice dropped to a whisper, cold and menacing. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."
For a moment, Riley faltered. The room held its breath. Then, as if trying to save face, Riley stood abruptly, his chair clattering to the ground. He shoved Jack back, but Jack barely moved.
"What's your problem, freak?" Riley sneered, though his voice lacked its usual bravado.
Jack smiled, but it wasn't a friendly smile. It was dark, almost predatory. "You'll find out soon enough." He turned and walked away, leaving Riley and the rest of the cafeteria stunned.
Back in his room, Jack sat cross-legged on the floor, the diary open before him. The symbols shifted and danced on the pages, rearranging themselves into something legible. It was a map—not a physical one, but a path forward. It spoke of power hidden in plain sight, of enemies woven into the fabric of this strange world.
The whispers grew louder. "Burn them down. Expose the lies. Take control."
Jack scrawled notes furiously in a battered notebook, connecting dots between Riley, Vought International, and even Alex. The pieces were beginning to fit together. He realized this wasn't just a personal vendetta—there was a larger force at play, manipulating lives for some unknown purpose.
But if they wanted a pawn, they'd chosen the wrong one.
Late that night, Jack crept out of his house, the diary clutched tightly in his hand. The streets were quiet, bathed in an eerie glow from flickering streetlights. He followed the diary's guidance, his steps taking him to the edge of the city, where an abandoned warehouse loomed like a shadow.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and decay. Jack moved silently, his senses heightened. The diary's glow intensified as he approached the center of the room. There, on a rusted table, lay a small metallic cube, pulsing faintly with light.
The whispers grew frantic. "This is the key. Take it."
Jack reached out, his fingers brushing the surface of the cube. A surge of energy coursed through him, making his vision blur and his knees buckle. Images flooded his mind—of battles, of alliances forged and betrayed, of power beyond comprehension.
When the visions subsided, Jack stood, his breathing heavy but his resolve stronger than ever. He felt different—stronger, sharper, and more in control. The rage that had consumed him was no longer a chaotic storm; it was focused, a weapon he could wield.
"They wanted a fight?" Jack muttered, his voice steady. "They'll get one."
As Jack left the warehouse, the cube tucked safely into his jacket, he didn't notice the shadowy figure watching him from the rafters. A voice crackled through an earpiece: "Subject 14 has activated the artifact. Permission to engage?"
A pause, then a cold reply: "No. Let him play for now. He'll come to us."
The wind howled as Jack trudged through the dark streets, his every step deliberate, the metallic cube's faint glow hidden beneath his jacket. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Shadows danced across the pavement, but every time he glanced back, the street was empty.
The cube thrummed softly against his chest, sending warmth through his body. It was subtle, but the power it contained was undeniable. Jack knew it wasn't an ordinary —it was a lifeline.
The diary had mentioned an "awakening," a cryptic reference to unlocking potential long buried beneath layers of fear and conformity. He could feel it now, like a flame stoking deep within.
Turning a corner, he found himself in a dilapidated park. Swings creaked in the wind, and graffiti-covered benches sat abandoned. This place, once a haven for laughter and life, now stood as a monument to neglect.
Jack sat on one of the cold metal benches, the cube resting in his palm. "What are you?" he whispered. The cube pulsed in response, sending a faint vibration up his arm.
The diary had hinted at a trial, a test of sorts, but it hadn't specified what that entailed. Jack's mind raced with possibilities—was it a battle, a puzzle, or something far worse? The unknown was suffocating, but he had no choice but to press on.
As he stared at the cube, a voice broke through the silence.
"Strange time for a stroll, don't you think?"
Jack's head snapped up, his eyes locking onto a man leaning casually against a nearby lamppost. The figure was cloaked in shadow, but his piercing blue eyes glinted in the dim light.
"Who are you?" Jack demanded, standing abruptly.
The man stepped forward, his movements smooth and deliberate. "A friend. Or an enemy. Depends on your next move."
Jack tightened his grip on the cube, his instincts screaming at him to run. But something about the man's presence rooted him in place.
"You've stumbled onto something big, kid," the man continued, his tone a mix of amusement and warning. "Bigger than you can imagine. And trust me, you're not ready for it."
"Try me," Jack shot back, his voice steady despite the unease gnawing at him.
The man chuckled, a low, ominous sound. "Bold. I like that. But boldness without strength is just suicide. You're playing a game you don't understand, with pieces you can't control. Let me give you some advice: put that cube back where you found it, and walk away."
Jack narrowed his eyes. "And if I don't?"
The man's expression darkened. "Then you'd better be prepared to burn, kid. Because the moment you crossed that line, you set yourself on FIRE."