The dim light of the surveillance room cast long shadows over the walls, illuminated only by the glow of multiple monitors. On one of the screens, a young boy—no older than 12—sat in a plain, sterile room filled with children's toys. The boy, however, wasn't playing with the toys in the usual sense. He was methodically arranging them in a line, whispering to himself with an intensity that seemed far too mature for his age.
The Director leaned forward, his steely eyes fixated on the screen. Kara stood behind him, her arms crossed as she glanced between the monitors and her superior.
"Look at him," the Director said, his voice low but sharp. "He's not just playing. He's holding a conversation—with himself."
Kara tilted her head, observing the boy closely. "It could just be an overactive imagination. Kids his age—"
The Director cut her off. "No. This isn't normal. Listen closely."
The room's speakers amplified the audio from the boy's room. His voice wavered between a soft, high-pitched tone and a deeper, almost growling one.
"I told you I don't want to do it," the boy whispered in his normal tone, clutching a small action figure tightly in his hand.
"But you have to," he growled in a voice that didn't belong to him. "We can't just sit here and wait."
The boy's face twisted, as if he were arguing with someone standing in front of him. But the room was empty, save for him.
Kara frowned, her arms uncrossing. "It's... like he's switching between two personalities. Almost like Lucius, but this is different. He's so young."
The Director leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Exactly. Lucius developed his alter due to trauma, as a coping mechanism. This boy... I've been observing him for weeks. He hasn't experienced anything like that. Yet, here he is, exhibiting signs of what should take years to manifest."
Kara hesitated, her brows furrowing. "You're saying... it's not just trauma? That something else could be causing this?"
The Director nodded slowly. "Precisely. This boy's condition suggests something deeper. Something we don't yet understand."
Kara took a step closer to the screen, studying the boy as he continued his unsettling conversation. "Do you think it's connected to Lucius? Or Nathan?"
The Director's lips pressed into a thin line. "Perhaps. But there's one thing I'm sure of—this isn't a coincidence. Whatever's happening, it's not isolated."
Kara sighed, running a hand through her hair. "So, what do we do about the boy?"
The Director didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned his attention to another monitor, one displaying Lucius's most recent activities. The footage showed his alter's confrontation with Nathan in the abandoned park, the raw power and aggression he displayed against his rival.
After a moment, the Director spoke. "We keep observing the boy. But for now, our focus remains on Lucius."
Nathan entered the room, his jaw still bruised from the fight with Lucius's alter. He looked visibly annoyed but kept his composure as he approached the Director and Kara.
"You wanted to see me?" Nathan asked, his tone clipped.
The Director gestured for him to sit. "We need to debrief on your... altercation with Lucius."
Nathan slumped into the chair, his eyes flicking to the monitor showing Lucius walking home in pain after their fight. "What's there to discuss? He's volatile, dangerous. The alter has too much control."
Kara raised an eyebrow. "And yet, you didn't manage to subdue him."
Nathan scowled. "It wasn't about winning. I was testing his limits."
"And what did you find?" the Director asked, his tone neutral but probing.
Nathan hesitated, his mind replaying the battle. "He's strong. Very strong. But he's sloppy—unrefined. It's clear the host and the alter are still fighting for dominance. That conflict makes him unpredictable."
Kara leaned against the table. "And you? You claim to be the 'complete one.' Yet you didn't exactly overpower him."
Nathan glared at her. "Because I wasn't fighting at full capacity. If I wanted to—"
The Director raised a hand, silencing him. "Enough. This isn't about who's stronger. It's about understanding the difference between you and him."
Nathan crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. "The difference is simple. I've embraced my alter. We've merged into one. Lucius, on the other hand, is still divided. That division is his weakness."
Kara frowned. "But it's also his strength. The alter exists because of trauma—because of a need to protect the host. If they merge, there's no guarantee the host will survive the process."
The Director nodded. "Exactly. Lucius's alter isn't just a byproduct of his mind—it's a protector, a shield. If we force a merger, we risk destroying the very thing that makes him unique."
Nathan scoffed. "So what? We let him run around unchecked, risking everyone around him? That alter has no regard for boundaries. He'll destroy anyone who gets in his way."
The Director's gaze hardened. "And that's why we're watching him. To understand his limits, his triggers, and his potential. Lucius may be the key to something far greater than any of us realize."
Kara glanced at the monitor showing the boy again. "And what about him? The boy in the room?"
The Director's voice was calm but firm. "He's a different case entirely. But for now, Lucius is our priority. Keep surveilling him. And Nathan—"
Nathan looked up.
"Next time, don't let your ego get in the way."
The morning sun filtered through the trees as Mia tied her hair into a loose ponytail and grabbed her small sling bag. She decided to head out early to grab some breakfast from her favorite food stall a few blocks away. The crisp air of the weekend was refreshing, and for a brief moment, she felt a sense of normalcy, a reprieve from the chaos surrounding Lucius and his mysterious alter.
She walked along the pavement, humming softly to herself as she approached the food stall. The smell of freshly fried noodles and sizzling egg wafted through the air, making her stomach growl in anticipation. She ordered her breakfast and waited patiently, tapping her foot to the rhythm of a song playing in her head.
But as she stood there, a shadow caught her eye. Turning her head, she saw someone familiar walking briskly down the street on the opposite side. Her heart sank—it was Lucius. His movements were determined, almost predatory, and he wasn't heading home. Instead, he was making his way toward an abandoned building at the end of the street, one that had been condemned for years and rumored to be a hangout for delinquents.
Mia's first instinct was to ignore it. This isn't my business, she thought, turning back to collect her food. But as she took a step away, a nagging feeling gripped her chest. What is he doing there? Against her better judgment, her curiosity got the best of her.
Mia tucked her breakfast into her bag and followed him from a distance, careful to stay out of sight. She watched as he entered the decrepit building, its windows shattered and walls covered in graffiti. Her hands trembled as she hesitated outside the entrance. Maybe I should just leave. This could be dangerous.
But something inside her wouldn't let her walk away. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The interior of the building was dark and reeked of dampness and decay. Mia's footsteps echoed softly as she tiptoed through the corridors, her heart pounding in her chest. The further she went, the more uneasy she felt. Then, she heard it—a muffled groan, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.
She froze. What was that?
Moving cautiously, she peeked around a corner and immediately covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. The sight before her was like something out of a nightmare. Bodies of delinquents littered the floor, most of them unconscious or writhing in pain. The walls were smeared with streaks of blood, and the air was thick with the metallic scent of violence.
In the center of the chaos stood Lucius—no, his alter. His shirt was torn and stained with crimson, his knuckles bruised and bloodied. He had a wild, manic grin on his face, his eyes gleaming with a sick, unrestrained glee. He was holding a beaten and battered delinquent by the collar, the last conscious one in the group. The delinquent whimpered, pleading for mercy, but the alter showed no sign of stopping.
"You should've known better than act like you own the place." the alter growled, his voice low and menacing. He raised his fist, ready to deliver the final blow.
"STOP!" Mia's voice rang out, trembling but loud enough to cut through the tension.
The alter froze mid-punch, his head snapping toward her. His grin faded slightly, replaced by a look of surprise. "Mia?" he said, his tone laced with annoyance and curiosity. He let the delinquent drop to the floor, the beaten boy crawling away as quickly as his battered body would allow.
Mia stepped forward, her body trembling. "What... what are you doing, Lucius?" she asked, her voice cracking. "Noo…Where is Lucias! let him out!."
The alter tilted his head, a cold laugh escaping his lips. "Oh, Mia, you're mistaken. This is me. The real me."
"No," Mia said firmly, tears welling up in her eyes. "This isn't the Lucius I know. This isn't the person I—" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "You're not Lucias. Lucias better than this."
The alter smirked, taking a step closer to her. "Better? You think I'm 'Bad'? Look around you, Mia. These scumbags—" He gestured to the unconscious delinquents. "They deserved this. They thought they could do whatever they wanted, hurt whoever they wanted. I'm just giving them what they had coming."
"This isn't justice!" Mia yelled. "This is... this is insanity. Look at yourself, Lucius. You're enjoying this. You're no better than them if you keep doing this."
Her words struck a nerve. The alter's grin faded completely, replaced by a hard, defensive expression. "Don't act like you understand me, Mia. You've been avoiding me ever since I came out. You think I haven't noticed? You don't care about me. You only care about the weak, pathetic Lucius you're used to."
Mia's breath hitched. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?" the alter sneered, stepping even closer. "You couldn't handle me. You couldn't accept that I'm the one keeping him alive, keeping him safe, keeping you safe!. And now you're here, trying to lecture me like I'm the bad guy now?"
Mia clenched her fists, standing her ground despite the fear coursing through her. "I care about both of you. But you're out of control, and you're going to destroy everything Lucius cares about if you keep this up."
The alter stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he let out a frustrated growl and turned away, punching the wall with enough force to crack the the wall. "Fine," he muttered. "Have it your way."
Mia watched as he stormed past her, leaving the building without another word. Her legs felt weak, and she leaned against the wall for support. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at the carnage around her, wondering if she could ever reach the real Lucius again—or if he was gone forever.
Back to college day. The classroom was alive with chatter as students trickled in, exchanging notes and laughter before the session started. Nathan walked into the room with his usual composed demeanor, his sharp eyes scanning the room. Everything seemed normal—or so he thought. As he approached his desk, a nagging sense of unease washed over him.
Something was off.
He dropped his bag onto the desk, his eyes narrowing as he unzipped it. His sharp instincts were rarely wrong, and this time was no different. He rifled through the contents: notebooks, pens, and other supplies were still there. But the moment his fingers reached the secret compartment where he kept his most personal belongings, he froze.
It was empty.
His chest tightened. He rummaged through the compartment again, refusing to believe it. No... no, no, no. His photograph—his one precious link to the past, to Biggs, his old comrade—was gone.
Nathan clenched his fists, the calm exterior he usually maintained cracking slightly as anger simmered beneath the surface. His mind raced. Who could've done this? And why? He glanced around the classroom, his piercing eyes scanning every student. None of them looked suspicious, but someone had to be responsible.
He zipped his bag back up and left the classroom abruptly, ignoring the curious stares of his classmates. His mind was clouded, his body moving on autopilot as he headed to the one place he hoped would give him answers: the surveillance base.
Nathan stormed into the hidden base, his expression dark and intense. The sterile, dimly lit room was filled with screens displaying live feeds from cameras positioned all over the city. Kara was seated at her workstation, typing furiously, while the Director stood nearby, analyzing footage on one of the larger monitors.
"Nathan," Kara greeted, barely glancing up. "You're back early. Everything okay?"
He ignored her question, heading straight for his personal locker in the corner of the room. He yanked it open and began searching, his movements sharp and erratic. His hands tore through the contents—files, gadgets, tools—but the photograph wasn't there.
"Damn it!" he muttered under his breath, slamming the locker shut. His sudden outburst caught Kara and the Director's attention.
"Nathan," the Director said, his voice calm but firm. "What's going on?"
"It's gone," Nathan replied through gritted teeth, pacing back and forth. "The photograph. Someone took it."
Kara frowned and swiveled her chair to face him. "The one with Biggs?"
"Yes!" Nathan snapped, his voice louder than he intended. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "It's not in my bag, not in my locker. Someone got to it."
The Director folded his arms, his sharp eyes narrowing. "Who would want to take something so personal? Are you sure you didn't misplace it?"
Nathan shot him a glare. "I don't misplace things."
Kara tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "If someone took it, they must've known its significance. It's not just any photo, Nathan. It's tied to your past."
The Director's gaze turned to the monitors. "Kara, check the surveillance feeds from the classroom. See if anyone was near Nathan's bag when he wasn't looking."
"Already on it," she replied, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Footage from the morning began to play on one of the screens. They watched as students walked in and out of the classroom, but no one seemed to linger near Nathan's desk.
Nathan clenched his fists. "Whoever it was knew what they were doing. They're not an amateur."
As they continued their search, Nathan's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and frowned at the unknown number flashing on the screen. Reluctantly, he opened the message.
"Looking for something? Meet me at the old factory on 8th Street. Come alone."
Nathan's grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. His jaw clenched as a wave of fury surged through him. The Director and Kara noticed the change in his demeanor instantly.
"Nathan," Kara asked cautiously, "what's wrong?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he slammed his locker shut and stormed toward the exit.
"Nathan!" the Director called after him. "Where are you going?"
"To get it back," Nathan growled without turning around.
"You can't just walk into a trap!" Kara protested, standing up from her chair. "We don't know who we're dealing with."
Nathan paused at the doorway, his back to them. "I don't care who it is. That photograph... it's all I have left. I'm not letting anyone take it from me."
With that, he disappeared, leaving the Director and Kara exchanging concerned looks.
Nathan walked briskly through the city, his mind a storm of emotions. Anger, frustration, and a deep sense of vulnerability all swirled together. He couldn't shake the words from the message: "Looking for something?"
Whoever sent it knew exactly how to get under his skin. The photograph wasn't just a picture—it was a symbol of his bond with Biggs, a connection to a time when he still felt whole. Losing it felt like losing a piece of himself.
As he approached 8th Street, the old factory loomed in the distance, its broken windows and rusted walls a stark reminder of how far he was willing to go to protect what mattered to him. His hands curled into fists, his resolve hardening.
Whoever had taken his photograph was about to regret it.
Nathan's boots crunched against the gravel as he approached the derelict factory on 8th Street. The structure stood like a forgotten relic, its rusted beams and shattered windows whispering tales of abandonment and decay. Vines crept along the walls, twisting into the cracks, as if nature itself was trying to reclaim it. A faint chill ran down Nathan's spine, but he kept his stride steady, his determination outweighing the eerie atmosphere.
He stopped
Nathan stood frozen at the factory entrance, his breath catching as his gaze locked onto the figure in the shadows. It wasn't Lucius—it was the Alter, his piercing gaze almost glowing in the dim light. The grin that spread across the Alter's face was taunting, sinister, and full of malice.
"Well, well, well," the Alter began, stepping forward casually, his voice dripping with mockery. "Look who finally showed up. Did you come to lose again, or did you just miss me?"
Nathan clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "You talk big for someone who barely walked away last time."
The Alter chuckled darkly. "Oh, Nathan. You don't get it, do you? You're not here to win. You're here to be put in your place."
That was it—Nathan's patience snapped. His eyes flared a bright, glowing orange, the energy radiating from him like a storm. The wind howled around him as orange aura spiked and rippled across his body, distorting the air with its heat. The ground beneath his feet cracked, sending tiny pebbles scattering.
"You want a fight?" Nathan growled, his voice reverberating with power. "Fine. But this time, it ends here."
The Alter's grin widened, his expression shifting into one of pure excitement. His eyes began to glow an icy blue, and an intense blue aura exploded from his body, rippling through the factory and sending debris flying. The aura danced like flames, cold and menacing, and the temperature in the area seemed to drop.
"Finally," the Alter said, his voice laced with a maniacal edge. "Let's finish this once and for all."
The blue and orange auras collided with a deafening roar, shaking the entire factory. The sky above them seemed to reflect the clash, turning a swirl of blue and orange hues. Clouds churned unnaturally as if the heavens themselves were reacting to the immense energy below. Miles away, the man from the container tragedy stood in an alley, watching the sky with a smirk. The unnatural colors painted across the heavens were like a beacon to him.
"Looks like things are getting interesting," he muttered to himself, his crimson eyes flickering with anticipation. With deliberate steps, he began making his way toward the factory, a dark grin spreading across his face.
Little that they know, The storm that they cause are nothing against The Crimson Red Storm.