Welcome, dear reader. Whether you're a curious mind, an anxious skeptic, or one of the many who've heard my whispers but never dared to believe them, let me assure you: I am here for the truth. Not the sanitized, prepackaged versions handed down from government press releases or media conglomerates, but the raw, bloody, undeniable truth of this world we're spiraling into.Tonight, we talk about him. The one they've started calling "The Beast of the Night." Some know him better as Christian Kaiser, a boy who once walked the halls of Asphalt Academy with his head down, his voice low, and his presence almost nonexistent. But Christian is no boy anymore.Let me tell you his story—not the one they'll try to sell you on the nightly news, but the real story. The story of a runaway with hair like moonlight and eyes that pierce the darkness. A runaway who has tasted blood and decided that the world has more to offer him than fear and submission.It started in the aftermath of an event so violent, so unprecedented, that it sent ripples through our society overnight. For those unfamiliar, let me recap:
Christian Kaiser, bullied to the breaking point, unlocked a power within him that reshaped his body, his mind, and perhaps even his soul. On the surface, it was strength—inhuman strength that allowed him to tear through his tormentors as though they were paper. But beneath that, it was something darker, something primal.
The government was quick to brand him a murderer, slapping his face on every screen, every street corner. But what they didn't tell you was that this so-called "murderer" wasn't born that night behind the gym. He was forged over months, years even, by a society that refused to see him. A boy who whispered a wish into the void, and the void answered.Now, Christian roams the city like a phantom, hunted by police, drones, and helicopters that swarm like angry hornets. He doesn't hide in shadows; he owns them. His speed is unparalleled, his strength monstrous. Witnesses describe him as a blur of white light, his unkempt, spiked hair glowing under the moon as if the stars themselves had spilled onto his scalp.They say his eyes glow too—two pale orbs that pierce the night, unblinking, inhuman. He moves like an animal, fights like one too, and if you're a police officer unlucky enough to cross his path, you don't get the chance to report back.Now, let's address the rumors. Yes, he's killed officers. No, this isn't speculation. I have sources—real ones, not the faceless bureaucrats who peddle lies. They tell me Christian doesn't kill out of anger or revenge, not anymore. He kills because he has to.Imagine living on the run, your every breath a calculated risk. You steal food when you can—cans from convenience stores, loaves from bakeries. When that fails, you eat rats, digging into their flesh with desperation as the hunger gnaws at you like a second heartbeat. You sleep in alleys and tunnels, your body alert to every sound, every shift in the air. And when they find you—and they always find you—you fight.But Christian doesn't fight like the boy he once was. He fights with a forced smile, a grin that splits his face like a mask he can't take off. Some say it's his way of coping, a grim acknowledgment of the monster he's become. Others say the smile isn't his at all—that it's something else wearing his body, his soul a passenger in his own flesh.And the worst part? He's fast. Faster than any human has a right to be. Faster than most bullets, if the stories are true. He moves like a predator, his glowing eyes tracking his prey with eerie precision. He doesn't just overpower his opponents; he dismantles them, piece by piece, with a ferocity that leaves even the most hardened officers trembling.But it's not just physical. No, Christian has learned to outthink them too. He knows the city better than the police, slipping through their nets like water through a sieve. He uses their tech against them, luring drones into collisions, baiting officers into traps.Now, I know what you're thinking. Why would I—a humble reporter with no name, no face, and no allegiance—paint such a vivid picture of this so-called "beast"? Am I glorifying him? Defending him? The answer is neither. I'm simply telling you the truth. Because the truth is this: Christian Kaiser is not the villain of this story.You see, Christian didn't ask for this power. He didn't ask to be hunted, to be feared, to become the subject of late-night horror stories whispered in police precincts and high-rise offices. This was thrust upon him, and now, he's doing what anyone would do: surviving.But there's something else. Something bigger.Those Marks—those strange, unexplainable phenomena that are spreading like wildfire—are not accidents. Christian Kaiser is not an anomaly; he's a harbinger. A warning of what's to come. Because the truth, dear reader, is that the Marks are not gifts. They are not curses. They are choices.And Christian made his.So, what's next for our runaway? The police will continue to hunt him, no doubt. The government will continue to spin their lies, painting him as a savage beast who threatens the fabric of our society. But the people—you—have a choice. Will you believe them? Or will you see Christian for what he truly is: a boy who was pushed too far, a survivor clawing his way through a world that has already written him off?I leave you with this, dear reader: Keep watching the night. Watch for the white hair, the glowing eyes, the smile that doesn't reach his soul. Watch for Christian Kaiser, the Beast of the Night.And remember, when they tell you he's the monster, ask yourself—who made him that way?Until next time, let's dive into this fray together. Stay curious. And stay free.And of course.
Alonzi.— The Imagi Reporter