A pale caramel-skinned guy with tightly coiled curly hair stood on the sidewalk outside a massive skyscraper. His skin, a deep caramel hue reminiscent of aged candy left unwrapped too long, flickered with a soft, intermittent glow. The glow seemed alive, breathing faintly against the shadow of the looming building. He carried a large box filled with various items: books stacked neatly, utensils, and a photo of himself and another boy taken when he was five. The picture rested on top, steady despite his movements, a reminder of simpler times.
The weight of the box grew heavier as he sat on a nearby bench, placing it gently beside him. From the box, he retrieved a half-eaten sandwich, its edges slightly stale, and took a bite. The flavors, though modest, felt profound, grounding him in a moment that seemed increasingly fleeting.
"That hits the spot," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. For a simple sandwich, it felt like the best thing in the world.
The peace shattered as a sharp, electric shock jolted through his chest. He clutched it instinctively, his face twisting in discomfort. The glow from his skin flickered erratically, brighter this time, like a warning.
"Ahh, that feels weird," he mumbled, standing abruptly. Grabbing his box with hurried movements, he bolted towards home.
"No, no, not yet," he whispered under his breath, his words trembling with desperation.
The night air felt oppressive as he sprinted through dimly lit streets, shadows stretching long across the pavement. The glow of his skin cast faint patterns on nearby walls, creating an eerie dance of light and shadow. He burst through his apartment door, shutting out the city's streetlights with a slam. The room was dark, save for his flickering glow. He set the box down carefully, pulled out the photo, and stared at it. His fingers traced the edges of the image, lingering on the face of the boy beside him. Then, with a sudden resolve, he dashed out again, clutching the picture tightly.
The streets blurred around him as he ran. His breaths came heavy, each one mingling with the cool night air. In the distance, a massive building loomed, its silhouette dominating the horizon. The red cross on its facade glowed faintly, a beacon against the darkness. The building was foreboding yet oddly comforting, a paradox Kaz didn't have the luxury to dwell on.
He stopped briefly, staring at the structure. His chest tightened, another sharp jolt shocking him back to reality. Without hesitation, he stepped inside, the cold, sterile air enveloping him. Before he could process his surroundings, his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor. A nurse immediately noticed him, her eyes widening as she pressed a red button on the wall. The intercom blared, shattering the building's quiet:
// INCOMING RIFT // INCOMING RIFT //
The alarm sent everyone into a frenzy. Footsteps echoed in the halls, urgent and chaotic. For years, the glowing skin condition had been dismissed as a rare type of cancer. But as the shocks grew more intense and unexplainable, it became clear something else was at play. Scientists searched desperately for answers, but their efforts yielded nothing. Then, the disappearances began. People afflicted with the condition vanished without a trace. Some returned, altered, while others left behind rifts—portals that unleashed dangerous monsters into the world.
These rifts were believed to be tethered to the departed's original anchors, opening gateways between worlds. Though most rifts closed quickly, the damage they caused lingered in scars across cities and lives.
Kaz's body was hoisted onto a stretcher, his skin's glow pulsating brighter with each passing second. The lights above him flickered erratically, casting the room in a strobe-like haze. The alarm's relentless wail was deafening. He was wheeled into a chamber dominated by a strange, machine-like bed. Once placed inside, the shocks ceased, the glow stabilizing for a brief, fragile moment. Kaz's chest rose and fell, his breaths shallow.
A police officer entered the room, his boots clinking softly against the tiled floor. His expression was somber, eyes scanning Kaz's condition. Despite society's progress in overcoming racism, a new form of prejudice had emerged—a judgment based on vitality. Kaz's current state did little to inspire confidence.
"So, kid," the officer began, his voice gruff but not unkind, "do you know how Rifts work?"
Kaz nodded faintly, the faint tingling in his chest returning. "Yes," he murmured, "about as much as everyone else."
The officer sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "So basically nothing. Let me explain."
Kaz's gaze locked onto the man, his focus sharp despite the fatigue settling into his bones.
"When you're teleported," the officer continued, "you'll be sent to a random world, in a random spot. You won't have abilities right away. Instead, you'll develop Features and Traits. These will be your lifeline. Without them, survival is nearly impossible. Avoid other humans in those worlds, especially if they're Rift Walkers. Most of them aren't like us. They'll either kill you or try to follow you back here. Remember that. And pray you get a Trait that can actually help."
The officer's tone was heavy, and Kaz couldn't help but feel a lump form in his throat. His mind raced with questions. What kind of world awaited him? Would he even survive? The glow around him began to intensify, flooding the room with a radiant, almost blinding light. His heartbeat quickened, the sound echoing in his ears like a drumbeat of impending fate.
The officer stepped back, shielding his eyes. "Good luck, kid. You're gonna need it."
Kaz's form flickered violently, the glow consuming him entirely. The world around him seemed to dissolve, the officer's words fading into a distant hum. For a brief moment, everything was still. Then, with a final pulse of light, Kaz's form disappeared into nothingness.