August 26, 2041
Ring
Ring
Ring
Beep
"Hey, Max. It's, uh… it's Beth. I just wanted to check in on you. When you get this message, um, please call me back. Everyone's worried about you. We're all here if you ever want to talk. Just... at least try to talk to someone, okay?"
The room remained silent for over a minute, the stillness stretching on as seconds passed.
Suddenly, the sound of something falling broke the quiet. Maxwell stirred, slowly pulling himself up from where he sat. Without a word, he moved to the fridge, gripping the handle and opening the door. He stood there for a moment, staring blankly at its contents.
After half a minute, he grabbed a can of cola. The faint hiss of the tab breaking the seal filled the room, followed by the soft fizzing as he opened it. Tilting his head back, he downed half the can in one go.
Maxwell remained silent as he pulled down the curtains, covering the full-length windows. In the past, Benjamin would sit by the windows, watching the dazzling lights of the busy middle district at night, and Maxwell would often join him. Recently, though, the city had lost its vibrant glow, leaving only a hollow darkness that mirrored the emptiness inside him.
Dragging his feet, Maxwell trudged past a growing pile of trash that he hadn't found the energy to throw out. After a few moments, he stood before the door to Benjamin's room. He had stared at this door every day for over a month but had been too scared to enter. Leaning against the wall opposite, he slid down to the floor, tears streaming down his face.
Like a faint whisper, Maxwell heard Benjamin's voice through the door, laughing and talking about his day at school. Then, he heard his own voice trying to sing. Slowly, he rose to his feet and placed his hand on the door handle.
Krrrrrreeeeee
The door opened with a loud creak, and he was met with a puff of dust, some of it sticking to his tears as the dust settled. Almost immediately, he saw a faded image of Benjamin, scratching the back of his head as he tried to do his assignment on his own.
Jerking back, Maxwell turned around and left the room. He closed the door gently behind him, then collapsed to his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor as his tears flowed uncontrollably. His heart felt as if it might burst from the overwhelming pain.
He stayed there for hours, unable to move, lost in his grief.
When he finally rose, it was late into the night. Dragging his feet, he made his way to the fridge. He opened it, only to realize it was completely empty.
It felt odd. Maxwell was sure he had restocked just last week—or was it the week before? He frowned, realizing he needed to go shopping again. With a groan, he searched deep within himself for even a shred of willpower, then trudged toward the bathroom.
He spent almost two hours lying in the tub, letting the warmth wash over him. Eventually, he dragged himself out and dried off. He slipped into a red sweater and black jeans, standing before the bathroom mirror. He tried to fix his hair and put on a smile, though it felt unnatural.
After putting on his shoes, he opened the door to his home and stepped outside for the first time in over two weeks. He made his way to the Walmart behind his block, the journey taking him over ten minutes.
Walking in, Maxwell immediately noticed the lack of customers.
'It's late, but it can't be that late, can it?' he thought as he made his way to the canned food section. Still, he didn't spot a single person. He glanced over at the counter and saw the cashier sitting idly, a magazine resting on the counter in front of her.
'Odd, it's barely eight o'clock. It's way too quiet for eight o'clock.' Maxwell thought as he hurriedly gathered everything he needed. He made his way to the cashier, dropping his groceries onto the counter. The cashier didn't respond. Still engrossed in her magazine, her green eyes appeared glazed over, as though she didn't even notice him.
Only seeing her left side, Maxwell thought she was so engrossed in the magazine that she was willing to make him wait. Not wanting to spend any more time outside his apartment, he spoke up.
"Hey, are you going to collect my money or what?"
He was met with silence as she didn't even attempt to move, not paying him any attention. Growing increasingly annoyed, Maxwell raised his voice.
"What the hell's your problem?" He pulled her to face him.
For several long moments, the silence was deafening. Rooted to the spot, Maxwell could have sworn he was paralyzed as he stared at the girl before him. The entire right side of her head was missing, blood and brain matter staining her dress.
Realization dawned on him as he finally understood why the store was empty and eerily quiet.
There was a gang war in progress.
It seemed everyone had wisely fled, knowing better than to be out during such a brutal face-off. Everyone, except for him.
"Here? Now, of all times?" he cursed under his breath, scrambling for cover and praying that whoever had killed the cashier wasn't anywhere nearby.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Silence rang viciously in his head as he strained to make out any sound, his fear rising like bile in his throat. This was not an uncommon event—gang wars often followed a predictable pattern.
The first stage was brawls.
In this stage, the lower-ranking members with no powers unleashed their pent-up rage. They were easy to spot and, more importantly, easy to avoid.
The second stage is more of a face-off between gangs. This is where Brands come into play.
Fights between Brands can last anywhere from a few minutes to several hours. The key is in seeing who makes the first move, then countering with your own. This makes it the most dangerous stage, as it's not a matter of simple confrontation but a battle of strategy and power.
Brands are humans with superpowers who have been marked—or branded—by a Kyrennei.
Kyrennei are special types of animals that appeared hundreds of years ago. These creatures act like parasites, seeking out a dominant DNA to bond with. If they fail to form a bond, their lifespans are short and often end abruptly. When they reach the end of their lifespan, they either die quietly or mutate into otherworldly beasts that destroy everything in their path. This process has resulted in the creation of multiple dead zones across the planet.
The Brands who bonded with the Kyrennei gained the abilities of the animals, which was an incredible advantage. However, this bond came with its drawbacks. Along with the abilities, they also inherited the Kyrennei's urges and base instincts. Over time, some Brands were overwhelmed by these instincts and turned feral, though this was relatively rare. Brands were initially used as military units to fend off the mutated Kyrennei, but their ability to hold onto such power for long periods was limited. Now, even gangs have Brands among their ranks.
So, when a face-off occurs, everyone hides, which is impressive considering that, like Maxwell, most people don't realize it's happening until it's too late. The cashier was a clear example of this. These events are nearly impossible to spot and even harder to avoid.
The third stage is outright war.
At this point, all bets are off—everyone is involved. It's fight or die. Even civilians aren't spared, as the area of effect is vast. From the lowest member to the gang's boss, rules are discarded, and fatalities skyrocket. It's easy to spot but nearly impossible to avoid.
Maxwell is currently caught in the middle of a second-stage gang war.
Which means...
Checking his phone, the time read 20:32 pm.
Sweat dripping from his brow, he slowly stepped out the front door, glancing behind him every few seconds. He made it past the first building—just as far as he could get before reality caught up with him.
The next moment, the wall to his right exploded, a flash of red whizzing past him. Smoke and dust billowed everywhere.
Turning his head to the left, he barely saw a red silhouette slammed into the side of a building.
Slowly turning his head to the right, he froze as a figure emerged from the smoke.
'Huge,' was the first thought that crossed his mind as the figure came into full view.
At nearly nine feet tall, the man was a terrifying sight. His body was covered in tattoos that sprawled across his bare chest, and his bald head looked almost sculpted, giving him an intimidating appearance. The only clothing he wore were incredibly baggy brown pants.
The behemoth's eyes locked onto Maxwell, and it was as if his heart stopped. Maxwell's mind screamed at him to run, to escape, but his body betrayed him, paralyzed with fear. All he could do was tremble.
The man's face was obscured by a blue gas mask, adding to his unsettling presence.
The behemoth took a step forward, and Maxwell swore he could hear the ground crack beneath the weight of each footfall. Face to face with a Brand, he stood frozen, his body refusing to move.
Then, from behind him, he heard a low growl. The behemoth halted, his gaze flickering toward the sound.
A flash of red.
Boom.
In an instant, Maxwell was alone.