The snow is never good at hiding blood.
Every flake that falls from the imaginary ceiling of black and gray is essentially the sky showing off, manifestation of the earth giggling to itself. It is playful nature as water pretends to be trustworthy, until that storm hits like a bombshell.
That double-edged sword of a gift can be taken as lightly and softly, a paradoxical comfort in the white that forms on the gentle bodies that surrounds the dirt.
It can also fall on men with a mission, penetrated by purpose. A young man's purpose will always reflect well on the snow.
But snow... It's never good at hiding blood.
In a golden city filled with golden dreams, a man at the brink of death marched forward in the opportunity that lurred itself towards him.
***
Desvella 14, 2055
6:02 AM
A young man with hair as black as the shade tramped to one of five establishments in a ginormous district area. The darkness made the surrounding building's golden tenure menacing. The edifice the young man was headed to stood out from the rest. The smallest one, yet the bulkiest. Not just by how ghirty it was compared to the other buildings nearby, but by the decorations, the stories of war-torn legends written in the banners, hanging from the contours, the industrial smell given by the gigantic satellite, a shining orb inside of a floating spinning square. It dictated that this structure was protected by the city's Government.
Whoever designed this was a monster.
In a sea of bright light colors, in a pool of 24 carat golden crust silk and smooth at every corner, in a district that screamed money, power and fame, lied a building built with an iron fist, a dark stamp of red. The infrastructure was barebones from the young man's distance. His walk was as slow as it seemed painful, like he couldn't walk straight on his heels. He grinned his teeth together, powering through the hurt as his eyes flickered in reaction to jolts of discomfort.
As he arrived in front of a bridge preceding the daunting facility, the man's ribcage begun screaming.
He let an audible gasp escape before holding his ribs with one arm. He stomped the ground with his leather boots in frustration. A few seconds passed as he sat there, trying to keep his composure. He was breathing in and out. As the pain calmed down, he took one, final decisive breath, before resuming his march.
As he started walking, a small snowflake fell from the sky. The man kept walking. He kept thinking about what the heck happened for him to fall on such terrible timing. Yet, he powered through. He had an inkling that this was going to be his one shot, his only ticket to a victorious day. If he could just, push more. As he passed by, the man recognized holographic signs in front of the building for "The Guardian Organization of Hendricks", blue and purple posters flashing at a controlled rate like gigantic banners that floated on nothing. Today was the private ceremony to figure out who was to become the next guardians of the city. Free international visits were prohibited until 1P.M.
Even with all the physical suffering, the young stud had eyes burning with passion. In fact, it's as if all these troubles got his nerves pumped up. He couldn't tell if it was excitement, anxiety or fear, but the adrenaline made him panic a bit. He decided to take matters into his own hands, to find out what this hyperactivity was all about.
After all, this was perhaps the day he could become a knight.
Finally, after all these darned years.
As he crossed the other side of the bridge, the last snowflakes began landing on his morning hair. Hiding his upper body from the cold were leather gloves and a cape that descended to his knees, as well as camo pants he kept from his stint in the army of Hendricks a while back. Military experience normally gave an edge in such a dangerous position. Only he could wonder if the injuries would counter that bias. He desperately needed a shower and hoped to all gods that they were still opened for participants.
After the bridge resided a gigantic staircase. Every step on these stairs made his legs beg to stop the turmoil. In a quiet morning like this, he was the only sound perceptible to the world around him, a world that was fast asleep, unavailable to him. He would persist regardless. It was 6:10 by the time he arrived at the front door. Out of his bag, he got his ID card and swiped it on the register to the right. This giant gate crawled up, revealing more and more artificial light from inside the building.
The light hurt the young man's eyes, giving him little to no breathing room before being greated with a young receptionist.
She looked a little pale, remaining on the defensive, out of words.
She slowly muttered, "Mr. Adham" before losing her tongue. There was an awkward, brooding silence, before the man responded.
"Full name Gilbert, Gilbert Adham, 23 years old, Codename Paccan, exploit was battling a troop and stopping an invasion of base during Operation Dior, early 2052.
- The way for the test will be at third exit to the right. Follow me." Quickly cuts off the receptionist.
She gulped, triying her hardest to remain professional. Gilbert followed suite, before stopping, embarrassed.
"Actually..." Gilbert asks "Are the bathrooms… still available?"
The receptionist sighs and struggles back to her desk, before giving him the access key to reach the nearest bathrooms.
"- You know where they are already.
- R-right!..."
***
6:15 A.M
By that point, most of the wounds had already begun to scar, but the pain was still a toll on the young Gilbert's body. He was limping less and less as he was getting rid of the clothes one by one.
First task was to start the shower. If he didn't count the two hours spent unconscious before waking up, Gilbert lacked any sufficiant sleep. His body wouldn't have allowed it in normal circumstances regardless. The stress of this day was too much to bear. Today was indeed the day that dictated if he became a guardian. More specifically, if he would join one of the greatest team of knights the guardians had: Squad Delta.
It was a lot to handle, and the prospect of death in mission was real. Still, the pay was more than worth it for the hopeful Gilbert. His father needed it the most. After all the sacrifices, Adham would never back down from the finish line.
His body wanted to tell a different story.
His right knee was bruised, nearly buckled a few times; his left rib cage was cracked; his left arm was starting to spaz. After a quick scan back in his dorm room, he concluded chances of heart attacks were a flimsy 1.55%. His arm was close to broken, however.
Today was very different, and for the injured, nearly bed-written man, it announced to be a brutal storm incoming. He caved in. He had no choice if he wanted to win. His future, his father's future, it mattered more than his reputation.
His body wanted to tell a different story, so so bad.
***
6:17 A.M.
The hot water was hitting his skin like knives piercing his balls, wincing at every droplets, grinning his teeth, bracing himself and gripping his knuckles tight. He kept repeating to himself "I will power through it, I will power through it, I'm the man, I'm the man, I'm the man come on, I will power through it!" for over a minute, bopping his head back and forth.
This was the grueling shower he needed to clense his body of the blood stains that once covered his shell. All the motivation in the world was necessary. He had to keep some for what was coming next.
He survived the hell bath, which numbed the body to the hurt, in a twist of irony. He walked a tad better and stopped holding his rib cage helplessly. He slowly put back on the clothes he had.
That's when he sees a shadow walk near the door of the bathroom.
It stopped.
This was not the secretary asking if he was okay.
A fearful pause for a second or two. Gilbert's body remained still, statuette pose.
Then, a knock on the door.
"- Gill, It's Kenny. The secretary told me you were here. Just wanna take a piss, man."
A sigh of relief emanated from Gill's body at that moment.
"- Goodness gracious." He whispered to himself. "Hold on! I'll open it for you!"
When Gilbert got up, the pain in his right leg resurfaced in shocking fashion. Adham couldn't help but sizzle and wince again, before stomping the leg on the floor a few times.
"- Dude, is everything good?
- F-fuck, hold on, give me a second!"
Gilbert breathed in and gathered his strength. He really had but a short burst of tranquility before the damaged nerves stroke again. He opened the door. Kenny Thomas, a handsome black man with short hair who was about a head taller than Gilbert, wearing a set of light gray sports pants and shirt, looked down and was immediately taken aback. Adham's injuries looked madening.
"Gilbert, what in the world...??"
***
6:20 A.M.
True to his word, Kenny used the bathrooms for a quick pee break before washing his hands. He couldn't help but stare at Gilbert the whole time. By that point, Adham had clothed back up, ditching the cape in favor of more bandages for his arms and legs. His body in general was beginning to feel better. He was beginning to stretch, and his stroll was looking good. He looked physically prepared for the day.
"- Ken, you were more surprised about seeing me battered and beaten than naked. Goes to show how much the boys hang out too much in this facility". Gilbert's attempt at humor failed when he winced again at the pain in his rib cage. Kenny went ahead and gently opened the door to the bathroom, checking for any ears on their conversation. When he saw that the coast was cleared, he closed the door. He was baffled.
"- Gilbert, there is less then two hours left before the start of the ceremony, we're waiting for you all morning thinking you got lazy, and now you expect the organization to let your ass compete in this state!?
- It's not like I have a choice man. I need to pass now! My father needs me to pass this damn ceremony in order to get the fundings to cure him! I refuse to miss it because of some light bruises!
- This is anything BUT light bruises! You're hurt! You shouldn't be competing! There's always going to be another year and your dad-!
- No, stop. I CAN compete, and I WILL!
- Captain Abraham won't let this happen!" Argues back Kenny.
"- Really? That guy couldn't care if an flock of birds shat in a stadium full of innocent bystanders! Captain Abraham has no power on whether or not I will participate!"
Kenny sighed out of disbelief.
"Kenny, I gotta do this! If you don't have better arguments to stop me, then get out the way."
Kenny and Gilbert stared at one another. What Kenny could see in Gilbert's eyes was desperation. Kenny knew the Gilbert Adham story like the back of his hand. They formed a good enough bond that they felt comfortable sharing each other's reasonings for joining the guardians behind the scenes. Kenny understood Gilbert's struggles.
Kenny knew that, deep down, Gilbert believed he was right and that his choice was absolute and correct. Today was his day.
"- Look, you believe what you want to believe. I'm not stopping you. For today, and hopefully for today only, we'll be enemies. Prepare yourself."
Kenny backed up and reached the door. He looked back one last time towards Gilbert. His opponent didn't speak a single word. Burning desire, even if desperate, was still burning desire. Kenny then leaves the bathroom, leaving an hesitant Gilbert to his thoughts.
He couldn't help but look at himself in the mirror. A sense of disgust and shame he couldn't shake off before was being washed by the pride of looking like a champ, despite the injuries. He smirked. He had no clue what the side effects would be in those HEDs he took, but the fact that he was there, ready for the big day, was easily swallowing the musty taste in his mouth. It seemed like Kenny didn't notice, which was good.
He even had a cool story planned out, one of legendary triumph, after they tried to hamper his ceremonial performance, but even then, he stood tall and became one of the greatest guardians Hendricks had ever seen.
For once in this whole journey, he felt like a superhero.