If you could be the most powerful person in the world, what would you do? Complicated, isn't it? I don't know either. You could go into more detail about what you consider "powerful." From my point of view, power lies in two factors.
The first of these is what the world has used since its beginning to determine who is superior—namely, brute force. This factor is present everywhere; it's what connects us to animals. In the wild, animals fight physically to demonstrate their superiority, and just like them, humans did the same for a long time. They waged countless wars to show who was stronger. But, after a long while, a second factor appeared.
This second factor, unlike the first, is present only in humans. It is simple knowledge. Intelligence is the second element that shows superiority and the one that brought us to the top of the food chain. It's the factor that differentiates us from animals. So, we can say these factors are total opposites, yet they bring about the same result. They're like twin brothers.
-???
I was surrounded by ruins, disaster everywhere. It looked like a desert filled with giant metal pieces ready to collapse at any moment. Gunfire echoed from all directions. I had just fallen out of my wheelchair. I started crawling like a worm, dragging myself on my elbows across the sand. I didn't know where I was crawling, but I felt it was toward safety, like a child crawling toward its mother.
At the same time, a silhouette was approaching, running in my direction. He was shouting something, but I couldn't quite understand what. As he came closer, I started to grasp what he was saying. He was shouting a name. It was a familiar name—it was my name, but it didn't seem like he was referring to me. I kept hearing "Shinja" over and over. I crawled faster, drawn by that call. Another name started to come out of my mouth, a name I had never said before in my life: "Yuko," I cried out.
The figure got so close I could see his face through the dust that was scattered everywhere. He was a tall man, about 1.80 meters, blond, with blue eyes. His hair was fairly long, and he was dressed elegantly, with black dress pants, shoes, and a matching tie. He wore a white shirt, stained with blood in some places, and over it, he had two gun holsters, one holding a pistol. Sweat dripped from his face, and I could see in his eyes the same feeling I had in that moment. He came to me, sat down, and held me in his arms.
— I found you, little brother! Everything happening around us is our fault, but at least we're together now, in these final moments.
Then a bullet flew and struck him right in the middle of the forehead. His head slumped forward, and I watched the light fade from his eyes. A wave of sadness overwhelmed me, and I began to cry. I held that dead man in my arms, my elbows covered in blood from crawling, crying as if I had died myself. Then, one of those metal structures began to sway and collapsed on top of me.
That's when I woke up. It was a dream. I got out of bed and went to splash my face with cold water. As the water dripped from my face, I stared into the mirror and said to myself: "That wasn't me." I wiped my face and went back to bed, but it was pointless—I didn't sleep again that night.
- Andreas Shinja