The world had changed quite drastically. So had the people.
After the apocalypse, survivors awakened latent powers buried deep in their genes, birthing a new era and a new society.
People awakened with new power that started to evolve, allowing them to follow the traces left by the aliens and begin the galactic conquest.
This extent of awakening and extent of mutation was measured in a unit called the Mutation Index. By the time one entered the academy, if they couldn't surpass a Mutation Index of 5, they were not even considered elite.
The elites were different. They were superhuman powerhouses. They had abilities that defied logic. Powers that could be honed, evolved, and pushed to the limits of the cosmos.
But in reality, it wasn't the Mutation Index itself that mattered. It was the power one was born with.
Awakeners awaken various powers and by training them, they get stronger.
The Mutation Index was a calculated term used to measure the power level.
Sadly, Hex has no power. However, the Federation doesn't neglect it. Everyone had a quota of free education up to 18, but the resources attributed to them were different based on their potential, which wasn't wrong.
After all, will you waste resources on those who can't advance?
And this group? They had none.
For those with no trace of power, they were sidelined.
This wasn't a big matter.Leaving like this wasn't bad however..
What's bad was survival.
With monsters from rift and criminals with superpower running awake,your life is constantly in danger.
What Hex earned wasn't miracle top tier powers rather something that ensured his survival alas..
The automated door slid open with a gentle hiss as Hex stepped inside.
His apartment was a single-bedroom unit compact, minimal, and undeniably poor. Yet, this was the year 2700, and even poverty wore a futuristic face.
The floor shimmered with translucent carbon-glass tiles that lit up dimly underfoot, adjusting brightness to his presence.
The walls were made of adaptive alloy panels capable of turning transparent to show a digital cityscape or darkening into blackout mode with a single command. A sleek holographic console floated near the wall, doubling as a TV, communicator, and virtual assistant. The kitchen was just a recess in the wall: a foldable countertop, a nutrient-synth machine, and a suspended orb-fridge that rotated silently in midair.
The bathroom door slid shut behind a mist screen, while the bed automatically adjusted its curvature to the posture of whoever lay on it. The room was pristine—no clutter, no personal decorations beyond the essentials.
But to Hex, it didn't look clean. It looked empty.
Silent.
Lonely.
The soft, white-blue ambient lighting only added to the hollow echo of the space.
He paused near the center, his gaze sweeping across the room without much interest, until it landed on the tiny shelf by the bed. Two items sat there.
One was a photo—an old-style print, slightly curled at the corners. It captured a rare moment of joy: Hex in his academy uniform, Stacy playfully grabbing his collar from behind while he tried to keep a straight face. Her laughter was frozen in time. His smirk too.
Beside it, enclosed in a thin transparent case, was a letter. Faded, aged, but preserved like treasure.
He reached out and picked it up, his thumb grazing the edges before he unfolded it for the thousandth time.
The handwriting was clumsy but filled with emotion which he read everyday with hope.
[I know it will be hard but please bear it.
We didn't part because we wanted to, but because we had to.So my child… my precious heart, Hex… just survive.Just make sure to drag on till 18, and you will witness the magic.]
He stood there for a while, staring at the letter. His lips curled slightly.
"Pfft…"
A dry chuckle escaped him.
"Magic, huh?" he muttered, voice tinged with tired sarcasm. "What kind of magic turns an orphan with a flat Mutation Index and no power into something more?"
Still… he didn't throw it away. He never had. No matter how many times life mocked him, he held onto this piece of hope like a fool clutching a broken wish.
He carefully set the letter back into its case.
"Alas... I am already 18," he whispered, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he removed his coat and let it slide down the chair. "And I've already graduated."
There have been cases of late boomers who need external help.So serum containing certain things had been injected to them at age of 10.
Despite this if you can't awaken power then you are done for.
He kicked off his boots and collapsed onto the bed. It responded instantly—shifting its form to cradle his tired body.
The mattress was soft. Too soft. It invited him into a weightless embrace.
Before he could think further—before his mind could spiral again into memories or regrets—the drowsy pull of exhaustion took over.
His breathing slowed.
The dim lights of the room faded gently, signaling sleep.
And in the silence of a futuristic cube lost in the megacity… Hex slipped into unconsciousness.
Still waiting.Still hoping the 'magic' was real.
.....
He didn't know how long he had been asleep.
It could've been minutes… hours… maybe longer.
But suddenly…
"GAAHH!"
A piercing, soul-splitting pain erupted from deep within his skull, like a lightning bolt had struck the very core of his mind. His eyes flew open, wide and bloodshot, pupils dilated as his body convulsed violently on the bed.
"W-What the hell?!"
He screamed, gripping his head with both hands, fingers digging into his scalp as if trying to rip out the source of agony.
His thoughts shattered.
It felt as though molten shards of metal were stabbing through every nerve in his brain. The pain wasn't just physical—it was existential, as if his very soul was being torn apart, stretched, and rearranged in some invisible forge.
His vision pulsed red, black, then white.
Every heartbeat felt like a drumbeat of doom thudding against his chest.
"WHAT'S GOING ON!?" he shouted, or maybe just tried to. His voice was hoarse, trembling with fear and raw torment. He clenched his teeth until his jaw ached, veins popping out across his neck and forehead.
Then—
[Beep-Beep! WARNING!]
A robotic voice echoed through the room as soft red lights blinked to life on the walls.
[Abnormal bio-signs detected.]
[Emergency medical protocol initiating.]
[Connecting to Sector MedicNet... Medic arrival ETA: 5 minutes.]
[User is advised to access the emergency aid kit. Please try to stay alive. Good luck.]
A hiss sounded from the side of the bed as a hidden panel slid open. From it, a mechanical arm extended slowly, offering a transparent breathing mask with built-in medical injectors.
Hex's body twitches violently as he reaches out with a shaking hand. Sweat poured down his face. His fingers barely grasped the mask, fumbling as he brought it to his face.
HISSSSSHH!!
A powerful rush of cold oxygen slammed into his lungs the moment the mask sealed to his mouth and nose. Along with it came a dose of neural anesthesia—a cocktail designed to numb every nerve, slow brain activity, and stabilize organ function.
The relief was instant but only partial.
The pain didn't disappear.
It simply dulled like a scream buried under ice.
His body slumped back into the bed, convulsions subsiding to tremors.
The ceiling blurred above him.
Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. His breath slowed. His muscles slackened.
His last thought before unconsciousness claimed him was not of fear... but confusion.
What the hell is knocking inside me...?
Then everything went black.