The boy from the grey wandered the world of the future with awe and curiosity. The world, even at night, was noisy—full of people and brightly lit. The boy even had to cover his ears from time to time. His hospital clothing drew looks from the crowd, but most paid him no mind.
He looked at the horseless carriages, wondering what they were. He could run fast, but he could not match the speed of those things. Up above, giant buildings towered over him. Bright rectangles showing moving images were perched atop these buildings. The boy looked at the impossibility around him and thought there was no way his mind could even conjure half of these things.
Some things, however, stay the same. Food will always attract the primal instinct of man. Across the street, the boy's nose pointed him toward a food stall where people lined up. He went in that direction instinctively but was stopped by a blaring horn and light.
"Hey! Watch where you're going, will ya!" a man from one of the horseless carriages shouted. The boy covered his ears from the horn and ran away to the food stall. The vehicle drove off, not pursuing him. The boy let out a sigh of relief.
Near him was the food stall. He had never smelled anything like it before; it attacked his nose like a rushing river.
"Kid. Back of the line." A man with the curliest hair he'd ever seen spoke to him. The boy understood kid—he'd been called that many times—but he did not understand the rest.
He looked at where the man was pointing. It seemed he was indicating the back of the line. The boy understood lines. In the Blackwell compound, to get food, you had to form a line. Of course, nothing came free—you could only get food if you achieved your quota.
From what he was seeing, the same applied here. Nothing was free. They seemed to be exchanging coins and paper for food. It was probably money. The boy never had money, but he was familiar with the concept. The Blackwells guarded it jealously.
He wondered why he never had to pay money at the hospital. Was that the free food place? Maybe he could go back there when he got really hungry.
He looked again at the stall with the curly-haired man. He subconsciously gulped and left. He'd be back—with money.
The boy didn't actually know how people got money. He knew, however, how to get his hands on some—stealing.
He wasn't a stranger to stealing. He'd broken into many buildings in the Blackwell compound. He'd stolen Nostria right under their noses. Books, extra food, clay, and a variety of other things he never ended up using.
He took pleasure in taking from the Blackwells, but as he looked at these people, he wasn't sure he could do it. They were so nice! They weren't even beating or screaming at anyone!
Well, that wasn't entirely true. They did scream from time to time, but the boy felt no real malice from them.
Then who to steal from? The Blackwells were gone.
...Were they?
Was that vile family truly gone?
The boy looked around him. There didn't seem to be any sign of the Blackwells. But what if they were here somewhere—hiding?
He had returned. What were the chances those demons would come back as well? The boy's face, once full of awe and spirit, turned blank—the way it always was.
With the Breath of the Sky, he started running. His movements became graceful like a cat. He ran through crowds with ease and jumped over obstacles.
He looked at the buildings and people with suspicion now. What once seemed to be a place full of smiles and bright lights turned sinister. He saw people in corners in decrepit states, half dead. He saw people with stares as blank as his.
He saw people fighting. Lovers shouting. The horseless carriages now seemed a lot more intimidating. The air smelled like it burned. He'd initially taken the noisiness as liveliness, but now it sounded angry. He looked up and saw only the moon—and very few stars, countable on one hand.
He saw people so caught up in their tasks that they looked like mindless husks. It reminded him of his fellow slaves, who only knew the world given to them.
He saw a child—barely a babe—crying, alone, dirty.
The boy saw himself in that child. He had never cried as a child. He couldn't. He knew that if he did, and someone saw, he would be disposed of. In a way, he was glad that this child could cry out in the open.
He couldn't help but come near the child.
"Hello, child of the new world. What ails you?" the boy from the grey asked in his own tongue. The child looked up at him, not understanding his words, but still crying.
The child looked so innocent. So small. Was this how he looked back then? How could the Blackwells look at children as small as these and decide to use them as tools? Worse than tools, in fact.
The child looked back at the alley where he'd come from. The boy followed his gaze.
There was a man wearing a bright suit of all the colors of the rainbow in the alleyway. His face was painted with the same colors, and a large pair of glasses obscured half of it. Beside him were two men whose job was clearly to look intimidating.
The man in the suit was holding a clipboard and was hitting a woman on the ground with it as he squatted.
"Where's my money, Sandra? You don't want to lose your last kidney, do you?" The man kept hitting her head with the clipboard as he spoke.
The boy looked at this scene with a stone face. He was familiar with this—violence. It had been his companion since before he was born. He felt his eye ache as he watched.
It seemed that even if the Blackwells were gone, the evil from that family had stayed in this world—and collected in people like this.
The boy stepped into the alleyway, immediately grabbing everyone's attention. His hospital clothes were a stark contrast to the dark environment. The man in the colorful suit addressed him with a smile.
"Friend! Please step back. This place is dangerous," the man warned.
But the boy did not understand and kept walking toward him. His angry steps echoed through the silent alleyway. The two grunts stepped forward to intercept—when they heard a sizzling of the air. The boy's lungs expanded as he took a deep breath.
A single leap closed the gap between the boy and the grunts. A single punch each was all it took to send them to the ground, unconscious. They couldn't react.
The man in the suit immediately stood and stepped back, creating distance. He still wore that wide smile.
"Friend! There's no need for violence. We're just collecting what we're owed, you see. From enhanced to enhanced, as a promise, I'll give this woman some leeway."
The boy still did not understand. In his mind, this man's image overlapped with the Blackwells.
"Last chance, friend!" The man pulled out a weapon. The boy recognized it as the same type used by the metal army who had taken him hostage. He felt danger as the man raised it. He dodged to the side with the Breath of the Sky.
A deafening bang exploded from the weapon. The boy saw it gouge the concrete where he had been standing. He immediately knew the first level of the Breath of the Mountain would not protect him from this. He kept breathing the sky—to be quick.
"You should've left, friend. What is this woman to you, anyway?" The man pointed the weapon again. The boy leapt up to dodge. Three more bangs resounded, but the boy made the man's aim unreliable by leaping side to side.
The boy was about to close the gap when the man spoke. "Amazing! I can do something like that too!"
The man bent his knees as if readying to jump, and suddenly the ground under him turned bouncy like rubber. With a jump, he bounced meters away. Every time he landed, the surface under his feet turned rubbery and propelled him farther.
"How naive! Not wearing a mask while doing vigilante work!" The man laughed as he bounced away.
The boy was bewildered. He had never seen anything like it before. Nonetheless, he pursued. With the Breath of the Sky, he leapt after him.
Three more bangs exploded. The boy anticipated them and hid behind a wall, halting his pursuit.
"A brute! Fast and strong. Unfortunately, not too experienced in a fight—I can tell. Tell you what, friend! An enhanced like you is always in demand. I'll clear this woman's debts if you work with us! We pay well!" the man shouted.
The boy was in a pickle. He knew the weapon was aimed at his hiding spot. If he stuck his head out, he'd be hit. The boy breathed the newly gained second level of the Breath of the Ocean to have more time to think. Suddenly, the world slowed in his eyes.
"No response? It seems you don't understand the scale of the operation you're dealing with. Let me show you what I can do."
Another three bangs resounded. The boy, viewing the world in slow motion, saw it all. The bullets hit the wall in front of him—but they turned into rubber and bounced off. The bullets headed straight toward him. He could perceive them, but his body couldn't react. He was too slow.
Two of the three bullets hit him—one in the torso and another in the leg.
The boy fell to the ground, bleeding.
As he lay there, he heard the boots of the man in the suit approaching.
"Ahoo! I still got it. I bounced that perfectly!" The man danced and twirled as he looked at the bleeding boy.
"Should've taken the deal, friend. Enhanceds are rare. We would've welcomed you with open arms." The man pointed the weapon again.
But the boy was not idle. The Breath of the Ocean gave him plenty of time to think even as he bled.
With a wave, he splashed his blood toward the man's face, causing him to miss his shot. He breathed the sun, and his muscles filled with power.
With gritted teeth, the boy struck with all his might.
The punch hit the weapon and shattered it. His strike did not stop—it broke the man's fingers and arm in directions they weren't supposed to go. The man screamed in pain.
"Fuck! Why did you do that!"
But the boy was not done. He threw another strike. This time, the man was prepared—he turned his face to rubber.
The boy's punch threw him meters away. His face was bleeding, and his nose looked broken. Nonetheless, he survived.
"You got me. You actually got me!" the man said, still smiling through the blood.
He looked at the boy for a few seconds. The boy, meanwhile, was breathing the forest to heal his wounds. They stared at each other uncomfortably.
"My loss, friend! May I know your name?" the man asked.
This time, the boy understood the last part of the sentence. It was one of the few sentences he'd heard multiple times—and answered once. For some reason, he felt compelled to answer.
"I am the Butcher from the Grey," the boy replied.
"Butcher from the Grey! Not very heroic, I say. I am Honeycut! The collector of those who do not pay their debts and those whose cheques bounce! I look forward to your career with great interest! For now, that woman keeps her kidney. I shall bid you farewell. Adios, Butcher!"
The man bounced away with great speed.
The boy let him go. He was in no condition to pursue. Instead, he kept breathing the forest. He felt lightheaded, but his wounds slowly closed.
He saw the woman, hidden in a corner, looking paranoid. The child was with her now, no longer crying. It seemed she was the mother.
A mother. The boy knew the concept. He'd seen how some slaves were impregnated and made to birth dozens of children. He'd also seen how some Blackwells held feasts for the birth of their child.
He knew what a mother was, but he didn't know how to feel about it here. It did, however, feel right to reunite the child with his mother.
"T-thank you for saving me," the woman said. The child just stared at the boy with curious eyes.
He knew that word—thank you. He'd heard it all the time at the hospital. They said it to the nurses, the guards, and mostly, the heroes.
People said it to Zephyrine and Impact all the time. He hadn't truly known what it meant before. He had no memory to compare it to.
But now, the boy thought he understood. It took a while, but now that it was directed at him, his mind connected the dots.
It felt alien. It felt weird.
The boy decided, however, that he liked those words—and wished he heard them more. He also decided that he should say them to the heroes who had saved him.
"Thank you," the boy said to the woman and child. They looked confused.
The boy's attention was then grabbed by a protruding piece of paper in one of the unconscious grunts' pockets. The boy had been looking for those, and these were the perfect men to steal from.
He took the money and ran to the stall with the amazing smell, eager to eat.
The boy observed what people gave. Most people handed over the ones with the symbol "5." He looked at his own money and took three of those pieces of paper with "5" on them. He planned to go to the back of the line, but the people looked at the blood on his clothes and parted.
The boy confidently went to the front and gave the fifteen dollars to the man with the curly hair behind the stall.
"How many you want?"
The boy understood enough and raised three fingers.
"Three Jollof Rice and Chicken coming up!" the man shouted. Minutes later, the boy was the proud owner of three boxes of takeout food.
He ran back to the child and mother, who were still in the same place. He smiled and gave one box each to them. The mother looked hesitant, but the child immediately grabbed the box offered. The mother followed.
The three of them ate their food in that dark alleyway.
The boy's taste buds were assaulted by spiciness, saltiness, sourness—an amalgamation of flavors.
His mind was discombobulated by what he was experiencing. He only realized later that he'd finished his bowl. The boy and the mother were the same.
It was the most delicious thing the boy has ever tasted. He did not even know what words to use to describe what he just went through. He only wished he had a can of soda to go with it.
The mother, the son, and the butcher from the grey spent the night with full bellies.
In the distance, Impact's armor observed. The boy's movements never left his sight. He was too important to just let loose on his own.