Life is unpredictable.
Sometimes, it becomes too much to handle.
But—
"This is absolute sh#t." Kevin shouted in anger.
Unfortunately, no one was there to hear his outburst.
Kevin is floating.
Wrong.
It can't be called "floating" because he isn't moving—he is suspended in place, caught in a void where gravity ceases to exist.
No object. No light. Nothing familiar. He hangs in the abyss—weightless, adrift in nothingness.
Nothing surrounds him. Just an infinite expanse of absence.
He doesn't know where he is.
He doesn't know how he got here.
One moment, he was fighting that beast of a man—then everything turned black.
But worst of all—his body, his own goddamn body—no longer looks human.
Kevin glances down at himself and sighs.
It should be flesh and blood. Skin and bone.
Instead, he is storm incarnate, a raging mass of dark green thunder, crackling and shifting, barely managing to hold itself in the shape of a man.
Lightning surges through his form—unstable, volatile—alive in ways he cannot begin to comprehend.
The sensation is unnatural, yet terrifyingly real. It pulses through him, an energy that refuses to be contained, shifting like a living entity, as if it has a will of its own.
He looks like something ripped straight from a supernatural nightmare. —
A villain forged from chaos, exiled into this desolate void.
Kevin clenches his jaw.
"F#ck… Is this some kind of fancy advanced tech suit?" he mutters.
It's the only explanation his mind is willing to accept, no matter how insane it sounds.
The thunder may look dangerous—may feel like it should fry him to dust—
Yet, oddly enough, it doesn't burn.
It doesn't electrocute him.
Instead—
It feels disgustingly comfortable.
Kevin attempts to move—he willed his limbs to shift.
Nothing.
His body remains frozen, locked in place. The only thing capable of movement is his eyes.
He fights against the restraints—tries again, harder, more desperately—
It's useless.
After several agonizing failures, he gives up.
Left with nothing but his thoughts, his mind begins to spiral, drowning him in questions without answers.
What is happening?
What did they do with him?
When did his carefully planned-out life derail into this madness?
Until now, he had always followed the best path for himself—choosing food that suited his body, pushing through the hardest exercises to stay healthy, and picking a profession that matched his intelligence.
Sure, being a geneticist didn't bring in much income at first—it wasn't exactly a booming industry—but all of that changed when he completed his surgical training.
He had control.
Or at least, he thought he did.
But this—this insanity?
This was never part of the plan.
Then, as Kevin sinks deeper into his thoughts, something catches his eye—
The center of his chest.
There, a hole gapes at him—slightly larger than a centimeter in diameter—like a chunk of himself has been ripped away. The hole is surrounded with several cracks, like a glass ready to expand or, worse, break at the slightest touch.
His neck refuses to budge, but his angle is enough to make out the jagged edges of the wound—along with the fractures spidering outward in all directions.
The dark green thunder writhes around the wound, flickering violently as if trying to seal it.
But it fails.
It fails again.
And again.
His mind races, a whirlwind of fear and logic colliding inside his skull.
He tries to recall the last thing he remembers—
"I was focusing on something in the middle of the fight… then, suddenly, a drowning sensation overwhelmed me. And now I'm here."
A flood of theories shoots through his mind.
"Am I captured again?"
"Then why restrain me like this?"
"Is it even possible to restrain someone like this?"
WAIT.
Something clicks in his mind.
Something he should have realized from the very beginning.
"I am not breathing."
Yes—despite floating in this abyss, that thought never once crossed his mind.
"Then… am I dead?"
NO.
He shuts down that possibility immediately.
He's still capable of thinking freely.
"Then how can I think?"
A chilling new question emerges—one that claws at his sanity, whispering horrific possibilities into his thoughts.
Approaching it with the logic of a doctor, a terrifying—yet plausible—theory takes form.
"Don't tell me… Did those bastards kill me physically?"
Before his mind can unravel further—
Something changed.
Several tiny fragments of white light appear—floating in the void like stars scattered across the darkness.
Slowly, they drift toward him—closer, closer—until they hover against his body.
Kevin wants to resist, to shove these unknown fragments away—
But he is powerless.
The instant they touch his storm-ridden form, an overwhelming sense of euphoric satisfaction floods through him.
"Damn… I'm definitely high now."
The words leave him weakly before he succumbs to the sensation.
It's like a starving man discovering fullness—one that will last for eternity, permanently freeing him from hunger's cruel shackles.
And then—
It vanishes.
Kevin snaps his eyes open.
Nothing.
Not a single fragment of white light remains.
"What the hell was that?"
Even though he has never tried drugs or alcohol, he is certain that nothing on Earth—no addictive substance—could possibly rival what he just experienced.
Desperately, his eyes scanned in every direction, searching for even the faintest trace of the fragments.
But he finds nothing.
Instead, his attention falls elsewhere—
The hole in his chest?
Gone.
The fractures that had spread across his body?
Vanished.
Only the dark green thunder remains—slithering around him, unchanged.
Before Kevin could focus on the hole in his chest—or even begin to process what had happened—a force yanked at him.
A powerful, unseen pull—so sudden, he barely had time to react before everything changed.
In less than the time it takes to blink, the void disappeared.
One moment, he was suspended in nothingness, trapped, helpless.
And the next—
He was standing.
On solid ground.
Kevin's breath hitched.
His body had weight again—gravity, movement, sensation.
Instinctively, he tried to lift his hand, half expecting to fail—half expecting himself to still be imprisoned in that cursed abyss.
But he succeeded.
Unlike before, he could move.
His relief was short-lived.
Because this new place—while different from the void—was not normal.
Darkness still surrounded him, but unlike the absolute, infinite absence from before, this was a far more tangible kind of darkness—one with substance.
Just like before, everything was empty.
His throat tightened.
Kevin took his first step.
The ground beneath him felt real, solid—but he needed to know more.
Where does this place end?
Two steps.
Six steps.
Ten steps.
The moment his foot crossed the tenth step—
He collided with something.
Hard, Invisible.
Like glass.
Kevin staggered back, eyes widening.
"What… is this?"
He muttered, pressing his palm against the unseen barrier.
It was smooth, unyielding, impossibly firm—like the thickest bulletproof glass imaginable.
If he were anywhere else, he would have assumed he was inside some kind of containment cell.
But after everything he had endured—everything he had seen—he knew better than to entertain normal explanations.
His brows furrowed.
Turning on his heel, he walked in the opposite direction, determined to test his limits.
Ten steps.
That was his boundary.
No matter which direction he moved—ten steps remained his limit.
He was trapped.
Before he could experiment further, something changed—
Something so sudden, it shook him to his core.
The barrier shrank.
In an instant, the space around him compressed, dragging him backward toward his original spot—confining him in an area no larger than two steps in diameter.
But Kevin barely even noticed the shrinking prison.
Because—right before his eyes—
A screen had appeared.
No…
Calling it a screen was too simple—too weak of a description.
It was more than that—more than some mere projection.
As if someone had just equipped him with 3D glasses, except—
This was beyond reality.
Beyond anything human technology had ever achieved.
And inside this view, a fight was taking place.
A battle unfolding in the middle of a desert.
Yet—
There was rain.
A deep frown settled on Kevin's face.
"Weird…" Why is there rain in the middle of a desert?" He murmured, but his gaze never strayed from the view.
In front of him, a man stood.
Surrounded—four helicopters hovering on all sides.
Then—
Gunfire erupted.
Kevin's eyes widened.
"F#ck."
Bullets tore through the air, every shot aimed at the man.
But, not a single bullet landed.
Instead—
Each one was obliterated by a furious surge of dark green thunder—violent, untamed.
His hands shook.
Instinctively, he looked down at himself—his own body, his own storm-ridden form—
And then—
He looked back at the view.
Both—exactly the same.
"…They're the same."
His voice trembled.
His mind refused to believe it.
If these dark green thunders were truly powerful enough to melt metal, to destroy helicopters in an instant—
Then why was he still intact?
And—more importantly—
Who was this person?
Whose view was he seeing?
The scene kept shifting—unfolding like a live movie, reality and illusion blurring together.
Under Kevin's watchful eyes, the man tore down each helicopter like paper, his body accumulating more and more injuries with every passing second but keeping on regenerating.
Yet—
Victory seemed certain.
But then—
Everything changed.
Out of nowhere, multiple thunderbolts rained down from the sky, striking the man.
Again.
And again.
Until—
He collapsed.
And at that exact moment—
Kevin's view ended.
The barrier expanded again—allowing him freedom of movement—but he didn't move.
He was drowning in his questions bursting through his mind.
Unknowingly, he started muttering them aloud.
"Who was that person?"
"Why were they fighting?"
"Does this green thunder surrounding me have some kind of connection with him?"
"Why does he fight like a—"
"Like a beast?"
A new voice finished his sentence.
Kevin's head snapped toward the source.