They told me I'd be special.
Not in the fairy-tale way. Not in the birthday-cake, happy-ending, chosen-one kind of way.
I was six when they put me in the chair.
The lab was cold. Blinding white lights. Wires slithering like snakes. They called it Project Infinite. I called it the day my heart died.
The last thing I saw before I exploded into light was the reflection of my own eyes—dissolving into galaxies.
I didn't scream. I couldn't.
My body… phased. My thoughts scattered. Every molecule inside me was sprinting in different directions—across time, across everything.
And then I woke up in nothing. Not a void. Not space.
Something… beyond.
I had become Thirian Rex, the Infinity