Who Am I Really...
Without a word, Bailey slumped forward, her head coming to rest on Brandon's thighs over his silk comforter.
Brandon watched his twin with concern etched across his face.
He'd never seen her like this before - so vulnerable, so defeated. It was a stark contrast to her usual vibrant, sassy self.
"Hey, B," he said softly, reaching out to pat her head gently.
"Are you hurt? Or... is this some kinda PTSD from the attack?"
Bailey raised her hand, waving it dismissively without lifting her head from the comforter. Her voice came out muffled against the fabric.
"The attack? Heh… That was exciting at least…"
She let out a hollow chuckle that didn't quite mask the tension in her voice.
"NOA classes officially start tomorrow, and I still have no freaking direction for my IT company."
Brandon blinked, surprised by her admission. With everything that had happened, he'd almost forgotten about their classes at the Noblesse Oblige Academy.
Bailey continued, her words tumbling out faster now.
"Ughh, Victoria's always been a badass, you're a superstar now. Me? 'Oh, Bailey the tech genius hacker extraordinaire!' But I don't even know where to begin. How am I supposed to start a company when I can't even decide what it should do?"
Brandon couldn't help but stare as Bailey pouted, her lower lip jutting out adorably.
Even in her rumpled pajamas, with her silver hair tousled from sleep, she was undeniably beautiful.
Her light grey eyes, so similar to his own, sparkled with a mix of frustration and vulnerability.
"B, can you help me?" Bailey asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Brandon blinked, mentally shaking himself.
'Snap outta it, Brandon,' he chided himself silently.
'That's your twin sister now, for crying out loud.'
He rubbed his nose and looked away awkwardly.
"Uh, I know nothing about IT or about business for that matter."
Bailey rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Oh, drop the act. No one else is here. You might've fooled the world with your timid innocent boy act these past years, but I'm your twin, for God's sake. You can't fool me."
"What do you mean?" Brandon asked, genuinely confused.
Bailey's eyes narrowed.
"Really? All the nights we were meant to go out for tuition, but you were never there. Hello, we're billionaires - shouldn't the tutors come to us? And the past year and a half where you," she dramatically gestured air quotes, "left home 'cause you saw Dad with one of his mistresses. Puh-leasee… We saw like 3 of daddy's little whores before we learnt to ride a bike."
Brandon's mind suddenly reeled, pulling him back to a memory he didn't know he had.
He was twelve, standing in a dimly lit warehouse. The air reeked of sweat and metal. His small frame trembled with exhaustion, but he forced himself to stand straight.
"Again," a gruff voice commanded.
Brandon's muscles screamed in protest as he launched into a series of complex martial arts moves. His fists and feet flew through the air with precision, striking invisible opponents.
A man circled him, eyes critical.
"Faster. Harder. You're fighting for your life, boy."
Brandon gritted his teeth, pushing himself beyond his limits.
His movements became a blur, each strike more powerful than the last.
Suddenly, the man attacked. Brandon barely had time to react, instinctively blocking a punch aimed at his face.
They engaged in a furious exchange of blows, the man not holding back despite Brandon's age.
*THUD!*
Brandon took a hit to the ribs, gasping in pain.
"Ughh~"
But he didn't falter. He countered with a swift kick, catching the man off guard.
"Good," the man grunted.
"Now, weapons."
Brandon moved to a table laden with an array of firearms and blades.
His small hands moved with surprising confidence, assembling and loading a pistol in seconds.
He turned, aiming at targets across the room.
The gun barked repeatedly, each shot finding its mark with eerie accuracy.
Without pause, Brandon transitioned to a set of throwing knives.
*Vrooosh*
*Vrooosh*
*Vrooosh*
Steel sliced through the air, thudding into bullseyes with deadly precision.
The man nodded approvingly.
"Remember, boy. Hesitation means death."
Brandon's young face was a mask of determination, his eyes holding a hardness no child should possess.
Brandon's mind reeled as another memory surfaced, this one even more vivid and strange than the last.
He saw himself, perhaps ten years old, strapped into a sleek, futuristic chair.
Probes and sensors covered his head, connected to a massive array of screens and blinking lights.
The room hummed with energy, filled with cutting-edge technology that seemed almost alien.
Around him stood a group of distinguished-looking individuals - professors, scientists, and experts from various fields.
Their eyes were fixed on Brandon, a mix of curiosity and expectation in their gazes.
A stern-faced woman in a lab coat stepped forward, her voice crisp and authoritative.
"Begin the session."
Suddenly, the screens lit up with a dizzying array of information - complex mathematical equations, historical data, scientific theories, and more.
The professors fired questions at him rapid-fire, each more challenging than the last.
"What's the solution to this differential equation?"
"Explain the socioeconomic factors leading to the fall of the Roman Empire."
"Describe the process of nuclear fusion and its potential applications."
To Brandon's astonishment, his younger self answered each question without hesitation.
His responses were detailed, articulate, and far beyond the capabilities of a typical child his age.
It was as if his brain was directly accessing a vast database of knowledge.
Brandon's head suddenly exploded with pain, causing him to cry out and clutch his temples.
"ARRGHHHH!!!"
The world around him blurred as memories cascaded through his mind like a torrent of information.
Images flashed before his eyes - combat training, weapons handling, advanced studies in every conceivable field.
Each memory brought with it not just visuals, but sensations, muscle memory, and knowledge that seemed to fuse with his very being.
He felt his muscles tense and relax, remembering countless hours of martial arts training.
His fingers twitched, recalling the feel of various firearms and blades.
Complex mathematical equations and scientific theories flooded his consciousness, fitting together like puzzle pieces in a vast tapestry of knowledge.
"B! B! Get the doct—"
Bailey's voice sounded distant and muffled as she called out to him in alarm.
"AHHHHH MY H-HEAD!!!"
Brandon barely registered her presence as the fusion of memories and skills intensified.
His mind raced through languages he didn't know he spoke, battle strategies he'd never learned, and intricate details of global economics and politics.
It was as if two separate entities were merging into one, creating a new, more complete version of himself.
In mere moments, the pain in his head reached a crescendo.
Brandon's body went rigid, his back arching off the bed.
"ARGGHH!!"
A strangled gasp escaped his lips as the final pieces of his fragmented psyche slotted into place.
For a brief moment, Brandon felt an incredible sense of clarity and power.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, the sensation faded.
His eyes rolled back in his head, and Brandon slumped back onto the bed, unconscious.
*THUD! *