1 Pete

Centuries ago, a glorious war between the Elite Force and the Utopians occurred in the universe's heart. Amid the war, two iconic titans clashed. They were Ken Sou, the watchful Guardian of the multiverse, and Death Wrath, an Emperor who pledged darkness across the vacuum of space.

Their duel shook the multiverse. Ken Sou banished Death Wrath into the Dark Realm in the heat of it. A realm so dark it stripped him of his powers, shackling him to an eternal abyss.

A revelation told them that six talismans were required to set him free. Therefore, Havoc, who reigns second to Death Wrath, enlisted an elite assassin to hunt them down. Till the dawn of this day, his fleet awaits to set him free.

The Present Timeline

2 August 2030

An alarm rang with a buzz. Pete twisted and turned from right to left. It got to a point where he nearly fell off the edge of his bed. The ring persisted, inciting frustration. He clenched his fist, and without warning, he struck his bedside.

"Aaaahh!" he yelled and pulled his hair.

He sat up straight and grabbed a pillow from the edge. He repeatedly hit the pillow against his head while yelping, "Stupid! Stupid! stupid alarm!"

He turned to his bedside and switched off the alarm. Then, after he scratched his eyes, he yawned. He stretched his arms and looked at the time after that.

"Shit, I'm late!"

He gushed out of his bedsheets and stormed into the bathroom while leaving his bed in a delinquent state. The bed sheets were lying on the floor while his pillows were across the room.

He took a brief shower and trotted out of the bathroom. A short while later, he advanced to the kitchen.

He set ten slices of toasted bread into his lunch box. Once again, he trotted back to his bedroom, imploding inside the wardrobe, looking for his suit.

As he dug through, he did away with the hangers, "Blue suit? Blue suit? Ah, there you are!"

First, he tugged in a white shirt. However, he struggled to button it since his potbelly proved to be too much of a challenge.

"C'mon, C'mon, I'm almost there!"

A button sprang out of its column and landed on the mattress. He then masked the lower part of his shirt with formal blue pants. He put on a blazer and a tie but was too careless to realize he had not tied it.

Then, he placed his lunch box and I.D. document inside his backpack and trotted out of his apartment like a cheetah on chase mode.

Once outside, he stood on the sidewalk, waiting for a taxi. His eyes scanned the entire block while he tapped the sidewalk with his right foot.

A yellow car appeared from a distance; he raised his hand to hail it. As soon as it stood before him, he opened the door and jumped in forcibly, jostling an older woman and her grandson against the window frame.

He took out his lunchbox and stuffed his face with food while the taxi driver impatiently waited for directions.

"Where would you like to go?"

At last, he swallowed his food and said, "Downtown, please."

A short while later, the cab arrived at his destination. He exited the taxi and relieved the older woman and her grandson from their affliction. Even though he left the vehicle, he left his backpack inside. He closed the door as the taxi sped off. He turned around to stare at the tall, blue-glass building. As he watched, the sun shone beautifully off its glass panel walls. He then sped into the building and went to the front desk inside the reception room.

"Excuse me...uh excuse me, uh... Mam..." he panted.

"I have an appointment... an appointment with Mr. Mack Hamilton."

"And what would your name be, Sir?" the receptionist inquired.

"Peter Atkinson."

He drummed his fingers against the desk and inclined his ears to the clickety-clack that muttered from the keys of the computer.

"Ah, yes! There you are!" She nodded.

"But, Mr. Atkinson, you are late for your appointment. Mr. Hamilton will not like that."

Casting his pride aside, Pete whirled around and grabbed her hands. He desperately pleaded with her.

"Listen, I know that I'm late! Please hear me out; I need this job. My future is not guaranteed! Please help a poor guy out with the love of mercy!"

"Firstly, please don't touch me."

Instantly, his hands flew behind him. He chuckled to himself and scratched his hair.

"Heh-heh. Sorry about that."

She sighed and said, "I'll notify Mr. Hamilton about the current update. That said, the man hates tardiness. He will not take kindly to your incompetence."

"Oh! That's ok, thank you very much."

She pointed towards the entrance of the building, her finger centered on a young woman who exuded an aura of enthrallment.

"Please follow that young lady over there. She will direct you to his office."

The young attendant knocked on Mr. Hamilton's door while Pete twiddled his thumbs and fidgeted. His anxiety was so great that paying no heed to it was impossible. The young attendant shone a stern glance.

"If only you were punctual, you wouldn't need to fiddle with your thumbs."

A voice behind the oakwood doors responded, "Come in."

The young lady opened the door.

"Good day, Sir; Mr. Atkinson has come to see you."

He entered the room while she departed, closing the door behind her.

Pete was mesmerized by the sight before him—beautifully paneled walls with carvings of dancing women and children. Paintings were hovering against the wall at the opposite end of the room. Garnet red rugs covered the floor with matching curtains hanging over the massive window at the back of the room.

"Mr. Atkinson, I presume."

He returned to reality, "Uh...um, yes, sir, that's me."

"Take a seat!"

He quickly grabbed a seat.

"Uh ... sir I ..."

"Mr. Atkinson! Would you care to tell me why you are late?"

He jumped in front of the gun without thorough consideration.

"Uhmm ... I woke up late."

"Is that the best excuse that you've got?" Mr. Hamilton furrowed his brows.

"Not only did you show up late. But you dare to enter my office looking like a pig!" He snarled, having noticed the crumbs on his shirt.

"Look, Sir, I can explain ...."

"Save it, Mr. Atkinson. My company doesn't need fools like you showing up late and compromising our reputation. There is a saying that goes around. The first impression always lasts. Would you like to know the impression that I got from you?"

Pete nodded while he answered, "I see an incompetent, lazy pig who is not worthy of this job! Your shirt is untied. Did you ever take a look at yourself? Also, your tie hangs over your shoulder, waiting to fly off with the wind. And you've got crumbs all over your suit. Do not bother to wipe them off; you'll get butter on your suit!"

Pete raised his finger and opened his mouth.

"No! I'm not done. How can I employ someone who can't care for themselves?"

Pete's shoulders sagged as he stared at the floor with shame.

"Sir," he responded with a soft tone.

"I know that I am a slob. But I have nothing, no family, no job, and no friends. Pretty soon, my rent will run out. Please give me one more chance, just one more to redeem myself. And you won't be disappointed."

Mr. Hamilton sighed and placed his fingers under his chin.

"Alright, Mr. Atkinson. I will give you one last chance."

He pulled out a document and placed it on the table before him.

"Sign here, please. Oh, but before you do, please can I see your identity document."

He reached for his bag, and suddenly, his face turned pale.

"Uhm... did I mention that I left my I.D. in the taxi?" He chuckled.

"Get out of my office!"

*************

He returned to his apartment late that night with sorrow. His feet slowly shuffled against the concrete steps. Grief filled his eyes as his lips trembled. His arms hung low, and his shoulders sagged. Across the flat, a brunette watched him with sympathy.

It was Bianca, his best friend. She took one glimpse and came up from behind him.

"Hi, Pete!"

He barely turned to look at her. "Oh hey, Bianca."

"How are you?" She said with a huge grin plastered on her face.

"I'm fine," he replied with an ingratiating smile. It faded later, revealing his lowered lip corners and slanting inner brows.

"Now, Pete. You know well that you can't hide anything from me, right? Come on, spill the beans." She pinched his cheeks.

He looked and smiled at her, "If you insist."

Then, they went inside his apartment and settled in his living room. Bianca sat on the couch while he pottered to the kitchen. The peach painting on the wall had worn out as she looked around. It was beginning to mimic the physical characteristics of a tattered antique white cloth. Furthermore, there were crevices all around the wall, spreading thoroughly.

As she continued to look around, she placed her hand on the black leather covering of the couch. Or so she thought; as her hand sank into an opening, it came in contact with the yellow, dusty sponge.

Then, Pete came from the kitchen with a glass of orange juice and offered her the drink as he sat next to her. He then explained his situation to her.

Moments later, after hearing what he had to say, this is how she responded,

"Oh, Pete. I know you've been having a rough patch lately, but rest assured. The sun will shine on your side again."

She placed her right hand on his left shoulder and smiled once more

"Do you think so?"

"No, not all. I know so. Just believe in yourself. Remember this; you don't have to go through this path alone. I'm your friend. I'll always be here for you."

She stood up and pinched his cheeks.

********************

A loud crash occurred the following morning as a silver aircraft skidded against the hard desert ground. It finally stopped, with its nose nestled against a pole. The pole had a cracked wooden sign that said, "Welcome to Dallas."

Wide-eyed women stared from the doors and windows while their frightened children clung to their skirts. The men stood on the porch steps with rifles and shotguns fully loaded and aimed at the shining scout ship. A grizzled older man with tanned skin and a bristling mustache stepped forward, armed with a double-barrel gun. The raging sun glinted off his gold sheriff's badge, drying sticky sweat droplets on his forehead.

Then, a man far taller than average stepped out of the ship. A gentle breeze swept his long black hair out of his steely red eyes. A black mask hid the scowl of his lips, though it did nothing for his angry eyes.

With a jealous eye, the sheriff studied the latter before remarking in a thick Texan accent, "You ain't from these parts. I reckon that you go back to where ye come from."

The stranger sauntered towards the ground. Sharp little clicks rang through the group as the men aimed. The women and children suddenly disappeared, locking doors and windows behind them.

"Where'd you come from?! Answer me, freak! Cat got your tongue?!" yelled one of them."

Unfazed and unwilling to respond, the man continued walking.

"Fire!"

A volley of bullets whistled through the air. Instead of penetrating him, they shattered into little pieces. Stunned, the men stood back and let down their guns. The latter glared at them, and in doing so, his fingers turned into dull silver blades. He transitioned from where he stood and appeared behind them in a flash.

Without his victim's knowledge, he had already slain them in half just before they could blink their eyes. He turned around and faced the harrowed corpses.

"The name's Slicer..."