As the first faint stirrings of consciousness began to ripple through Mino Isao's dormant mind, he found himself ensnared within a dense fog of drowsiness, a state of lethargy that clung to him tenaciously, refusing to release its grip. Awaking from a night devoid of dreams, the fourteen-year-old boy found his hand instinctively cradling his throbbing head, as though the light touch could somehow soothe the persistent, dull headache that resided there. His bleary eyes roamed the room, finally settling on the window. The sight that greeted him sent a shudder of unease rippling down his spine. The dawn sky, still cloaked in the inky blackness of night, offered no comfort against the slowly encroaching morning. Weak slivers of light somehow managed to penetrate the dense curtain of clouds, their feeble illumination serving as a stark harbinger of the day's arrival.
With a sigh that seemed to pull from the very depths of his being, Mino wearily pushed himself upright, his body feeling as though it was burdened with an inexplicable heaviness. He navigated his way towards the hallway, his movements dictated by the faint, yet unmistakable sounds that drifted from the living room television. The early hour was an anomaly to him, as the members of his household were typically late risers. The lockdown had thrown their routines into disarray, causing the concept of time to lose its relevance. Jobs evaporated, schools shut their doors, and the world teetered on the precipice of an abyss. An acute sense of guilt seeped into Mino as he acknowledged his own restlessness, fully aware that he was just as entangled in this web of uncertainty as everyone else.
However, it wasn't just the chaos ensuing outside that weighed heavily on Mino's mind. The inexplicable mark on his palm, a swirling design visible only to him, also tormented him. His parents had dismissed it as an illusion born of his imagination when he had shown it to them, treating his claims with incredulity. But Mino was convinced of its existence. The intricate pattern was a mirror image of the dark vortex that ominously dominated the sky, the epicenter of the chaos that had been unleashed on them all. Shaking off these troubling thoughts, Mino found his attention being irresistibly drawn towards the figure seated in the living room - his father, Setai Isao. As the chief physician at the Los Angeles Medical Center, Setai was usually engrossed in his work, especially in these turbulent times.
"M-Morning," Mino managed to stutter, startled by his father's unexpected presence. Setai's attention was pulled away from the television as he broke free from the chains of his deep contemplation. His expression underwent a subtle transformation, shifting from mild irritation to a gentle smile as he acknowledged his son's arrival. "You're up early," he observed, reaching for his coat that rested on a nearby armchair. "I was just about to head out."
"Dad, can we talk?" Mino's voice was thick with urgency as he caught up to his father. Setai halted in his tracks, pivoting on his heel to face his son. The weight of the world was reflected in his weary eyes as he questioned, "What is it that you wish to discuss, Mino?" Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Mino felt a wave of emotions threatening to crash down on him. His voice wavered as he began, "It's about the mark—" But he was abruptly cut off by his father, his tone laced with a sternness that wasn't usually present. "We've been over this, Mino. I don't want to discuss this again," he stated firmly. Mino felt his heart plummet, desperation creeping into his voice as he pleaded, "But Dad, please... I don't understand." His pleas fell on deaf ears as Setai declared with finality, "Enough! We will not delve into this matter any further. If there were truly others with this mark, as you claim, more people would have come forward by now." With these words, Setai made his way towards the front door, leaving Mino in a state of disbelief, his emotions now tinged with a raw, simmering anger. He briefly considered venting his frustration on the wall that stared blankly back at him, but instead decided to channel his energy elsewhere.
He redirected his focus towards the television, seeking solace, or at least a distraction, from the chaos that was threatening to overwhelm his surroundings. What Mino didn't realize was that his heightened emotions caused the mark on his palm to emit a brilliant glow, a phenomenon that was reflected in the fleeting scarlet flash that briefly danced in his brown irises. Settling onto the couch, he began to immerse himself in the news updates about the current state of the virus. As he listened to reports about scientists making breakthroughs in their quest for a cure, a glimmer of hope began to flicker in his heart, a hope that the world would soon return to its former state of normalcy. However, something about these news reports triggered a sense of doubt in Mino, causing him to question their authenticity. Choosing to distance himself from the news, he turned his attention towards his personal device, scrolling through its contents in search of a distraction.
Meanwhile, as Setai stepped outside into the gloomy day, his weary gaze was drawn towards the dark clouds that loomed ominously above. A deep sigh escaped from between his lips, carrying with it a sense of foreboding. The black snowfall had ceased, yet the sky remained hauntingly devoid of light, save for a few feeble strands that managed to pierce through the dense overcast. Setai recognized the sorry state of the world, acutely aware that the semblance of normalcy that had been restored after the government's intervention two months ago was merely a fleeting illusion. He had hoped for a respite from work, even if it was only for a few days, especially now that things seemed to have settled down. But the call from the hospital shattered his expectations, serving as a stark reminder that the truth could no longer be hidden from the public. Convincing his family that everything would be alright had become an increasingly arduous task. With a firm shake of his head, Setai endeavored to dispel the mounting worries that threatened to consume his thoughts. He climbed into the sleek and powerful car that lay parked in the driveway, a Camaro of the newest model. Its elegant curves and bold lines seemed to exude a sense of speed, even in its stationary state. As he settled into the driver's seat, Setai found himself admiring the car's impeccable design.
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Easing the car away from the confines of the driveway, Setai navigated through the desolate streets of West Hollywood. The drastic transformation that the city had undergone was not lost on him. The once vibrant and lively atmosphere of West Hollywood had been replaced by an eerie stillness. Structures that were once teeming with activity and adorned with captivating designs now stood as empty husks, their windows concealed behind layers of accumulated dust and neglect. The remnants of the lockdown that had gripped the world were evident as he ventured further into the heart of the city. Blockades barricaded roads and intersections, serving as grim reminders of the desperate attempts to contain the devastating effects of the black snow. These blockades were strategically placed in areas that had borne the brunt of the lockdown's impacts.
Setai's heart sank as he observed the armed soldiers who manned these blockades. Their steely gazes and rigid stances reflected a readiness for any potential unrest, a stark contrast to the once carefree demeanor of the city's inhabitants and a visible reminder of the fragile state of society. The atmosphere was thick with unease and despair, the deserted streets, once teeming with bustling crowds and filled with the sounds of laughter and conversation, now shrouded in a haunting silence. The hollowness of the shuttered storefronts and abandoned cafes only served to amplify the sense of impending doom that blanketed the city. Setai's mind was a whirl of thoughts filled with uncertainty and fear. The fleeting thought of the world teetering on the brink of an apocalypse, an idea that had once seemed abstract, now felt chillingly real. What was once dismissed as a passing thought now bore a prophetic weight, filling him with a sense of dread. Nevertheless, he persisted, maintaining his composure and refusing to be consumed by unproductive thoughts. He concentrated solely on the present moment, choosing not to dwell on the past. With a determined press of the accelerator, he took advantage of the absence of other vehicles on the road, propelling the car forward until it reached its maximum capacity.
Approximately thirty minutes following the tense exchange with his father earlier in the morning, Mino found himself perched at the family's dining table. The room felt cloaked in an oppressive silence, thick as molasses, that seemed to permeate the air and intensify the underlying tension. Across from him were his mother and younger sister, Hannah. His mother, who had always been a beacon of resilience and affection, wore an expression of calm intermingled with profound worry. In contrast, Hannah, with her youthful innocence, seemed oblivious to the palpable strain in the room.
Despite the enticing aroma of breakfast saturating the room, an unspoken restlessness hung heavily beneath the surface. The silence was akin to a dense fog, obscuring the usual morning cheer that habitually warmed their household. It was evident that his mother and he were caught in the throes of their personal apprehensions, unable to find comfort in the familiar surroundings of home. Only Hannah appeared untouched by the situation, a fact for which he was profoundly grateful.
The silence finally shattered when his mother, with genuine concern etched in her voice, addressed Mino. "Honey, is there something you'd like to discuss?" she asked gently yet anxiously. Both Mino and Hannah turned their attention to her, their faces mirroring a blend of anxiety and expectancy. Mino, however, bore the weight of these emotions far more intensely than his sister.
Mino found himself hesitating, his mind caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He was unsure if voicing his fears and suspicions would lead to any constructive outcomes, considering his parents' dismissive attitude towards the mark on his palm. The vivid memory of that early January morning, the day that marked the inception of a new year and the emergence of the mark on his palm, was still fresh in his mind. It was a day that came to be known as "the mark of the beginning to an end".
That day, the world witnessed an extraordinary phenomenon as black snow began to fall, casting an eerie shroud over the once-clear azure sky. The spectacle was beautiful yet ominous, captivating everyone's attention. Mino, like everyone else, had been entranced by the spectacle. But as days turned into months, the world found itself teetering on the precipice of a catastrophic disaster.
Brought back to the present by the impatient tapping of his mother's fingers on the table, Mino met her anxious gaze. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he was about to downplay the morning's events when an unexpected explosion disrupted the quiet atmosphere. The blast sent shockwaves through the air, startling everyone in the household. Mino immediately sprang to his feet and rushed towards the nearest window. His heart pounded in his chest as he saw plumes of smoke rising ominously against the morning sky.
Fuelled by a sense of urgency, Mino quickly dashed into the living room. His footsteps echoed through the silent house, matching the frantic beat of his heart. Grabbing the television remote, he switched the channel, his eyes wide as he took in the onslaught of distressing news reports.
"Dad..." Mino's voice was a whisper, filled with worry and trepidation. His conflicting emotions caused the mark on his palm to glow faintly, and his eyes to flash momentarily with a scarlet hue. He was left in a state of apprehension, his mind racing as he tried to comprehend the unfolding crisis.
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