…We interrupt your regular programming for this breaking news. Good evening. I'm your host, Shinichi, and tonight, we are bringing you a special report on one of man's greatest mysteries. The structure known as the Nurikabe, an immense wall that extends endlessly in all directions—horizontally, vertically, and even underground—has become a site of increasing concern due to a series of recent disturbances.

Recent reports indicate that the area surrounding Nurikabe has experienced a series of small earthquakes, each followed by mysterious disappearances. These incidents have sparked a flurry of activity among geologists and researchers trying to understand the underlying causes of these seismic events and the nature of the wall itself.

Experts have always been puzzled by the wall's origins, its composition, and its purpose, but something new has come into fruition. This being the various instances of seismic activity that continue to grow in frequency as the months continue. Speculations about what lies beneath or within the wall might be the cause of these disturbances.

Local authorities are currently advising the public to stay away from the area as teams of scientists and emergency personnel work to monitor the situation and ensure public safety. We will continue to provide updates as this story develops.

Stay tuned as we follow this unfolding story, bringing you the latest from experts and authorities. Make sure to follow us on our digital platforms for real-time updates. Back to you in the studio….

In the deep embrace of night, the city pulses subtly under the cover of darkness. A kid, his hair in natural locs, sits alone on a weathered bench in a deserted park. With the glow of a street lamp flickering nearby, he takes a slow, contemplative puff from a joint, its tip glowing like a small ember in the cool air. As he exhales, the smoke drifts upward, mingling with the murky city haze.

Looking up, his gaze meets the sky, where stars twinkle against the vast, dark canvas. These celestial bodies flicker with a rhythm of their own, some shining steadily while others appear to shimmer as if winking in and out of existence. Their light, traveling unimaginable distances, reaches him in silent, scattered whispers across the cosmos.

Around him, the city is a scene of quiet activity. The distant hum of traffic is a constant backdrop, a reminder of the world moving beyond his immediate senses. Occasionally, the sharp honk of a car or the distant clatter of a late-night train punctuates the night, slices of sound that momentarily rise above the urban drone. Neon signs buzz softly at the periphery of his vision, painting patches of the night with sudden swaths of color—reds, blues, and greens that flicker and fade.

The cool breeze carries with it the faint, mixed scents of city life—exhaust mingled with the distant echo of ocean air and the occasional waft of fast food from a nearby all-night diner. It's a sensory collage that paints the city's unique aroma.

As he looks at the stars, the park around him is bathed in shadows and soft light. Trees line the walkways, their leaves whispering among themselves as the wind sifts through them, a natural symphony for any who take the time to listen.

In this moment of quiet solitude, with the city stretching out around him, a profound sense of smallness begins to creep into his thoughts. The weight of the vast night sky, coupled with the endless cityscape, prompts a quiet introspection. "Is this it?" he wonders silently to himself, his thoughts turning inward. A pang of frustration tugs at him. "Why can't I do anything right?" he asks the night air, half-expecting a reply.

The question hangs there, suspended in the smoke-filled space between the sighs of the city and the silence of the sky, unanswered. The kid takes another slow drag, looking up again as if the vast, twinkling expanse might offer up some secret, some guidance whispered on the wind. Yet, the stars merely twinkle back, their light flickering with ancient indifference to human woes.

As the kid's eyes wander the heavens, he's snapped back to the present by the sound of laughter. Turning his head, he refocuses on his surroundings and remembers he's not alone. Beside him on the park bench sit his friends, Darren and Angel. The soft orange glow of the streetlamp illuminates their faces, casting light on their youthful expressions.

Darren, with his short, curly hair and ever-present baseball cap turned backward, has a mischievous smile that seems to permanently play at the corners of his lips. He's the jokester of the group, always ready with a quip or a prank, keeping their spirits high even when times get tough. Angel, on the other hand, has a quieter demeanor, with straight, shoulder-length hair that often falls in front of his eyes, which he habitually brushes away. He's more thoughtful, often lost in his own thoughts or sketching in his notebook.

They pass the joint between them, the ember brightening as each takes a turn. Laughter and snippets of conversation mingle with the night sounds of the city.

"Man, Ms. Patterson really has it out for me, I swear," Darren complains, blowing a stream of smoke upward and watching it dissipate into the night air. "Every time I even breathe too loud in class, it's like I've summoned her wrath."

Angel chuckles, taking the joint from Darren. "Could be worse. You could be failing math like me. I just can't get those formulas to fuckin stick, man."

The conversation shifts as Angel passes the joint to the kid. "Speaking of things not sticking, Darren, how's it going with Jenna? She still giving you the cold shoulder?"

Darren rolls his eyes, leaning back on his hands. "Cold shoulder? It's more like the arctic freeze, dude. I tried talking to her at lunch, and it was like chatting up a snowman. I'm out of my league there."

They all laugh, the sound echoing slightly in the open air of the park. Finally, the conversation turns to something they've all been quietly pondering.

"Hey, have you guys heard about the wall?" the kid asks, breaking a brief lull in their chatter.

"You mean that Nurikaba..e thingy?" Darren replies, his curiosity piqued. "Yeah, I read something about it. They say it's some weird stuff goin on there now. Sounds like a sci-fi movie plot."

Angel nods, taking another drag. "I heard about the quakes and disappearances around there, too. Pretty creepy stuff. Makes you wonder what's really going on."

"Yeah, and they say no one knows why it's even there or what it's made of," the kid adds, looking between his friends. "Imagine something so big just appearing out of nowhere. What do you think it's for?"

Darren shrugs, his eyes thoughtful. "Maybe it's some secret government project or something. Or maybe it's just one of those mysteries that'll never get solved."

They all consider this, the idea of the wall sparking a mix of intrigue and apprehension. The conversation deepens as they speculate about the wall's origins and purpose, the mystery adding a layer of excitement to their usual hangout.

As they talk, the city continues its restless hum around them, and the stars above twinkle indifferently to their small human concerns, the night wrapping around them like a vast, dark cloak. 

The laughter from their conversation about the Nurikabe fades into a comfortable silence before Darren, with a smirk, nudges the conversation in a new direction. "Speaking of mysteries," he says, glancing slyly at the kid, "how about that mystery of Obinai studying his ass off only to snag a C on that chemistry test? Now that's a real unexplained phenomenon."

Angel bursts out laughing, nodding in agreement as he playfully elbows Obinai. "Yeah, man, I saw you in the library every day last week! I was betting you'd ace it for sure. What happened, Einstein, did all the facts slip out your ear the night before?"

Obinai rolls his eyes, a grin spreading across his face as he takes the teasing in stride. He takes a long drag from the joint, holding the smoke in for a moment before exhaling and delivering his comeback. "So, I got a C, big deal. At least I didn't flunk it like some people," he says, looking pointedly at Darren and Angel. "Seems like you guys couldn't even find the classroom, let alone pass the test!"

Their laughter echoes in the quiet park, a moment of shared camaraderie and humor. Darren throws his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, you got us there. Can't argue with the truth!"

Angel wipes a tear from his eye, still chuckling. "Yeah, you're the king tonight, Obinai. The king of Cs!"

They all laugh again, the warmth of their friendship evident in the easy way they share jokes and jibes. 

The laughter dwindles, leaving a veil of smoke and a momentary silence that Angel breaks with a sudden shift in tone. His voice lowers, turning serious as he leans in slightly, looking between his friends. "Hey, have you guys seen Jasmine recently?" he asks, his brows knitting together in concern.

Obinai and Darren instantly sober up, sensing the change. "Jasmine?" Obinai echoes, recalling the image of Angel's little sister—a spirited girl with long braided hair and a penchant for bright, colorful sneakers.

"Yeah, Jasmine, man," Darren adds, his voice tinged with worry. "No, I haven't seen her around. Why, what's up?"

Angel sighs, his hands fiddling with the edge of his jacket. "She's... she's one of the people who disappeared after that last quake. The one last Tuesday that hardly anyone noticed."

Both Obinai and Darren recoil in shock, their expressions mirroring each other's surprise and concern. "What? Jasmine disappeared? But how did you find out?" Obinai asks, his voice a mix of disbelief and worry.

Angel rubs the back of his neck, looking down at his feet before meeting their gazes again. "It was weird, man. Late that night, right after the quake, some guys in suits showed up at our place. They looked like they stepped right out of some spy movie, you know? All formal and secretive."

Darren leans forward, his curiosity piqued despite the grim topic. "Guys in suits? At your door? What did they want?"

"They said they were from some private government organization—didn't give a name or anything. They told us they're working to find her and that it's all top secret," Angel continues, his voice a blend of confusion and frustration. "I didn't catch much else; they were talking to my parents mostly. Kept saying how they're 'working tirelessly' to find her and all that. It was all super hush-hush."

Obinai frowns, taking a moment to process the information. "That's insane, dude. Do they think it has something to do with the wall or the quakes or something? Did they say anything about that?"

Angel shakes his head. "Nah, they didn't get into details. Just kept saying they're on it and that we need to stay out of it for our own safety. It's like something out of a weird conspiracy film."

The group falls silent, the gravity of the situation sinking in. The distant city noises that once felt mundane now carry a slight edge of menace, and the flickering streetlamp casts long shadows that seem to stretch ominously.

"So what are you gonna do?" Darren finally asks, his tone serious.

Angel shrugs helplessly. "What can I do? They told us to wait and not to talk about it much. It's hard, though. Jasmine is my little sister, man. I just want her back."

Obinai, sensing Angel's distress, claps a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Hey, man, they'll find her. These guys, whoever they are, they sound serious about it. We gotta keep hope, alright?" His voice is firm, trying to infuse a bit of confidence into the unsettling atmosphere.

Before Angel can respond, Obinai's phone buzzes loudly against the wooden bench, breaking the tense silence. He fumbles with the device, swiping to answer as he sees his mom's name flashing on the screen. "Hi, mom," he says, his voice cracking slightly with nervousness. He shifts uncomfortably, remembering he had snuck out earlier and hadn't told her where he was going.

There's a brief, ominous silence on the other end of the line before his mom's voice cuts through, low and deadly. "Come home now," she whispers sharply, and then the line goes dead, leaving a chilling finality hanging in the air.

Obinai stares at the phone in his hand, a mix of guilt and apprehension washing over him. He slowly looks up to meet Darren's and Angel's eyes, who have both picked up on the severity of the call.

But the seriousness quickly gives way to amusement as Darren and Angel can't help but burst into hysterical laughter. Darren clutches his stomach, nearly falling off the side of the bench. "Oh man, 'Hi, mom,'" he mimics in a high-pitched voice, teetering dramatically. "Too slick to get caught, huh? Gonna meet us there, were you?"

Angel joins in, laughter shaking his frame as he hops off the swing, staggering a bit. "'They can't know I'm gone,'" he adds, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Dude, your ninja skills need work!"

Obinai can't help but crack a smile, even as his friends tease him mercilessly. He flicks them off with a laugh and a playful middle finger before hopping off the playground equipment. "Yeah, yeah, keep laughing, you jerks. I gotta bolt before I'm grounded till I'm thirty," he calls back over his shoulder.

He starts running, his footsteps quick and light as he dashes through the park, the laughter of his friends fading behind him. The city streets ahead are dimly lit, the occasional street lamp casting long shadows across his path. He dodges a late-night jogger and a stray dog rummaging through a trash can, his heart racing not just from the run but also from the thought of facing his mom's wrath.

The cool night air whips against his face as he picks up speed, the city's distant hum a constant companion. Obinai's thoughts whirl with possible excuses or apologies he could offer, but he knows none will really work; his mom had that tone that meant business.

As Obinai races through the city streets, the late-night cityscape blurs into a dizzying kaleidoscope of lights and shadows. The effects of the weed make everything seem more vibrant and slightly surreal, causing him to chuckle at the absurdity of his own situation. He dodges a group of night owls spilling out of a neon-lit diner, their laughter mingling with the clink of dishes. A taxi zips by, honking loudly, adding to the city sounds that seem to play like a disjointed soundtrack to his hurried journey.

The city at night is a theatre of activity. A street performer, his face painted silver, mimics a robot, his movements jerky and exaggerated under a flickering streetlight. A couple walks closely, hands intertwined, seemingly oblivious to the world around them. Obinai passes a stray cat watching warily from atop a trash bin, its eyes glowing momentarily as it catches the light. Everything contributes to the bizarre, heightened reality he feels, making him laugh out loud despite the gravity of his impending confrontation at home.

However, his amusement halts abruptly as he rounds the corner onto his street, the familiar sight of his family's apartment building looming before him like a giant waiting in the dark. The structure stands tall and imposing, its facade dotted with lit windows that speak of other lives unfolding in the quiet of the night. A sigh escapes him as he slows to a walk, trying to compose himself, running through potential excuses in his mind.

The doorman, a stout man in his late fifties named Mr. Thompson, stands by the entrance. His uniform is neatly pressed, and his salt-and-pepper hair is combed back. As Obinai approaches, Mr. Thompson gives him a knowing look, one that mixes sympathy with a hint of amusement. "Evening, Obinai. I'd wish you luck, son. You look like you're going to need it," he says with a slight chuckle, holding the door open for him.

"Thanks, Mr. Thompson. I think I'm gonna need all the luck I can get," Obinai replies, his voice tinged with nervous laughter as he steps into the lobby.

Inside, the elevator ride to his family's apartment on the seventh floor feels torturously slow. The doors slide shut with a thud that seems to echo Obinai's heartbeat, loud and ominous. As the elevator ascends, each floor passing with a soft ding, his anxiety builds. The cramped space feels increasingly confining, a small box carrying him inevitably toward his fate.

Finally, the doors open, and he steps out into the hallway. The familiar carpeted path to his apartment stretches before him, feeling at once longer and shorter than he remembers. His steps are hesitant, his mind racing as he reaches into his pocket for his keys. His hands, shaking from nerves, fumble, and the keys clatter to the floor with a sound that seems disproportionately loud in the quiet hallway.

Kneeling to pick them up, his heart skips a beat as he hears the doorknob turning from within. He looks up just in time to see the door swing open, revealing his mother, Maria. She stands there, a mix of concern and sternness etched across her features. Maria is a petite woman, her hair pulled back into a tight bun that accentuates her sharp eyes, which are currently fixed on Obinai with an intensity that makes him feel like a little boy caught in mischief.

"Obinai," she says, her voice calm but firm, "where have you been?"

Swallowing hard, he stands up, keys in hand, his earlier laughter completely faded as he prepares to face the music.

"Hey, dear mother, how have you been..." Obinai begins in a half-joking, overly sweet tone as he stands in the doorway, trying to diffuse the tension with humor.

But Maria is not in the mood for jokes. With surprising strength, she grabs his arm and pulls him inside the apartment, swiftly closing the door behind him. The room is engulfed in darkness, and the sudden shift from the brightly lit hallway to the pitch black of the apartment sends a jolt of anxiety through Obinai. His heart races, the sound loud in his ears, as he stands frozen, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

After a tense moment, the lights flicker on, illuminating the small living room. The space is modest but tidy, with a well-worn sofa facing a small TV stand that houses an old television and a few framed photos. A small dining table is pushed against one wall, cluttered with mail and a couple of Maria's work documents. The overhead light is harsh, casting stark shadows and giving the room a cold, unforgiving ambiance.

Before Obinai can gather his thoughts, Maria starts in on him with a barrage of questions. Her words come fast and sharp, cutting through the tense air. "Where have you been? Who were you with? I know it was Darren and Angel again, wasn't it? They are bad influences, Obinai. You know that, right?"

She pauses, her chest heaving slightly from the rapid-fire questioning. "You boys used to be such good kids, always studying, coming straight home after school, respectful. What happened?" Her voice a mix of anger and disappointment, and it stabs at Obinai more sharply than he wants to admit.

Obinai swallows hard, his lips parting to speak, but his voice falters at first. Finally, he manages to get words out, his tone defensive.

"We didn't change," he says, his voice quieter than he intended. "You just stopped seeing us the same way."

Her eyes narrow further, a sharpness cutting through her gaze. "Stopped seeing you the same way? Don't put this on me, Obinai. I was there. Always there. And what do I get in return? Disrespect? Secrets?"

Obinai's fists clench at his sides, his head shaking slightly. "It's not like that! You don't understand what it's like for us—"

"Don't understand?" she snaps, her voice rising. "I understand more than you think. I understand how easy it is to blame everyone but yourself. That's all I hear from you now: excuses."

He flinches, the words hitting their mark. "We're not kids anymore! We're trying to figure things out—life, everything. It's not like we're out here trying to disappoint you."

Her jaw tightens, and she points a finger at him. "No, you're not kids anymore, but you're acting like you've forgotten everything I taught you. I raised you to be better than this, Obinai."

Obinai's voice rises, frustration bubbling over. "Maybe if you didn't hold us to some impossible standard, we wouldn't feel like failures every time we mess up!"

For a moment, silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. Her lips press into a thin line as she exhales sharply, shaking her head.

"I don't hold you to an impossible standard," she says, her voice quieter now, but no less firm. "I just expect you to try. To care about the things that matter. And right now, I don't know if you even care about yourself."

Obinai's chest tightens, his breath caught in his throat. He wants to respond, to refute her, but her words settle in his mind like a weight he can't shake. Instead, he looks away, his jaw tightening as he stares at the floor, unsure of what to say next.

Maria suddenly stops talking, her nostrils flaring slightly as she takes a deeper breath, inhaling noticeably. She tilts her head, her expression shifting from anger to suspicion. In the same deadly whisper he heard over the phone, she asks, "What is that smell?"

Obinai's heart sinks. The faint scent of marijuana clings to his clothes, a damning evidence he'd completely forgotten in his panic. He opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure how to respond. The room feels smaller now, the walls inching closer as his mother's eyes bore into him.

"Well?" Maria prompts, her voice low and dangerous. "I'm waiting for an answer, Obinai."

The weight of the moment presses down on him, and he knows there's no dodging the truth this time. "I... I was out with Darren and Angel," he starts, his voice shaky. "We were just hanging out at the park, and..."

"And you decided to smoke weed?" Maria cuts in sharply, her voice rising slightly with each word. "In the park? Just hanging out? Do you think that's acceptable? Do you?"

Obinai wilts under her gaze, the fight draining out of him. He knows any attempt to justify his actions will only fuel her anger further. "I'm sorry, mom," he murmurs, the words barely a whisper, "I didn't think—"

"That's just it, Obinai. You didn't think." Maria's voice softens slightly, but the disappointment is palpable, filling the small room with a heavy, suffocating air. "You need to start thinking about your future, about the consequences of your actions."

"I just needed to blow off some steam," Obinai responds, his voice a mixture of defiance and desperation. His words hang in the air, a flimsy shield against his mother's mounting disappointment.

Maria's face darkens further at his reply. "Blow off steam?" she repeats, her tone incredulous and rising in volume. "By smoking weed in a park? You think that's just blowing off steam?" Her voice escalates into a yell, her frustration boiling over as she continues, "Do you know how many people ruin their lives with that stuff? Thinking they're different, thinking it won't affect them!"

She paces the small living room, each step punctuated by her sharp words. The overhead light casts stark shadows across her face, deepening the lines of worry and anger. "I thought you were smarter than this, Obinai. I thought you understood what's at stake. You're not just anyone; you can't afford to make these kinds of mistakes!"

As her tirade slows, Maria steps closer to Obinai, her presence overwhelming. She grabs his shoulders firmly, her fingers digging in until he winces from the pain. Her eyes lock onto his, intense and piercing. "Listen to me," she says, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "If I ever catch you doing this again, things won't be so easy for you. Do you understand me?"

Obinai nods, the sharpness of her grip ensuring he feels the seriousness of her words. Maria's hands relax slightly, but she doesn't let go immediately, ensuring her message has sunk in.

Finally, she releases him, stepping back with a sigh. Her anger gives way to a profound sadness, her eyes softening as she looks at her son. "You only have one life, Obinai. Why not live it to the fullest?" Her voice is thick with emotion.

Turning away, Maria walks towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms, her steps slow and heavy. But before she disappears around the corner, she pauses and looks back at him. The anger has vanished, replaced now by a weary resignation. "Your dinner is on the table," she says quietly, her voice carrying a mix of normalcy and the remnants of the night's tension.

Obinai stands alone in the living room, the harsh lighting overhead and the silence around him. The echo of his mother's words reverberates in the space, mingling with the emotions churning inside him. He glances at the small dining table, where a plate of food sits under the warm glow of a small lamp, the steam gently rising, a silent witness to the turmoil of the evening.

Obinai's steps are slow and heavy as he approaches the dining table where his dinner awaits. The plate is neatly arranged: fluffy white rice sits piled next to a creamy scoop of mac-n-cheese, and a few pieces of lemon pepper chicken glisten under the soft lamp light, their crispy skin speckled with herbs and spices. The sight of the food, usually so comforting...

He pulls out a chair and sits down. As he picks up his fork and begins to eat, the flavors of the chicken—tangy and slightly spicy—meld with the creamy mac-n-cheese and the simplicity of the rice. Each bite is mechanically chewed and swallowed, but the taste seems muted, overshadowed by his swirling thoughts.

The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of traffic from outside. The dim light from the lamp casts long shadows across the table, making the room feel smaller, more confined. Obinai feels the buzz from the weed fading, replaced by a sobering clarity that sharpens his sense of guilt.

He eats in silence, his mind replaying the confrontation with his mother. The harshness of her grip, the disappointment in her eyes, and the piercing truth in her words echo in his head. He thinks about his friends, the choices he's made, and the potential consequences of his actions. With each bite, he feels more grounded, more aware of the reality he's facing.

When he finishes eating, he leaves the dishes on the table, unable to muster the energy to clean up. He walks back to his room, each step resonating with a hollow sound on the apartment's wooden floor. His room is dark, the only light coming from the glow of street lamps filtering through the blinds.

Obinai doesn't bother to turn on the light. He moves directly to his bed, the familiar, unmade mess of blankets and pillows seemingly inviting him to forget the night's events. He falls onto the bed in the same clothes he wore out, not caring about the discomfort or the smell of smoke that clings to his jacket.

As he lies back, the room spins slightly, a residual effect of the weed mixed with the adrenaline crash from the earlier confrontation. His eyes close almost instantly, the weight of exhaustion pulling him down into sleep. The quiet of the room envelops him, the earlier tension slowly fading into the background as he drifts off.

Sleep comes quickly, his body and mind succumbing to the need to escape into unconsciousness. His last thoughts flutter around the edges of regret and resolution, a tangled mess that offers no solutions, only the promise of tomorrow's consequences.

Obinai's sleep is abruptly cut short by a sudden sharp pain on his face. He jerks awake, momentarily disoriented, as a small rubber ball rolls off the bed beside him. Blinking away the grogginess, he tries to sit up, but his body, stiff from the odd angle of his unplanned slumber, betrays him. With a muffled grunt, he topples sideways and lands with a thud on the cold, hardwood floor of his bedroom.

As he lies there, trying to gather his senses, a peal of laughter echoes around the room. He looks up, squinting against the morning light streaming through the blinds, to see his little sister, Mya, standing in the doorway. Mya is a lively eight-year-old with a mop of curly hair usually tied back in a messy ponytail, which now bounces as she laughs. Her round, expressive eyes are bright with mischief, and her dimples deepen with each giggle.

"Your face!" she exclaims, unable to contain her amusement. "You should have seen your face, Obi!"

Rubbing the sore spot on his cheek, Obinai can't help but crack a smile, despite the rude awakening. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he groans, pushing himself up off the floor. "What was that for, huh?"

Still chuckling, Mya skips into the room, the rubber ball in her hand. "Mom said it's your turn to take me to school today," she declares with all the authority her eight years can muster. "And she said you need to get ready now. Like, right now, Obi. You can't be late again; you know how Mrs. Henderson gets."

Obinai nods, fully awake now. He glances at the digital clock on his nightstand—7:15 AM. Barely enough time to get ready and make the short journey to Mya's school. He stands up, stretching out the stiffness from his muscles, and starts picking up clothes from the floor.

"Alright, boss," he says playfully, ruffling her hair. "Give me five minutes to transform from a zombie into a respectable big brother."

Mya giggles and hops onto his bed, sitting cross-legged as she watches him scramble to get dressed. "You better hurry. And you smell like the park," she adds, wrinkling her nose, a hint of disapproval in her tone.

Obinai pauses, a flash of last night's events crossing his mind. He grabs a clean shirt and a pair of jeans, changing quickly. "Park smell is the new cool, you know?" he quips, trying to keep the mood light.

"Uh-huh, sure," Mya replies skeptically, rolling her eyes in a comically exaggerated manner.

Obinai laughs at Mya's expression as he pulls on a basic, somewhat wrinkled gray t-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. He steps in front of the small mirror hanging on the back of his door, running his fingers through his barely clean locs which hang just past his neck. The locs are a bit tangled from his restless sleep, giving him a somewhat disheveled look. He attempts to smooth them down, but only manages to make them look slightly less chaotic.

With a resigned shrug at his reflection, acknowledging that this is as good as it's going to get in the rush, he grabs his backpack from the corner of the room and slings it over one shoulder. "Come on, Mya, let's grab some breakfast before we head out," he calls to her, motioning towards the door.

Mya bounces off the bed and follows him eagerly. They walk together down the hallway to the combined living room/kitchen area, where the morning light spills through the open windows, casting bright patterns on the floor. The kitchen is small and functional, with every surface utilized to maximize space. A few dishes from last night's dinner still sit in the sink, and there's a half-empty box of cereal on the counter.

Obinai sets his backpack down on a chair and heads to the fridge to grab some milk. "What do you want for breakfast? Cereal or toast?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder at Mya, who is already pulling out bowls from a cabinet.

"Cereal!" she responds without hesitation, setting down two bowls on the small kitchen table. She watches as Obinai pours the milk and then hands her the box of cereal. She fills her bowl almost to the brim, then does the same for Obinai, albeit with a bit less enthusiasm for precision, causing some of the cereal to spill over the edge.

As they sit down to eat, Obinai tries to shake off the heaviness of last night's confrontation with his mom. He looks at Mya, her focus on balancing just the right amount of cereal to milk ratio in her spoon, and smiles. "So, what's new at school? Any cool projects coming up?" he asks. He immediately realizes his mistake. Once she starts it is hard to stop her. With this, Mya excitedly begins to detail her complex school projects, her words tumble over one another in a rapid, enthusiastic burst. "So we're simulating the interactions of neutrinos within solar masses—it's like how these tiny particles, which are so small they almost never interact with matter, can tell us huge things about star reactions and..." She struggles slightly to articulate her thoughts on such advanced topics, her young mind grappling with concepts well beyond her years.

"And then there's the project on Andromeda," she continues, her eyes lighting up, "where we're hypothesizing based on the latest spectral analysis data and redshift phenomena about potential intergalactic dynamics and..."

As she speaks, their father, Amos, enters the kitchen. He is a tall, bald man with pronounced lines marking a face that speaks to many late nights spent in deep thought or research. He's still wearing his lab coat, which along with the weary bags under his eyes, indicates he's just come from an overnight stint at the lab. Amos is a leading scientist specializing in the study of the Nurikabe wall, a mysterious structure that has baffled researchers and conspiracy theorists alike.

Without waiting for a pause in Mya's excited torrent, Amos interjects with his own remarkable news, his voice filled with a mix of fatigue and excitement. "I have something fascinating to share about the wall. We've started to theorize that it might be, in a way, alive. Not in the traditional biological sense, but it shows signs of responsive behavior on a molecular level that could suggest a form of sentience. The vibrational patterns shift in ways that correlate oddly with seismic activity and human proximity."

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Mya immediately looks skeptical, her brow furrowing. "That's impossible, Dad," she says dismissively. "You mean it reacts, not that it's alive. There's a big difference. Sentience implies a self-aware mechanism that can initiate actions independently. What you're describing could merely be an adaptive physical property or a misunderstood natural phenomenon."

Amos, about to counter with more evidence, opens his mouth but is cut off by Obinai, who stands up abruptly, his chair scraping against the tile floor. He flashes a tense, fake smile. "That's really interesting, Dad, but Mya and I need to get going, or we'll miss the train."

As Obinai hustles Mya to gather her school bag and jacket, Amos looks a bit disappointed at the abrupt end to the discussion, but he nods understandingly. As they rush towards the door, he calls out after them, a touch of humor in his voice, "And make sure you get to school on time too, Obi!"

Obinai, halfway through the doorway, turns and flashes a quick grin, responding with a confident, "Always!" before ushering Mya out the door.

As they stride briskly past the apartment lobby, Mr. Thompson, the doorman with a knowing twinkle in his eye, chuckles lightly. "Didn't think you'd survive last night, Obi," he comments, his voice rich with playful sarcasm.

Mya giggles and joins in, "Yeah, Obi almost turned into a zombie!" Her laughter fills the lobby, echoing softly against the marble floors.

Obinai, in a mock-serious tone, ushers her toward the door, "Okay, okay, enough about last night. We've got a train to catch!" He playfully nudges her forward, and they step out into the bustling city morning.

The city is alive with the vibrant chaos of the daytime. The streets are teeming with people: commuters hurrying to their jobs, small groups of tourists looking curiously around, street vendors setting up their stalls, and the distant sound of morning traffic blending into a familiar urban symphony. The air is crisp, carrying the mixed scents of coffee from nearby cafes and the exhaust from the cars that zip by.

Mya and Obinai weave through the crowd, their steps quick and synchronized. Buildings tower above them, their glass facades reflecting the bright morning sun, casting patterns of light and shadow on the sidewalks. People rush past in a blur of colors, each absorbed in the morning rush, their faces set with purpose.

As they approach the train station, the flow of people intensifies. The entrance is a flurry of activity: people tapping their cards at the turnstiles, others hurrying down to the platforms, the echoing announcements of train arrivals and departures filling the air.

"Come on, Mya!" Obinai calls out, taking her hand as they dart through the crowd. They slip through the turnstile just as their train announces its final boarding call. With a burst of speed, they jog down the stairs, the sound of their footsteps lost amid the cacophony of the station.

They reach the platform just as the train doors begin to close. With one final leap, they squeeze through, barely making it. Inside, the train is crowded with morning commuters. Mya and Obinai find a spot where they can stand, catching their breaths. Mya's eyes are wide with the thrill of the chase, and Obinai can't help but laugh, relieved and a little exhilarated. "We made it, just in time," he says, steadying himself against the sway of the train as it begins to move.

"Yeah, that was close!" Mya exclaims, her voice a mix of excitement and relief. She grips a nearby pole, her backpack bouncing slightly with the motion of the train. Around them, the buzz of conversations fills the car, commuters immersed in their phones, tablets, or the morning paper, while others chat about their plans for the day.

As the train rumbles along, sunlight filters through the windows, casting a warm glow that flickers across the faces of the passengers. The city outside speeds by in a blur of colors and shapes, the landscape changing from the dense urban sprawl to the slightly more spaced-out residential areas.

Obinai watches as Mya looks out the window, her fascination with the passing scenery evident in her wide eyes and curious gaze. 

The train makes several stops, each time the doors opening to admit more passengers or let others off, the flow of people constant. Announcements ring out at each stop, a calm voice over the speaker detailing the next station and any connections available.

As they near their stop, Obinai checks his watch, ensuring they're still on time. "Next one's ours," he informs Mya, who nods and starts preparing to make her way toward the door.

The train gradually slows, the sound of brakes hissing as it approaches the station. When the doors open, they step out onto the platform, joining the stream of people heading towards the exit.

As they near Mya's school, a prestigious and vibrant institution known as Crestwood Academy, Mya turns to Obinai with a curious look. "You're not going to school again today, are you?" Her tone is a mix of concern and playfulness, but underlying it is a serious note.

Obinai, caught off-guard by her directness, tries to brush it off with a laugh. "What are you talking about? You know I got this," he says, scrambling for an excuse he can't quite find.

Mya, not easily fooled, cuts him off gently, "Obi, you could really get in trouble this time. But don't worry, I won't say anything." Her voice is supportive yet tinged with worry.

As they step onto the bustling campus of Crestwood Academy, the energy is palpable. The school buildings are modern, with large glass facades that reflect the morning sun, interspersed with older, more traditional brick structures that speak to the institution's long history and prestige. Students of all ages move between the buildings, some rushing to get to class on time, others lingering to chat with friends.

The front entrance is particularly busy, a beehive of activity where students converge from various directions. The lush green lawns are well-manicured, and pathways lined with flowering bushes lead to different parts of the campus, creating a serene environment amidst the academic hustle.

Mya, sensing the moment of farewell, runs up to Obinai and gives him a big hug. "I love you, Obi," she says earnestly, squeezing him tightly.

"I love you too," he responds, the affection clear in his voice as he returns her hug. She then jogs towards the entrance, her backpack bouncing with each step, quickly disappearing into the crowd of students.

Obinai takes a moment to watch her go. He observes the vibrant academic life Mya is immersed in—a life he feels disconnected from. His gaze lingers on the stately library visible across the quad, its large windows promising realms of knowledge, and the state-of-the-art science building where students like Mya get to explore and innovate.

With a heavy sigh, he pulls out a weed blunt from his pocket, the familiar action a temporary solace from his swirling thoughts. Lighting it, he takes a deep drag, hoping for the numbing effects to dull the sharpness of his emotions. The smoke fills his lungs, a bitter yet soothing sensation.

As he turns to walk away from the bustling campus, his steps are slow. He walks down the street, the morning sun bright above him, casting long shadows on the pavement as he hopes the effects of the weed will kick in soon, offering a temporary escape from his complex feelings. 

Walking down the bustling city street, he feels a growing discomfort gnawing at him—a mix of his earlier jealousy and the lingering dissatisfaction with his own life choices. He stops abruptly at a corner where the pedestrian traffic thins, the noise of the city momentarily fading into a dull roar in his ears. Digging into his backpack, he pulls out a folded piece of paper, the sharp creases marking it as something he's handled often yet reluctantly. It's the chemistry test from last week on which he scored a C.

Unfolding the paper with shaking hands, Obinai stares down at the red marks scattered across the page. Each comment and correction from the teacher stings. The edges of the paper crinkle under his tightening grip, his knuckles whitening as he balls the test into a tight wad. A surge of repressed rage wells up inside him, and without a second thought, he lets out a scream—a raw, piercing sound that cuts through the ambient city noises.

A few passersby turn to look, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity, but Obinai barely notices them. The scream seems to drain some of the tension from his shoulders, and as he exhales deeply, he feels the calming effects of the weed begin to take hold. A laugh bubbles up from his throat, incongruous with the intense emotion of moments before, and he shakes his head, the absurdity of his situation striking him suddenly.

Seeking a semblance of privacy, he steps behind a nearby trashcan, partially hidden from the casual glances of the street. He pulls out his lighter, flicks it open with a practiced motion, and holds the flame to the crumpled paper. The edges catch quickly, the fire eating at the words and numbers, consuming his poor grade in a satisfying flare. As the paper blackens and curls, he watches the test transform into ash, a cathartic release that briefly eases his mind.

"Fuck this shit, man," he mutters under his breath, a smirk playing on his lips as he drops the last smoldering piece into the trashcan. He watches it smolder for a moment, ensuring it's out before he turns to walk away. The lighter clicks shut, its sound crisp in the quiet moment following the destruction of his test.

As Obinai steps back onto the street, his lightened mood is abruptly interrupted by a slight tremor under his feet. The ground subtly shakes, nearly causing him to lose his balance. He steadies himself against a nearby lamppost, frowning, trying to attribute the sensation to the lingering effects of the weed. But then, a faint whisper brushes against his ear, the words unintelligible and seemingly spoken in a foreign language. He pauses, closing his eyes tightly, trying to convince himself that it's just the drug playing tricks on his mind.

When he opens his eyes, an eerie silence greets him. The bustling city sounds—the honking cars, the murmurs of passersby, the distant clatter of a subway—

are gone.

It's quiet, unsettlingly so, a quiet that throbs with its impossibility. His heart begins to race as he looks around and finds the street deserted. Buildings stand mute against the skyline, and cars are parked with no sign of their drivers. It's as if the city has emptied in the blink of an eye.

Panic claws at his chest as he walks around, his footsteps echoing off the buildings. "Hello? Is anyone there?" he calls out, his voice cracking under the strain. The silence mocks him, amplifying his own fears. He screams again, louder this time, but only the echo of his own voice returns to him.

With each passing second, his mind races to irrational conclusions. "This is what happens to people who smoke," he thinks, a mix of paranoia and regret swirling inside him. "I'm hallucinating, this can't be real. I'm never touching that shit again." The thought is both a promise and a plea, a hope that ceasing might restore normalcy.

He starts walking through the vacant city, each step carrying him further into the solitude. His mind spins tales of isolation as he navigates the empty streets, the familiar turned foreign in this silent world.

Meanwhile...back in reality, Obinai stands frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to the concerned glances of pedestrians. His eyes are rolled back, only the whites showing, a thin line of drool escaping from the corner of his mouth. He's rooted to the spot, his body rigid, lost in a trance-like state induced by his panic and the effects of … something else…but not weed.

Bystanders pause briefly to observe him, some with puzzled looks, others with concern. A few people pull out their phones, perhaps considering whether to call for help. But to them, Obinai is just another city dweller caught up in a personal crisis, not fully aware of how unusual his behavior appears. 

As the city around him vibrates with subtle tremors, reality for everyone else becomes a shared experience of mild panic and curiosity. People stop in their tracks, looking around and muttering to each other about the unexpected quakes. "Did you feel that?" becomes a common refrain among the crowd, with faces turning towards each other in search of confirmation and comfort.

Meanwhile, Obinai, still in a trance, is unaffected by the growing commotion around him. With each tremor, his body responds mechanically, turning him away from the familiar parts of the city where he and his friends usually gather. His steps take him in an unfamiliar direction, guided by some unseen force, moving further and further from the heart of the city.

The buildings begin to change as he walks; the well-maintained facades of downtown give way to the neglected structures of the city's outskirts. Graffiti covers many walls, windows are boarded up, and trash accumulates in corners. The air grows thicker, tinged with the smell of decay and neglect. This part of the city is less traveled, the streets emptier, and the sense of abandonment is palpable.

As he continues, Obinai passes by some unsavory characters—people whose hard lives are etched into their faces and who watch him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. They lean against the deteriorating walls or sit on stoops, watching this out-of-place young man wander aimlessly into their territory.

Eventually, Obinai comes to a rusted metal fence. Bold, peeling letters on a crooked sign read "DO NOT ENTER." He stops momentarily, standing before the fence. The world around him remains oddly muted, his connection to it severed by the trance. Then, another tremor shakes the ground beneath him, more pronounced than the others. It seems to release him from his brief pause, compelling his body to move forward.

With no hesitation or explanation, Obinai steps towards the gate. To an onlooker, it would appear almost supernatural as he passes through the gate as if it were transparent, his body moving

through the barrier without resistance. On the other side, the environment grows even more forbidding—the buildings are mere shells of their former selves, and the few people visible seem distant, shadows flitting in the peripheries of this neglected zone.

As Obinai ventures deeper into the neglected fringes of the city, each step brings him closer to the immense, enigmatic structure known as the wall. This vast and seemingly unending barrier has been the subject of endless news coverage and speculation, yet here it stands, silently dominating the landscape, its true nature as inscrutable as ever.

Another tremor ripples through the ground, stronger this time, yet strangely, no sirens sound; there is no panic among the sparse inhabitants of this forgotten area. Everything remains unsettlingly quiet except for the increasing volume of distant whispers that swirl around Obinai. These whispers grow louder with each step he takes towards the wall, an echo of voices that he cannot understand, yet they seem to be calling to him, pulling him forward.

He finally comes face to face with the wall. It towers above him, its surface rough and irregular, marked by time and the elements. The whispers now seem to emanate directly from it, as if the wall itself is speaking in a chorus of unknown tongues. Obinai, still in a trance-like state, reaches out a hand towards the cold, hard surface.

Simultaneously, in the desolate city of his mind's eye, Obinai continues to wander through abandoned streets, guided by the same whispers that have now taken on a mocking tone, echoing with distant laughter. Abruptly, the very gravity around him seems to twist and invert. He feels a gut-wrenching pull from above, and with a force that defies his understanding, he is sucked upwards into the sky. The sensation is overwhelming, and the sky rushes towards him with such speed that it blurs into a void. Inside his head, he feels the rush of wind and the vertigo of rapid ascent until darkness mercifully sweeps over him, and he passes out.

The surreal experience in his mind is triggered by the moment his real body makes contact with the wall. His fingers brush against the rough texture, and at that instant, his perception of reality is shattered. The connection between his physical touch and the psychological experience is profound and immediate, linking the physicality of the wall with the metaphysical journey in his mind.

Back in the real world, Obinai stands unmoving, his hand pressed against the wall, his body rigid and his eyes closed. To any onlooker, he would appear as a statue, a person lost in an inexplicable connection with this mysterious structure. The wall looms over him, silent and imposing, a monolith that whispers secrets only he can hear, drawing him into its depths without moving a single step. The atmosphere around him thickens with an almost palpable intensity as the whispers from the wall blend with the silence of the deserted slum. 

n the depths of his mind, Obinai is violently wrenched back to consciousness as he feels himself being sucked into the sky. The force is so overpowering that it wrenches him from his trance, causing him to awaken abruptly in his real-world surroundings. He's drenched in a cold sweat, his body trembling as he lets out a scream, the remnants of the voices from the wall still echoing in his head.

As he tries to catch his breath, the door to his room bursts open. Mya stands there, her expression a mix of anger and worry. "Where were you, Obi? I had to take the train home by myself! Mom is furious," she demands, her voice sharp and concerned.

Obinai opens his mouth to explain, to tell her about the surreal and terrifying experiences he just endured, but he's cut off by a thunderous crash that shakes the building, accompanied by distant, haunting screams. The sound is so unexpected and chilling that it sends a shiver down his spine.

Almost immediately, their parents, Amos and Maria, rush into the room. "Are you kids okay?" Amos asks, scanning them quickly for any signs of injury. His voice is tense, a rare note of fear underlying his usual calm demeanor.

Mya, still shaken from the noise, asks, "Did something crash into the building?" She moves toward the window, but Maria quickly steps in front of her, blocking the view.

"Everything is okay, sweetheart. Just stay away from the windows," Maria says in a soothing tone, though her eyes dart anxiously toward Amos, seeking confirmation that they are indeed safe.

Before Amos can direct Obinai's attention or explain anything, Obinai, driven by a mix of curiosity and fear, pushes past them and looks out the window. What he sees is beyond comprehension—a scene pulled straight from a nightmare.

Looming over the wall that encircles the city are colossal, pale creatures, each standing about 20 meters tall. Their bodies are muscular and chiseled, as if carved from stone, yet they move with a fluid, terrifying grace. Each creature has ten white eyes arrayed across what could be considered their faces, their gold irises shimmering with a malevolent light. There are so many of them that their forms almost blot out the sky, casting long, ominous shadows over the city.

These beings descend slowly from over the wall, their size and number filling the horizon. The air is filled with the sound of their movement—a low, rumbling that resonates with the earlier tremors Obinai felt. The scene is apocalyptic, the creatures appearing as heralds of doom descending upon the city.The creatures' descent is both mesmerizing and horrifying. As they approach, their massive forms become more defined, and the sheer scale of their presence sends a wave of panic through Obinai. He stands frozen at the window, his family behind him, their breaths held in dread.

Maria, pulling herself together for the sake of her children, steps forward, placing a hand on Obinai's shoulder, an attempt to draw him away from the terrifying sight. "Obinai, step back," she whispers, her voice trembling.

But Obinai is captivated, unable to tear his eyes away. The creatures move with a deliberate, almost ritualistic precision. Their bodies shimmer with an unearthly glow, casting a spectral light on the buildings below. As they move, the air around them seems to pulse, the atmosphere thick with an unspoken threat.

Amos, ever the scientist even in the face of the unknown, murmurs almost to himself, "Incredible..." He's torn between his instinct to protect his family and his deep-seated desire to understand these phenomenal beings.

Mya, less curious and more frightened, clutches at Obinai's shirt, her eyes wide with fear. "Obi, please, let's go to the back of the house," she pleads, tugging at him.

In the streets below, chaos unfolds as people scramble for cover. The sounds of car alarms blaring, glass shattering, and distant screams fill the air, creating a scene of fear and confusion. The city, usually so vibrant, is now a landscape of fear, with its inhabitants dwarfed by the looming figures from beyond the wall.

As one of the creatures raises a massive limb, the action is slow, almost graceful, but the power behind it is undeniable. It brings its hand down not far from their building, the impact sending a shockwave that rattles the windows and sends small cracks creeping across the glass.

"Inside, now!" Amos finally declares with authority, pulling Obinai away from the window. They retreat from the living room, moving to a more central part of the apartment, away from the windows and the direct view of the invasion.

Once in the relative safety of the interior hallway, the family huddles together. Maria holds Mya close, whispering reassurances. Amos keeps an eye on the front of the apartment, listening intently to the sounds of the creatures' movements.

Obinai, though shaken, feels a strange connection to the events unfolding. The whispers he heard, the tremors….all of it for some unknown reason. Another low, ominous rumble shakes the apartment, causing the family to freeze momentarily. Amos, with his background in geological sciences, begins pacing the hallway, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "This is impossible," he mutters to himself, his mind racing through scientific explanations for what should be unfeasible. "Structurally, no known organism should be able to exhibit such size and mobility without collapsing under its own weight. The square-cube law should make their movements..." He trails off, realizing the theoretical explanations don't change the reality of their situation.

As he continues to pace, Amos speaks aloud, more to himself than to anyone else, trying to process the events scientifically. "These creatures, they exhibit characteristics of known megafauna, but on a scale that's off the charts. Bioluminescent elements, possibly a form of biofluorescence used for... what? Intimidation? Communication?" His voice is tinged with both awe and fear, a scientist fascinated by a terrifying discovery.

Suddenly, a louder explosion nearby cuts his lecture short. The building shakes violently, pictures on the walls rattle and a few frames fall, crashing to the floor. The stark reality of their peril snaps Amos out of his scientific reverie. He turns sharply, looking at his family with wide, urgent eyes. "We need to move, now!" he exclaims.

He quickly walks up to Obinai, grabbing his shoulders firmly. "Obinai, listen to me. You need to take Mya and get down the fire escape. Move as fast as you can, understand?" His voice is sharp, commanding.

Maria, caught up in the urgency but confused by the specific instructions, interjects, "Why can't we all go together?" Her voice is laced with panic and frustration.

Amos turns to her, his expression serious, and shouts over another rumbling sound, "It has to be them!" He doesn't elaborate on why, his decision seemingly driven by a mixture of tactical reasoning and instinct.

Maria starts to argue, her face a mask of fear and confusion, but then her eyes lock with Obinai's. There's a moment of silent communication, a mother's recognition of something unsaid, something in her son that perhaps even he doesn't fully understand. Obinai shifts uncomfortably under her intense gaze.

"What's wrong?" he asks, voice cracking slightly under the strain of the moment.

Maria looks away, her decision made, though her eyes are filled with tears. She pulls both Obinai and Mya into a tight embrace, kissing them each on the forehead. "Be careful. Your father and I will meet you at the bottom, we'll be right behind you," she whispers, trying to imbue her words with more confidence than she feels.

With that, she releases them, stepping back to allow Amos to lead her to another part of the apartment to gather a few essential items. Mya, visibly shaken but trusting in her brother, takes Obinai's hand. They head towards the fire escape, the sounds of chaos from outside spurring them on. As they open the window to the fire escape, the cool air hits their faces, a stark contrast to the warmth of the familial embrace they just left. They start their descent, not looking back, driven by the urgent need to escape and the hope of reuniting with their parents at the bottom.

As Mya and Obinai clamber onto the fire escape, their descent is abruptly halted by a sight neither of them could have prepared for. To their horror, they witness what can only be described as a cataclysm unfolding before their eyes. Angels—or creatures resembling dark, twisted versions of such beings—are swooping through the air with terrifying agility. They pry open the facades of buildings as though peeling fruit, their movements grotesquely graceful.

Just then, Obinai and Mya notice the hands of one of the creatures glowing with an eerie, blackish-white light. The sound it emits is chilling, a high-pitched keening that seems to bore straight into their skulls, setting their teeth on edge. The light intensifies, coalescing into a solid form—a spear, gleaming with malevolent energy. With a powerful, fluid motion, the creature rears back and hurls the spear. It cuts through the air with deadly precision, impaling a nearby building entirely.

The building struck is painfully familiar to Obinai—it's the local library where he spent countless hours during his childhood, a place of refuge and discovery where his mother used to take him and Mya on quiet afternoons. He remembers the gentle hum of whispers, the smell of old books, the soft thud of stamps on checkout cards. Now, it stands violated, a gaping hole through its heart, smoke and debris billowing out as screams pierce the air.

Almost immediately, another creature launches a spear. This one arcs through the air and lands among a group of fleeing people. Obinai's heart stops as he recognizes Mr. and Mrs. Henderson, the elderly couple who ran the corner bakery where he and Mya often stopped for cinnamon rolls on the way to school. The spear strikes them down mercilessly, their bodies crumpling to the ground in a grotesque heap.

Mya, witnessing this carnage, bends over the railing of the fire escape and throws up. Tears stream down her face as she sobs uncontrollably. Obinai wraps an arm around her, trying to shield her from the horror, but his own voice shakes as tears blur his vision. He feels weak, his legs barely supporting him, but he manages to whisper, "Everything will be okay, Mya. We have to keep going."

He gently guides her to continue down the fire escape, each step an effort against the gravity of their despair. Their descent is slow, hindered by their emotional and physical exhaustion, but Obinai keeps repeating his reassurances, more to convince himself than to comfort Mya.

"Stay with me, Mya. We'll get through this," he murmurs as they navigate the rickety metal stairs. Below them, the city wails—a prelude to the terror and destruction that they must face but for now, step by trembling step, they focus only on reaching the ground, hoping against hope to find safety and their parents waiting for them.

As Mya and Obinai make their precarious descent down the fire escape, the city continues to unravel around them. Another violent explosion suddenly shakes the building, reverberating through the metal structure of the fire escape with a menacing growl. The building's walls groan under the stress, dust billowing out from cracks that spread like spider webs across the surface.

Mya screams in terror, her body seizing up with fear, causing her to stop abruptly on the narrow platform. Obinai, right behind her and trying to maintain a steady pace, is caught off-guard by her sudden halt. His foot catches on the edge of a step, and he stumbles forward, the momentum sending him tumbling down several steps. He lands awkwardly, a sharp pain shooting through his leg as he crashes against the cold, hard metal.

"Mya! I'm okay," he gasps, trying to reassure her as he struggles to assess his own injury. Mya, panic-stricken, scrambles down to where Obinai lies. Tears stream down her cheeks as she kneels beside him, her hands trembling as she reaches out to touch his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Obi! I didn't mean to—I just got scared," she sobs, her voice choked with guilt and fear.

"It's okay, it's not your fault," Obinai reassures her, grimacing as he sits up. His leg throbs painfully, but he can move it, suggesting it's not broken. Around them, the explosions and screams continues, a relentless backdrop to their personal crisis.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Obinai puts an arm around Mya's shoulders, pulling her close. "We need to keep moving, Mya. We're almost there, see?" He nods toward the bottom of the fire escape, where the door to the building's interior looms just a few more steps away. Gathering his strength, he slowly stands, supporting himself against the railing.

Together, they hobble down the remaining steps, each movement fraught with pain but driven by the urgent need to find safety. As they reach the bottom, Obinai reaches out with a shaking hand to push open the door leading into the building.

The door swings open with a creak, revealing the dimly lit interior of the building's lower floor. It's a stark contrast to the chaos outside—a temporary haven of quiet and shadow. Mya and Obinai step inside, the cooler air of the building enveloping them as they leave the harsh noises of the outside world behind, if only momentarily.

"Let's find mom and dad," Obinai whispers, his voice steady despite the pain and exhaustion. "They said they'd meet us here." His words are a lifeline, a promise to cling to as they navigate through the dim corridors, their steps echoing softly in the empty space.

As they navigate through the building's damaged interior, the walls around Mya and Obinai show signs of severe stress. Cracks spiderweb across the surfaces, and the ceiling sags ominously in several places, pieces of plaster and dust periodically falling to the floor as the structure settles under the strain of recent impacts. Mya, using her body as a makeshift crutch, supports Obinai as he limps alongside her, his movements pained but determined.

The dim hallway is intermittently lit by the flickering glow of emergency lights. Up ahead, the exit sign casts a dull red hue, its color stark against the surrounding darkness. The light hums a low, persistent tone that seems both quiet and overwhelmingly loud in the relative silence of the building's interior. It's a sound that underscores the tension in the air, a monotonous drone that contrasts sharply with the chaos they've just escaped.

As they approach the exit, Obinai gently disengages from Mya, indicating with a nod that he can manage the last few steps on his own. "Wait," he murmurs as his hand hovers over the door handle, bracing himself for what might lie beyond.

He pulls the door open with a cautious push, peering into what was once the building's lobby. The sight that greets him is one of devastation. The lobby is a shell of its former self, with large portions of the ceiling and walls collapsed. Daylight streams in through a gaping hole where part of the exterior wall has been torn away, revealing a chaotic glimpse of the outside world. Debris is scattered everywhere, and the air is thick with dust and the sharp tang of smoke.

Seeing this, Obinai quickly pulls the door shut again. Turning to Mya with a forced smile, he musters as much calm as he can into his voice. "Everything's okay," he lies smoothly, trying to protect her from the grim reality just beyond the door. "Let's keep going."

With a nod, they move together towards the devastated lobby. Obinai, favoring his injured leg, leads the way with Mya close beside him. As they pass the front desk, a chilling sight catches Obinai's eye—just visible under a mound of rubble, the unmistakable sight of a human leg, dressed in the familiar uniform pants of Mr. Thomson, the kind-hearted doorman. A dark pool of blood has spread around the wreckage, stark against the pale debris.

Heart sinking, Obinai quickly positions himself to block Mya's view of the gruesome scene. He keeps his body between her and the front desk as they make their way toward the opening in the wall. "Look straight ahead," he instructs gently, his voice low and steady. "Focus on the light, Mya. We're almost outside."

Mya nods, her eyes fixed on the daylight that represents safety and the outside world. They step cautiously over broken glass and twisted metal, each movement bringing them closer to escape. Obinai's mind races with worry for their parents, hoping beyond hope that they've found safety and that the family will soon be reunited in the chaos of the shattered city.

The eerie silence that descends upon the ruined landscape is so profound that Mya and Obinai can hear their own breathing—a sharp, ragged sound that seems excessively loud in the quiet. The stillness is unsettling, the kind of silence that feels thick, almost tangible, as if pressing against their ears. They're steps away from the opening, the outside world tantalizingly close, when a new sound shatters the quiet.

It starts as a low, rhythmic thumping—a sound that seems both distant and ominously close. The thumping grows steadily louder, more insistent, as if something colossal is approaching with deliberate, heavy steps. Obinai's heart races, his instincts screaming danger. He turns, pulling Mya slightly behind him as the source of the noise becomes terrifyingly clear.

An angelic creature, monstrous in its perversion of the divine, breaks through what remains of the back wall. Its skin is an ashen white, stark against the dark ruins, marred by splashes of crimson blood that drip and streak its otherwise pristine surface. The creature is grotesquely beautiful, with six massive wings that unfurl with a sound like ripping canvas, each feather sharp and glistening. Its head is covered with numerous eyes, each small and beady, scattered across its surface so that no angle is left unseen. The eyes flicker rapidly, moving independently of each other, scanning the environment in a frenetic, almost panicked manner.

For a heartbeat, everything is still as the creature's many eyes rove wildly. Then, abruptly, they all snap to focus directly on Mya and Obinai. The intensity of its gaze is paralyzing, the multitude of eyes locking onto them with a chilling precision.

Before Obinai can fully shield Mya, she glimpses something horrific in the creature's grasp and points, her hand trembling. Clutched in one of its blood-stained hands are the severed heads of their parents, Amos and Maria. Their expressions are vacant, their eyes glassy in death, the horror of their final moments etched forever on their faces. With a casual, almost dismissive gesture, the creature tosses the heads towards the siblings. They roll grotesquely across the ground, stopping unnervingly close to their feet.

Mya screams, a raw, heart-wrenching sound filled with pain and terror. She backs away, collapsing against the debris and curling into herself, her cries muffled by her arms wrapped around her head. Obinai, tears streaming down his face, stares at the creature, his grief momentarily overtaken by a numb shock.

In a voice devoid of human warmth, emanating from the creature yet coming from everywhere and nowhere, it speaks. "As it is written," it declares in a hoarse, thunderous tone that vibrates through the very air, sending chills down Obinai's spine. The words, though cryptic, carry a weight of inevitability, a decree from a twisted divinity.

Obinai stands frozen. He grips his sister's trembling hand, his own body shaking as he confronts the creature, their situation hopelessly dire. The silence that follows its declaration is oppressive, filled only by Mya's quiet sobs and the distant sounds of destruction that resume in the background, a grim soundtrack to their despair.

Kneeling down beside Mya amidst the debris and chaos, Obinai's voice breaks through her sobs, raw and urgent. "Mya, look at me!" he screams, trying to pierce the veil of shock and grief enveloping her. Slowly, her sobbing subsides as she lifts her tear-streaked face to meet his eyes. Her gaze is haunted, lost, but she focuses on her brother through her sniffles.

"We have to run, now!" Obinai urges, his voice trembling with urgency and fear. Mya shakes her head, her voice a whisper, "I can't leave you."

"You have to!" he yells back, his voice cracking. "I'm useless here. I can't run. But you can. You must!" His tone is desperate, pleading.

Reluctantly, with one last devastated look at her brother, tears streaming anew, Mya turns and runs. Her figure quickly becomes smaller, disappearing into the dust and smoke that blanket the city. Obinai watches her go, a mix of relief and sorrow churning in his chest.

He then turns back to face the angel, his expression one of resigned defiance. The creature's many-eyed gaze bears down on him, unrelenting and cold.

Cut back to reality, where Obinai's hand is still pressed against the massive, enigmatic wall. He is gasping for air, his body convulsing under the strain of his connection with the wall. As he struggles, a startling transformation begins. His locs, previously black, start to grow rapidly, cascading down to his shoulders and turning a stark white. Mysterious tattoos edge their way up his arms, intricate patterns weaving themselves into his skin with an almost sentient precision. His hands turn a deep charcoal black, a stark contrast to his pale new hair.

As the transformation completes, Obinai's eyes undergo the most dramatic change. The whites of his eyes darken until they are pitch black, and then his irises and pupils shift to a brilliant gold, glowing ominously.

Now standing calm and composed, the creature that has taken residence in Obinai's form examines itself, a look of curiosity mixed with satisfaction on its face. After a moment of inspection, it extends a finger—the skin now charcoal black—and plunges it into its temple with a sickening, fleshy sound. Blood trickles down the side of its face, but the creature does not flinch.

With its eyes closed, the creature begins to recite details in a voice that is both Obinai's and something else entirely. "Obinai Nobunaga, age 14," it starts, its tone clinical, detached. "Friends: Darren, Angel. Family: Maria, Amos, and….Mya….. Status: blank state, no aspirations, no future." Each fact is stated clearly, categorically, as if it's reading from an unseen ledger, cataloging the life it has usurped.

The creature opens its eyes, the golden irises shining with an inhuman light, and looks around, absorbing the environment, the city's chaos now just a backdrop to its eerie calm. Its gaze is calculating, already plotting its next move in this strange, new form it has claimed. 

As the transformation solidifies, the entity inhabiting Obinai's body settles into its new form with an eerie sense of comfort and familiarity. It laughs—a deep, resonant sound that vibrates through the empty streets, carrying an unsettling joy. Then, with a casual shift in demeanor, it begins to speak, its voice a chilling blend of Obinai's and something far more ancient and malevolent.

"What a blessing it is to be here now," the creature muses aloud, its tone reflective yet tinged with a dark glee. "At such a pivotal moment, to breathe this air, walk this ground… it's exquisite." It pauses, glancing around at the chaos it has stepped into, the destruction it has already begun to exacerbate.

It raises its hands, looking at them with a kind of reverence. "There are so many unsuspecting souls, unaware of the purification that awaits them. It is my duty, my sacrosanct purpose, to cleanse this world of its rampant imperfections." The creature's voice grows fervent, filled with a zealous energy that belies its calm exterior.

Outstretching its arms, the creature rejoices in the thought of widespread carnage. "To see it all break down, to watch as everything crumbles… what joy, what necessary chaos," it declares, then bursts into laughter again, a sound that echoes ominously off the crumbling buildings.

As its laughter fades, the creature adopts a more contemplative tone. "The first six minutes," it remarks cryptically, "are always the most important, as they say." Its eyes begin to glow with an intense light, signaling a gathering of power that seems to pull at the very air around it.

Looking down, the creature utters words in a language that seems lost to time, its syllables harsh and commanding. As it speaks, its legs start to glow with a pulsating purple light, the color deepening and spreading like a stain upon the ground. Beneath it, the earth trembles, the concrete buckling as if unable to bear the creature's weight or presence.

With a sudden and explosive force, the creature leaps into the sky, sending a massive shockwave radiating from the point where it had stood. The power propels it high above the city, where it hovers, taking in the panoramic view of the sprawling urban landscape below.

From this vantage point, the creature's gaze sweeps across the city, and a smile creeps across its face—a smile that is both beautiful and terrible. "Ah, to see it all burn away, layer by layer," it says, its voice now soft, almost wistful. "And then, on to the next, and the next. Each cycle brings renewal, each destruction a form of creation. How sublime it is, the endless cycle of decay and rebirth."

The creature, inhabiting Obinai's body, moves with supernatural speed, its form blurring as it leaps effortlessly from building to building across the cityscape. Unnoticed by the chaos below, it arrives swiftly at the apartment complex where Obinai's family lives. It strides through the revolving doors with an air of familiarity yet marked by an underlying malevolence.

Inside the lobby, Mr. Thompson, the doorman, squints at the creature as it approaches. "Obi… did you dye your hair?" he asks with a chuckle, trying to make sense of the dramatic change in appearance. His smile falters as he registers the unnerving glow in the creature's eyes.

Before Mr. Thompson can react further, the creature flicks its wrist. Mr Thompson's head explodes in a horrific display. Brain matter and blood spray the walls and floor, painting the once-clean lobby in grotesque shades of red. As his body slumps to the ground, the creature smiles with an animalistic grin, a stark contrast to the boyish features of Obinai's face.

The creature bends down, dipping its fingers into the fresh blood pooled on the floor. It sighs, a sound of twisted pleasure, as it murmurs to itself about the sensation. "Ah, the cooling caress of fresh blood... It has indeed been too long," it whispers, almost reverently. However, a flicker of annoyance crosses its face as it adds, "Yet, I must chastise myself, for I cannot consume this one. Such waste."

Shaking off the distraction, it strides to the elevator and presses the button with unnecessary force, causing the panel to dent slightly under its touch. The elevator arrives, and it steps inside, selecting the floor where Obinai's family resides. As the elevator ascends, the overhead light casts eerie shadows across the creature's face, accentuating its menacing grin and the unnatural glow of its eyes.

The elevator dings louder than usual as it reaches the designated floor, the sound echoing ominously down the corridor. The creature steps out and approaches the door of Obinai's apartment. It pauses for a moment before knocking in a rhythm that would be familiar to anyone inside.

"Who is it?" Maria's voice comes through the door, tentative and cautious.

"Come on, mom, it's me," the creature responds, perfectly mimicking Obinai's voice, casual and familiar.

The sound of the lock disengaging echoes in the quiet hallway, and the door slowly creaks open. 

Cut back to the insides of Obinai's head, where he faces off against the angelic entity

In the desolate ruins of what was once a bustling building, Obinai stands in a standoff with the angelic creature, the wreckage around them a grim testament to the devastation wrought by the entity. Beams are bent and twisted, concrete blocks and glass shards scatter across the floor, and the air is thick with dust and the acrid smell of smoke. 

Obinai, feeling a mix of fear, anger, and desperation, confronts the angel, whose numerous eyes roam the room restlessly, never settling on any one thing for long. "What do you want? Why are you doing this?" he demands, his voice echoing slightly in the hollow space. The angel, however, remains silent, its gaze flitting about as if searching for something unseen.

Mya's faint sniffling can be heard as she attempts to escape the danger, her steps quick and fearful. Back in the confrontation, Obinai's frustration mounts as the creature continues to ignore him. He screams, "Look at me! I'm right here!" in a desperate attempt to draw its attention.

As Obinai's vision clears from the disorienting flash of blackish-white light, his attention is drawn irresistibly to the spear in the angel's grasp. This weapon is not merely a tool of destruction but a chilling artifact, resonating with a dark and ancient power. The spear itself is long and slender, almost elegant in its deadly design, crafted from a material that does not reflect light but seems to absorb it, giving it a depthless black appearance.

What sets this spear apart, making it truly horrifying, are the symbols that crawl along its length like living entities. These symbols glow faintly with a sinister, ethereal light, moving continuously in a fluid, serpentine pattern. They twist and coil around the shaft, pulsing with a life of their own, each symbol an arcane rune whose meaning is lost to modern understanding but suggests a lineage of dark rituals and forgotten powers.

The tip of the spear is sharply pointed, wrought from the same nightmarish material, honed to a deadly precision. It seems to exude a cold malice, as if eager to fulfill its purpose of destruction and pain. The light emanating from the moving symbols casts eerie reflections on the ground and walls, painting them with shifting, ghostly images that add to the oppressive atmosphere of the scene.

Turning his gaze, Obinai sees Mya nearing the corner to safety, her figure small and determined against the backdrop of destruction. With a desperate plea, he limps as fast as his injured leg will carry him towards the creature, screaming, "Look at me!" in a last-ditch effort to divert its attention from his sister.

The angel, seemingly oblivious to Obinai's cries, rears back and hurls the spear with terrifying precision. Obinai hears a sickening crunch followed by a wet, fleshy impact. His heart drops as he turns to see the spear's aftermath. Pinned to the ground by the long shaft of the spear, Mya lays gazing vacantly at the sky, blood pouring effortlessly from her mouth and staining the ground around her. The finality of her expression, the stillness of her form, strikes a profound and devastating blow to Obinai.

He stumbles to her side, his own pain forgotten in the face of her suffering. Kneeling beside her, he reaches out a trembling hand, touching her face, whispering her name in a choked sob. The angel, now just a few paces away, watches with an indifferent curiosity, its mission fulfilled in its own twisted view.

Obinai's grief is overwhelming, each sob a mix of rage and helplessness. The world around him—the physical and the internal—blurs into a tableau of anguish, the sounds of the crumbling city a distant echo behind the all-consuming grief in his heart. 

Clutching his sister's lifeless body, Obinai feels the wetness of her blood soaking into his clothes, warm and sticky, mixing with his tears. His sobs come in heaving, desperate gasps. He screams at the creature, his voice raw and broken, "Why? Why are you doing this? What did we ever do to deserve this?" His words are filled with grief and a helpless fury, echoing through the eerie silence that surrounds them.

The creature steps forward, each footfall a heavy thud that rattles Obinai's teeth and vibrates through his spine. The ground trembles beneath its weight. Obinai looks up, his vision blurred by tears. The angel looms over him, its pale skin stained with the blood of countless victims. Its six wings are unfurled, each one vast and terrible, the feathers gleaming with an otherworldly sheen. The creature's head is adorned with a multitude of eyes, each one darting and shifting independently, scanning the surroundings with a predatory vigilance.

As it stops and stares down at him, Obinai is struck by the sheer inhumanity of its gaze. The eyes seem to pierce through his very soul, cold and unfeeling. The creature leans down, bringing its face closer until only a meter of space separates them. Contrary to its terrifying appearance, the creature smells of charcoal and ash, a scent that seems to hang heavily in the air.

In a voice that resonates directly within his mind, bypassing his ears entirely, the creature speaks, each word a groaning, dissonant echo. "To stop what is to come, your kind must make way for a better world. It has been decreed by the gods." The message is clear, chilling Obinai to his core. The inevitability and finality of the creature's words leave no room for hope or negotiation.

As the creature straightens back up, towering above him once more, it raises its massive foot. Obinai can only stare, paralyzed by grief and terror, as the creature's foot comes crashing down. The impact is enormous, the force enough to crush him and everything around him. His vision goes black, and for a moment, there is nothing but the sensation of his body being overwhelmed by the sheer power of the creature.

Obinai feels as if the pressure of the foot pressing down on him is sinking him deeper into the ground, smothering him in darkness. He hears faint shrills and screams of familiar voices but doesn't react. His mind struggles to process the noise, and he thinks to himself, "What is that noise? Can everyone just be quiet?" In the enveloping darkness, the memories of what he saw resurface. With a slow groan, he opens his eyes and is faced with a starry night.

The stars are brilliant pinpricks of light scattered across a velvety black canvas, shimmering like diamonds on a jeweler's cloth. The Milky Way stretches across the sky, a hazy ribbon of light and dust, its countless stars glowing softly. Constellations he used to point out to Mya on clear nights are now more vibrant and awe-inspiring than he ever remembered, each star twinkling with a gentle, inviting light.

Tears well up in his eyes at the sight, a mixture of awe and deep sorrow. He starts to wipe his eyes when he realizes they are already wet. Looking at his hands, he stops abruptly; they are smeared with the familiar red liquid from his hyperrealistic dream...

blood