The streets buzzed with the familiar chaos of the city—cars honking loudly at each other, the usual sound of wailing sirens echoed through the vast skyscrapers, and ambulances and police cars scurried through the city like rats in a burning maze.
Deep within, civilians wandered back and forth on the wet sidewalk like ants—fulfilling their daily duties, some cursing the miserable fate accursed on them through mellow murmurs, others glued to their phones—indifferent to the cold atmosphere surrounding on both their fragile bodies and scared souls, and some innocent and small souls wandering aimlessly, just worshiping whatever keeps their smiles.
All crawling through the veins of Juijorko City.
A place renowned for its advancement and distinctive Lithuanian-influenced architecture, mixed with the mesmerizing beauty of the giant skyscrapers.
A dreamland for those who long for a happy and stable life. Or so they say.
Beneath its prestigious mask, the city rotted. Crimes and corruption committed by ones who once resented injustice, poverty embracing those who once dreamed a stable family, abuse masked by discipline to hurt ones they promised to protect—they all thrived like rats behind elegant walls.
For every towering building of glass and steel, there were a dozen dark alleys hiding stories—stories of how unfair fate can be.
Stories of silent dehumanization.
And in one cold, sterile room at the city's general hospital, the wails of a teen sliced through the room. Agonizing cries and screams, raw and unfiltered— echoed through the halls. Diana—a once optimistic girl, frail and battered, was painfully bringing the world another victim for its cruelty.
Each painful scream reminded her of the cheerful girl whose naive smile had been stolen by the cruelty of fate.
"Congratulations, Mrs Maidjeika… It's a boy! A cute and healthy baby boy. I hope you've chosen a name suitable for his cuteness." the doctor said with a joyous voice, pulling down his mask to reveal his unsettling smile as he placed the newborn into her trembling arms.
Despite the obstetrician's optimism—the other doctors' expressions told a completely different story. No one smiled, their eyes flickered with concern as they looked at Diana's bruised and bloodied body—her survival for that agonizing operation was already a miracle.
"How cruel had the world been to that poor individual to end up in that state?" all wondered together, no words were needed— just the anxious flicker in their eyes spoke volumes.
Diana stared down at the crying baby in her arms, observing him silently, feeling his fragility amidst her arms, and listening to his loud whines that echoed in the chilling operating room. Her eyes were blank, terrifyingly blank, and scared too—she looked lifeless doll gently cradling a smaller one, both resented by life.
And then...she finally her chapped lips parted slightly. She whispered a name—barely audible, yet heavy like a curse.
"Ken…my...hero"
"Wow!" the doctor reacted.
"What a pathetic name..." he added, his voice suddenly became sarcastic, and his face darkened...
———
Despite the doctor's praise, the truth was bitter. Ken wasn't special, quite the opposite to be clearer, uneven—oblivious—and pathetic.
Even educationally, two years after starting elementary, and he still struggled to spell sentences without stuttering. Letters and numbers danced in front of his eyes like ghosts mocking him non-stop.
The only thing little Kenny had in common with his mother was her messy and thick black hair that floats easily with wind, and haunting blue eyes that looks like an unexplored ocean, and eyelids as dark as lonely cold nights.
But unlike her, his heart was gentle, pure, naive. He was an innocent child in a world that resented innocence.
———
In spite of the average appearance he had, Ken's life was nowhere near the definition of "average."
In his eight short years of memory, he had never once felt the love of a mother. Diana wasn't a mother.
She didn't nurture—she drained. She didn't comfort—she struck. She wasn't the one who wiped away his tears–she was the one who caused them.
The ruthlessness prophesied to erase the hope Ken desperately clung to.
———
Streets swelled with people like ants on their trails, filled with non-stop chatters and cars honks echoing through the wide and filthy street of another busy neighborhood in Juijorko.
On the narrow sidewalk, the crowd walked, some heading home from work with miserable exhaustion on their faces, others into it with just as much misery, and students dragging tired feet from school, some laughing innocently with friends and others just...silent.
Among them wandered a little, adorable ant called: Ken
Head down, backpack heavy, clothes torn from the bullying he'd endured just minutes earlier in school. His limbs and joints were either bruised or injured. And his clothes were so dirty and filthy that it made him look like a wandering rat squeezing his fragile body through the crowd.
"The smell—it's so disgusting. It smells like someone had bombed the sewers." Kenny mumbled faintly, complaining about the filthy smell of the street and sweat.
"And the noises—they're so loud and annoying, I feel like my head is about to explode." He added—hands over his ears, trying to block the noises off from the noisy cars passing past and fourth non-stop.
"Please pain, go away." A plea escaped his lips—his voice was low and... kind of cute.
As he walked down the streets of the elegant city—his presence was an eyesore to the passersby who either pitied or avoided him.
"Apgailetinas... this child looks so filthy and inconsiderate, you should be as far as possible from this type of children, sweetie— you'd be lost around individuals like him." A mother said to her daughter as they passed by Ken—ignoring the fact that he was listening.
"..." he heard her, deep down it hurt him— seen as nothing but a filthy being, yet he pretended he didn't. Keeping a miserable, stoic face— while also lowering his gaze.
But just as he was about to get lost in his thoughts again— his fragile figure pumped into a tougher one.
"Wops, excuse my insensibility little one, didn't see'ya through the endless crowd," a towering man said to Ken with somewhat calmer tone— ruffling his messy as he pass by him, reassuring the boy's anxiety.
Ken couldn't help but mumble a small "no problem" with his dry lips, probably inaudible to the man.
"Why does this kid look so harmed?" A female muttered as Ken made his way past her, her voice was low yet somehow audible to the child hearing, even though her voice lacked any mockery—rather concern, he pretended to be deaf.
And unfortunately—even with hands covering his ears, it didn't prevent the world from telling him how hated he was.
His hands unveiled his ears again—then clinging to the straps of his backpack tightly.
"The gazes...so scary...they definitely think I'm scary and weird...I have to hurry home." He thought—a single tear making its way down his cheek, sobbing in shame and anxiety.
"I hate it here...I'm so scared....I want to cry...I…want to die..."
He muttered— over and over, clinging to his fragile figure tightly as he ran through the crowd, squeezing his body through tight gaps and looking down in shame and disgust, avoiding eye contact from passer
———
Fifteen minutes had passed. He stood there—before the door of his mother's apartment. Breathing heavy from the anxiety attack he had earlier. His ears picked a heap of faint noises coming from the door beside him.
Laughter and loud chatter spilled out from inside audible and clear—and he hadn't even opened it yet.
"She's home early..."
He knew what waited beyond.
The door creaked open slowly, and a wave of stinging smells—alcohol and cigarettes washed over him, the scent that shaped his lost childhood.
Quietly, Ken walked to the living room, making his way through the dark and scary hallway. His steps were light and tender on the floor.
"Haha! This is so funny! This show is so freaking good, dammit! Oh god I need another beer!" A rough voice echoed through the room—drunk and lost, he sat there—Nicholas, Diana's newest "love". A man so cruel and ruthless that even devils could fear his careless barbarism, and a partner of Diana in abusing a shy and helpless child.
And there, right beside him, sat Diana—cheeks crimson red, a cigarette between her fingers, her tired and drunk eyes fixed to the ground, as if she was lost in her thoughts before Nicholas disturbed her peace.
"Shut up, asshole..." she replied coldly.
"You're no fun." The barbarian said—leaning on the couch, devouring another bottle of alcohol.
"Ew..." a thought wandered through Ken's head— Feeling nothing but displeasure with Nicholas's behaviors, he had no other option but to suppress his feelings.
Seconds passed before Diana noticed him—standing there in the corner, gazing at them from afar with those pitiful eyes, he looked like a lost puppy in his own house.
Her eyes narrowed, her expressions were hard to read through the dark, was she looking at him with remorseless eyes? Was she looking at him with pity? He wasn't sure.
"So… Your troublesome existence is back."
She spat with a voice rougher than rocks, like his presence alone had soured the air.
"Since you're here, go clean my room, not because I want it clean, because I don't want your existence around us."
Her voice was slurred, drunk and lost like a silly child, yet—scary like a monster.
"This cruel mother here doesn't have the nerves for your bullshit."
She added with the same tone as ken walked in, throwing his backpack in the corner.
"Yes, ma'am…" he said, barely above a whisper— the fear was evident in his expressions, as his head was still down.
He walked to the room—steps slow and careful.
"..." the mother sat silently—watching her son vanish in the darkness of the hallways. Her expressions were still dark, yet for some reason, full of sadness and pity.
"Why am I doing this again? I can't remember anymore, God I'm so miserable," She whispered—voice full of confusion and...guilt?
———
In her room, Ken stood by the doorway, observing the heart wrenching mess his mother left behind.
Clothes were tossed on the floor, food scraps mixed in, and the bed was undone like it had never known order. It looked like a child's room if the child had never been taught what "clean" meant, all thrown in a room that reeks with a dark and depressing atmosphere despite lights' presence.
Still, Ken said nothing.
He just cleaned, slowly—but efficiently, cleaning Diana and Nicholas's mess as if he was their parent, not the other way around.
As he moved, his thoughts wandered—dark, unanswered questions echoing in his naive mind.
"Why does she always sound angry just with me? What am I doing wrong? Why does she...resent me?"
Why, and why, and why.
But it was futile, no answer came.
"All I wanted was to make her happy with all my might only to forget what happiness feels like" a whisper escaped his dry lips— both soft and sad.
"..."
"Was I ever happy to begin with?"
And then, something caught his eye.
"The drawer...is open again?"
It was big drawer with a vase on top near Diana's bed— slightly open. It wasn't something new to Ken, he'd seen it open multiple times before whenever he was cleaning the room, but Diana never allowed him to see the mysteries folding within it— neither Nicholas, she was always too protective about that drawer for some reason.
"I was always curious about what's in that drawer, but mama never allowed me to touch it, even when I clean her room..." he thought, just when he was about to move on, his curiosity won him, "but...she's not here, maybe I can take a quick glance?"
He took a little peek.
Inside was a strange-looking notebook—old, decorated with faded colours, and marked with a strange code:
"IG...12, by Diana Maidjeika?" he recited the name. "It's old, perhaps older than me." He added.
Usually, Ken wouldn't lurk at people's belongings, especially stuff that belonged to his mother. But something strange lured him to do otherwise.
With that, he opened it— he sat on the floor with the opened drawer over his head and started reading.
Within the book's pages, there was a story, of a twelve impartial heroes. Each with powers pulled straight out of fantasy story, each fighting for something called:
"Unified...peace?" Ken mumbled under his breaths, uncertain and confused about those...Unusual words.
"We may be higher beings in your eyes, but all we want to achieve harmony among your lost humanity, we're just as human as you are, there is no need to fear us." A sentence Ken read just a few paragraphs within the story.
Ken read on, drawn in by the tale despite misspelling most of the words and not understanding some—he continued reading.
"This is so fun..." he thought— subconsciously losing the concept of the time.
Until—he reached a list of names, the twelve heroes' names.
"Kittisak, Erina , Evan, Chahin. And…"
"Ken...Maidjeika."
Ken froze, his eyes were wide open as he stared at the name.
"Ken...Maidjeika? Isn't that..."
"My name?" He whispered, confused and anxious for some reason, as if he had just uncovered a mystery.
A mystery that will haunt him even beyond death.
But before the mystery could unfold, reality came crashing back. A sudden, shrill voice stabbed through the moment.
"YOU USELESS LITTLE RAT! What's taking so long?! You better be close to finishing or else!!"
Footsteps thundered toward him.
Realizing his mistake— Ken panicked. He tried to put the notebook back, but as he quickly stood, his head smacked into the open drawer above. Pain exploded through his skull.
A vase on top teetered— then crashed down onto his head. Its heavy weight compared to Ken's was adequate to make him scream in agony.
Blood splattered across the floor—a rain of crimson lilies.
"Ugh...my head!" he screamed.
Ken dropped on his knees, holding his head as blood poured from his scalp, trailing down his forehead like dark red rivers, dripping from his chin onto the floor.
A wave of panic—followed by an intense headache—took over Ken. He was unsure what to do.
"Should I hide? Should I submit? Should I resist? I'm scared... I'm so scared."
Questions swirled his head non-stop as tears flowed down his cheek from his frightened eyes.
But before he could even process a proper solution, Diana stormed into the room, bottle in hand, her face twisted with annoyance while being drunk to the complete oblivion.
But when she saw the notebook on the floor—stained with her son's blood, her rage shifted. For a brief moment, a flicker of vulnerability appeared across her face, she ignored her injured son and walked to the notebook. Each step was slow— heavy—and hard.
"You...bastard…" she hissed weakly, vigilantly touching the book as if she was touching her injured, exposed heart. The annoyance on her face melted—something Ken never thought he'd witness. As if that notebook had awakened something in her that shouldn't be awakened, a terrorizing vulnerability of a ruthless mother.
"WHO TOLD YOU COULD TOUCH THAT?!"
Her voice was ice and fire—followed with an angry groan.
"I-I..." the kid stuttered, still holding his head in pain as he stumble a few steps back.
But it was pointless, and before he could even say more, the back of her hand struck him hard.
Ken collapsed— the room spinning. And the sound of her groans seemed to just become louder.
Then, here came the blows—One after another.
Alcohol blinding her, driving her, manipulating her, taunting her pitiful mind.
"You...ruin everything! Everything I have, you destroy it! Just when I thought I finally forgot that miserable past...just when I started to forget my past self...you had to ruin it and lurk my secrets...you...you..."
She screamed as her fists rained down on him, drunk and wild.
And then, she broke the bottle over his head without any care, ignoring his screams and pleas to stop.
Glass dug deep. Blood gushed. Her hands found the jagged edge and—without thought—she struck him all over his core: his chest, his stomach, his thighs, wherever her hits could land.
All Ken could do was to scream, scream in true pain—a pain he hates.
"Waaargh! Stop! I beg you! Sto- WAAAAAAAAAGH!" an agonizing scream rushed out of his lips. Protesting, pushing, pleading with all his might, to his mother, and to life.
But life is blind and deaf and paralyzed, it doesn't see the terror, it doesn't hear the grieving screams, it doesn't feel its victims protesting.
She didn't stop, she kept stabbing him non-stop, again. And again—and again—over and over.
Until…silence.
Ken stopped screaming—stopped fearing—stopped moving...
Diana panted, drunk, shaky, and suddenly… still.
Her vision cleared slightly—but enough to realize what she had done.
And what she saw made her stumble backward, breath caught in her throat.
Her son, her foolish child, lying still in a pool of blood.
His body barely resembled anything human anymore—more like a broken doll, his limbs were limp, his stomach was torn open, his eyes were lightless, his guts flashed her in a horrifying, disturbing sight.
An old doll after a kid had torn it.
"K-Ken?" a murmur hushed out her lips.
"Kenny?" she asked again—her voice resonated through the cold room in a shakier and desperate tone.
How futile.
Her eyes fell to her trembling hands, finding them soaked in red like roses.
She froze. Realizing the unforgivable sin she had done.
Her heart stopped—and with it, her world. Each passing second, a bittersweet memory crossed her mind, reminding her of all the grief she had gone through and will go through.
Bittersweet memories of not only her child—but rather her spiritual twin.
Bittersweet memories of a child who loved a world that hated him.
One second passed—hands on her head.
Two passed—eyes widening in shock.
Three passed—mouth wide open.
On the fourth, a scream—piercing, tore from her throat, a scream full of terror, guilt... and grief. A scream so sharp, it felt like the sky was split, crying rain for her outside.
Hearing the scream, Nicholas came rushing in.
"What in the lord name is happening-"
But before he could even say a word—He froze, too.
"Jesus Christ..." was all he could say.
The world had stopped for a brief and painful moment for Diana, initiating a slow and painful countdown to an end.
And then, only death remained. After all, isn't death just the bitter fate no one can escape? No matter what you do, death is the conclusion humanity has to painfully embrace. And Ken was no exception. Ken simply died. He lived in terror and died in pain.
But...
"Maybe...he's safe somewhere else?"
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