The boy from the grey was astounded by what he was seeing. What happened to the world? And who was this floating man wearing the tightest clothes he had ever seen? The man's companions wore equally strange outfits, and their words came to him as incomprehensible noise. There was too much to take in at once.
Unfamiliar place. Unfamiliar people. How did he get here?
He had read many things, but nothing that could help him now. The boy felt lost, and a new emotion bubbled up inside him. He felt small.
He breathed the ocean, and his mind grew fluid and clear. Thoughts circled like a well-oiled machine.
They seemed wary of him—but why?
He turned and understood. Behind him lay devastation. Blood, flesh, and shattered concrete were scattered across the ground. A metal army with red, glowing eyes stood in ruin, their bodies wreathed in smoke.
Most importantly, there was a pool of grey that shimmered faintly. The boy's eyes widened. The familiar grey—it was still here. Did he come from there?
They must have been in the middle of a battle when he arrived. The fact that he came from the grey pool was attention grabbing enough that he had drawn every eye. The boy decided to make himself as unthreatening as possible. His strength lay in anonymity.
He breathed the forest—the first breath he had ever learned, and the one he knew best. Before his death, he had reached the second level of mastery over it.
He became aware of every fiber of his body—every muscle, every drop of blood, every strand of hair. With that awareness came control. He shrank his shoulders to look smaller. His eyes softened with weariness. His face rounded slightly, gaining a trace of childlike innocence. Only minor changes, but enough to matter.
"H-hello," the boy said. His voice was small and hesitant.
The tension in front of him melted. The people's shoulders eased. Their weapons lowered slightly. The floating man smiled. While still wary, they no longer saw him as an immediate threat for some reason.
Unfortunately, the same could be said for the metal army behind him. Only, they took it as a chance to take advantage of him.
A steel arm wrapped around his neck, locking him in a crushing hold. A red weapon pressed against his temple.
"Move back! Or I will kill the boy!" the robot barked in a language he did not know, though the tone made the meaning clear.
"Let's take it easy, Professor Evil. He's just a kid!" the flying man shouted back, hands raised.
"Just a kid my ass! He came from that grey shit! I'm doing you a favor by taking him!"
The boy could feel the air tighten with hostility. He breathed the mountain, hardening his skin to stone. He hoped it would be enough for whatever the weapon was.
"You don't want to do this, Professor. Let the boy go."
That was enough waiting. The boy did not destroy the Blackwells by being passive. He breathed the sun, and his muscles filled with heat and power. With a single strike, he broke free—the steel arm tore from its socket and flew aside.
The metal army took that as a cue to open fire. A bullet hit his leg, sending the boy to the floor bleeding.
Before more bullets could find him, the flying man darted forward, shielding the boy with his body. A woman in blue blurred past, faster than lightning, and whisked him to safety. An armored man charged ahead, unleashing explosions that tore through the robots.
The boy watched it all in awe. He breathed the ocean again, sharpening his thoughts. He wanted to remember this moment—the first time in his life that others had fought to protect him. After a lifetime of servitude, it felt alien. Beautiful.
In that moment, he unlocked the second level of the ocean breath.
Time slowed.
He saw the flying man holding the line, the armored warrior blazing through smoke, the woman in blue smiling at him with warmth that felt like sunlight. The boy knew that he would remember this moment forever.
The boy felt a new emotion blossom within him.
Hope.
The boy decided he liked this place.
The woman in blue rushed him into a strange building that smelled sharp and sterile. The boy wrinkled his nose as people surrounded him.
"Hello, kid. Can you tell me your name?" a nurse asked with a smile.
The boy did not understand her words, so he simply asked, "What are you doing?"
Around him, the nurses moved quickly.
"Unidentified young male, estimated age 17 years. Brought to the emergency room for penetrating gunshot wound to the right anterior thigh. Gunshot was noted today March 20, 2016 at around 10:30 AM." The woman in blue spoke expertly, as if she had done this many times.
"I had to slow down a bit so he wouldn't get whiplash," she continued. "He also doesn't seem to speak English."
"Thank you Zephyrine," the nurse said. "Is there anything else?"
Zephyrine looked a bit hesitant, and pulled the nurse near. "He seems to be an Enhanced. He's shown superhuman strength earlier."
The nurse was only a little bit surprised.
"Thanks for the heads up. We'll try to give him a private room in case he shows—"
"Nurse Jackie! You should see this." The nurse trying to clean the wound took Jackie's attention from talking to Zephyrine.
The boy's skin had turned forest green. His breathing deepened, rhythmic and steady. Before their eyes, the wound began to knit together slowly, muscle and skin slowly sealing as if time itself reversed.
A quiet murmur swept the room. Phones were already raised, lenses glinting in the sterile light.
Zephyrine sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
"Well," she said, watching the boy's skin return to normal, "there goes his anonymity."
The woman in blue had been watching him closely ever since they brought him here. She seemed kind, though her energy was like a sharp wind — restless, fast. She reminded him of those who breathed the sky.
He had finished the food they gave him. He recognized the chicken, rice, and some sort of vegetable and ate them without issue. But the yellow… fruit? Or was it a pastry? The boy held it in his hands, inspecting it. He had never seen anything like it before. Then he took a bite.
"No! You're supposed to peel it first! Have you never seen a banana before?"
The woman was beside him in an instant.
The boy tilted his head and swallowed the bite — skin and all. His expression twisted in confusion and regret.
"You peel it like this, okay?" The woman took the banana gently from his hands, stripped away the skin, and handed it back.
He tried again, and this time the taste agreed with him. He finished the rest in three eager bites.
"Oh wow, you even ate the brown part. I usually throw those out," she said with a small laugh.
The boy didn't understand her words, but he recognized faces. She was happy for some reason. He smiled back, though it felt unfamiliar on his lips.
Then his attention shifted to the drink. He stared at it, fascinated, as though it were some mysterious artifact. It was cylindrical, colored red, and cold. The woman looked at him curiously, as if waiting for his next move.
First, he tried peeling it. When that failed, he fiddled with the lid, frowning in concentration. Deciding brute strength would solve the problem, he pressed harder — until the can burst open, spraying soda everywhere.
The boy froze, then licked his lips, tasting the sweetness. Finding it pleasant, he raised what was left of the can and drank the rest. Unfortunately, there was little left. He started licking everywhere the sweet liquid had landed.
From the corner of the room, the woman muttered, "You know, that one's on me."
A sound came from the window — a soft tap-tap-tap. The woman turned, and her face brightened when she saw two figures outside. She opened the glass to let them in.
"Hey Zeph. You alright?" said the one with the cape. He was the one who had shielded him from the metal constructs, the boy noted.
"Valorwing. Good to see you," Zephyrine replied. "I should be asking you that. Did you get the Professor?"
Valorwing shook his head, his cape rippling like liquid shadow. "Alas, no. The villain eluded us. Those were but puppets—no true body among them."
He looked at the drenched boy licking his arm. "What misadventure has transpired here?"
The woman pointed at him, smiling sheepishly. "That's… kind of my fault. He opened the can incorrectly. I didn't stop him."
"Opened a can… incorrectly?" Valorwing repeated, brows furrowed in bemused dignity.
"Yes. He's weird. Doesn't speak English. Doesn't know what a banana is. And now he's blowing up cans! So yes, weird."
"Correction," said the other man — Impact, the one in armor. His voice came out monotone and precise, with a faint metallic resonance. "Subject displays anomalous consumption patterns. Attempted ingestion of processed aluminum."
The boy was biting the can to get more of that sweet drink. He had never tasted anything so sweet before.
"Kid, no!"
The woman blurred across the room. One moment she was far away; the next she was beside him, snatching the can from his hands. He stared at her, wide-eyed. She scolded him again in her strange language. He didn't understand her words, but her tone was easy to read.
Valorwing and Impact exchanged looks while Zephyrine continued scolding the boy, who only stared back with wide, unbothered eyes.
"Well, he's interesting," Valorwing murmured, folding his arms with knightly calm.
"Affirmative," Impact replied. "Entity exhibits a rare emergence protocol. Origin: Grey Pool. Probability of further anomaly—high."
The two stood there for a moment, watching their friend lose an argument with the boy who didn't talk.
"What are we to do with him?" Valorwing finally asked.
"We will monitor," Impact answered. "Observation priority: maximum. Individuals manifesting from the Grey Pool remain subjects of interest."
Valorwing's smile curved faintly. "Was that a command, or counsel?"
Impact's visor flickered. "Both."
The boy was taken to a series of tests. Physical and mental. He had done something like this before, when he was a child. It was that morning he was marked for disposal, and he regained his eye. The boy touched that eye. Even now, it felt alien. It looked exactly like his other eye, but it always felt like it had a mind of its own.
The boy tried telling them things. That he wanted to leave. That he felt trapped. That he wanted that sweet drink again. So far, he had succeeded in expressing only one of those things.
The boy noted that there was always at least one person watching him as he drank from another can. Sometimes it was that woman in blue. Sometimes, it was people wearing black and white clothing. Lots of times, it was the armored man.
He was slowly beginning to understand some of their words. He knew "yes" and "no." He knew how to ask for the "outhouse," and how to ask for "soda." He liked that word — soda. He liked the drink even more. They had shown him how to open the can properly. Ingenious, really. He wanted to meet the person who had invented it.
However, it still sometimes exploded even if he opened it properly. He still licked the spilled drink after that of course. The boy learned not to waste food or drink. Although the people scolded him for that for some reason.
He also learned many people's names over time. He learned that the woman in blue was named Zephyrine. The armored man was Impact, and the flying man who visited once was named Valorwing.
During this time, he called upon the Breath of the Ocean. Mastery of the first breath made one's body and mind fluid — flexible, adaptable. It sharpened the mind, allowed learning to come quickly. When he reached the second level, the world itself slowed for him. Every motion became vivid, every sound precise.
It was a wonderful feeling.
In his old world, there had been nothing worth remembering. Here, everything was. People smiled when they spoke. They looked at him when they talked. They talked to him — something no one had ever done before.
He had spent years surrounded by others who were little more than husks. Days of silence. A life of obedience.
Now, words filled the air, and for the first time, he realized how much he had craved them.
He tried speaking to anyone who would listen — nurses, guards, other patients. He wanted to find the flaw, the crack that would reveal this as a dream. But the more he spoke, the more real everything seemed.
One word they asked him often was name. He understood what they meant, but he had no answer. He had been called many things — boy,slave,you — but never by a name of his own.
After hours of searching for the right words, he told them the only thing that felt true.
"Butcher from the Grey," he said.
Impact, who had asked the question, recorded the phrase silently and left the room.
The boy sat there afterward, empty. He had spoken truth, yet it felt hollow. He had no name. No place. Once, he had been trapped in the Blackwell compound. Now, he was trapped here — a cage painted white instead of iron.
The people were kind, but kindness did not mean freedom.
He wanted to see the world. The books he had once read had told him stories of it, though they were old, ancient even. He wanted to see if those words had lied.
The Breath of the Ocean kept his memory sharp. He remembered the faces, the routines — and the guards' rotation schedules.
When the moment came, he used what he had learned.
"Duncan," he said to the guard near the end of his shift. "Me go bathroom?" He spoke in broken English.
The guard sighed, tired and careless. "Make it quick."
The boy went into the restroom and closed the door. The small window above the stall was meant for ventilation. For him, it was something else.
With the second level of the Ocean's Breath, his body flowed like water. Bones and flesh bent in ways they shouldn't. He slipped through the window easily.
Outside, he realized he was three floors up.
He summoned another breath — the Breath of the Sky. Reflexes like lightning. Movements as light as the wind. He leapt from ledge to ledge and landed softly on the ground.
He was free.
He looked up. The moon was smaller here. The constellations were unfamiliar — new stars where old ones had vanished.
A reminder that this was not his old world anymore.
He smiled, barely, and disappeared into the jungle of concrete and steel.