Alexander Carson trudged through the gray morning mist, backpack slung over one shoulder, hood pulled low over his eyes. The streets were quiet except for the occasional honk of a car and the distant bark of a dog. Most people avoided him without noticing he had become almost invisible in the eyes of the world.
At school, the pattern never changed. The same sneers, the same shoves, the same laughter at his expense. Brandon and his cousins, the sons of his uncle, seemed to take pleasure in finding new ways to humiliate him. Today was no different.
"Hey, Carson! Did you forget your homework again?" Brandon jeered, shoving him into a locker. The metallic clang echoed down the hallway.
Alexander gritted his teeth, pain shooting through his shoulder, but he didn't respond. Arguing only gave them more ammunition.
From the other side of the hallway, he saw Elara, his younger sister, smiling nervously. She had managed to slip past their attention today. His heart ached—he wished the world could be gentler for her. She deserved to be free from this constant harassment.
He quietly approached her after class.
"Are you okay?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
Elara nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm fine. Thanks for… you know."
Alexander forced a small smile. "Always."
At home, life didn't get any easier. His uncle, the man who had taken over his father's business after the tragic car accident that claimed his parents, treated him as though he were a burden.
"You should be grateful, Alex," his uncle said one evening, scolding him for dropping a stack of papers. "I'm the one keeping you alive after your father's death. You should count yourself lucky!"
Luck. Alexander had learned that gratitude didn't protect him from beatings or insults. His cousins, thinking they were above him, tormented him at every opportunity, while his uncle turned a blind eye or, worse, blamed him.
Yet, Alexander never retaliated, not fully. He had learned to pick his battles carefully. His role in life, as far as he understood it, was to protect Elara. Even if it meant being the target. Even if it meant enduring humiliation and pain.
After dinner, he escaped to his sanctuary: his bedroom. Posters of fantasy landscapes, shelves crowded with novels, and a computer glowing softly in the corner. Gaming was the only time he felt in control. In the games, he wasn't weak. He wasn't bullied. He wasn't invisible. He could make choices, fight, and survive.
He stared at the ceiling and thought to himself what an old man had told him long ago "you should try to seek for a change"
Alexander laughed softly, bitterly. "Change… if only life worked that way."
Unable to tear himself from the comforting glow of his familiar routines. But the feeling lingered—the strange pull of something beyond the gray walls of reality.
As he lay in bed that night, listening to the distant sounds of his uncle's household, he thought of Elara sleeping in the next room. He thought of the bruises on his arms, the mocking laughter in the halls, the sting of being utterly powerless. And he wondered, not for the first time, if there was a world where he could be more than just a target, more than just a protector.
Outside his window, the rain continued to fall, washing the streets clean. And somewhere in the depths of his heart, Alexander Carson made a silent promise: one day, he would rise above all this. One day, he would protect those he loved without fear.
And maybe… just maybe… the strange game sitting quietly on his desk could be the first step toward that change.