A global pandemic hits the world and the illness infects 51% of the population. The infected start developing supernatural abilities, which are also passed down to their offspring. Those with animalistic features are immediately singled out and treated horribly.
Isamu Yamamoto is among the first generation born with supernatural abilities. He leads a troubled childhood and eventually ends up working for a shady businessman named Atsushi Murakami.
The cult known as “Splinters of God” (SOG for short) pops up and aims to explain this phenomenon. Supernatural abilities are dubbed "splinters" by the public.
Mirai City is created to be an artificial testing ground for new splinter-related laws and products. It is also the headquarters of the Freedom Company, the city's biggest investor. The SOG takes a clear stance against them and declares the company to be the devil.
A young couple joins the Splinters of God. They're convinced to spend a lot of money there to support the cause & multiply to create more splinters. Shortly after, Shiro Kurosawa is born.
Mirai City has a system that taxes citizens more or less depending on the type of splinter they have. Those with a "b-type" splinter are among the most heavily taxed and are socially ostracized on top of that due to their "beastly" features and abilities. A young Hitomi Takeda grows up in this climate.
Atsushi Murakami messes with the wrong people and dies. Luckily Yuu Murakami, his adopted son, is there to step up and take over the organization. After all, that's what he was prepared for all his life.
Shiro Kurosawa discovers that he can stop time, much to the delight of his parents and the priests of the SOG.
A young boy dressed in a hospital gown and sporting a huge head wound is found by Isamu. He is taken in to the organization after Murakami discovers that the boy cannot die. The boy becomes "Partycrasher" and is sent on dangerous missions that Murakami doesn't want to waste his other staff on.
The SOG sucks more and more money out of Shiro's parents. His father's gambling addiction doesn't help either. They end up borrowing money from Murakami, who asks to borrow Shiro in the meantime. He offers Shiro to do jobs for him to pay off the debt quicker, since his parents don't seem to be in a hurry. Shiro moves into one of Murakami's apartment complexes, where he meets Partycrasher.
The two boys develop a friendship. Shiro is often tasked to go on missions with Crasher and collect his lifeless body. He starts noticing the strange and often abusive treatment Crasher receives from Murakami. Meanwhile, Murakami starts up a toxic relationship with Eiko.
Hitomi enters the Purpose Program with the goal to improve the public's perception and treatment of her fellow b-types. She befriends some people who are especially down on their luck and does what she can to help. She even goes the extra mile for some.
Shiro begins questioning Partycrasher's backstory, which mostly consists of things he was told by Murakami as Crasher doesn't seem to remember anything. After prying enough, he manages to convince Crasher to try and find his mother, who must be missing him like crazy. They get her current address with Eiko's help and Shiro even helps his friend prepare for the meeting.
It does not go well. Shiro and Crasher are on the run and Murakami goes to collect them. Isamu is consumed by guilt and ends his own life.
Shiro wants to escape for good, but Crasher's spirit is broken and he has no hope that they would succeed if they tried again. After a long back and forth, Shiro runs away on his own, leaving Crasher his old phone so they could at least talk to each other. The plan is simple: snitch to the authorities, get police protection and land Murakami in jail forever. In the night of his escape, Shiro pays his parents one last visit.
Shiro agrees to enter the Purpose Program during his court trial. Hitomi is assigned to keep an eye on him at first, but they become friends soon. Meanwhile, the police is starting to investigate Murakami.
Murakami hires a replacement for Shiro, although he doesn't really mesh well with Crasher. Nothing really meshes well after Shiro managed to escape. Murakami is too preoccupied with his slow descent into alcoholism to do something about it.
Shiro and Hitomi are close friends now, but he hasn't forgotten about Crasher. They keep in contact using the phone Shiro gave him. He's still trying to convince Crasher to escape, but that is now even harder because he's one of the main suspects investigated by the police.
Murakami's drug abuse is getting worse and the whole organisation is falling apart at the seams. His tenants leave en masse, knowing that he won't go after them anymore.
Hitomi is assigned to the Purpose Program's Law Enforcement unit (LE). Shiro learns from her that the police has gathered enough evidence to raid Murakami's buildings. He intends to go there and get Crasher out before he's arrested.
I.
Isamu pushes against the door. A little bell above him signals his arrival as he enters the restaurant. Warm air and the smell of fast food hit him in the face, providing a hint of much-needed comfort. He doesn’t get too far before he reaches the back of the line that trails all the way to the cashier taking the orders. Isamu balances on his tiptoes to catch a glimpse at the colorful screens advertising all the different menu options while his hands juggle the warm coins in his pocket. Not enough for a full meal at an actual restaurant, but maybe enough for a burger and some soggy fries?
The bell rings out again behind him and a man walks past the customers waiting in line to talk directly to the cashier. Isamu is too busy to care, because he’s finally close enough to decipher the menu prices. Cold sweat runs down his back and he grips the coins tighter and tighter with each step he makes towards the cashier. He pulls a hand out of his pockets to nervously scratch an itch on his neck. The boy recoils at the white grime that has now appeared under his fingernails, wiping them on his jeans and using his sleeves to get rid of any remaining crumbs of dirt still left on his neck. It’s his turn in line now.
“Welcome to Boss Burger, may I take your order”, the cashier asks in a rehearsed melodic tone.
“I-” Isamu’s voice sounds like a stranger’s. He hasn’t used it in days. “What would be the, um, cheapest option you have?”
“Cheapest?”, the cashier asks, a bit too loud for his taste. But despite the medical mask on her face he can tell that she’s trying to shoot him an encouraging smile. No other worker is wearing one. “Cheapest would be 5,95 for the “Essential taste” burger. But…” She leans forward with a secretive glint in her eyes. A whisker, like a cat’s, pokes out behind her mask and she uses a gloved finger to push it back.
“...don’t you wanna dream a bit bigger? Your uncle’s paying for it, after all.”
Isamu’s head whips around to see who she’s pointing at. It’s the man who walked past him earlier, now sitting at a table in the back and waving at him with a friendly smile. Isamu’s thoughts are racing. Who is this man? Was he following him? Why is he claiming to be his uncle? Why is he claiming he’ll pay for his food? Isamu looks at the man, then at the cashier, then at the screens above her circling through slideshows of beautiful, tasty, yummy food. A growl escapes his stomach. He raises a hand and points to the “Double decker X-treme Special” menu.
The man’s irises are an unnatural shade of silver. A splinter, obviously. Isamu doesn’t pay attention to much more than that. He sits down across the man and begins destroying the burger, fries, salad and soft drink before him. No moment is wasted. He could flee the scene and switch faces at any moment if that man tries to pull anything weird. A few minutes later, the boy slows down as his hunger is finally satiated. Still, he shoves some remaining fries in his mouth and finally looks up to face the man.
“What do you want from me?”, Isamu asks.
“Not even a hello?”, the man answers. “Ah, kids these days.”
Isamu narrows his eyes at him and bites into another fry.
“A few years ago I caught a mysterious illness," the man begins. “It caused my cornea to just” - he makes a flicking motion with his fingers - “fall off my eyes. My iris followed soon after. You can imagine my shock.”
Isamu shrugs and swallows the fry.
“Doctors told me that my eyes were completely destroyed, that I’d be blind for life. But against all odds, everything grew back the way it was. Except for one difference.”, he points at his silver irises. “That was Year Zero. You were probably born around that time, weren’t you?”
“I know where splinters came from, old man.” Isamu wipes his mouth with his sleeve and reaches for the straw in his soda cup. “You obviously want something. What? Have you been following me?”
“Guilty”, the man jokingly throws up his hands. “But I was about to reach that part before you interrupted me. Now, where was I - eyes, yes. As you pointed out correctly, I gained a splinter that day. A splinter that allows me to look at people and see the exact extent of their powers.”
Isamu stops playing with the straw. If that is true, this man knows what he can do. And he’d always be able to point Isamu out in a crowd, no matter what face the latter was wearing. Is he a cop? Is this an undercover operation? But why would the man tell him all that if he was about to put handcuffs on him anyway? This is strange. He’s trying to build rapport with Isamu, for whatever reason. Maybe to get him to confess to something?
“It’s amazing to watch it in real time.”, the man comments and brings Isamu back to reality. The boy’s hand shoots up to his face and touches fur. All those nervous thoughts had subconsciously turned him into some kind of animal. Isamu scowls and reveals sharp teeth.
“If you’re the real deal, then tell me what I can do.”
“Of course. Your splinter allows you to change everything above, um, right above here.” The man raises a finger and draws an invisible, horizontal line right above Isamu’s collarbones. “Human heads, animal heads, even fantastical creatures and monsters. The genetic makeup stays the same though, that might pose a problem if you leave evidence at the scene. And, hm, I can see that holding a head is kind of like flexing a muscle for you, it causes great discomfort if you have to do it for an extended period of time. Shifting shape brings you relief. Interesting…change as the natural state of self.”
He was good. Isamu decided that it was now time for the ultimate question: “And what does my original face look like?”
The man furrows his brows a bit and leans in closer. His silver irises, now finally visible up close, seem to be made up of countless thin rings in various metallic shades. His pupils jump from tiny to huge, like a camera lens.
“I don’t see one. You’ve been changing faces since before you were born, haven’t you?”
Isamu nods. His parents had convinced the doctors that his “original face” was one of the handful of approved appearances they forced him to emulate. And so, it was written down in all of his files.
"Anyways. I won’t waste any more of your time, buddy.” The man reaches into his bag, pulls out a simple white envelope and gently slides it over to the boy sitting across him.
“What’s that?”
“Keycard to a hotel room, so you can bathe and sleep in a real bed for a change. And a bus ticket, so you can reach it before it gets dark. And …”, he lightly taps the envelope once, twice, three times. “...the business card of the guy paying for all this. You might wanna give him a call if you feel like saying thanks. There’s a phone in the room, so no excuses!”
The man wags his finger and winks. Isamu presses his lips together and fixates his gaze on the envelope in front of him. The words that the man had spoken earlier, “...if you leave evidence at the scene…”, echo in his head. This envelope is obviously the ticket to a shady, mysterious, potentially even dangerous world. Whoever’s behind this needs Isamu and his splinter for something and he’s willing to pay handsomely.
“Sure. Maybe I will”, the boy says and pockets the envelope. The man says goodbye, pays for the food and leaves.
II.
“Hello?”
Isamu is sitting on the freshly made bed, phone in one hand and the business card in the other. “Atsushi Murakami - real estate” it says in simple black letters.
“Murakami real estate, this is Hakoda speaking, how may I help?”
“Oh. Um. I met with a man earlier who gave me a card and a hotel room key. He said to call this number. I don’t know his name, but he had silver eyes.”
“Of course”, the woman on the other line says, “I’ll connect you.”
Click. Music. Isamu stands up and begins to pace around the room. The fluffy bathrobe he’s wearing brushes comfortably against his skin with every step. He passes the bathroom door and peers inside to check on his dirty clothes. He can’t wash them, but airing them out next to the open window might at least get rid of some of the smell. Click. The music stops.
“Good evening. The young Isamu Yamamoto, I presume?” The voice sounds like it belongs to a strict middle aged man, perhaps a teacher or the boss of a company. Not someone to be messed with either way.
“Uh, that’s me. Yes.” Isamu doesn’t bother asking how the man knows his name.
“My name is Atsushi Murakami, nice to meet you. Is the hotel room to your liking? If you get up early tomorrow, you may also enjoy the excellent breakfast buffet.”
“Yes. Thank you, um, sir. I wanted to ask - why all this?”
“That’s a matter best discussed in person. But I will say this: I know who you are, I know what you’re running from and I know how to put your talents to good use. If you’re interested in hearing more, join me for dinner tomorrow at the “Grandieux”, 8pm sharp. It’s not far from your hotel, so you’ll make it in time.”
“Oh.” Isamu needs a moment to think. “Should I … look a certain way so you’ll recognize me?”
“That would help tremendously. How about tan skin, blonde hair and green eyes?”
“Tan skin? I can do tan skin, but everything below my collar will stay pale. It might attract attention.”
“A valid concern.”, the man says, “You’re free to choose the skin, then. I look forward to meeting you, Yamamoto. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
Click.
III.
Isamu is woken up by a loud knocking at the door. It’s the cleaning service, he needs to leave. On his way down to the lobby he sees a sign advertising the opening hours of the breakfast buffet, but a quick look at the big golden clock on the wall tells him that he had already missed everything by a long shot. Hunger gnaws at his stomach and makes his limbs heavy. The coins in his pocket only allow for a tiny candy bar from the vending machine in the lobby and it’s far from filling. He tries pickpocketing someone in the streets, but he draws too much attention to himself, forcing him to flee and change faces in a hurry. The hours go by painfully slowly and all the comfort and relaxation from the previous night at the hotel fade with each step on the cold, hard pavement. Then the rain starts. Isamu spends the remaining time wandering around a shopping mall and sipping water from the bathroom faucets.
Finally 8pm arrives. He’s hungry, tired and every bone in his body aches for a place to lie down. Despite everything he steps into the bright golden light illuminating the restaurant from the outside. A man stands at a desk right by the entrance.
“Do you have a reservation?”
“Isamu Yamamoto. I’m supposed to meet Mr. Murakami at 8pm.”, Isamu replies and silently begs all heavenly forces above to not let the receptionist kick him out after catching a whiff of his clothes.
“Right this way.”
The receptionist leads him to a door labeled “staff only”. Isamu briefly imagines a room full of wizard magic sticks before he’s greeted with yet another dining area, smaller this time. The windows are covered by thick red curtains and the door closing behind him seems to shut out much of the noise from the rest of the restaurant. The receptionist shows him to a table near the end of the room. That’s where Atsushi Murakami is sitting, Isamu presumes. He is a middle aged man with black hair and a prominent mole on his face. His attire, consisting of a suit and tie, is professional and clean. Another chair at the desk is occupied by a similarly clothed boy, about the age of six or seven maybe. The boy has blonde hair, green eyes and tan skin.
“Welcome, Yamamoto.”, Murakami says and reaches out to shake Isamu’s hand. “Sit down please. Are you hungry?”
Isamu nods. Murakami hands him the menu. It’s printed on heavy paper and there are no prices next to the fancy sounding menu items. A server appears out of nowhere, notebook in hand. Isamu raises an eyebrow and looks at Murakami, who nods encouragingly. Isamu orders. Out of the corner of his eye he can feel the boy staring at him.
“As you already know, my name is Atsushi Murakami. I own Murakami real estate, which is on its way to become one of the top players in Mirai City. But the real money doesn’t come from renting houses. It’s renting splinters.”
“Renting.”, Isamu says. “Renting to whom?”
“Anyone and everyone who needs a very specific solution to a very specific problem.”
“What “problem” would you use someone like me for?”, Isamu asks. Murakami nods.
“Shapeshifters are rare, even partial ones like you. You can be used for anything that involves a face - someone that the police will search for fruitlessly. If you grow up a bit, you’d make a menacing bank robber even.”
There it is. The confirmation that this really was something criminal. Something dangerous. Something that could potentially get him in prison, or worse, killed. All the signs were there, Isamu just needed confirmation.
“And what if that is not the life for me?”, he asks. Murakami shrugs and cuts into his steak.
“We all make choices. You can choose to go back to the streets, without parents, education or even a roof over your head. You can choose to report me to the police, but I’ll always have more dirt on you than you have on me. Or you can choose to leave everything behind and start working for me. My real estate business isn’t just for show - I’ll find you a nice place suited to your tastes and you’ll never have to sleep outside again.”
A woman approaches Murakami and leans down to whisper something in his ear. He nods and stands up. “Excuse me, Yamamoto, I need to step out for a second. Don’t let Yuu talk your ear off!”
Isamu and the boy, presumably Yuu, are left alone at the table. He looks at the kid and tries to force a smile, but the boy’s stare doesn’t waver. His eyes look tired and wide awake at the same time. It reminds Isamu of the kid in his class who always walked around in hoodies and long-sleeved shirts no matter the weather.
“Was that your dad?”, he asks the boy. The latter tilts his head for a second, then nods.
“He’s absolutely loaded, isn’t he?” The boy just looks at him silently.
“With money, I mean. Lots of money.”, Isamu adds. The boy understands and nods.
“Damn. Your room is probably stuffed to the brim with all the latest games and toys, huh?” The boy furrows his brows and shakes his head. This one sided conversation is making Isamu sweat nervously, and the boy’s piercing green gaze and overall miserable appearance doesn’t help. He never was good with kids, especially sad ones.
“Hey, how about this: What’s your favorite animal?”, he asks the boy.
“Lion.”, he answers with a thick accent.
“Alright”, Isamu says, “Let me show you a magic trick then. Close your eyes.”
The boy obeys.
“Now open them.”
The boy opens his eyes, wider and wider as he realizes what has happened: Isamu has changed his head into a lion’s, complete with a bushy brown mane that hangs over his shoulders.
Finally the boy’s stone cold expression shifts.
He smiles.
< Back to timeline
In the year [REDACTED], the entire world was hit by what was understood to be a global pandemic. People all over the world, from megacities to remote villages, suddenly developed strange symptoms that stumped scientists everywhere. They couldn't isolate a virus, let alone cure the illness in any way. And so, around 51% of the global population suffered horribly for a few months, until suddenly the sickness disappeared as quickly as it manifested.
Just when the world was about to breathe a sigh of relief, it was hit with the next historical event: the same people that had previously contracted the illness began developing all sorts of supernatural features and abilities – all at once. People were suddenly breathing fire, changing into animals, moving objects with their mind or manipulating the elements. The chaos this caused on a global scale was immense, especially since the economy was already ravaged by the preceding pandemic. No one knew what to do. But the treatment of the "people with special abilities" was universally awful. In some parts of the world, they were executed for being "demons", "witches" or "evil spirits" or hunted for their exotic scales, horns and fur. Some were even eaten in an attempt to gain their "magic abilities".
Other parts of the world used laws and social pressure to push them towards less populated areas "where they could cause less harm". New cities formed, populated almost entirely by people with "splinters", a word initially used by a strange cult that popped up right around the pandemic and claimed to have all the answers for these strange phenomena. The cities claimed to be safe havens for people with splinters, but could never fool their actual inhabitants: It wasn't them who were supposed to be safe, but the "normal" people outside and far away from the scary, violent and unpredictable beasts. One of those cities, an artificial behemoth ruled by a single tech company, later became known as "Mirai City". It attracted splinters from all over the world by promising housing and work in exchange for participating in the scientific research that was constantly conducted in the city. New laws, currencies, technologies and medications were first tested there on a small scale before being rolled out into the world. And it worked wonderfully, if you believed Mirai City's official press.
But if you asked someone like Jacqueline Bote, the feathered sixty-something woman sitting on the side of the road with the rest of the undesirable population, you'd get an entirely different picture. You see, people like Jacqueline were lured into Mirai City and promised the world. But for one of the first test subjects of the "Freedom chip", a new technology that was designed to temporarily suppress splinters, this dream ended quickly. Jacqueline suffered horribly from the side effects and chose to prematurely end her participation in the experiment. And so, according to her contract, the Freedom company took away her housing, medical care and any other privilege they used to lure her into the city. Unable to work and unable to return to her original home, she found herself on the streets of Mirai City. Even worse, the side effects of the experiments never really went away. What was intended to be a temporary suppression of her ability to sprout wings and fly became permanent. Now, her aging skin just keeps growing itchy feathers that quickly fall out and litter the path behind her.
"We use'ta be someone", she says, taking a puff from a little pain relief rolled up in crinkly paper and gesturing at the people around her. "And them freedom fucks jus' threw us away." A young woman with green skin and a Purpose Program jacket approaches, waving her phone around. "Ah, Hitomi darling, right on time.", Jacqueline says and slowly gets up from the little pile of paper she had been using to protect her aching bones from the asphalt. "He has a plan for you", the pamphlet on the top of the pile says, "You are a splinter of God."
The two women head into the nearest store. Jacqueline hands Hitomi some coins, the old fashioned way of paying that no shop on this side of town accepts anymore. Why should they? The MiraiPay app is much easier, safer and faster anyway.
< Back to timeline
Takumi Hoga was twelve years old when he first entered the ring. What else was he to do, really? He had just found out that he would be held back another grade again. Usually kids like him would hear the same old "You're not stupid, you're just lazy" speech over and over again, but not Takumi. He knew what the teachers thought of him. The current ones, that is. The teachers at the last two schools he was expelled from were probably relieved to never waste another thought on him again, after what he did. Bit a child here, broke a bone there. Bruises. Bloody noses. "Beast types", teachers would sneer whenever Takumi caused another "incident". Other than that, nobody paid much attention to him, even in class. You see, Takumi was born with abnormally large and abnormally many teeth very similar to a shark's. Whenever he opened his mouth to say something, teachers and students alike would cringe at his impeded speech, the latter even making fun of it in front of the former. So Takumi just stopped speaking altogether. His grades steadily worsened. His job prospects looked bleaker and bleaker each year. His parents didn't care. His mother was busy with drugs and whatever affair she had going on currently and his father often left for "work" for days at a time, leaving his son to fend for himself more often than not. There was nothing in his life that could've prevented Takumi from entering the ring.
On that fateful day after school Takumi was prowling the streets, homework and upcoming tests being the last thing on his mind. Some kid, a few years older than him, approached him. A fellow "beast", with sharp teeth and blue scales on his skin. He was wearing a cool leather jacket and expensive sunglasses. Takumi liked them.
"Hey, buddy. You look bored.", the guy said.
Takumi nodded. He was bored.
"I know a place where kids like us can have fun and earn cash on the side. Interested?"
"Like a job?", Takumi asked.
"Yeah, but more fun.", the guy answered.
Takumi was unsure. His teacher had told him that he'd never have a good job with his lousy grades and long attack record. "No respectable company will want to hire a beast like you.", she said. So how come this guy now wanted him for a job? And a "fun" one, at that?
"What do I have to do?", Takumi asked.
Everything moved quickly after that. The guy introduced him to "the boss", a man in his thirties who loved expensive food and loud cars. He even let Takumi sit on the passenger seat and choose the music they listened to on their drive to the ring. When they arrived, Takumi was handed a simple white shirt and shorts which reminded him of the clothes he had to wear in gym class. "Now all you gotta do", the boss said, "is beat up this guy over there." Another beast was in the ring, not much older than Takumi. He waved towards the excited crowd beyond the cage that surrounded the ring.
"Beat him up?", Takumi asked, "I'm allowed to do that?"
"Yeah. Beat him, scratch him, bite him, do whatever you want until he taps out or you hear the alarm."
"What if I have to tap out first?", Takumi asked. The boss grinned and handed him a tiny plastic bag with some powder inside. "I don't think you will."
The guy from before didn't lie: This was fun. Takumi didn't even break a sweat during his first fight, knocking the guy out cold. The second fight was against an older girl who transformed into a wolf, Takumi grabbed her nape with his teeth and shook her until she tapped out. At the end of the evening the boss gave him his payment and drove him back. He handed the boy a phone and said he'd text him if he had another fight for him lined up. Takumi stuffed the phone and the money in his pockets and went to buy himself a leather jacket and sunglasses.
Takumi Hoga was thirteen years old when he adopted the stage name "Armageddon". The boss had turned him into a rising star in the local business. Bets were made on whether Armageddon won or lost the fight and the boss always gave him a cut of the winnings which Takumi would spend on food, video games and clothes. Sponsors would sometimes pay him directly to write messages and contact details on his white shirt in permanent marker, displaying them in the ring for all to see. After the fight, the boss would get him cleaned up and drive him home. Takumi then spent the next day eagerly awaiting a message from the boss. On nights without fights Takumi felt horrible, writhing around in his bed, sweating bullets and sometimes even throwing up. But as soon as a new fight came up and Takumi got his hands on that powder the boss always gave him beforehand, the world was alright again. He felt light but focused at the same time, fearless, excited and full of energy. He had finally found something he was good at. And he loved doing it.
Takumi Hoga was fourteen years old when he almost died in the ring. The boss didn’t tell him beforehand that the reptile-looking beast he was about to fight had venom. Armageddon knocked out his opponent, but then sunk to the floor, foaming at the mouth, breathing raspily. “This wouldn’t have happened if you just killed the fucker before he bit you”, the boss hissed into his ear. After some back and forth the manager of the reptile guy decided to hand over some antivenom. Even with that, Takumi felt horrible for days afterwards, unable to move the bitten arm. But when the boss texted him again the week after, he jumped at the opportunity to get back in the ring.
Takumi Hoga was fifteen years old when he fought his first adult opponent in the ring. He was hesitant, but the boss said that nobody wanted to pay to see Armageddon wipe the floor with boring ol' kids who couldn't even fight back. "There's just no money in it", the boss said, "and you wanna keep making money, don't you?" When Armageddon entered the ring, he saw a young man in front of him. Some kind of fish beast with claws and glowing spots on his skin. "Please", the man whispered, "I have debts. I need to get out of here. Please just forfeit, I need the money. I really need it." Armageddon shook his head. "Please", the man said, "Don't hurt me." Armageddon was fifteen years old when he took his first life in the ring.
Armageddon was sixteen years old when he first tried to leave the business. He kept having nightmares about the man he killed and the side effects of the powder started getting to him. But he craved it more and more and that tiny little packet the boss always gave him just didn't cut it anymore. He would've just bought himself more if he knew what it was. The boss wouldn't tell him. So one day, Armageddon stopped answering texts from the boss. He prowled the streets instead, picking fights, doing anything to distract from the withdrawal symptoms plaguing him. Eventually, he collapsed on the street and woke up again in the hospital. Police were called, his parents were called, social services were called. Lots of big words were thrown around that he didn't understand. Negligence. Addiction. Custody. Takumi Hoga was sixteen years old when he was removed from his parents and placed in temporary care with social services. But he didn't stay there very long. They wanted him to go to rehab, anger management classes, school. They took his phone and his hard earned money and placed him on a strict schedule with an early curfew. And Takumi tried. He really did. But he just couldn't live the life everyone else was expecting of him. Takumi Hoga was sixteen years old when he escaped back to the only life he knew how to live well.
Armageddon was seventeen years old when he fought “Razortooth”, a masked volunteer from the crowd. It was a rare occasion. Usually the boss decided who would fight him and the fights would be advertised in the business days in advance. Sometimes the book would drive him to private fights in some rich guy’s basement where Armageddon would fight and kill exotic animals, other beast-types or just random people who probably wronged that rich guy somehow. But tonight was open cage night in the ring, so whichever brave soul thought they could kick Armageddon’s ass was allowed to. Razortooth was a green-skinned beast wearing a short-sleeved hoodie and a ski mask. Armageddon immediately noticed that she fought wildly different from what he was used to. When you spend a lot of time in the ring, you tend to adopt a certain style. Flashy. Violent. Ruthless. But Razortooth didn’t seem to be here for the show. She dodged a left hook and rushed him, wrapping an arm around his neck.
“Hey”, she whispered into his ear as he struggled to get free.
“Hey”, he whispered back. He then punched her in the back, but the angle was weird, so it didn’t hit as hard.
“You want out?”, she whispered and shifted her weight, letting him stumble backwards towards her leg and kicking him in the back of his knee.
“I can’t”, he whispered back.
“He’s got you on Flick? That powder?”
“Yeah. Powder.”
“Alright. Sink to the floor and punch me in the kidney.”, she whispered.
“Why?”
“I’ll slip you my number and then I’ll forfeit.”
“Why?”
“I wanna help you get out.”
So Armageddon sank to the floor, then used her lowered defense to punch her. He then grabbed her and pushed her against the cage wall. Her arms flew up and he noticed something brushing against the pockets of his shorts. Razortooth forfeited.
Takumi Hoga was eighteen years old when he joined the Purpose Program. It was a long back and forth with Hitomi, the beast who had fought him in the ring under the name “Razortooth”. He thought about calling her for weeks after the fight, but something always came up. When he finally did, he didn’t expect her to be actually serious about helping him. But she was. They met up in secret and just talked for a bit.
“Are you a cop?”, he asked.
“No.”, she said, “Cops won’t help much in a situation like this.” Takumi nodded.
It felt great to talk about all this to someone. Hitomi never judged him, even when he talked about how he enjoyed hurting people in the ring. Or when he told her how he once woke up almost choking on his own vomit the night after a big fight (and big dosage of Flick). She showed him where to get Flick so he wasn’t dependent on the boss for it anymore. But she also told him what the drug actually did to his body, how he was cutting his life short if he continued consuming it. Takumi didn’t wanna die. But he also didn’t know what to do with his life if it wasn’t in the ring. Hitomi then offered to go get him tested, no strings attached. Takumi remembered how he did get tested once in elementary school, but not much was revealed there besides “big teeth” and “stronger than his peers”. The tests of the Purpose Program were different, though. It really felt like the scientists were interested in him, in what he could do. Apparently he was able to breathe underwater all this time, it just required a little surgery to open the gills in his neck. The first time he dove into the pool at the research center was heavenly, it was like he had discovered a piece of himself that was always hidden away from him. He was also strong, which he already knew, and had a lot of endurance. And the cherry on top was his excellent sense of smell underwater. He could locate a drop of blood on the other side of the pool while blindfolded.
“Water rescue” was the verdict. A job. For him.
He didn’t take it. He was scared. He relapsed multiple times, going back to the ring on nights where his mind just wouldn’t stop racing. But instead of the boss, it was Hitomi who picked him up. “Recovery isn’t linear”, she’d say. “But if you wanna enter the program, you gotta commit, Takumi.”
“I don’t wanna be Takumi anymore.”, he said, “But I also don’t wanna be Armageddon.”
“So who do you wanna be?”, she asked.
< Back to timeline
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