(The Nameless One Soliloquy)
Nearly every individual in this world possesses a unique ability known as a Trigger. The first sighting was a man with spider-based abilities in 1962. No one knew what created this power, so most simply chose to believe that our God gave us these powers, while some believed it was a dormant mutation within our bodies awakening. To me, it's the product of two supreme laws of unexplainable nature known as Absurdity and Blessings.
Soon, as time went by, eighty percent of today's population possessed a Trigger. These powers manifested during the early stages of puberty, ranging from elemental manipulation to superhuman strength—some even defied the laws of physics. These Triggers became an everyday basis of our society. Firefighters would deploy water users to help tame the flames, schools offered Trigger lessons to help the young generation master their abilities, and there are some parents with abilities who can help heal their children.
This gift was truly a blessing that was given to us, meant to save lives. But sadly, every blessing comes with its Absurdity. I've seen it—watched as the same hands that doused fires turned to steal, as the strength meant to lift burdens crushed innocence instead. Crime rates skyrocketed as people abused their abilities, leading to the rise of a new profession—superheroes.
Government-sanctioned and idolized by the public, heroes stood as the last line of defense against the lawless. The public ranked, celebrated, and entrusted them with maintaining peace. Yet, not all stories were glorious. Some were tragedies with unhappy outcomes.
Within Golden City lie many worthwhile landmarks to visit: the Star Penthouse, Fun Fun Theme Park, and most importantly... Ironhold Penitentiary. A place where I was trapped, underneath a prison of flames. It's a cage of iron and despair, where the echoes of my own power mock me—those eyes, those cursed eyes that shifted my fate. I wonder sometimes if the Absurdity is not just in the world, but in me, a boy stripped of a name, left to rot with the weight of a hero's death on my soul.
(Narrative Speaking)
Deep within the high-security prison block of Ironhold Penitentiary, far outside Golden City, a lone figure sat tied to a chair in the darkest cell, wrists bound behind his back, eyes wrapped in thick bandages. His long, messy white hair draped over his shoulders, with a bushy, unkempt beard. The other inmates whispered about him—some in fear, others in twisted admiration.
But something unexpected happened.
"Hey… did you hear? A hero is here," said a random inmate.
"No way. Who'd be stupid enough to come down here?" said another random inmate.
This wasn't just any hero; this was the number ten hero in the world. She wore red and blue spandex with many golden circuits on her uniform. Long crimson hair followed with each step as her molten golden eyes stared toward the lone figure's cell.
"It's Flamestar. Number ten is here," said Nightwalker.
Chatter erupted as to why she was there. The young man didn't react.
Then, the heavy door of his cell groaned open. His skin felt the light warmth. Slightly curious about her presence, the young man raised his head.
"So," she began, arms crossed, "this is where they've been keeping you. Must say, for a 19-year-old, you don't really look your age."
Silence.
The man lowered his head.
She sighed, "You know, I read your file. A simple orphan boy who was quite the criminal: petty theft, assault, burglary, armed robbery. Then… one day, you were responsible for the death of Empire Gold—the former Number One Hero." When she concluded her statement, most of the inmates began cheering and clapping.
Still, the boy said nothing.
Flamestar stepped closer, her voice softening, "They threw you in here with the worst of the worst. No trial. No second chances. Just… gone. It would be fitting since your birth certificate was destroyed, medical records were erased, and even your orphan records are gone. For anyone who is concerned, you are a nameless entity with no existence or any relationship to depend on."
Her fingers reached for his blindfold, "Despite your actions, it's not right for you to rot here. When we still don't know the true story."
The inmates held their breath. The nameless man hadn't been allowed to take off his blindfold due to his Trigger.
With a careful tug, the bandages unraveled—revealing his eyes.
Left eye: a burning crimson.
Right eye: a piercing sapphire.
For a moment, Flamestar hesitated. Then a spectral fist wreathed in blue fire slammed into her face, launching her across the cell and into the opposite wall.
The inmates erupted in cheers as the man burned away his restraints like they were dust, "HOLY S***! YOU ARE SO COOL!" screamed Bill.
A ghostly knight clad in azure flames materialized behind him, its hollow gaze locked onto Flamestar.
"Why did you release me, woman?" the man said as he walked out of the cell.
Guards rushed in, weapons drawn, but Flamestar raised a hand, "Stand down. I've got this."
She wiped blood from her lip, noticing something strange—her Trigger wasn't activating.
The man tilted his head, "I will ask you one more time, why are you here?"
Flamestar took a deep breath, "I came to ask you to become a hero."
There was silence for a brief moment before the entire prison block burst into laughter.
"Him? A Hero?!" said Father Daniel.
"Kid killed Empire Gold! He's a monster!" said Yuri.
The man smirked, "If you came here to amuse me, I will say it almost worked, but why would I ever take your side? I lost faith in hero society after they placed me in here."
Flamestar shook her head, "No. What happened that day was an accident, I know for a fact."
His smirk vanished, "You must be delusional. The Association, the media, and even heroes present that day will tell you the same story. I was the reason Empire Gold died. What possible evidence do you have to rewrite my fate?"
"The Association deemed it an accident in their files regarding you, plus every interview and interrogation that involves you all comes off as a child who didn't understand his powers," she continued.
"There's a way for you to return to society. To change how people see you." She stepped forward, undeterred by the spectral knight still hovering at his side, "And no matter what anyone says… I believe in you. I see the good in you."
The jeers grew louder.
"Good? He's a good-for-nothing that belongs here with us!" said Trigger Happy.
"That freak belongs here with his fellow caged animals!" said Bill.
Flamestar ignored them. Slowly, she approached the boy—and hugged him.
He stiffened, his spectral knight flickering in confusion.
"You have a golden heart," she whispered. "But submerged in a sea of poison. From now on, you will sleep in a warm, comfortable bed, surrounded by a family that cares about you, eat amazing food, maybe you might find someone who loves you despite your reputation, you get to save the lives of the innocent and get to see the faces they make when you protect them from danger. It's a life I'm offering." Flamestar stated.
The voices went silent, awaiting the man's next words.
For the first time in years, he turned off his abilities. The knight dissipated. The eerie glow in his eyes dimmed.
"REALLY? THAT'S ALL IT TAKES FOR YOU, KID?!" An uproar of prisoners screamed toward the young man.
A small number of them kept quiet because it wasn't their business, like Trigger Happy, a well-known hitman, and Nightwalker, his assistant.
A few watched with interest, like Father Daniel, the mad priest, and Yuri, a rogue police officer.
And only one watched with envy in his eyes, Bill, the Slasher.
And then, in a voice so quiet only she could hear, "Give me a name, since I don't have one anymore."
Flamestar pulled back, smiling, "Arthur. That's your new name and the start of your new life."