Genetic Broken Uprising

•8•

—————————
| Beyond the Norm |
—————————

The bathroom felt like a relic from another time, a place where age had etched its presence into every corner. The light flickered dimly from the single bulb, barely illuminating the pale, worn tiles that lined the walls around the tub.

Each grout line carried the weight of years, collecting dust and moisture that had long since turned into stubborn mildew. The ceiling, once white, now bore the scars of neglect—dark stains of moisture creeping down from the edges, spreading like veins.

In the corner stood the old, chipped bathtub, its porcelain faded and discolored with time. The water stains clung stubbornly to its surface, forming a haunting reminder of years gone by. The showerhead above it drooped on its hose like a tired sentinel, its once gleaming metal long dulled by age.

The curtain, half-drawn and sagging from its rod, looked as though it hadn't been moved in years, perhaps abandoned in mid-draw, its faded pattern barely discernible in the poor light.

The sink, a modest white fixture, clung to the wall just beneath a small mirror. Its edges were cracked in places, revealing the underlying fragility of its design. The faucet, affixed directly into the wall above it, protruded with a faint air of defiance, its pipes exposed and stained with rust.

Below, a small green bucket caught the occasional drip from the unseen leak in the ceiling, forming a soft patter that filled the silence.

In the small clawfoot tub, First sat quietly, his body half-submerged in the warm water. His broad shoulders glistened, droplets tracing slow paths down his bare skin, while the steam rose gently, clinging to him like a delicate second layer.

His dark hair clung to the nape of his neck and forehead, damp strands framing his face in shadow. His arms wrapped tightly around his knees, pulling them close to his chest in a contemplative embrace, as though the warmth of the water was his only source of solace.

The silence around him felt thick, almost tangible, broken only by the soft, rhythmic drip of condensation from the ceiling and the slow, steady breaths he exhaled. First sat there, unmoving, his gaze distant and unfocused, as if lost in a world far beyond the dimly lit room.

Yesterday's events replayed like a broken record in his mind, each moment looping endlessly, refusing to let go. First could still see it—the electric blue force field that had burst from his hands, vivid and unnatural, crackling in the air.

It played over and over in his head, as if he were still standing in that place, lost in the chaos of the moment.

Niran's face was etched into his memory, eyes cold and calculating, holding Santa hostage with a cruel smirk, as if daring him to do something.

In the moment, he had been calm—too calm, almost numb to the fear in the air. But then, he heard it. His little brother's voice, soft but filled with terror, calling out to him in desperation. The plea hit him like a shockwave, and something inside him snapped, a part of him breaking loose that he had never known was there.

His control unraveled, and in that split second, everything changed. The force field erupted without warning, a physical manifestation of the storm raging inside him. It was as though the world around him dissolved, leaving only the burning need to protect Santa and Boom at any cost.

First looked down at his hands, the strands of his wet hair falling into his eyes as he did. The water clung to his fingers, droplets rolling off his skin and back into the bath with soft splashes. He didn't know what to think, his mind still swirling with the echoes of yesterday.