Clockwork Minds

Prologue: Fractured Beginnings

I learned early on that humans are weak. They crumble under pressure, desperate for validation and love. Not me. My grandfather made sure of that. He isolated me, kept me like a tool waiting to be sharpened. He had a unique way of "teaching"—each wrong answer brought new levels of pain. But pain was enlightening. With every scream, I learned to embrace the ache and push forward, my mind sharpening, my body hardening, my spirit stripped of anything soft.

In that dimly lit room where I spent countless hours, the air thick with the scent of sweat and blood, I was molded into something far beyond human. My grandfather was a master craftsman, and I was his masterpiece, each scar a testament to my resilience. Each strike of the whip was a lesson learned, each bruise a badge of honor. He taught me that vulnerability was a flaw to be eradicated, and I learned quickly to suppress any trace of it. I became a fortress of solitude, impenetrable and strong.

When I tore into my sparring partner at that tournament, I remember the thrill—the satisfaction as his blood trickled down my hand. The audience's gasps echoed in my ears, a symphony of fear and awe. In that moment, I felt powerful, invincible. I was the embodiment of my grandfather's teachings, the culmination of every ounce of pain I had endured. They took me away after that, their frightened whispers trailing behind me like a dark cloud. "Psychopathic tendencies," they said. "Dangerous." They didn't know the half of it.

And so, with every step I took into the unknown, I carried my fractured beginnings with me—a reminder of who I was, and what I was capable of becoming. In the world beyond those walls, I would rise, not as a victim, but as a conqueror. The chains that once bound me were now nothing but memories, remnants of a past that had shaped me into the force I had become.

This was just the beginning. 4o