Mismatched Eyes part 2

Present day.

On the dusty flat ground lay a solitary figure with raven-black hair. A young man with a bead of sweat trickling from his brow, down to his nearly opaque goggles, and to his cheek, while he adjusted his aim on the rifle.

His target, a wooden dummy, stood behind nine others — all with neat holes through their chests.

Staring down the scope of his rifle, he fired.

An ear-splitting crack rang out of the firearm, sharp and quick.

— Another bullseye.

The target shattered, and its wooden fragments flew over the grass fields behind it. Had this been a real person, they would have dropped dead.

Directly above him, the display on the black screen changed from a score of ninety into a score of one-hundred, it was a ten out of ten.

A small smirk formed on his face. It was clear that he was satisfied with himself. But as he looked over to the distance, he saw several trainees still fighting on the field, the closest people near him were more than a hundred meters across, and his smirk deflated.

There was nothing to celebrate. This was simply what was expected of him, something he expected out of himself.

Though he had already finished the course, the young man reloaded his rifle once more. He paid no mind to the discomfort he felt lying on the dirty ground under the scorching sun.

He was alone. So, he did what he wanted.

Rather than target the center, which he had already perfectly shot, he shifted his attention on the target’s head instead.

One hundred meters once more. A second attempt outside of his usual routine.

His fingers brushed against the trigger, and a familiar sight flashed in his mind. A warmly lit window against a stormy blizzard. Like a candle light being devoured into a white void.

A sharp sting clawed against the back of his head, and he grit his teeth. He felt a sense of irritation, but this memory was one he was trying to call upon.

Hidden behind his goggles emanated an unnatural light from his left eye, turning the opaque glass blue.

There was a moment of hesitation as he pressed his finger on the trigger. He drew a deep breath through his teeth and mumbled under his breath, “Come on… work.”

A drop of sweat slid down his face as he focused, and as soon as it dropped to the dry ground — he fired.

The gun’s recoil pushed against him as azure particles burst from its muzzle.

A hole formed on the target, but the bullet struck on the white space inches from the target’s head.

“Tsk. Bollocks.” He clicked his tongue. Though it did not affect the score on the board, he still felt irritated by his mistake.

His perfect streak was ruined, and the blue light behind his goggles faded.

The young man returned to the bench, and picked up a cup full of coffee that had been sitting there since he first started.

He lifted his goggles, and swiped his raven black hair to the side, revealing his mismatched eyes of dark copper and sapphire blue, the latter of which appeared to be faintly glowing, but its radiance was almost unnoticeable in broad daylight.

Beneath his copper right eye was a small mole, it was the only other thing that stood out from his face.

The sun-bathed training field was full of sparring trainees, and smelled of sweat and metal, as it usually does. There was nothing out of the ordinary, it was the same old routine, the same old grunts and yells that blended into one another.

His back hunched as he took a sip from his foam cup, which had cooled down as the hours passed.

Another slow day, huh?

His expression was dull and dry as he silently stared at the trainees sparring with each other.

All he could do was watch and take sips of soothing coffee in solitude as the slow day went by. Above him fluttered a red flag with an insignia of a golden lion printed on it.

A few clouds passed by before he got up from the bench and stretched his arms outwardly.

“Sir Felix!” A voice called out for the young man, snapping him out of his lonesome thoughts.

Felix stood up from his bench as a man in a black suit called to him from the shade of the building. With a pen and a clipboard in hand, the man spoke with a gentle tone, “I’m sorry for calling out to you, but the heat was rather harsh, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah... Have the car prepared for me, Murphy.” The young man replied despondently as he took the documents from the agent’s hands.

“A-actually, sir, the chief called for you directly.” The suited man, Murphy, clarified.

“Is that so?” His stomach turned a little. It was a gut feeling that told him that his quiet day would go down the slope. He handed back the clipboard to the agent before walking into the building.

He lifted the pen up, “Hey, I’m a little bored. Can I keep this?”

“S-sure.”

“Thanks.”

Felix fiddled with the pen with a look of disinterest as he made his way through the cold, chrome corridors.

What’s so important that the Chief has decided to talk to me directly?

The agents in his path silently stepped to the side as he passed through. Though he paid them no mind, as he got closer to the chief’s office, a middle-aged man approached from the opposite direction, refusing to step aside.

“If it isn’t the Child of Stars.” A raspy old voice greeted, called out towards him from the other side of the corridor, “How long has it been?”

Oh god, no.

The young man shuddered as his fear was confirmed. In front of him stood a familiar, stubby, man with aged white hair.

“Two months I hadn’t seen you… Was hoping to make it three.” Felix blurted out the tail end of his thoughts.

“As rude as ever, I see. So, how are you doing?”

“I was doing much better a minute ago. You know, before I got to see your face, Professor Tetsuya.”

“Haha, good to know you’re doing quite well.” The old man answered dryly, as if going through routine.

“‘Well’ is relative considering what I’ve become.”

The professor stroked his white beard, “What you have become is—”

“Yeah, yeah, the latest link in the evolutionary chain to bring about everlasting peace.” Felix snidely cut him off, gesturing a talking hand as he echoed words he’s heard a hundred times.

“That’s correct.” With a smile, the professor nodded and played along, “You are the first step towards the future.”

“So, when is my right eye gonna take that step?” He asked not about his glowing blue iris on the left, but the plain dark one on the right.

The professor grumbled, “It will change in due time. When that happens, your gifts will finally… Oh my, I can hardly wait.” He then stopped and looked at Felix with a concerned expression, “Until then, let’s hope that you get along with the next generation.”

“What?” Felix eyebrows furrowed, “Didn’t the Implementation shut down?”

“Merely postponed. There have been benefactors pushing to jumpstart it, not wanting their investments to go to waste. There have been a handful of successes so far. Enough to make certain people… optimistic about when it formally resumes.”

“I see.”

The old man opened up one eye to look at him, “Does that bother you?”

Felix shrugged, shifting his attention back to the pen, “…Not really. It won’t be fun getting to the top of the leader board without a challenge.”

“There are many monsters out there, even from projects outside our own. If you really intend to climb the ranks, your chance will start now. But I’m sure you’ll surpass them all, even David.”

Snap.

Professor Tetsuya’s eyes widened, startled by the sound that echoed across the hall. The pen in Felix’s hand was broken in half.

The young man smiled and said, “Right, right… I have to meet with the chief now, so.”

“Yes, of course.” The old man gulped, “Before you go, the recent batch had only one survivor. She’s a rather lively girl, so I hope that you both will get along.”

“Hope I meet them soon.”

“Call me as soon as you need my assistance.” The professor smiled in amusement.

With a cocky smirk, he waved, “I won’t.”

The two of them began to walk in opposite directions, and their steps echoed across the chrome halls.

When he arrived at the chief’s deep black door, he reached for the knob, but he paused.

Only one survivor? So she’s like me…

Fragmented visions flashed in his head, one where his body bled, trapped underneath the rubble.

Marching towards him was the professor long ago, walking through flame and debris, holding a syringe with a prismatic liquid.

His mismatch eyes narrowed, clutching his shirt and squeezing something underneath.

I may not remember much… But it’s not like I forgot how it felt.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to knock on the door.

“Felix Aster, requesting permission to enter.” He said with a firm voice.

A soft, cheerful voice answered from the other side, “Come in~ We have milk and cook— ow, ow, that hurts, stop it! Thtap it!!”

An unexpected response.

Raising his eyebrow, he muttered, “Chief?”

~