“FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!” I screamed as I battered the wall with my fists.

Unleashing my rage, my knuckles struck the red brick countless times, becoming more and more bloody after each hit.

Life was unfair. Why was it that when you’ve moved on from past experiences and have a bright future, life always had to intervene?

My voice became hoarse as I deteriorated from screaming expletives to a guttural roar akin to a beast. My hands were wasted, my knuckles cracked and broken, my blood splattered everywhere.

Drawn by the screaming, a figure dressed in a dark blue approached me.

“YOUNG MAN!! Stop that this instant! You are defacing public property with your blood!”

Shocked, I turned to face him.

“That got your attention, didn’t it?” cackled the officer. “Now, come with me down to the station; I’ll get you fixed up.” His tone brooked no argument and he grabbed me by my arm.

However, I preferred to argue.

“Let go of me. I don’t need your help.” I attempted to pull away my arm as the officer gripped it strongly; his hand was like an iron vice, rooting me in place.

“You have no right to take me away!” I yelped, my voice rising an octave due to the pain.

The officer sent me a glare, my words obviously angering him.

“Now look here, boy.” He drew closer to me, his face stopping mere inches away from mine. “While I may be in a good mood, you will listen to what I say. You are standing here in a back alley punching a fucking wall. Now be a good boy and come with me before I arrest you for causing a public disturbance. This is for your own good, trust me.”

I stared into his eyes, black and like a void. He meant every single word he said. Sighing, I accepted my fate.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Citizen

Name: Solare King

Sex: Male

Race: Asian Descent, Indian Subcontinent

Age: 18 years

Height: 6 feet 1 inch

Education: High School Graduate

Rank: Novice II

Comments: N/A

Those were the words written on my citizen card. As a citizen of the United States of America and a resident of the nation’s capital, the card proved that I could legally be here. Other cards would have the word citizen replaced with immigration notices, positions of legal office, and other identifiers.

Currently, that card was laid on a mahogany table in the office of a detective in the local precinct. I was seated in a very comfy leather chair opposite to the detective. The plaque on his desk identified him as a Steven Black and he just so happened to be the man who found me in the alley. His black hair and black eyes hinted of a mixed ancestry, but he was as white as vanilla ice cream. He had a well-defined jawline and his mouth was set in a constant smirk.

Black leaned forward and studied me curiously. He glanced at my hands, which were bandaged as if I was mummified.

“You know that was quite a sight,” he remarked. “Never in my 13 years in the police force have I come across someone punching a wall until their fists bled. Hell, you even kept on punching. Now, what I want to know is, why you were attacking that wall like it stole your girlfriend?”

“Why would that matter? Why were you so adamant that I come the police station anyway? I was just punching a wall.”

Black leaned back, raised an eyebrow, and gave me a long, hard, look.

“Did you just hear what came out of your mouth?”

I gave a wry smile. “I guess it was kinda odd. I just feel like there was no need to coerce me into coming with you.”

The detective sighed and looked out the window in the office.

“I believe that not only is the role of the police to keep the public safe by catching criminals, but we should actively try to make the country a better place for people. While you were not doing anything illegal per se, you obviously were in some sort of pain, and I felt it was my duty to help you. No matter if you wanted the help or not.”

He moved his gaze back onto my face.

“I truly don’t understand why you would do what you did. While you were getting bandaged up I took the liberty of looking up your details.”

He typed something into the keyboard of his computer and turned the monitor to face me.

“Solare, a straight A student, acquired multiple internships at the Worldwide Center for Health, got accepted early into the prestigious John Hopkins University to study medical science, and no records of mental illness. Although your parents were killed in car accident when you were twelve, records show that you moved on from that experience stronger than before. To top it all off, in the mandatory examination during high school graduation you managed to become a second rank Novice through natural mana accumulation as you aged. You sir, are a bona fide genius in magic and almost no organization would refuse you if you wanted to join.”

I sat up straight.

Black stroked his beard and inspected me. “Actually, don’t tell me your reason just yet, I want to see if I can figure out what your problem is.”

“Hah,” I exclaimed. “Why? Can’t wait to show off your great detective skills?”

He gave me a giant grin. “Exactly! Don’t get much of chance to impress the public after all.”

He examined me even more closely than he was before.

“Well I can immediately remove the chance you got had a break up or got rejected, that week old thing you call a beard would not have existed, and no girl who is sane would reject someone handsome, smart, and has good future prospects.”

Laughing a little bit, “Thank you!” I replied. “Tell me more.”

“Gladly. Judging by your complexion and the lack of bags under your eyes signify there hasn’t been something very stressful recently causing sleeplessness. The fact that you had a backpack with you when I brought you here is slightly suspicious and the computer tells me that you graduated high school around 2 hours ago, leading me to only one conclusion. For some reason, you hate the fact you have a gift that many people dream of and would give anything to have. Now… Why is that?”