Chapter 1: Save the World

"A pleasant morning to all you listeners out there. A decade later, we humanity join hands once again as we reflect back on one of the most painful tragedies in our history: the outbreak of the May Plague. This May first, join us in this special report on how everyone, infected or not, has struggled to live in this broken world. Stay tuned." The solemn voice from the radio cut off, and was replaced by a series of advertisements nobody listened to.

Our story begins in a homey little café on the outskirts of town. As people rarely came by, it was a perfect place to spend time when the troubles of life overtook you. The small bell above the door tinkled, and a gloomy young man entered the premises without ado.

"Hmm, this place too, huh?" he mumbled to himself, as he was welcomed by an all-too familiar silence. Not even the radio could conceal the eerie muteness that permeated the air. He chose a place near the window and, after ordering a strawberry shortcake and a steaming cup of coffee, took out a pocketbook from his bag.

The bell tinkled once more. The second customer of the day was a man in a lab coat, hiding his face behind a comically large newspaper. He took a corner seat and ordered a chocolate parfait, never once peeking outside. Our protagonist — Jack Waterfelt — nodded to himself, confirming his suspicions. The lab coat guy has been indeed following him all morning. In the library, in the park, even in the bathroom — he never dropped his pursuit nor his newspaper.

Jack clicked his tongue. "How annoying," he said, wondering what he may have done to attract attention. He may not be some kind of fugitive, but attention was always bad. It was a lesson his teacher forcefully drilled inside his head. And she was right, as there were many scuffles in the past he could've avoided if he was a little more discreet than usual. He had to think of a way to lose the guy, then maybe move to the next city. Hopefully he wasn't persistent enough to chase him until there.

"But it sure is silent in here..." Everywhere he went, he was met with empty eyes. From the rare passersby on the streets to the lone shopkeeper who listlessly stared at the radio, and maybe even the guy hiding behind the newspaper. All of them had the same dead eyes. They say it's been like this ever since that day exactly ten years ago. The day of the outbreak. And although Jack had the very same eyes, it was for an entirely different reason

"Dammit, now's not the time to think about that," he told himself. He had no time for reminiscing. At times like these, his teacher would say: Jack, if someone's following you, it's not enough to run away. Running away wildly is a no no. You gotta be smart. You gotta be sharp. You gotta use distractions. Divert his attention to something big. When he loses sight of you, then you run away. Timing is everything. Now, don't do the distraction, let something else do. Much more effective that way.

Jack nodded to himself. Now that he had a plan from his teacher, he was both invisible and invincible. Timing was everything. It wasn't hard to find some random eye-catching trouble in this day and age. He rose up and prepared to promptly pay and leave, but something else took the first move.

The door crash opened. Three punks with brightly colored hair stepped inside and scanned the area with looks that didn't belong to a regular customer. The moment their apparent leader met eyes with the poor shaking shopkeeper, he stomped his foot on the ground with a large thud.

"Empty that cash register, old man! Nobody else move! You know what happens if you do, right?" he said while throwing a bag to the shopkeeper. This too was another usual scene in this world. These lively punks were, surprisingly enough, the results of the chaos ten years ago — sufferers of the May Death. They seemed too lively to be patients of a disease, but that didn't fool Jack one bit. The troubles he had with these people were too many to bother counting.

"Hey, you! Go back to your seat! Or do you wanna die?" shouted one of the goons at him. Jack took a small glance at the old shopkeeper shakily dumping all his earnings into the bag. If he left it alone, the punks would surely cause a big enough distraction to shake off his stalker. Even his no-trouble policy told him so. But something felt wrong. There was that prickly feeling in his heart. At times like this, what would his teacher say?

'Listen Jack. Conscience is a dangerous thing. Nothing good comes out of it. Conscience brings doubt, which brings hesitation, which brings death. When time comes, always clear your conscience. Got it? You can't have a choice if you're dead. Never forget!'

"Dammit, teach."

"Hey! You listening? You wanna die?" the punk threatened. None of his words registered in Jack's mind.

He took a deep breath. He felt the weight of the wooden bamboo sword dangling on his waist. He gripped his trusty partner and slackened his stance. On its handle was a white sash. That sight alone was enough to calm his heart. He took a bold step forward and glared at his enemies.

"What's this? You tryn'a be a hero? Watcha gonna do with a wooden sword?" Punk number one with the pink hair walked closer. "You know what we are, right? You think you gotta chance against us?"

"Shut up, you freak. Why don't you go back to mommy and cry until you die?" Jack said with a grin.

Veins popped up on the punk's head. He wasn't taking this insult lightly. "What'cha said about mah mommy? You've gone and done it now, brat!" He thrust both of his hands forward and focused on one spot. Jack felt it. On the center of his body was heat. Just a hundredth of a second, but it was enough for his reflexes. He pulled back — and that spot spontaneously burst in flames.

"Spontaneous combustion. I see, you're a pyrokinetic." Jack took the sword from his waist and readied a stance. After taking a few deep breaths, he finalized his plan to defeat all three in one swoop.

Punk one clicked his tongue. "You avoided that? Then let's see you avoid this! And this! And this! And this! And this! And this!"

A barrage of explosions surrounded him, but Jack avoided them all with nimble steps. Before the punk noticed, he danced his way closer and closer until he was within reach.

"What the—?"

A clean hit on his forehead did the job. The unfortunate punk's figure crumpled down, surprising his other two comrades. Jack did a spin and struck the next punk's nape before he could completely turn invisible. He then thrust his sword in empty air.

"Dammit, I was too slow," Jack muttered, staring at the remaining troublemaker standing from a distance. It seemed like punk number three's power was telekinesis, and he propelled himself away before he could get hit. He prepared his stance once more.

"AAAAHHH!" The red-haired punk lifted a table midair with his mind and threw it at Jack. He avoided it with the smallest movement required. The punk didn't stop his assault and threw everything he saw at him — tables, chairs, even the chocolate parfait — nothing was safe from his wrath.

"The hell's with you!" the punk shouted. "What's wrong with stealing a bit from you uninfected? We're gonna die in a year anyways, so what's wrong with taking from you? It's just fair, right? Why the hell should only we suffer! Die! Die! Die!"

He finally threw a table that obstructed his view. Jack didn't miss the chance and made his move. He dashed forward and readied his sword for a one-hit-kill, but something unexpected happened.

"Take this!" the table broke and revealed the punk flying at him at an insane speed. Jack realized what his aim was. Punk guy threw himself at him with telekinesis. There were many ways to catch the May Disease, but the most surefire way was skin-to-skin contact.

But instead of dodging, Jack pressed on with his attack — and casually caught his punky face with a death grip.

They stayed in that position for a while. Jack started feeling the beads of sweat from the punk's face. Of course. Nothing was happening to Jack. No nosebleeds, no convulsions, no hair color-changing — not even a sneeze. It brought surprise not only for the punk, but for the shopkeeper and his stalker as well.

"H—how?" punk three asked with a shaky voice.

"It just isn't your lucky day, I guess."

Without further ado, he slammed his head on the ground. But it wasn't over. He raised the unconscious body without releasing his grip and threw it outside the window, shattering the glass to a million pieces.

'Disappearance trick!' Jack thought to himself. It was just for a millisecond, but he noticed it. The lab coat guy diverted his attention to the thrown punk outside. That was all he needed. Jack immediately made like the wind and quickly left the premises, leaving nothing but burning furniture and shattered glasses in his stead.

"Oh shit, I forgot to pay."

Jack finally realized this fact once he arrived at a darkened alleyway. He promised himself that one day, he would pay the old shopkeeper in one way or another. But he was finally able to shake off that weird newspaper lab coat guy. Whatever his goal was, it was sure to be trouble, and Jack did the right thing in avoiding him. Not only that, he also did a good job in saving the poor shopkeeper.

Sirens could be heard from afar, signaling the end of the fight. That was probably the Department of Public Defense going out to catch those rogue infected. That was the end waiting for them. They were sent to the infamous Quarantine Zones, where they'd wait for a year until their life wilted away.

Jack stared at the hand he used to grip that punk. He's held many people, both infected and not, but he never got the disease. It was a trait special to him. Maybe that was the reason why that lab coat guy was on his tail. Who knew? He didn't want to know the reason for this trait, either. He knew it would only bring unnecessary trouble, so he refrained from digging any further. He might be the key to saving the world, but it never mattered to him.

"That's right. It's because I don't even know this world..."

"Hoh? What did you mean by that?" asked a woman's voice from behind.

Jack hurriedly placed some distance between him and the voice. He turned around, and he was greeted by a woman with an alluring smile. The one thing he noticed was the custom-made lab coat she wore. It was different from the other guy, as hers had cutesy patterns on the stitches of her coat. She also had a smaller build than his stalker. "What's wrong?"

Jack readied his hand on his wooden sword and remained vigilant of her every move. "Who're you?"

"Me? Oh, just someone who's been following you all morning," she replied with a cocky grin.

He never noticed. Jack never noticed her anywhere this morning. Sure, there was the lab coat newspaper guy, but he never caught any sight of her anywhere. For someone who boasted his teacher's life skills, he was extremely surprised.

"Why the surprise? It's the same principle you used back at the cafe: distraction. Well, just a bigger version of it. I only had to divert your attention to something big — that is, my assistant — and follow you around in a different way. You focused so much on that one guy that you lost sight of the true stalker — that is me."

She was a dangerous woman to use his teacher's teachings that effectively, Jack thought to himself. His senses warned him to be careful in dealing with her. Although he could try and shake her off like with that assistant, his gut feeling told him that it wouldn't work. At times like these, he had no choice but to deal with the problem as quickly and as efficiently as possible.

"What do you want?" he asked straight to the point without dropping his guard.

"Now now, no need to be so tense. I'm here to offer you a job, nothing else."

That somehow piqued Jack's interest. After living as a vagabond for a year, he knew how hard it was to find a good job. But he also wouldn't take the bait that easily.

"What kind of job?" he asked.

The woman smiled, as if she already won the game. "Well, I can't say the details, but let's just assume that it's such a great job that it'll take your mind off this world."

Suspicious. Too suspicious. The way she worded that was like saying he would die on the job. And perhaps it really was that dangerous. Either way, Jack already made his choice. He might never find another jobs as mysterious as what she offered, but he also only had one life to spend. "Sorry, but I decline. I don't like troublesome things."

He passed by her shoulder and left her alone. He knew he did the right thing. Even if that woman came back again and again, he would refuse again and again and again. He wouldn't fall for her persistence. He would live the life of a vagabond until his death, content of whatever he may come across during his travels. That is, if she never mentioned that name before he was out of earshot.

"Sara Aislin."

Jack stopped dead in his tracks. His heart raced faster. The grip on his sword tightened. He never expected to hear that name again in his life. A name made taboo by the world, that forsaken name.

Seeing that she got his attention, the woman pressed on. "The cursed name of Sara Aislin. Well, with a good reason, too. I mean, she was the single reason of the world's death ten years ago. The infamous leader of Liroli, the terrorist organization that lead humanity to its ruin. That Sara Aislin, the greatest mass murderer who effectively killed a third of humanity."

Jack held whatever words he would've blurted out and chose his words carefully. "... And what about her?"

"I heard you were searching information about her. Information above the narrative, that is."

The woman took Jack's silence as a cue to continue. "Well, I'm not here to condemn you. Also, I heard you lost your memories three years ago. Am I right?"

"... Yes, you are." It was one of the main reasons he never understood the people of this age. He never had any memories about whatever happened ten years ago, so he couldn't understand everyone's sentiments about it. The lab coat woman was well-researched. He knew more things about him than he knew about her, and that was a dangerous position to be in. "So why are you asking these questions?"

"Meh, just mere curiosity," she replied. "But if you really are determined in finding information about Sara Aislin, take this and visit the Department of Scientific Advances tomorrow."

She casually threw him a card. It baffled Jack, as all it was nothing but a normal silver card that only read [Save the World]. No identity, no purpose, nothing but to show those troublesome words. He clutched the card in his hand. He wondered if this was finally the clue he has been waiting for. The clue that would lead him to the only person who could unlock his memories. "I may have taken this, but it doesn't mean that I'll go."

"Oh, you'll go," she said with certainty. "You'll definitely go. You're not someone who misses opportunity, after all."

"Whatever." Jack turned around. He felt that spending a single second more with her would considerably lower his lifespan. He shouldn't let that mysterious woman get to his psych, not with this new path presented to him. Sara Aislin. His lost memories. Saving the world. Tomorrow would probably be the first step in solving the many problems that predated his mind. With the silver card in hand, he walked away from the source of all his problems today.

"Hey, before you go!" the woman shouted before Jack could step out of the dark alleyway. "My name's Marianne Eventide, Head Professor of the Department of Scientific Advances. Welcome, Jack Waterfelt, to the World Restoration Project!"

Minutes after Jack Waterfelt left the scene...

"Good job, Professor Marianne." A man in a lab coat holding a newspaper appeared from a supposed-to-be boarded door at an obscure part of the alleyway. It was Marianne's assistant, the one who she ordered to follow Jack all morning. His name was Marc, and although he looked older than her, still treated her with more respect. And for a good reason. "But really, that was a great plan. You used me to distract him and take his attention away from you. As expected of the Head Professor," he said with admiration.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Marianne asked, seriously curious as to what his assistant was talking about.

"Eh, I mean, right? I know you didn't tell me about it, but it was part of the plan to make it look less suspicious, right? You know, the whole 'I only had to divert your attention to something big — that is, my assistant — and follow you around on a different route,' right?" he said, while imitating Marianne's pride-filled way of saying it.

She slammed her assistant's head. "Are you stupid? That was clearly a lie."

"... Eh?" Marc couldn't understand the professor's words.

"I'm a scientist, not a fucking ninja. Do you really believe I could follow him around with in a lab coat all morning without being noticed?"

"O—oh," the assistant said, his voice dripping with disappointment.

"I just wanted to get on his nerves. I even practiced throwing that Marker Card all night, just to keep up with my mysterious atmosphere. It's character building!"

"O—oh!" the assistant said, his voice now brimming with admiration. "As expected of the Head Professor!"

"Now let's go. We've got bigger things to worry about tomorrow."