My biological father was a brilliant researcher. I don't know what field of research he was in, but he would make me his assistant. After my grandfather disappeared, my father came back into my life and raised me for over 3 years. It wasn’t a long time, and it wasn’t a happy time, but I enjoyed spending that time with him.

He would force me to learn everything he kept in his study, ranging from monsters to history, biology, or math, anything went. But when I wasn't reading, I helped my father in his lab. He said he needed a helper for his research. I would have to prepare monster parts for him to study, and watch closely as he mixed potions together, handing him the appropriate material when he asked for it. I loved my father, but he didn't love me back.

His love was funneled into his research, not his son. I remember the day I went down into the lab, and saw my frantic father, digging through previous samples, and looking for something. I wanted to help him, maybe if I was a bigger part of his research, maybe he would look at me more. When I offered my help, he said he was on the verge of something bigger, a breakthrough of the century. But time was running short, and he needed to do one last test.

I offered myself as his last test subject, I was naive at the time. Any responsible adult would not accept my offer, to keep me safe, my father was not responsible. He asked me only once if I was sure, and when I nodded my head he brought me to his table, the one where I would watch him dissect full cadavers, sometimes human, sometimes not.

The last memory I have of my father before he disappeared like my grandfather, was him smiling at me. I know now that he was smiling at the prospects of his magnum opus finally being put together in front of him. But at that moment, I was so happy.

When I came too, I was in a hospital. I didn’t know what was going on, and that's where I learned that I was found bloody and stitched up in my father’s lab. He disappeared right after stitching up whatever he did to me. The government came and seized his lab, and by association, our home. They froze his accounts, even the one that he made in my name for my future. I was unconscious for days, and the healers had no idea what was causing it, all the healing magic they performed on me, caused all the scars that would have been left behind to disappear.

I have no idea what my father did to me. Any investigation of my body led to nothing, thanks to the healers, and any notes were taken away by the government. That's why I don’t like the government or hospitals. The only thing to show for the 3 years I spent with my dad is the box I'm looking through in the attic.

One of his lab coats, safety goggles, sterilized beakers, his sword, and a photo album. He didn't allow photography in his lab, so all the pictures in the photo album are drawn by me. I don’t know my father’s rank or class, but I know that he did not use swords. The sword was just a blade, it has no sheath, no guard, and no handle. The blade is about 12 inches and has only one edge. I made my own sheath and handle out of bandages many years ago after almost cutting myself on it.

I wish I knew the skill [Appraisal] so I know what this sword did. So far it's just been a sharp piece of metal hiding away in my attic. I cannot [Equip] it unless I know what it does.

I put on the safety goggles, it's better to be safe than sorry, and sneak down to my room.

I should look into getting my own apartment, maybe It's not too late to get a dorm room at the institute. I go into my closet and pull out the leather jacket Val got me for my 18th birthday. The leather is from a beast called [Blue Bull], and It's supposed to be tougher than normal leather. I dug around some more and found some elbow and knee pads I bought when I got into rollerskating a few years ago.

The pamphlet that came with my school uniform claims that while on the school campus, the uniform can protect the students from most harm. It could be worth wearing it to the fragment, but dry cleaning enchanted clothes are expensive. I internally debate with myself before deciding to wear it as well.

I change clothes and wear the outfit I picked out. Jeans on my legs, boots on my feet. My torso is covered by my uniform, with a leather jacket over that. My extremities have padding. Safety goggles are covering my eyes. On my belt is my father’s old sword and on my back is a backpack I packed with water, snacks, and a small medical kit.

I look like an idiot, I sneak out of the house. No one is home, but it feels more natural to sneak out. I look at my phone and head toward Jerry’s house. He still hasn't texted me about when's a good time to come over, but he did text me his address, so I might as well head over anyway.

I decide to take shortcuts through the city. Nothing has ever gone wrong in an alleyway, so why shouldn’t I use them as a shortcut.

A few alleyways later, I spot a familiar face walking down the sidewalk with two people flanking either side of him. It looks like Arlug’s fine and dandy.

“Ellis’ house is this way I believe, I’ve been told he went home early.”

One of the students flanking Arlug tells him.

“Good, because me and him are going to have a long talk.”

Maybe Arlug has changed for the better and wants to break bread.

Or maybe he wants to break me in retaliation for what I did to him this morning. I play it safe and try to sneak away.

“Yo, isn't that Ellis right there crouched behind that dumpster?”

Well shit. I sprint down the alleyway.

I hear Arlug and his goons chase after me, they are gaining on me.

“Wait”

"Stop”

“We just want to talk.”

They convinced me to run away faster, I dart in between buildings, knocking over trashcans until I see some police tape blocking off an alleyway. If there is police tape, then logic dictates that there will be officers, and logic also dictates that they will protect me from a beat down. Although I don't like public enforcers, I am willing to put my differences aside to use them as a shield.

I break through the flimsy tape and see no officer. So much for being my shield. This is a dead end, Arlug and his goons manage to catch up. Clenching Flash Gordon, I prepare myself for a ‘friendly conversation’.

“Dude, I really just wanted to talk to you, but all that running pissed me off.”

The only training I went through was with my grandfather when I was a child. I took a basic stance, allowing my hands to protect my face, but when I widened my stance, the back of my right foot touches the dead-end. And like a crab being sucked into an underwater pipe, my entire form was pulled through a slit made by a fracture.

The last thing that went through my mind, was where the fuck is the officer.