Hissing, a sound associated with the aggression of snakes and other wild creatures, yet isolated from such context it could be anything but hostile. Or perhaps even when paired with a more turbulent environment like the heavy raining in a dark forest at the depth of night, tall trees with thick trunks tossing and thrashing in a black void, the black leaves covering any beauty of the sky and only permitting the storm through, that hissing still could be oddly serene. That rustling of the leaf ceiling, a vulnerable reaction to the belligerent winds, even the whistling of those winds themselves all would be so violent yet they only are the very opposite.

Or perhaps such tranquility was merely an illusion cast by the suppression through the glass window, not one that provided its own luminescence as a projection but rather one built through the wall as told by the indentations along the edges that dug into the barrier. The view itself also wasn’t as perfectly unobstructed and clear, rather the glass itself had some minor yet visible scratches of age but much more significant were the grid frames that sectioned the window into smaller squares with thick wooden divisions.

Also wooden were the walls, a dark sleek smooth wood that shined from the gentle light nearly white but with the faintest hue of yellow. The wood had the visible lumbar stamp as though made of the genuine natural earthbound essence, polished but with only slight modifications beyond its original form.

Along one of the walls was a series of shelves divided by columns, many of them various in size, most of them covered from end to end with leather bound books, their spines facing outwards although none of them inscribed with any titles. They were various in colors however, some were reds, other blues and many had more complex patterns too, giving the bookshelf more vibrancy.

There were not only books however, for in some of the shelves there were other objects with one being a photograph in a chiseled frame made with traditional curves, that photograph displaying an adult woman with long light brown hair who shined in the bright background of a field, wearing a beautiful white sundress with a decal of purple flowers, vibrant like the abundant floral amongst the green grass of said picture.

Closer to the photograph there was a predominantly white light, but more so the hissing of the subdued outdoor shower was being mixed in with a magnetic hum or what sounded like one, also soothing although alien unlike the natural landscape outside.

More abrupt than the hum was the quick sound of a door opening, the creaking almost bone chilling from the age of the hinge.

Behind the wooden door swung open, in between the doorframe on the samely darkwood floor that creaked with every step, stood a young Latino boy no more than an age of ten if not less, dressed in a white half shirt and shorts like pajamas. He had short black hair and spirited azure eyes, his face somewhat plump in youth.

Through the boy’s eyes was the home office with purely wooden walls that provided a greater sense of elegance, the shelf wrapping all around the far wall around the sides where further up stood brown leather couches grounded on the small carpets, square pillows sitting at the edges. On the opposite wall were two sofa chairs separated by a tall yet small table, just large enough for a couple cups and perhaps a book.

However the center of the room was rather barren, at least providing an unobstructed path to the other end where stood a large and long wooden desk with intricate carving of pillars along the sides, built with a thick base that completely covered beneath the top.

The surface of the table had several books with a few stacks by the edges and one open in the center, and behind that center was a thick chair being sat on by a man dressed in a white blazer.

At the low angle of the short boy the face was not visible, however there was a discernible white glow emitting from the man, a glow that originated at the same source as the hum.

Down at the boy’s feet the personal office was quite lavish in size, and from the ground the distant desk and man had an almost menacing imposition.

Nonetheless the boy began to walk towards the desk, every step triggering the floor to creak as though every planting of the foot stressed the ground.

So small was the boy that judging by the height of the sofa from the armrest it seemed he’d need to climb to reach the seat, for the entire room felt grandiose to him, larger than himself, rather built for something greater.

Hanging off of the ceiling by a physical wire was the main source of luminosity to the room: the silver chandelier that held out candles in all directions providing the bright yellow radiance. The chandelier’s glow very slightly wavered as though from an organic flame, and that glow was great enough to majorly light up the room with little other aid.

Down on the ground ambled the young boy so small from high above, stepping over the carpet which suppressed a few of his steps until walking past it, again pronouncing each footstep loudly as he carried himself cautiously although the suppression was only so effective.

Closer the boy gradually got to the other side, not much taller than the desk itself for it’d likely be difficult for him to do any meaningful work while standing beside it. He sheepishly lurked closer to the source of the white eminence and magnetic hum.

That source specifically was the man dressed in the white blazer with long brown hair darker than the one of the woman in the photograph behind. The man’s head was tilted down to the book although he did not appear to be reading it, but rather in a still stance in deep meditation, one that the boy was creeping up on.

Yet only so close could the boy get before suddenly the man’s head was raised, causing the boy to startle nearly in a jump as the magnetic hum and white light simultaneously faded.

A full step back with raised arms in a panicked defense, the boy flinched with a head turned away before hearing the perplexed but calm deep voice of the adult man interrogate, “Meditat? Why are you still awake?”

Upon the instant line of questioning the boy frowned and lowered his head ashamed, clutching to his shoulder with his hand guilty before murmuring in a young voice like a whisper: “I know…I just wanted to find you to show you something.”

On the other side of the tall wood desk sat the man whose white lapels stood over the boy, and before the ashamed child the man lectured. “Mother would be upset to find you here now. It is well past your curfew. What could be of such importance to warrant this disobedience?”

From guilt to a sudden spark of excitement, the boy lept forwards and brought both of his hands up before him, cupping them together as from his fair palms emerged a bright yet controlled azureous blaze, bursting out of his hands before those flames then were sculpted into a refined shape with two thin rods holding up a rounded thick body and extended head with a beak, eventually hardening in a bird-like shape.

The flames then fully solidified and colorized with the soft white body of a majestic dove, its red feet gripping tightly on the boy’s palm as it exquisitely animated to live, its head turning around in curiosity before lowering its entire body, waking up confused although remaining in the soft palms of its creator as it gazed through its black beady eyes.

In front of the bewildered living dove leaned forward the man in the white blazer, raising his arms and placing them crossed over the desk as he marveled quietly, “No way…you really did it…,” before raising his hand up with an open palm facing the ceiling to which the dove raised its head and spread its wings.

Quickly it leapt off the boy’s hands and with only one decisive flap of its beautiful white wings it reached the man’s palm where it then landed, raising its head up in the direction of the man’s face and tilting said head.

Visibly disoriented the dove just glanced around, conscious but confused as the man again admired, “No shortcuts, you really did make one…look at that….”

All the sudden the dove’s white body began to spark pure white, and more perplexed with concern it started spinning around before its body abruptly erupted into a white flash that lost its shape before dissipating in the air, sparkling for a few moments before the final traces swept away into the abyss.

On the other side of the table the boy failed to hide his wide smile from the appreciation, and he lowered his head before humbly thanking, “Thanks…I’ve been practicing as hard as I can…I’m glad you liked it.”

No longer holding anything, the man’s hands returned back to the desk where they sat at the edge, the white sleeves only slightly wrinkling as they were nearly perfectly tailored, only providing some additional size for comfortability.

Again the man praised, “I do, I’m very impressed Meditat. You have been doing far better than I anticipated, you should be proud. Perhaps then again it was wrong for me to hold any doubts over you, time and time again you have excelled expectations and proven yourself as more than capable. Such an advanced creation, and yet your brother can only do little more than a primitive glider.”

Not letting go of the admiration that so clearly was gobbled up by the smiling boy, that shine only dimmed slightly with a glimmer of a frown as he raised his head up before mentioning softly, “He is doing his best.”

Hands behind the opened book, the man released a gentle sigh before responding in a tone more disappointed than previously: “Yes…I know…it is the most he can do.”

“Still, I am impressed by the pace of your advancement,” the man’s voice returned to its previous optimistic delight, to which the boy’s solemn frown reverted back to a cheerful grin glowing just like his eyes, an excitement only amplified upon hearing, “Perhaps sooner or later I should begin allocating more time to provide you personal lessons again as there’ll be little for you to continue learning as is.”

Bright like the moon outside was the boy’s smile as he lit up with the exclamation: “Really?” as behind him the door remained just slightly open after not having been closed properly, leaving a sliver of the room outside exposed.

Both of the boy’s arms raised in joy, almost jumping before thanking gleefully “Thank you so much!” with a voice that carried all the way to the other side of the home office, down to the slightly open door. The voice was loud enough out of the excitement that it could be heard even past the sliver of the opening, out in the room outside which had normal white walls rather than the continuation of wood, although the room was severely darker comparatively to the office for the only light source was the one through the narrow gap.

At the very least the light hardly illuminated the body of the other latino boy about the same proportions of the one inside, although this one was dressed in a pair of black shorts and a black half shirt. His hand was placed on the white wall as though for better support to navigate in the darker space, his path originally directed to the office although halted as he just stood still, his body completely frozen.

Not even the wall was very thick as the voices could be heard both through the opening but also through the white wall itself, at least the words of the man who proposed, “Perhaps tomorrow in the afternoon we can take a walk outside.”

“I’d love that!” proclaimed the voice of the other boy behind those walls, the boy of the brother who just stood still on the other side, his feet only inches away from the ray of light peering out of the crack in the door.

So close was the edge of the light ray to the boy’s foot, and yet it was just far enough, just far enough to leave the foot cloaked in the darkness, cold without its warmth, reserved to the shadows below.

Without movements the boy just stood with his gaze towards the slightly opened door, not a slight turn of the neck, not a slight angle to the head, just completely still almost lifeless, almost hollow as a statue that had no value beyond the shape it was carved into.

The dark black hairs only covered the top of the boy’s head, the rest was shrouded naturally, his body an umbra, glaring in pure silence to the laughter and chatter that quieted to feed in the gentle ambiance of the showers that hissed so delicately, so serenely.

It wasn’t aggressive in nature regardless of the hostilities that it may be associated with.

Even if the environment was harsh and turbulent, as long as it was subdued behind a window it could be therapeutic.

As long as one wasn’t outside in the storm itself.

For how could one exposed to the storm hope to remain ignorant?

Alas the boy turned his head away, away to the ceiling of the room overwhelming with bright cyan light nearly blinding his adult latino face with his long black hairs messily scattered across the white plane behind. His red eyes ignite alert, stars in his irises that flare up, the Devil awoke with carnage soon to follow.

Those dark and devious eyes, the face of a murderous psychopath with that glare as though already seeking its next victim, a monster born of human flesh and blood yet made of anything but that.

Immediately the man sits up from the softly cushioned white bed mattress, facing the white wall right against the bed where a window screen resides, the source of the strong cyan sunlight coming from the visible ball in the bright blue sky over the clouds all above the landscape of titanic towers made of shining silver. Rivers race in the lanes between buildings, for while the skyscrapers are not of a uniform shape with many taking creative curves, they do inhabit a uniform grid that helps divide the metropolis into cohesive streets and blocks.

Long black strands poking just about everywhere behind the man, he glances around the rest of his room still somewhat shaken, dressed in a gray half shirt and lounge pants as nightwear.

In a more encompassing panorama the man can better perceive the room to be one with a quite humble size, nothing like a master’s bedroom but at least larger than a closet. Along the walls are white shelves that hover just slightly off the ground, although amongst all of the shelves along the entire room there lacks any items being displayed on them, not trophies or even miscellaneous litter.

On the opposite wall there are more dressers and cabinets, however there is a notable white box that instead looks integrated into the wall, made slim and sleek.

In the corner of the room is a long curved white desk with smoothed edges and integrated shelves also housing nothing, clean like a guest bedroom. Accompanying the desk too is a black Executive-styled chair, silently levitating and facing an angle between the desk and adjacent wall other than the one housing shelves.

Although after the panorama the man’s focus returns to the window while he raises his hand up at the bottom of his gaze to which a hologram with a red border projects before him seemingly from no source, forming a rectangular screen with the proportionals of a digital clock and the text appropriate of one too:

‘6:24 A.M.’ reads the clock, a response that shoots genuine fear in the eyes of the undefeatable destroyer, causing him to turn his head again before thrusting forth.

Off the bed the man throws himself, causing it to depress slightly like a spring before popping back up once he’s grounded himself. He pads down his body, his gray shirt wrinkled from the extended slumber, and after doing so he walks with noticeable haste although controlled with elegance to the white box against the wall.

In front of the box he raises his hand, summoning another hologram in front of him providing an inventory screen with a central grid as well as a header and column of buttons on the side. His finger looms over the header in contemplation before finally pressing down on a part, causing the screen to then be relinquished and instead for a bright blue light to project from the white box onto the man, quickly consuming his body whole until it’s merely a blue silhouette without features.

The silhouette’s shape distorts with a thinning of the body but most significantly the animating of the hair as it first straightens out flat before then being warped into looping itself in a man bun.

In seconds the blue light dissipates off the man, the shell being shed to expose him again, although rather than being dressed in simple loungewear with chaotic hair he now is suited in a formal gray blazer paired with matching pants, and underneath the blazer is a white shirt with a crimson tie. The suit is perfectly tailored to his body and to fit the professionality his hair is now in a neat man bun which he inspects with the slight tap of his hand before nodding to himself in affirmation of the routine’s completion, the one finished in seconds.

His once exposed feet are now covered in black socks, socks that walk across the hardwood floor uncarpeted and without rugs, his room perfectly clean and lacking other additional cosmetics.

He approaches the other side of the room that the chair faces, where in the center is an arched door that vaporizes to provide entry to a wooden wall.

Perhaps from the door it seems the door only leads to a wall, for that illusion is a result of the narrowness of the corridor that the man enters from out of the bedroom door. After glancing one way he turns the other and begins a steady march down the hall, towards the other end already in sight, the whole hall lit yellow.

At the other end of the corridor is an open although still relatively narrow balcony albeit still indoors, and without concern the man just walks all the way to the edge with nowhere to continue walking, although he needs no much additional surface as a square chunk of the one he’s already on suddenly detaches from the rest of the floor, cutting off with perfect dimension and slowly descending in an elevation hum.

Gradually the pad depresses with a chunk of the upper floor now temporarily lost, being used to transport the man down to the lower level of the colossal cubic building he’s inside, or at least colossal in that the lack of absolute enclosures blends the rooms altogether. The openness also allows for lighting to spread with little blockage, the yellow lighting projecting from the white walls but almost dominating more the cyan sunlight that passes through the whole right wall of the cube, for the entire wall has a window screen from edge to edge as though it there is no enclosure at all, instead providing a full view to the megalithic urban landscape of silver blades for as far as the horizon stretches all underneath the blinding supersun, a beautiful sight admirable from just about any position on the floor.

There are however some notable separations with a central square room that has its own borders, and there is a distinction of the floor as the edge that the pad approaches is carpeted in gray and occupied with a long row of shelves and tables along the far wall. There are also sofas over the floor, a square of them on one side surrounding a table and on the other there are two long ones facing each other with a coffee table in between.

However further ahead to the right of the central room the floors are wooden with a same-material table longer than the others as it more resembles a dining table with six hovering seats three along each side all with white leather cushions. Above the table is a silver chandelier emitting a yellow glow that illuminates at least the dining area, although rather than hanging from the ceiling it levitates on its own. Substantially further are a square of long sofas but without a table in the center, and past is a sofa chair beside a circular table both lit by a yellow orb that hovers behind.

On the left side there is a long row of lined up sofas curved at the ends all facing a long white table up against the wall, and beyond that is another box of sofas complemented by a rectangular central table.

The majority of the flooring beyond the edge that the pad moves towards is wood only balanced by smaller white rugs by the couches, although the comfort is sparring. The area however does have a great abundance of furniture especially for a single occupant, more than what could be needed, although it was uniform for the model and despite its lack of necessity it provided a normal appearance of a normal resident.

Alas the pad touches ground, allowing the man to step off and approach the central room first with openings on all four sides in between the smooth white table tops only split off by various white machinery like a substantially taller rectangular refrigerator box also neighboring a segment with a black countertop glossy like a stove. Above said tabletops are rows of hovering white cabinets that serve almost like higher walls, square around the whole room too except for the openings.

The man enters through the gap inside the room which diverges from both the wooden and carpeted floor and instead has white glossy tiles like a traditional kitchen. He then turns around and approaches the fridge, holding his hand up which triggers it to project a screen that he reads through.

Undeniably the apartment is gigantic especially for a single person, one of the more elite living spaces requiring a better salary, not exactly royalty as it was no mansion but instead about the regular size of a house but still impressive especially in such a dense city. Although the apartment at first glance is packed with such dense furniture and artifacts of comfortability, beyond the standard features there lacks other additional decor, as in truth if one were to purchase an apartment of the same model they would find nearly the exact same copy. The default aesthetic of the apartment by no means is underwhelming, in fact it could be seen as adequate for people staying for brief periods, the provided furniture is more than needed and the overall material choices mixed with the architectural artstyle serves well alone. However for a home that one spends much of their time out of work in, eating in, sleeping in, resting in, lounging in, there is little character. Little distinction from the standard, little personality whether it be flowers or even bought furniture. For as vast and populated the apartment seems, if the owner wasn’t inside it’d be as though it’s currently for sale.

Inside the kitchen the refrigerator projects a blue light forth onto the man’s held out right hand, and after the light vanishes left in the hand is a strange leather pouch, sleek but odd coming out of a fridge.

Then from the pouch itself a screen projects with its own inventory grid, albeit this one notably smaller than that of the fridge. Inside the grid there are several icons, one that seems to be of a bottle and beside it a box that has some sort of leaves inside similar to salad although not entirely clear from the screen alone amongst other components of an apple and fork.

After a few seconds of inspection from the man the inventory screen withdraws, and the entire pouch flashes blue from a projection off the man’s hand before vanishing next, leaving nothing between the man and the fridge whose body is glossy enough that it reflects the face, the face wearing a deadpan expression almost emotionless, strict, unforgiving.

For several moments the face just stares at the reflection, paused in contemplation with those stern red eyes glaring naturally, the hair well put although the face below doesn’t follow the same civil delight, instead one of cold detachment.

Alas the head turns around and the man begins to walk away, away from the reflection until not a spec of his presence can be mirrored.

Slower now than the hasty movements prior the man marches down the kitchen through the other opening and straight through the apartment, the surplus of sofas surrounding in squares, able to contain multiple parties of guests and yet there was only one resident. Past the coffee tables the man treks with his arms by his side, swaying hardly as his steps are calculated and stiff.

Every step causes the wooden floor beneath him to ever so quietly creak, weight under his feet although dampened. Without many walls from top down much of the apartment is visible undivided, the lounges merging seamlessly, the axis between the quadrants that the man walks down indistinguishable from the open spaces. Down the long wood floor the man strolls, the cyan light pushed through the right window and the yellow lights from all other walls.

Past the sofa chair at the corner by the orb lamp the man reaches the silver rectangular door, and after stopping in front of it and pausing for a couple seconds the door combusts into a nanite cloud that fizzles away, letting in an unrestrained blast of light almost blinding the man who winces at the same time that he’s struck with a storm of sound, whooshing of engine hums most prominent in the very first second.

Combating the overwhelming environment the man continues out the door– his socks flash blue before being encased in black dress shoes–, allowing it to close again as he begins his path outside with an immediate turn, walking along the silver exterior wall of the house whose bottom is covered by a border of vibrant green bushes well trimmed, serving some greens of nature to an otherwise cold metal shell. Down the path he raises one hand up, projecting a small red screen before him which he taps on what is likely a button before the screen then closes, followed by a whooshing sound complemented with a bright blue flash which alerts of a summoning.

At the end of the short path the man walks onto a silver driveway where now levitates a dark gray pod styled as a sedan, traditional in while it is overall relatively sleek it also has rounded curves that contracts from any potential sports style, instead featuring a rather casual design that warrants little attention, not dulled and dirtied but not shiny and fancy either.

Already there’s an opening in the shell for the driver’s seat which the man carefully slips into, crawling inside with calculated tilts to get himself comfortably within without unnecessary grazing of the exterior.

It only takes a few additional seconds before the engine abruptly roars, the pod lifting almost unnoticeably higher as the roar calms down to a consistent gentle hum. The opening is then shut by the emergence of a nanite cloud that manifests the remaining hard shell of the vehicle, closing the door and allowing for safe movement.

Thus steadily the pod drives backwards, maintaining latitude as it moves down the silver driveway along the coruscating lawn of swaying grass that inhabits the majority of the outdoor platform jutting out of the cubic apartment, the land that’d be grounded for a suburban house instead ripped out of the earth and stacked high up on a tower.

For above the lawn there is another platform stacked above the silver cube, although the underbelly projects a nearly perfect projection of the sky above thereby permitting the same light and warmth as though there was no ceiling at all.

Wide enough for two pods to fit as the apartment truly does seem designed for a full family, the one single sedan pod backtraces to the end of the silver driveway still only about a foot off the ground until it’s finally no longer above a surface after driving off the full driveway, the next highest surface far far below.

No longer bound by a ceiling the pod begins to rise higher and rotate around, not slowing down but instead speeding up concurrently with the raising of the engine hum. Onward the gray sedan pod drives away from the gigantic tower of stacked cubes, each apartment visibly distinct by its edges like blocks placed on each other the way a child would in play.

Yet simultaneously the shine of the silver and the canopies of grass embellish the building into a beautiful sight, although one that has to be left behind as the pod flies the opposite direction to the street of the vast silver city, as in seconds it merges into one of the many vertical lanes of traffic between the countless skyscrapers that surpassed the heavens, vanishing into the stream in an instant.

Far ahead in the sky waterfalls move up and down from the surface to the clouds, the interstate of worlds busy especially in rush hour as the destinies of anyone wasn’t bound to a single planet. Every spec in the sky is another traveler with a unique source and destination, a special adventure only their own even if shared with others for no two adventurers truly had the same tale. Just like there are innumerable stars in the sky there are numerous lives in the specs, lives with their own stories at different points but all moving in the same direction: forward.

So early in the morning it was but there was no exhaustion in the city, it was lively just as it would be later in the day just as it was earlier in the night. At the center of the hundred worlds such an immense pool of energy could never be drained; as long as the cyan supersun remained in the sky up above the world would keep moving and living.