I Am Omega by TsharpInfinity

You were nothing special. Did I ever tell you that?

I created you from life in its basest form, built you and constructed you cell by cell, tissue upon tissue, flesh, blood and bone assembled unto a warrior the likes this world has never seen. I trained you, shaped you into a soldier. No, you were beyond any mere soldier. You were a work of divine intervention manifested in a vessel that could barely give credit to the gods that inspired your birth. You were, and will be for decades, the ultimate human creation.

But you were nothing special. Do you know why?

Yes, you know why.

It was because of her that you failed to rise above the rest. You were strong. She was strongest. You were fast. She was fastest. You were brave. She was bravest. You were the ultimate. She was the maximum.

How can this be, you ask? How is it possible that after thousands of years on this hurtling sphere called Earth, the constantly evolving human genus can reach its peak? It can't. I believe that humanity is growing and shaping itself into something that we at this time cannot comprehend; something that, only on the forever blazing world of imagination, exists and is tangible to us. The very idea that its peak, its climactic end would come in the form of a simple girl with wings is nothing less than blasphemous to the Church of the Imagination and our dreams of transcending this mortal coil, branching into worlds so divine that the very possibility of reality would be enough to shatter one's sane mind. The maximum? Far from it, at least at this appointed time. For she has the potential to become that much greater, a potential that you never had.

If she is a pawn in this game called subsistence, then you should consider yourself a weapon, a blunt object at best. You were born to be a blank slate, to lack any features physically or mentally that separated you from another. You were designed to be a warrior, not a person. You were never meant to have substance. That is why you failed. That is why she succeeded. That is why she lives. That is why you died.

But death for you, my child, is only the beginning.

Within the dark depths of his unconscious mind, something was at work. Forces that he could not begin to understand were moving, scattered fragments migrating to this specific place, that exact area, locking into place and working. After the last few pieces settled into place, there was a pause for quite some time, as if they were waiting in anticipation for the precise moment. And in an instant, it came. The darkness lit up in a blaze of divine light, flooding warmth and brilliance to every corner of the void until it settled. What was left was a universe of color and shape, shadows and light coexisting at peace and at war. It was a scene of indescribable beauty, one that can only take place in the minds of humankind.

His eyes opened.

Like a newborn child, his senses were overwhelmed by the world around him. The bright fluorescent light pierced his eyes within an inch of blindness. The sheet he was wrapped in felt like needles on his skin. The smell of antiseptic fluids burned his nostrils and the high-pitched screeching of medical instruments would be enough to make a normal man cry out in agony. Instead, he lay dormant, still as a fresh corpse. He had no reason to get up, no reason to escape from wherever he was being held. He knew nothing, remembered nothing, and felt a familiar emptiness inside of him.

As he heard a pair of footsteps enter the room, he did not open his eyes. He simply didn't have any reason to do so. Two voices echoed into his ears, his mind just managing to register what they were saying.

"He's awake?" A male voice asked. "How did this happen?"

"We're not sure," a female voice said, "The neurological pathways in his brain were dormant until a few hours ago."

"That's impossible, he's . . . or at least he was brain dead. It's a small miracle we didn't get around to pulling the plug." He flinched as he felt one of the doctors touch his arm. The delicate sensation on his skin suggested it was the female doctor. He opened his eyes ever-so-slightly, making out a blurry silhouette hovering over him. As he found that the light no longer hurt his eyes, he opened them fully, the sight of a woman meeting his vision. She was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen, because she was the first thing he had seen in his life.

"Hi," she said with a voice like cotton, smiling just as softly, "You're in a hospital. You're going to be alright, but we need to know your name. Can you tell me your name?"

He blinked. He had no idea what to say, or even if he should say anything at all. The fact that someone had actually asked him a question didn't fully register with him all at once, but he slowly began to process what she had said. He began to think to himself, bits and pieces of information flashing before his eyes, most of which didn't make sense, but he ultimately found something concrete, something he didn't recognize but was instantly familiar.

"My name . . ." He spoke, his voice barely audible, "My name is Max."

He told them both everything he knew, which wasn't much. When asked simple questions like where he lived, who his parents were, his age, he replied only with a confused expression, unwilling to say anything at all. More than twenty questions in, the male doctor gave up and stormed out of the room, his colleague following reluctantly behind him. With that, he was left alone in his featureless white room, staring vacantly into space.

After a while, he couldn't tell how long he had been left alone. Hours? Days? Weeks, even? It didn't seem to matter to him. Nothing meant anything to him, aside from that one name, the name he had chosen for himself. Max. Those three letters, that one word was the only thing keeping him from falling asleep and never waking up. Was it really his name? He didn't know, but it was that name that kept him awake, wondering, questioning, and most importantly, hoping. Whenever he felt himself slip into darkness, he remembered that name, and it was enough to pull him back. A name with such power couldn't possibly be his, he thought. After all, he was nobody, someone who couldn't even remember who he was or where he came from. But the fact that this name had so much power over him, him of all people, proved that he must have been special in some way to find it, or for it to find him.

"Max?" He jolted back into reality after realizing that the name had been spoken by someone else. He looked up at the female doctor, standing just outside his room. "Is it alright if I come in?" He stared blankly at her for a moment before answering.

"Yes." He said plainly. She walked in, delicate footsteps gracing her presence, and pulled up a chair next to his bed. Were this anyone else, he would have ignored them completely, but he felt that there was something he could trust about this woman, something that her colleague lacked. Granted, he didn't know what to say, if he should say anything, but something inside of him was slowly growing, building up, ready to escape from him like the contents of a seed before it breaches the topsoil.

"I'm sorry that we haven't been able to do more to help you," the doctor said without a trace of insincerity in her voice. "I know this must be really hard for you, not knowing who you are or where your family is. If you have any questions for me, please, just ask me." He continued to stare at her, only now looking at her as one would a person, rather than an inanimate object. He began to examine her features; there wasn't a thing he disliked about her, from her jet black hair that shone brightly in the light of the white room, to her deep blue eyes that tore into him softly, bringing out what little soul that he had inside. It made him feel so helpless to look at her, to know that all she wanted was to help him, while he couldn't find anything inside himself for her to help. He felt a knot form in his stomach, winding tighter as he felt the woman's gaze grow more intense upon him. What was this feeling? He couldn't tell, or couldn't remember.

Desperate for a way to communicate with her, he tried to think of a question, any question at all, to ask her, but he found his mind was blank. It just didn't matter to him whether he knew anything or not. He was nobody, as far as he could discern. What difference would it make if he knew where he was or what had happened to him? Then again, what if he really was someone? What if he did have a family, a home, people who cared about him? It was that small fragment of hope that pushed him to ask his first question.

"Where am I?" He asked, half-surprised that he had actually spoken.

"You're in a hospital in the inner city of Candar," she replied. His brow twitched at the last word she had spoken. That word sounded so unfamiliar, unlike anything he had ever remembered hearing. Not that he had remembered ever "hearing" anything, but he knew this word was different, he felt it.

"Candar?" He asked without forcing himself to this time. He began to feel questions and words seep into his brain, slowly but surely. The doctor looked almost as confused as he felt after hearing him speak.

"I guess you lost more than we thought," She said with a sorrowful expression. "When we found you, a month ago, floating off the coast, we thought you'd never wake up. You were in such bad shape, we almost gave up on you, but your wounds healed so fast that we thought that you'd have a fighting chance."

"What happened to me?" The woman looked off into the distance and sighed.

"I'm sorry; I wish I could tell you, I wish I knew. All that we do know is that you sustained several cuts and heavy brain damage when we did find you. You healed dramatically within days, but your nervous system was almost completely dead. We tried everything available to us to bring you back, but only until recently have your brain cells started to regenerate. I'm not sure why this is happening to you, but I'm glad that you're okay now."

"Thank you," he said without thinking. There was a long silence between the two. The woman kept glancing at him, trying to coax him into saying something, but he did not respond as he stared coldly into space.

"So," she spoke, her voice shattering the silence like a pillow breaking through a sheet of glass, "You really don't remember anything? About yourself? About this city, even?"

"No, nothing," he replied honestly. He was determined to stop there, but he found himself compelled to keep talking. "What can you tell me about Candar?"

"Well, for starters," She said with a smile, filling his body with a warm feeling, "It's the capital city of Althea. It's the main source of—"

"Wait—what's Althea?" The woman's jaw dropped slightly.

"Are you serious? Althea, major region of Baion, the third continent?" He shook his head slowly. "Wow, that's . . . I'm sorry. I really shouldn't be so . . . you know."

"No, that's alright," He said, though he didn't quite know what she meant. However, he could tell that she was upset, and decided to change the subject. "What could you tell me about yourself?"

The woman's eyes sparkled at his question, a smile creeping up her face. "There's not much to tell, really," She said with a shrug, "My name's Stacy Korriban. I've been a doctor for a few years, just moved here from a small village down the coast. I help more people here, but I do miss it out there, the people, the open sea . . . oh, listen to me babble! I should be the one getting you to talk!" She laughed, and he found himself doing the same. It was a strange, uncomfortable feeling, laughter. He stopped quickly and efficiently, leaving another silence between them.

"So what's going to happen to me now?" He asked quietly. She seemed to be caught off-guard by the question, taking a long time to answer.

"I . . . I'm not sure," she said in a somber tone, "We were hoping that someone would come looking for you, but I really don't think that that's going to happen. We'd normally focus on physical therapy at this point, but our tests have analyzed that you should be more than capable of walking on your own." Hearing this, he lifted himself out of bed. He instantly found his balance after hopping off his bed and began stretching. He noticed something strange, though. He could feel every ligament, every tendon, every muscle move perfectly as he flexed and twisted. There wasn't a single crack heard or a single bit of pain in his body. He then threw himself down to the floor, starting to do push-ups, his arms lifting his body like pistons in an engine. In one swift motion, he pushed hard against the ground and jumped to his feet, landing perfectly balanced.

"My . . . god . . ." The doctor's eyes were as wide as saucers, glued upon the young man. If she were holding anything, she would have dropped it at this point.

"When can I leave this place?" He asked, snapping the woman out of her trance.

"You're, um, free to leave whenever you want—but we need to find you a place to stay first!" She added quickly as he moved toward the door. He furrowed his brow as she stepped in front of him. "Max, you can't leave now, not in your current condition. If you had anywhere safe for you to stay, I would let you be discharged, but that's just not the case."

"What would you have me do?" He asked, anger building in his tone, "Just lay here like an invalid for the rest of my life?"

"Max, please . . ." Her voice cracked, tears glistening in her eyes, ". . . I'm sorry, I wish I could help, but—"

"But there's nothing you can do, I know," He finished bitterly, a strong rush of feeling exploding in his body as he did so. This feeling was similar to when he tried laughing, but this was much more intense, and much more satisfying. Suddenly, he noticed the woman bite her lower lip, breathing in deeply. The rush he got was cut short in an instant, brutally, painfully. He felt like his stomach was being twisted from the inside out when he looked at her, a cold emptiness replacing the warmth he experienced while in her presence. He felt so confused, his mind assaulted from all sides with different feelings. What was happening to him?

"I'm sorry," He found himself saying, doing as his feelings told him to, "I shouldn't have—"

"No, no, it's not you," she said as she rubbed her eyes, "I'm just . . . I feel like I'm helping you so little. I wish I could do more."

"Maybe you can," he said, sounding like he had an idea. "Where do you live?"

"Where do I . . . oh, no. No, I couldn't, I—"

"Why not? You said you want to help me, didn't you?" He asked with genuine curiosity, tilting his head to one side.

"It's not that simple, Max." There was another long silence as he looked to the ground. He listened to his feelings long and hard, trying to think of something to say to her, but nothing came. Still, he concentrated until a thought popped into his head, coming from somewhere in his chest.

"You're the only person I'm close to right now," He muttered. He swallowed hard as he saw her bite her lip again, not speaking for what seemed like a long time. Finally, she cupped her hands in front of her mouth, smiling as a tear travelled down her cheek. He flinched as she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"You are so sweet, Max." He felt his face heat up intensely as Stacy kissed him on the forehead.