The man that was once full of power and relentless chuckles of fury is disappearing underneath his fingertips. His hands are chained in silver bands of steel, and his fists of anger are non-existent.
His eyes are sad, they are calm, and they are no longer full of ambition. The boy with the pikachu on his shoulder might regret what he has done.
But his voice, saccharine sweet, tired, and ready to fight, lets the boy know that the dream he has once tried to turn into reality is about to be put on trial.
The gavel bangs.
When everything is done, when the blast of smoke is gone, it is revealed that the boy has won. His eyes shine bright, and he is cheering, happy and amazed, feeling star struck. The man full of power - the one who held the world in his hands - can feel his resolve breaking.
He laughs.
His laugh is cold. It is full of remorse and frustration, rage, and forgotten once upon a times. His laugh has no means of happily-ever-after like the boy's does.
Words the man has said: "You cannot save the world, you are but a mere child," are mere nothings. They are the man's own worldly opinions, far away from the truth.
The man pulls out a weapon and laughs some more. If he can't do it the right way, perhaps he should do it the wrong way. That is his usual method.
He does not want to lose to a mere child.
The laughter doesn't stop, even when the cops tell him to drop his weapon, and have him pinned, hand-cuffed against his will. His fists drop into normal hands, his eyes stop showing anger and hate, and he mumbles words of apologies and something of 'silver.' The man practically goes numb in the end.
Who he is apologizing to, the young boy has no clue. The young boy stops to think about his actions - arresting a villain and saving the world - and ponders if he is a hero.
He certainly doesn't feel like one, despite what they tell him.
He has only broken a man's character and soul, made the powerful leader of a criminal organization feel like a nothing, like a weakling. He feels like the man was more of a hero than he ever will be.
His pikachu looks down in shame, too. Perhaps they are both feeling this feeling.
The boy has never felt it before… at least, not this strongly.
But they both know the word:
Guilt.
And after a while, when the man is in the car and driven away, and everything is being celebrated, the boy sighs into his hands, wishing that they only had stopped fighting. This way, no one would be broken or guilty, no one would be tired or frustrated, and no one would be falsely accused of being a hero or wrongly accused of being a villain.
And in the shadows, unbeknownst to the guilty young 'hero', there is a little boy with the name 'Silver', who, with tears in his eyes for the father he never truly appreciated, runs into the arms of a woman who looks just like him.
And the hero sighs, burying his face in his hands. He wonders where he ever went wrong with his relentless dreaming.
He spites the dreams, knowing that they have been the jury to his case. And the verdict is in:
guilty.
.
.
case closed