Arc 1 - Worlds Apart
Chapter 01: A Broken Man
Tokyo, 1978
"Yamato! Kohei's waiting!" called a voice from downstairs.
"Coming!" replied a seven-year-old with a crop of messy dark hair as he looked up from his drawing, letting his pencil drop to the table.
Picking up the piece of paper, Yamato held it next to his window, comparing his drawing to the tree outside. Grinning, Yamato turned and raced down the stairs, picture in hand.
"Did you get distracted drawing again, Shiro?" questioned a woman, smiling.
"Here, this is for you, Mom," beamed Yamato, holding out the picture.
Taking the paper, Yamato's mother's face lit up with pride.
"Is it good?" asked Yamato, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.
"Of course," nodded Yamato's mother, walking over to a cork board on the wall and pinning the drawing up, "It may even be your best yet."
"All right!" cheered Yamato.
"Now, Kohei's waiting for you outside," spoke Yamato's mother, "Dinner will be ready by five and, remember, don't-"
"-try and cross the main road," finished Yamato with a slightly bored tone to his voice.
"Don't be cheeky," admonished Yamato's mother, pinching his cheek with a smile.
Yamato nodded, pulling on his shoes before tearing open the front door and racing down the path, passing a dark-haired man as he did.
"See you later, Dad!" called Yamato.
The man sighed as he shut the front door behind him, pausing to slip his shoes off, passing Yamato's mother, stopping as the cork board drew his attention.
"Still encouraging him with that ridiculous pursuit, Kyoko," stated the man as he looked at the drawing.
"Osamu, it's perfectly fine for him to have a hobby," replied Kyoko.
"His hobby should be studying," muttered Osamu, "He needs to if he's going to get a good job."
"He's seven, let him be a child," spoke Kyoko, with certainty in her voice.
"Pathetic," murmured Osamu.
"Slow down, Shiro!" called a boy as ran as fast as he could.
"Only if you can catch me, Kohei!" replied Yamato as he continued to sprint.
"Not fair," puffed Kohei as he struggled to catch up.
Skidding to a halt, Yamato looked up and down the busy main road they'd reached.
"Let's go!" grinned Yamato, moving to cross the road, only for Kohei to grab his arm.
"Stop, your mother always says we have to turn around when we reach the main road," spoke Kohei.
"What she doesn't know won't hurt her," retorted Yamato.
"No, I'm sick of this, you're always running off, breaking every rule you can find!" exclaimed Kohei, "And you never wait for me!"
"I'm tired of your constant whining," snapped Yamato, "Why don't you go and run back to your mother, that's if you can even run that far."
Kohei clenched his fists, "I hate you!"
Lurching forward, Kohei fist connected with Yamato's chin, sending him falling backwards, onto the main road.
Pushing himself to his feet, Yamato looker to his left in time to see the terrified face of a bus driver before his whole world went black in a burst of white-hot agony.
Sixteen years later...
Yamato stared up at the ceiling above him as he heard the door to his room open, before closing again.
"Good morning, Yamato," greeted one of the two nurses as she entered Yamato's bedroom.
"Morning," spoke Yamato with a hollow voice.
"How about a shower then some breakfast?" offered the second nurse as she opening the curtains.
"Sounds good," replied Yamato with the same monotone voice, his face blank.
Closing his eyes, Yamato let himself slip away, trying distance his mind from the feeling of his broken body being lifted and washed by others, unable to do it himself.
Gritting his teeth, Yamato felts his clothes being pulled on, followed by the sensation of cold plastic touching his right arm.
"We'll be back soon with your breakfast soon, Yamato," spoke the first nurse, the sound of a door opening and then closing echoing around his room.
Opening his eyes, Yamato looked down, first at the wheelchair he was sat it, before moving on to his broken limbs. Staring at the empty space where his left leg should have been, Yamato sighed.
Sixteen years, sixteen long years since the accident, he'd lost his left leg above the knee, his right arm below the elbow. He'd also damaged the muscles in his left arm so badly he could barely move it, the effort of doing so tiring him out very quickly.
Reaching out with the prosthetic attached to the remains of his right arm, Yamato carefully picked up a portable cassette player and a set of headphones.
Before Yamato could switch the Walkman on a knock sounded from the door. Sighing, Yamato lowered his prosthetic arm, letting it rest on his lap.
"There's someone here to see you," spoke a nurse as she opened the door.
Yamato sighed again and rolled his eyes, turning his face awake as a young man in his twenties entered the room.
"Morning, Yamato," greeted the man, smiling.
"I've told you everyday since I got shoved in here that I didn't want to see you," retorted Yamato, "So go away, Kohei."
His smile faltering for a second, Kohei stepped forward, "I made some new tapes for you, what did you think of the last batch?"
"They were good," admitted Yamato, "Why do you do this? Visit me everyday, day in, day out? Even when I don't want to see you."
"Because you're my friend," replied Kohei cheerfully, "And that's what friends do."
"You're not my friend," spat Yamato, "You're the reason I'm stuck in this chair, not even able to dress myself, wash myself, feed myself! You did this to me!"
"And I'm here trying to atone for that!" snapped Kohei, his smile vanishing in an instant.
"Get out!" yelled Yamato.
Kohei sighed, "Shiro, I didn't mean that."
"If the only reason you're here is because you pity me, then go!" hissed Yamato, "And never come back!"
Kohei looked down sadly, before shaking his head and returning the smile to his face, "See you tomorrow, Shiro."
Turning, Kohei quickly made his exit, his smile fading once Yamato could no longer see his face.
Letting out a sigh he didn't know he was holding, Yamato pulled on his headphones with him prosthetic hand.
Clicking the play button on his Walkman, closing his eyes as the music began to play, letting it carry him away.
Yamato wasn't sure exactly he fell asleep, but as a loud bang shook him from his slumber. Blinking rapidly, allowing his eyes to adjust, Yamato slipped his headphones off.
"Still as pathetic as ever," sneered a bespectacled man in his early forties, his hair greying at his temples.
"Morning, Father," replied Yamato.
"It's two in the afternoon, Yamato," spoke Osamu, his voice cold.
"How's mother? And Touka?" questioned Yamato.
"Your sister is doing well, as for your mother, she hasn't improved still the last time you asked," retorted Osamu, "Probably the shame of having a disgrace of a son like you."
"If you've just come here to insult me, don't come," snapped Yamato.
"I wouldn't talk to me like that," taunted Osamu, "I'm the one who pays for you to live his this place, sleeping the day away."
"You shoved me in here when you couldn't hide away at home anymore," hissed Yamato, "You were so ashamed of having a child who was disabled and so afraid that it would hurt your career that you imprisoned me here."
"And you'll never escape," spoke Osamu, "That is your fate."
"I will get out, I will protect Touka from you," stated Yamato, his face contorting as he managed to raise his damaged left arm, then his prosthetic arm, "I will change my fate with these hands."
Osamu sighed, "I'd hoped I wouldn't have to play my hand so soon, but you've become too much of a risk, your spirit didn't break how I'd hoped it to."
Stepping forward, Osamu knocked twice on the door, moving back again as two orderlies entered Yamato's room.
"It looks like you will be getting your wish to get out of here, just not how you were expecting," informed Osamu in a smug tone, pulling off his glasses and beginning to polish them.
"You bastard," spat Yamato as the orderlies lifted him out his chair, his Walkman falling to the floor, the plastic cover on the front cracking.
"Take comfort that your sacrifice will help science," replied Osamu, "After all, progress demands sacrifice."
Lashing out with his good leg, Yamato struggled to get free, his prosthetic right arm coming loose, joining his Walkman on the floor.
"Sayonara, Yamato," murmured Osamu, watching as his son was dragged away.
Yamoto squinted in harsh light as he slowly came round.
"Good to see you're awake," spoke an elderly man dressed in surgical scrubs, "I was worried the procedure may have cause some loss of cognitive function."
"What have you done to me," grunted Yamato, flexing his arms and legs as he tried to escape the bonds holding him flat.
The man chuckled, pressing a button on the side of the operating table, causing it to start to rise, "How about you see for yourself."
Yamato froze in horror as the table locked into a vertical position, allowing him to see his reflection in the mirror in front of him.
"I'm a monster," gasped Yamato, staring at his reflection.
Instead of the empty space below his elbow where his right arm had been years ago was a matt black metal arm. Looking down, Yamato noticed his missing left leg had also been replaced as well with a matching prosthetic leg.
"No, you're a super-soldier," smiled the man, "Foundation X's super-soldier."
"Afternoon, Yamato," called a teenager as she entered Yamato's hospital room.
Stopping, Touka looked around, all of Yamato's belongings were gone, his wheelchair was knocked over on the floor. Reaching down, Touka picked up Yamato's Walkman and headphones, his prosthetic arm on the floor next to it.
"That bastard," muttered Touka, tears running down her face, "I'll find you Yamato, I promise."