Akira was running from the police again, swiftly maneuvering his way throughout the city's rooftops, jumping from one staircase to another in a futile attempt to outrun them. His heart, a muscle that had beat for more than anyone else's, pounded not with fear, but with a weary annoyance. This was a tiresome routine, a dance he'd performed countless times across countless years. Tonight's minor infraction? A misplaced artifact, something shiny and old that had briefly caught his eye in a museum, its historical significance a mere footnote in his own timeline. He soon reached his way to the shopping district, which was buzzing with people, the late-night crowds a kaleidoscope of neon and chatter.
He looked down, his green hair covering his eyes slightly as he was contemplating his next actions. He could vanish into the throng, become a ghost in the vibrant chaos. Or he could try to lose them in the alleyways. With a sigh of resignation and a deep breath, he jumped down from the rooftop onto a dumpster, the metallic clang swallowed by the city's hum. He landed with an agility that belied his casual posture, the impact barely registering. Quickly getting up, he discarded his black hoodie to the side, revealing a simple grey t-shirt. The change in attire was a minor camouflage, a temporal shedding of skin. He continued running towards the bright lights of the shopping district, blending seamlessly into the late-night. The flashing signs and boisterous laughter were a stark contrast to the sterile rooftop, a welcome distraction from the flashing sirens that still echoed in the distance. This night could not get any worse he supposed, after all, what is a slight inconvenience in the eyes of an immortal? A mere blip in the vast expanse of time, a poorly scripted scene in an endless play. He'd outrun empires, weathered plagues, witnessed the birth and death of stars. A few overworked police officers were hardly worth a second thought, though the paperwork, he admitted, was a persistent annoyance. They would eventually give up, their human limitations setting a natural limiter on their pursuit. He'd done this before, countless times. He'd be someone else tomorrow, in another city, under a different sky. The faces chasing him would fade from his memory like dew in the morning sun. But for now, he ran, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. Even in the monotony of endless existence, there was a certain dark humor to be found in the mundane absurdity of being chased by men who would be dust long before he forgot their fleeting concern.
He moved with a practiced ease through the pedestrian traffic, a silent current weaving through the loud river of people. He kept his head down, feigning interest in the holographic advertisements that flickered above the stalls selling everything from luminous noodles to personalized weather drones. He caught snippets of conversation, excited chatter about the latest hero debut, hushed arguments over gacha game pulls, the universal language of human desires and frustrations, perpetually the same yet always slightly different.
As he navigated the crowd, he subtly adjusted his pace, mirroring the rhythm of those around him. He avoided drawing attention, his movements fluid and unremarkable. He noticed a family laughing together, the father's quirk (tiny sparks that danced around his fingertips) illuminating the children's delighted faces. A pang, something akin to wistful longing, flickered within him. He envied their simple joy, their finite existence lending a preciousness to moments he had long since stopped counting. He'd seen countless families come and go, their laughter echoing for a brief moment in his endless life before fading like whispers in the wind.
He slipped into a dimly lit arcade, the cacophony of digital sounds and excited shouts providing excellent cover. Rows of people hunched over flashing screens, their faces illuminated by the glow of electronics. He blended seamlessly into the background noise, becoming just another teenager lost in the virtual world. He leaned against a gaming machine, pretending to be engrossed in the fast-paced action on the screen. He watched as the flashing blue and red of police sirens briefly painted the arcade entrance before disappearing into the night. They wouldn't risk a disruptive raid in such a crowded place based on a hunch. He allowed a small, genuine smile to grace his lips this time. He was good at this, a master of disappearing.
He considered his next move. Staying put for too long would be foolish. He needed to create distance, dissolve into the city's fabric. He could lose himself in the lower levels, the sprawling network of underground markets and forgotten transit lines that crisscrossed the city like ancient veins. Or perhaps he could hitch a ride on a cargo drone headed to the outskirts. The possibilities were endless, the city a playground for his centuries of experience.
He pulled out a small, unassuming datapad from his pocket. Its screen flickered to life, displaying a map of the city's transportation network. He quickly scanned the routes, his eyes picking out potential escape routes. He selected a less frequented line on the automated transit system, a route that snaked through the older parts of the city, areas where the hyper-modern sheen of the central district gave way to a more gritty, lived-in aesthetic.
As he made his way towards the transit station, he couldn't help but reflect on the quirk that had cursed him with this unending existence. He remembered the early days, the confusion, the fear, the dawning realization that he was different, fundamentally altered. He'd witnessed the first sparks of what would become the norm, the strange and often unpredictable mutations that had reshaped humanity. He'd seen quirks hailed as miracles, then feared as threats, then accepted as just another facet of life. He'd seen heroes rise and fall, their legacies etched in history books while he remained a silent observer.
He was one of the first to stumble upon Japan's boogeyman. A man considerably taller than himself wearing expensive clothes. He had no idea whether it was pity or just cruelty as the man had put this curse on him. He could only hope this was not some sick game of his.
He reached the transit station, a bustling hub of late-night commuters. He paid for a ticket with a nondescript digital wallet, another temporary identity easily discarded. As the automated train doors hissed open, he stepped inside, becoming just another face in the crowd. He found a seat near the back, gazing out the window as the city lights blurred past.
But for now, he was safe, another night survived. Or rather passed, considering he cannot die. The artifact, a small, intricately carved wooden box from the pre-quirk era, lay tucked safely inside his pocket. It wasn't the object itself he craved, but the connection to a time before, a faint echo of a world he alone remembered. He closed his eyes, the rhythmic rumble of the train a soothing lullaby. The police were a fleeting annoyance, the city a temporary backdrop. He was the constant, the silent witness, forever running through the ever-changing tapestry of time. And in that, perhaps, lay a strange sort of peace.