Asterion lived in Kreuzberg, a Berlin neighborhood that thrummed with a life all its own. Old-world facades and edgy street art collided, a testament to the district's mix of cultures and creative pulse. The air itself was a blend of aromas: freshly brewed coffee from corner cafes, roasting nuts, and the diverse spices of street food vendors.
While the streets pulsed with energy, Asterion sought the quiet corners. He often found himself in a small café, its walls a vibrant mural of the city's history, nursing a coffee and reflecting. He was at a precipice, and the view was exhilarating.
At nineteen, he had graduated from a prestigious university. The journey had been a grueling fight against the odds, fueled by late nights and a fierce determination to prove himself. He had been adopted by his parents after being left an orphan, a twist of fate that had saved him. But it hadn't been easy. He'd carried the stigma of his appearance—olive skin and striking, unnatural ruby eyes that made people whisper of misfortune.
Now, that boy was gone, transformed. His skin was pale from countless hours spent indoors, poring over textbooks and research. That dedication had forged him.
He had everything he'd ever desired. A sponsorship from a reputable company. A brilliant, loyal fiancée. And now, a contract that would pay millions for him to join a high-stakes vaccine and virus research project.
He thought of his parents. His mother, Margarete, was 86, her silver hair pulled back in a bun. Her kind eyes still twinkled, even as Huntington's disease sent subtle tremors through her hands. She was resilience personified, and Asterion felt a warm glow of pride; it was his research, conducted with Dr. James and with her, that had led to the cure for the very disease afflicting her.
And his father, Wilhelm, 88. A distinguished researcher himself, a man of quiet strength and sharp intellect. Wilhelm's love was never loud; it was shown in shared, silent breakfasts and unspoken understanding.
His Nobel Prize, awarded just three months into his new job for the Huntington's breakthrough, had sealed his reputation. At 22, he was on top of the world.
The job was perfect... almost. The pay was incredible, the colleagues brilliant. But the twelve-hour shifts were brutal, making work-life balance a near impossibility. Still, he loved the work, thriving on the energy of discovery.
This continued for one year. Then, the world broke.
A virus broke out from one of their own lab's experiments—a terrifying, mutated variant of rabies. It spread like wildfire. Panic swept the city. The media and government scrambled, but the infection was faster. Fear drove people to madness; the infected, driven by primal aggression, bit anyone they could, and mass hysteria did the rest.
Eventually, lockdowns and heavy precautions contained the spread. Researchers from around the globe, including Asterion, were gathered to create a vaccine. They were on the brink of a breakthrough when, for the first time in months, he was given a day off.
It was his birthday.
He traveled home late, exhaustion eclipsed by a buoyant happiness. He couldn't wait to see his family, to hold Mishel. He was going to spend the rest of his life with her.
When he arrived at the farmhouse, the three people most precious to him in the world were waiting. His father, his mother, and his fiancée. Their smiles warmed him, grounding him in the simple, profound reality that he was loved.
His eyes landed on Mishel. She was 29 but looked 25, her laughter dancing in the air. After he shared stories from the lab, they went inside to prepare dinner. As they waited for the cake, Mishel pulled him aside, her eyes bright.
She whispered that she was pregnant.
A wave of pure, unadulterated happiness washed over him. At the grand age of 22, he was going to be a father. The thought was staggering, beautiful. Later, filled with joy, he and Mishel retired to their room, their minds full of the future blooming between them.
At 2 AM, that future was annihilated.
The tranquility shattered. He was ripped from sleep, picked up, and thrown bodily to the floor. Masked figures in black body armor swarmed the room. A hand clamped over his mouth, an arm cinched around his throat in a chokehold. The sudden, violent shock sent him into a full-blown panic attack.
Bound and helpless, he was dragged to the main hall and thrown to the ground. His head was yanked up by the hair, forcing him to look.
He saw the terrified faces of his parents and Mishel, their fear a mirror of his own. The sight felt like a dagger in his heart.
One of the men spoke, his voice holding a sickening hint of pity. "You know too much, and now you have to pay the price."
"What are you talking about?!" Asterion screamed.
His only response was to be held tighter, his head forced forward. He was made to watch as the men slit his parents' throats. Their blood splattered onto him, hot and wet against his skin, as he witnessed their slow, agonizing deaths.
He screamed, a raw, bestial sound. He fought, but one of the men pinning him dislocated his shoulder. The pain was a white-hot fire, radiating through him. A moment later, a fist buried itself in his stomach, expelling all the air from his lungs.
Gasping, choking, he was grabbed by the hair again. He was dragged toward Mishel. He watched, his mind fracturing, as her clothes were ripped from her body.
"No! Stop! Please!" he begged, his voice cracking. "Do anything you want to me! Leave her alone! Please!"
His cries fell on deaf ears. He was forced to watch, helpless, as Mishel called out to him for help. He could only witness as she was brutally, repeatedly raped while she screamed his name. The sound pierced through him, shattering what little of him was left.
After they had their way with her, one of them drew a knife. Her throat was cut. Asterion's heart didn't just break; it shattered, pulverized into dust.
As Mishel took her last, gasping breath, she lay naked in a pool of her own blood. Unknown fluids leaked from her. Her body was a roadmap of their malice, covered in bite marks and blooming black bruises. The sight was seared into his memory, an indelible, perfect image of his ultimate failure.
Then, one of the men holding him let his guard down, thinking Asterion was too broken to react.
He was wrong.
With a final, explosive surge of pure rage, Asterion pulled the man holding his arm toward him, unbalancing him. The man stumbled, his throat exposed. Asterion lunged, tearing into the man's throat with his teeth. Blood, hot and metallic, flooded his mouth. He watched the man gasp and die, and for one brief, savage moment, he felt satisfied.
It was short-lived.
A shot rang out from the corner.
The world exploded in white-hot pain as the bullet struck him in the head.
In that final, fading moment, a single thought crystallized in his dying mind. He had done nothing to deserve this. His family was innocent. They... he... didn't even know anything about the knowledge they had just so dearly paid for.
He took his last breath, his last thought a single, agonizing question that echoed into the void: Why?