Another flashback seized him—this time, the moment he had acquired the clothes he now wore.
He had first noticed a child, wide-eyed and yearning, tugging at his mother's sleeve as they passed a shop window. Inside, pristine outfits hung under golden lighting, unattainable treasures behind glass. The mother hesitated, then gently pulled the child away. They couldn't afford such luxury.
The Kaiju lingered, drawn not by the garments themselves, but by what they represented. Anonymity. Acceptance. The ability to walk among humans without the weight of their fear pressing down on him. He moved closer, pressing his forehead so firmly against the glass that it nearly cracked. His own reflection stared back—green-skinned, an oddity, a thing apart.
Before he even realized what he was doing, he picked up a brick and shattered the window. The sound rang through the empty street. In a single motion, he seized the clothes and vanished into the alleys beyond.
A distant roar of engines pulled him back to the present.
Stonehaven pulsed with life around him. Dog walkers strolled by, their Walkmans leaking tinny music. A banker sat on a bench, engrossed in a conversation on a massive brick phone. The streets thrummed with energy—crowds surged forward like a time-lapse in motion, neon signs flickered to life, and towering buildings reflected the late afternoon sun, momentarily blinding onlookers.
And yet… no one noticed him.
The fanny pack slung around his waist, the layers of clothing draped over his form—they were enough. Enough to hide the sharp angles of his unnatural frame, enough to keep his amber eyes from being the first thing people saw.
His disguise worked.
For the first time in his life, no one called him a monster.
His eyes sparkled with something fragile, something dangerous. Hope.
But then, a thought intruded—how long had it been since his 'mistake', the one that sealed his fate? Five years. Five years locked away in that facility. A prison masquerading as a research center. Five years of cold steel, harsh lights, and experiments that stripped away pieces of him, both known and unknown.
Now, finally, he was free. Free to roam, to exist, to feel the air without metal restraints biting into his skin.
Stonehaven stretched out before him like a treasure buried within a fortress. Nestled at the foothills of the Alps, divided into upper and lower towns, it was a blend of the ancient and the modern. The city was a living, breathing contradiction—cobblestone streets intertwined with sleek, towering structures, an elevated railway humming above like a silver thread woven through time. The heart of downtown beat with the rhythms of a dozen cultures, shop signs in countless languages, scents of foreign spices drifting through the air.
Yet beneath the grandeur, secrets festered. In the canyons and valleys beneath the city lay Undertown, a hidden world of shadows and whispered names.
He had been here before—hadn't he? His mind felt hazy, like a fog rolling in just as he reached for something familiar.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky bled into hues of violet and gold. He walked for miles, tracing the well-worn paths of strangers. He ate nothing but scraps of dry bread, drank water gifted by kind hands. When exhaustion finally took him, he collapsed onto his makeshift bed—a tattered carpet spread thin over cold pavement, a garbage bag propped beneath his head as a poor excuse for a pillow.
Still, he was grateful.
For once, he wasn't running.
From the outskirts of town, he had gazed upon the dazzling city lights, their glow a silent invitation. And so, with aching feet and a quiet, stubborn hope, he had wandered in.
Now, beneath the burning glow of the night sky, he let his eyes drift upward. The stars winked down at him, tiny specks of silver set against the abyss.
So far, so good, they seemed to whisper.
A fresh start. A new beginning.
He closed his eyes, a small smile ghosting his lips.
One day—one day soon—the world would know his name.
Not as a monster.
But as a hero.
And when they called for him, they would cheer. They would chant. They would lift him upon their shoulders, their voices ringing with praise.
And he would smile, waving back.
Just as heroes do.