A thunderstorm isn't just weather. Sometimes, it's heaven's warning—whispers in thunder that something terrible is coming.
A woman dashed through the rain-soaked streets, no umbrella, soaked to the bone. Her hands clutched a worn-out bag like her life depended on it. She didn't stop to look back, but she should have—because a black car had been tailing her ever since she turned off the main road. It slowed as she neared a rundown hut at the edge of the slum.
The woman reached the door, fumbled with the latch, and slipped inside. The black car came to a halt right outside.
Inside, the hut was barely a shelter. Rain leaked through cracks in the roof. The darkness was suffocating—there was no electricity, just the occasional flash of lightning that lit up the room in haunting intervals. On the floor, curled up and shivering, was a boy.
She knelt beside him, her voice shaking.
"Kanna… Kanna, wake up, my dear."
The boy stirred, slowly opening his eyes. A flicker of light passed through them when he recognized her.
"Amma… you're back," he whispered, smiling despite the cold.
With trembling fingers, the woman reached into her bag and pulled out a single loaf of bread. She handed it to the boy. He took it gently, tore it in half, and, with a smile warmer than the storm outside, offered her one half.
That small act—the kindness in his eyes, the love in his gesture—hit her like a wave. Her fingers trembled as she accepted the bread, her eyes suddenly stinging with unshed tears. For a brief moment, time stopped. It was just a mother and son, sharing more than food—sharing hope.
Then—BANG.
The door slammed open. Four men in black suits stepped inside, rain and menace trailing behind them. Their faces held grins that didn't reach their eyes. The warmth in the room evaporated.
The woman instinctively pulled the boy behind her, shielding him.
"Who are you?" she demanded. "Why are you here?"
They said nothing.
Two of them seized her, while another yanked the boy from her grasp.
"No! Give him back to me!" she screamed, fighting, kicking, clawing. The man holding the boy didn't flinch. He walked to the door, threw the child out into the mud, and slammed it shut.
The boy scrambled up, rain mixing with tears.
"Amma! Amma!" he cried, pounding on the door. Screams echoed from within. Her screams.
"Amma! What's happening? Amma, please!"
He kicked the door. He slammed his fists. He beat his head against the wood.
But the door never opened.
Two hours later, it creaked open.
The four men walked out slowly. One of them—the one who had thrown the boy out—paused, lighting a cigarette. He looked down at the kid, now collapsed near the steps, soaked and silent.
With a smirk, he said,
"Go see your mother."
The boy ran inside.
And then... he stopped.
She was there, lying still. Her body unmoving, the light that once lived in her eyes now gone. The room was filled with silence, heavy and crushing.
He stood frozen, a numbness spreading through him.
Then, something inside him twisted.
He turned toward the door where the men still stood. One of them was laughing.
The kid didn't think. He ran forward and drove his fists into the man's stomach. Again. And again. He screamed—not words, just raw, guttural pain turned into rage.
The men tried to pry him off.
But in that moment, the kid wasn't just a boy anymore.
He was a storm.
Annoyed by the kid, the man grabs the kid through his neck and lifts him up and slaps the kid. But the kid bites the hand of the man. In pain, he throws the kid on the ground while other men who were watching them laughing it out.
But the kid gets up, continues his punches and kicking the man again. While punching and kicking, the kid goes through one of the man's suit pockets, grabs something. The man who was annoyed by the kid kicks the kid onto the ground and spits on the floor and leaves with his friends in the car.
The man enters the car with his friends, starts the car, slowly moves on the roads. The kid gets up, starts to run behind the car screaming that he will never leave them alone, and he will kill each one of them by his own hand.
"I promise," but couldn't catch up with the car, and the car vanishes from the kid's sight.
And one last thing before going back to work,
"I promise I will find you guys and kill you."
When he returned home, everything was silent — too silent.
Then he saw her.
His mother, sprawled on the cold floor, lifeless… as if the warmth had long abandoned her.
In that moment, she didn't feel like his mother anymore — she felt like a distant memory wearing her face.
Words failed him.
He sank to the ground beside her, clutching a knife — the only thing that made him feel even remotely safe.
With tired, hollow eyes and trembling hands, he sat there, guarding the one person he couldn't afford to lose.
He didn't sleep. He didn't blink.
He just… stayed. Watching. Waiting.
But the night was long, and his body, fragile.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed him.
His eyes closed, unaware that sleep would steal more from him than he could ever imagine.
When the first light of dawn crept into the room, he awoke slowly, blinking away the blur.
And then he saw it.
His mother — no longer on the floor.
She had hanged herself.
Shock tore through him like a scream with no sound.
He couldn't move. He couldn't cry.
He just stood there… frozen in horror, forced to watch as the only light in his world faded into darkness.
After a while, the kid musters the last of his strength, stands up, and notices a letter lying silently on the floor. He picks it up, hands trembling, and unfolds it with care. His eyes begin to trace the words—his mother's final message to him.
To my dearest Kanna,
I know you always thought I was brave…
But the truth is, I wasn't.
I was just a broken woman—too weak to shield her child from a cruel world. I couldn't protect you from strangers, from hunger, from the cold. I couldn't give you the life you deserved—one where you'd run freely with children your age, go to school, and sleep peacefully each night without fear.
I tried, my love…
But I failed.
You never asked for anything, even when you had every right to. You never cried, never complained about our life—not once. And every time I walked through that door with nothing in my hands but guilt and despair, you greeted me with the brightest smile… like sunshine breaking through a storm.
That smile—it healed me.
That smile kept me alive.
You were my angel, a gift sent from the heavens themselves. And I… I was supposed to protect you.
But I couldn't.
I'm so sorry.
After what happened to me last night…
I don't think I can go on like this anymore, kanna.
I'm sorry for leaving you.
I'm sorry for not being strong enough to stay in this cruel, dark world.
But please, promise me something—
Never let helplessness or fear break you.
Stand tall, face every challenge with courage.
Never run away from anything, no matter how hard it gets.
Cherish your friends, kanna.
Stand by them, even when things get tough.
True friends are the most precious part of life—protect them at any cost.
Don't skip meals, eat well.
Avoid outside food, it's not good for your stomach.
Brush your teeth every day, and please, don't forget to take your bath.
Stay clean, stay healthy… I won't be there to remind you anymore.
That's all I have left to say, my dear.
I'm sorry I had to go first…
But I'll always be watching over you from the sky.
Goodbye, kanna.
I will always love you.
Forever.
– Amma
After reading the letter, the kid wiped the tears from his face, his hands trembling—not with fear, but with fury. He swore to himself, right then and there, that he would take revenge for his mother… no matter the cost.
The ropes bit into his skin, but he couldn't free himself. All he could do was wait—wait for someone to come, anyone. His eyes stayed fixed on his mother's lifeless body, suspended like a cruel warning. No one had come yet, but he didn't lose hope. Deep down, something told him help was on its way. So he waited… and watched.
In the silence, he remembered—he had taken something from the man's pocket during the struggle. With shaking fingers, he reached into his own pocket and pulled it out. A business card. Plain. Clean. But deadly. It had a name… and the company.
Ryan. Deson Pharmaceuticals. President.
The kid's eyes narrowed as a storm brewed behind them. Rage took over. Without thinking, he grabbed the knife that had fallen nearby and carved the name "Ryan" into his hand—letter by letter, deep enough to scar.
He wanted the pain. He needed it. A reminder. So he would never forget who destroyed his world. And so, one day, Ryan and his friends would know what it feels like to beg for mercy… and receive none.