1 THE AWAKEN OF ANTI-MATTER
In the ancient annals of time, a fierce struggle unfurled between two entities, one draped in a shroud of darkness, adorned with a horned helm and a scarlet gaze, while the other resembled a venerable sage, with a flowing grey beard and piercing blue eyes.
"Hand over the box," demanded the cloaked figure with imperious authority.
"I'll never relinquish it to the likes of you, Gunner," retorted the bald-headed sage, his voice resolute.
Their clash escalated swiftly, with Gunner unleashing a mighty black orb, only to be deftly evaded by his opponent.
"Calm yourself, Gunner," urged the sage, "there is no need for this."
But Gunner remained unyielding, launching a relentless assault.
In response, the sage unleashed a beam of pure white light, obliterating Gunner in a blaze of brilliance, leaving naught but his severed limbs.
Turning to the coveted box, the sage made a fateful decision. "I will send it to the distant planet Saturn, in the Milky Way Galaxy," he declared, initiating its journey with a golden surge of energy.
Yet, Gunner, undeterred, emerged once more, his fury unquenched. "Where is the box?" he demanded, his gaze ablaze.
"It is safe, beyond your reach," replied the sage calmly.
But Gunner's wrath knew no bounds. With a devastating blast, he annihilated the planet, the shockwave threatening to engulf the precious cargo.
Despite the cataclysmic destruction, the box endured, hurtling through the cosmos until it collided with an asteroid, hurtling towards Earth.
As it plummeted through the atmosphere, it ignited into a fiery descent, catching the attention of primitive humans.
In a darkened cave, women adorned with simple garments watched in awe as the box landed before them. Tentatively, they approached, their curiosity piqued by the strange markings adorning its surface: a_ti_ma_ta.With a hesitant strike of their spears, the box exploded, its particles intermingling with the very essence of humanity, birthing the enigmatic substance known as ANTI-MATTER, forever altering the course of history.
2000 years later
I'm Moho-Sha Cycle, a worker at the Community Service Center, dedicated to cleaning the streets with the help of those pesky drone-like robots. Standing at a modest 5.5 feet, with brown eyes and a crew cut hairstyle and my blue Nike jacket and pants and black Nike shoes, I trudge through the day with determination, my fair complexion often bearing the brunt of the sun's harsh rays.
After another grueling session of street , I head to the local shop to collect my hard-earned wages. As I stand in line, a figure catches my eye—a boy who is wearing a jacket adorned with the words "Nami Dabur" on the left side and "AM Corps" on the back, which stands for Anti-Matter Corps.
He is 5.9 feet tall and blue eyes and a little bit lighter than me.
He approaches me with purpose, announcing that they're in need of a cleaner for the upcoming coronation event at Blaze, set to become a Rank 10.
Without hesitation, I agree to the task, setting a meeting time of 2:30 PM to commence the cleaning, a mere thirty minutes before the event kicks off. "What's your name?" the boy inquires. "Moho-Sha Cycle," I reply, ready to embark on this unexpected opportunity.
