So say villains or heroes are made, others say that they are born.
But in reality, everything is different for every individual.
The circumstances of their upbringing can change everything.
Not always, though.
....
Inside a sleek, modern office building, tension filled the air. Harsh voices bounced off the polished walls of the conference room as a group of employees argued over a failed task for a major client. Accusations flew back and forth, but it wasn't long before all fingers pointed at a silent worker seated at his desk nearby.
Adam sat there, his posture calm, his fingers tapping thodically on his keyboard. He didn't bother to defend himself as his na ca up repeatedly. His dark eyes flicked toward the group, betraying a flicker of disappointnt, before he returned his focus to his work.
"Why aren't you saying anything?" Ali, his closest friend in the office, whispered urgently as he crouched beside Adam's desk.
Adam sighed, gathering his belongings with deliberate slowness. "Why should I?" he replied, his voice steady but resigned. "This place is toxic. Staying here brings no benefits, and honestly, I'm too lazy to argue with people who've already made up their minds."
Ali stared at him in disbelief. "Adam, they're firing you! You're just going to let them win?"
Adam slung his bag over his shoulder and gave a small shrug. "Why should I waste my energy fighting a battle I can't win? The world only cares about the powerful, the rich, the famous. People like ? Immigrants with no connections, no power, we don't stand a chance."
His words hung in the air like a heavy weight.
"But they're wrong." Ali pressed, his voice tinged with desperation. "You didn't do anything!"
Adam t his friend's gaze briefly, a faint smile playing on his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Doesn't matter. The mont they decided to bla , it was over."
Without another word, he turned and walked away. He could feel sympathetic gazes from so of the other workers, but he ignored them. Sympathy wouldn't pay his bills.
....
Adam was a young black man of Senegalese ethnicity, born in Dakar. His family had moved to Italy when he was just three years old, searching for a better life. But tragedy struck when an accident took his parents from him, leaving him an orphan in a country still grappling with accepting those who looked different.
Though Adam faced his share of racism, he also encountered monts of genuine kindness. His life had been a mixture of hardships and fleeting joys, but he had always believed that knowledge was the key to everything. Unfortunately, he wasn't gifted with a sharp mory or high intelligence. He was just… average.
....
Back at his small apartnt, Adam sat in the dimly lit living room, sipping a glass of water. He didn't drink alcohol, it wasn't his thing. The silence was deafening, amplifying the sinking feeling in his chest.
When he retreated to his bedroom, the weight of the day finally broke him. Tears slid down his face as he buried his head in his hands. He'd lied to Ali. He cared deeply about his job. Losing it ant losing his only source of inco, the only thing keeping him afloat.
"What can I even do?" he muttered bitterly to himself. The people who frad him owned the company. They had all the power, and he had none.
After what felt like hours, he finally lay down on his bed, scrolling absently through his phone for a good novel to distract himself. But exhaustion soon claid him, and the screen slipped from his fingers as his eyes closed.
....
I woke to a blinding white expanse stretching endlessly in every direction. My head felt heavy, my thoughts muddled, and my body oddly light. This wasn't my room. There was no bed, no walls, nothing to ground .
Before I could process the situation, I noticed them: an endless line of translucent people moving in synchronized, asured steps. They were silent, their expressions vacant, their forms shimring faintly as they trudged forward. Sothing about them drew in, and before I realized it, I was moving too, following the person directly in front of .
As I walked, I looked around. The void wasn't empty after all. Golden silhouettes zipped through the air, paperwork in hand, their glowing forms busy and purposeful. In the distance, there were rows of desks, each manned by a golden figure. Long lines of translucent people stretched toward each station, inching forward at the sa steady pace.
Ti blurred. I had no sense of how long I'd been walking, but eventually, I found myself in front of one of the desks. Seated there was a golden being, smaller than I expected, almost childlike, though its features were indistinct, shimring like liquid gold. It was muttering to itself, signing papers with a quill that seed to glow as it moved.
"This is absurd!" the figure grumbled, slamming its hands on the desk. "Placebo pills! I only took two! And now my father sends to deal with this boring nonsense."
I stood there, silent. Not because I didn't want to speak, but because I physically couldn't.
The golden being finally looked up, its gaze piercing and annoyed. "Na?"
The word struck sothing deep within , and before I could think, I heard my voice answer automatically. "Adam Sen."
The being nodded, and with a wave of its hand, a piece of paper materialized in front of it. Symbols and lines appeared on the sheet, and though I couldn't read them, I knew instinctively what it was: the story of my life.
The golden figure scanned the paper quickly, its expression bored. Then its eyes snapped back to . "You're aware of your circumstances?"
I nodded. Sohow, I understood that this was a question I was ant to answer, even though I had no idea what "circumstances" it was referring to.
"Hmm. Karma's normal." the figure muttered, leaning back in its chair. "Nothing exceptional. You can either go to heaven or reincarnate back into your original world without mories. Your choice."
I didn't hesitate. "Heaven." If this was real, and it certainly felt real, I wasn't about to gamble with another life of suffering.
The golden being shrugged. "Figures. Alright, one mont." It pulled out a small box from beneath the desk, opening it to reveal dozens of glowing orbs in various colors. The being rifled through them, its movents becoming increasingly erratic.
"Damn… which one was which?" it muttered under its breath, its golden form dimming slightly as though embarrassed.
I felt a bead of sweat roll down my neck as the being side eyed , with its expression unreadable. Then it straightened, coughed theatrically, and said, "Today's a special occasion! You'll pick the orb yourself."
I stared at it, my suspicion growing. 'This is pure bullshit.' I thought, but I could see no way out of this situation. Resigned, I stepped closer to the box. The orbs pulsed softly, their glow hypnotic. My hand moved on its own, drawn to a light blue orb that seed to hum with an inviting warmth.
But i also saw a grey orb calling so i just picked both as a revenge, for the first ti in my existence i decided to fight back!
The mont I touched them, the orbs rged into my chest, sending a jolt of energy coursing through .
"No!" the golden being's voice rang out, sharp and panicked. "Not again!"
A portal erupted into existence behind , its swirling edges crackling with energy. I felt an irresistible force pulling backward.
"Wait, what's happening?!" I tried to yell, but my voice was drowned out by the roar of the portal.
"Fuck!" the being shouted, throwing its paperwork in frustration. "Father's going to send to a lower world for this!"
Those were the last words I heard before the portal consud .
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