"Good evening. We're tracking a significant weather system bringing heavy rainfall to the area tonight. Expect scattered showers and thunderstorms to develop, with some areas experiencing very heavy downpours. Visibility will be reduced at times due to the intensity of the rain... We advise caution when outdoors and to avoid travel if possible during the peak of the storm." A nearby station was playing.
The rain. Soft yet endless, falling like a thousand tiny whispers from the sky. It soaked the streets, glistened on the cold pavement, and trickled through alleyways like nature's mourning tears. And in the middle of it, lay a boy.
John Doe, a final-year college student studying medicine, found himself right in front of a speeding truck, just seconds before impact.
How did this happen, you ask?
Don't worry, we'll get to that in a minute.
John was just your average guy, the kind you'd walk past a hundred times and never remember once. Average looks, black hair, brown, tired yet hopeful eyes. He stood at an average height and carried the aura of a man who'd learned to exist quietly in the background.
He was born into a middle class family: hardworking parents caught in the endless loop of society's infamous rat race, and a bright little sister still in middle school; the kind that looked up to her brother like he was some kind of superhero. Even if he rarely left his room.
What truly set him apart wasn't his charm or charisma. No. John had book smarts. Dangerous levels of it.
If he was a natural-born genius or someone who clawed his way to the top through relentless hard work, no one really knew. And why's that?
Because John Doe was also a cynical loner.
He was the type who'd rather eat a steaming pile of poop than sit through a group brunch. Someone who kept to himself, dodged social gatherings like a veteran ninja, and saw any kind of interaction as a necessary evil, one to be endured only if absolutely unavoidable.
How exactly someone like that thought he'd survive a career in medicine, a job that requires daily interactions, empathy, and teamwork, was anyone's guess.
I mean, seriously. A doctor who hates people? That's a Netflix dark comedy waiting to happen.
And yet, that was John Doe. A complex contradiction wrapped in sarcasm, wit, and the occasional existential crisis.
But it didn't matter anymore. Because after twenty long, painfully quiet years...
John Doe was about to leave us.
So let's give him the most dramatic send-off he could never bring himself to write in his journal.
The truck, speeding like its driver was a mad scientist on steroids, high on caffeine, and maybe threatened by the fear of loan sharks with baseball bats, collided with John.
No time to scream. No time to move.
It is an unavoidable impact. A truck never misses.
Metal crunched. Bones shattered.
And the rain poured harder.
Almost like the heavens themselves were mourning. Crying.
Maybe they saw something in him the world didn't. Maybe they just felt bad.
The moon peeked through the clouds, casting a faint glow over the wet street, its silvery light illuminating John's broken body like it wanted the whole world to see his pathetic state. He lay on his back, the rain washing over his blood, mixing it into the gutter like watercolor paint on a blank canvas.
"I'm dying, aren't I?"
The thought echoed quietly in his fading mind.
He could barely feel anything now, just the cold, wet kiss of the pavement on his cheek, and the taste of irony thick in his throat.
"Whoever said the moon was beautiful... must've been drinking hot concentrated piss."
Voices.
Distant, muddled voices. Like someone yelling through water.
"...Hey, did you hear that?"
"Yeah... sounded like a thud. Then tires skidding..."
"Don't tell me..."
They rushed over. Two men. One dropped to his knees.
"Hey! Call an ambulance, it's a hit and run!"
"The ambulance won't get here in this weather! We need to take him ourselves. Come on, help me lift him..."
But it was too late.
John Doe, the antisocial genius, had taken his final breath.
He died like he lived: quietly, without fanfare, and thoroughly unimpressed by everything.
And somewhere, far, far away...
A new cry was heard.
The piercing scream of a newborn baby broke through the soft hum of a completely new world.
John opened his eyes, or rather, his new ones, and found himself surrounded by giants. No, not literal giants. Just... very large people.
Huge heads. Towering figures. All human… but enormous. He tried to scream, but what came out was...
"Waaahhhh~!"
That's right.
A baby's cry.
'I'm a baby?'
The sheer shock of that realization overwhelmed his still fragile brain.
And then he passed out again. Poor kid.
Elsewhere, a beautiful woman sat on a bed, sweat still beading on her brow, her face flushed with exhaustion and joy. In her arms, she cradled the tiny, freshly reborn John Doe.
Her name was Tasha Bright.
A breathtaking woman with emerald eyes and the kind of presence that would make jade beauties weep in shame. Who the hell ever decided jade was the gold standard, anyway?
"Jade beauty"? Please.
A man of culture must understand that beauty comes in layers, from bronze and gold to jade, exotic, emerald, celestial, and finally, divine.
It's common knowledge. Refined knowledge. How could you all not know?
John's mother? She was a top-tier Emerald Beauty. And she knew it.
As for the man standing beside her...
John's new father?
An unfortunate case of genetics.
He was 97% an ugly bastard. You know the type. The kind that makes you wonder how beautiful women make their decisions in life.
His name?
Silicone Bright.
(His name was a walking meme, and we'll get to that eventually.)
"Isn't he just the cutest little thing?" Tasha said, her eyes glowing with motherly affection.
"Of course, honey," Silicone replied, plastering a smile that looked more strained than sincere.
'Aw hell no. That kid is creepy as fck!'* he thought inwardly, still feeling the baby's intense stare from before judging his entire life.
And so begins the strange tale of John Doe, now a literal baby in a magical new world, born to a beautiful mother, a suspiciously named father, and a future that no one, least of all him, could have predicted.
From a lonely genius who died under the rain, to a fresh life filled with untapped potential...
The story has only just begun.