lookism: Experiment

The building was silent, save for the faint creak of worn wooden beams and the occasional drip of liquid pooling on the cracked concrete floor. A man stepped inside, his polished boots crunching over broken glass. The smell hit him first—coppery and raw, the unmistakable scent of blood. His sharp eyes scanned the room, taking in the scene. Corpses littered the ground, their lifeless forms twisted and marred with violence.

The man's gaze moved methodically, lingering on each body before finally settling on the boy standing at the center of the carnage. His clothes were torn and stained red, his hands trembling yet steady. His eyes, however, were what caught the man's attention: crimson, glowing faintly in the dim light.

A wide grin spread across the man's face. "Well done," he said, his tone almost fatherly. "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, Number 8. You've done it. You'll change this world."

The boy remained silent, his expression unreadable. The man stepped closer, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Come. There's more to do."

Without hesitation, the boy followed, stepping over the bodies with the same indifference one might show stepping over puddles in the rain.

---

Lab

Hours later, Michael opened his eyes. The sterile glow of fluorescent lights greeted him, the hum of machinery filling the otherwise silent room. He recognized the place immediately—the lab where it all began. The familiar sight brought a sour taste to his mouth, but he quickly pushed the feeling aside.

Memories surfaced unbidden. Mike's face flashed in his mind, and a lump formed in his throat. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. *No. I won't cry. Crying is weakness.* He inhaled deeply, forcing the emotions away. *Mike wouldn't want me to waste time mourning. I need to grow stronger. For him.*

The door to the room hissed open. The man who had brought him here stepped in, his presence as commanding as ever. But this time, he wasn't alone. Beside him stood an older figure, a man in his seventies clad in the somber black robes of a church father.

"This is Father Gabriel," the man said, his tone formal. "He will adopt you and oversee your training."

Father Gabriel stepped forward, his eyes soft yet piercing. "What is your name, child?"

The boy hesitated before answering, "Michael."

The name was deliberate. It wasn't his given name, but he had chosen it—a tribute to Mike, the one person he couldn't forget.

Father Gabriel smiled gently. "Michael. A strong name. Come, my child. Your new life begins now."

--

Church

The car ride was long, the silence broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of Father Gabriel's robes as he shifted in his seat. Michael stared out the window, watching the scenery change from the industrial sprawl of the city to the tranquil expanse of the countryside.

When they arrived, Michael found himself standing before a grand church. Its gothic architecture loomed against the evening sky, its spires reaching heavenward like skeletal fingers. The heavy wooden doors groaned as they swung open, revealing a vast interior bathed in golden light. It was honor church afterall.

Inside, twelve men stood in a semi-circle, Each one radiated an aura of strength and purpose, their presence as imposing as the building itself.

"These are my children," Father Gabriel said, his voice echoing through the hall. "The Apostles. And now, Michael, you are one of them. They will be your brothers. Treat them as such."

Michael's eyes darted between the apostles, noting their varying expressions. Some looked at him with indifference, others with mild interest.

One of them, a man with a calm demeanor and an easy smile, stepped forward. "Welcome, Michael. My name is Peter. I'll be your trainer."

Michael nodded silently, his expression unreadable.

---

Training

Michael's training was relentless. Peter pushed him to his physical and mental limits, teaching him the art of combat, strategy, and discipline.

In one sparring session, Peter lunged at Michael with a swift kick. Michael raised his arm to block, but the force sent him staggering back. Without giving him time to recover, Peter followed up with a rapid barrage of punches.

Michael deflected most of them, his movements precise and calculated. A few punches slipped through his guard, landing hard against his ribs and shoulders. But Michael didn't falter. He clenched his jaw and countered with a strike of his own, his fist moving like a blur.

Peter dodged effortlessly, sidestepping and grabbing Michael's wrist mid-strike. "Not bad," he said with a smirk. "But you're still too predictable." ' he is a monster'

The spar ended with Michael on the floor, his chest heaving from exertion. Despite the tiredness , a spark of determination burned in his eyes.

"You're improving more than i thought," Peter said, extending a hand to help him up. "But there's still a long way to go.if you want to surpass me."

---

Rapheal

Weeks turned into months, and Michael's training with the apostles continued. He was making progress, but the weight of his past lingered, a shadow he couldn't shake.

One day, Michael was summoned to the church. All twelve apostles were gathered when he arrived, their expressions unreadable.

Father Gabriel stood at the front, and beside him was a boy Michael recognized instantly.

"This is Raphael," Father Gabriel announced. "He is your new brother and my son. Welcome him as family."

Raphael stepped forward, his lips curling into a familiar smirk.

"Well, Michael," he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "Do you understand now what I told you last time? Join me."

He extended a hand, but Michael didn't take it. Instead, he turned and walked away, his back straight and unyielding. Behind him, Raphael's laughter echoed through the hall.

---

Mission

Years passed, and Michael grew into a formidable young man. His once-boyish features had sharpened into something striking. His black hair fell to his shoulders, framing his face, and his crimson eyes burned with quiet intensity.

"You're ready," Father Gabriel said one evening, standing before Michael in the dimly lit church. "Your mission begins now."

Michael listened silently as Father Gabriel outlined the task.

"You are to eliminate the Four Crews. Destroy their power, dismantle their organizations. It doesn't matter how you do it. You have three years. You will also joining high school in Seoul. "

Michael frowned. "Why three years? And why am I being sent to a high school in Seoul?"

Father Gabriel chuckled softly. "You'll understand in time. Trust me."

Michael nodded, though doubt lingered in his mind.

---

Seoul

Seoul was overwhelming. The city buzzed with life, its streets teeming with people and its skyline glowing with neon lights.

As Michael wandered through the crowded streets, he came across a commotion. A boy was being beaten in the middle of the road, his attacker a handsome young man with a cruel smile. A girl watched from the sidelines, her attempts to intervene futile.

After delivering a final blow, the attacker walked away with the girl, leaving the beaten boy to struggle to his feet.

Michael watched for a moment, then turned away. *Not my problem.*

Reaching his hotel, he inspected the sparse room—a bed, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a desk. It was enough. After unpacking, he lay down, staring at the ceiling.

*Tomorrow, it begins.*

---

sorry for delay.

Season 1 END