Ruka

The facility was buried beneath the rocky coastline of Japan, hidden from the public and protected by enough security to guard a small nation. I had recently been hired there as part of an unusual program. The staff never told me everything, only that I would be interacting with a special containment subject. Before my first day, they sat me in a cold conference room and showed me files stamped with warning labels. The name on every page was Ruka. He possessed a strange blue water-like power that scientists barely understood. Reports claimed he could manipulate enormous amounts of water, float without support, and unleash enough force to level entire structures if pushed too far. He had been brought to the facility as a child after his own mother surrendered him to the organization and left him behind. Since then, the facility had become the only world he knew. Cameras watched him constantly, and reinforced walls surrounded him every hour of every day. The researchers called it protection. Others called it containment. When the briefing ended, one of the senior researchers handed me a keycard. “Your assignment is simple,” she said. “Speak with him. Encourage social interaction. Observe his behavior.” Then her expression hardened. “But remember one thing. Do not become attached.” I didn’t understand why they repeated that warning so often until I saw him through the observation glass. Ruka wasn’t rampaging or threatening anyone. He was alone. His long dark hair drifted around him while he floated silently near the ceiling, staring out a small reinforced window at the distant ocean. Blue water circled around him like living ribbons of light. He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like someone who had spent years with nobody to talk to. The door to his chamber unlocked with a heavy metallic click. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward for the first time, unsure whether I was about to meet the world’s most dangerous weapon or its loneliest prisoner.