Hex
an excerpt

A beginning. A middle. And an end.

The three basic parts of a story, but this story is anything but basic. Where does it start? Does it start with a nightmare about a rainy Tuesday? Or does it start with the day Resistenza heard my voice on the radio? Or maybe it started the day Romaro was born and the first character stepped into this game we call ‘life’.

Does this story even have a beginning? Perhaps this is just the middle of one long, never-ending story. Maybe the true beginning was when, long ago, someone looked at their family and realised that they were different.

The first one with power . . . is that where this story begins?

I don’t think it does . . . maybe it starts with the second one who had power. The one who defied the first and the fighting that ensued.

Perhaps that is where the beginning is. When the fighting begins, so does a story.

If that’s the case, then no story ever ends . . . because contrary to fairy tales and children’s stories, there is no such thing as peace.

War is always there. When no one is at war, there is always the threat of war. If even the threat does not exist, then there is fighting - and if fighting doesn’t exist, then neither do we. It’s human nature . . . the nature of all living things.

They compete. They fight. They fight for the right to survive.

It’s a trait of all life . . . but humans are unique in that they’ve taken it much further than that. It’s not about surviving. It never has been, with humans.

We fight for the right to call ourselves the ‘winner’. But if that’s the reason that we fight, can any of us truly call ourselves a winner?

If everyone was united, then there wouldn’t be any reason to fight. There wouldn’t be winners, or losers. Just people trying to get along.

Who am I kidding? There are always people who want to fight, to change the way things are, or to change the way they have become. They’re always there.

Romaro, Midnight, Slash, Flexa and Maxx Crash. Viper, Metamorph, Quicksilver, Resistenza and Scream. Two different groups, ten different people, ten different powers . . . but only one goal, even if for different reasons. Is that one goal enough to unite them?

If it is, then maybe humanity has some hope after all. Or maybe it’s even more doomed than before. With the gift of power, it’s hard to tell: is it good, or bad? It all depends on what you do with it . . . of what you make of it. I wonder if they have realised that yet.