Traumatixxx: Sono Kakusei

Chapter 1

Narrator (deep, commanding voice)

“The year is 2050. Unexplainable phenomena have begun to ripple across the globe. It is said that 61% of men and 51% of women will experience at least one traumatic event in their lives. But now… something new has emerged.

Recent studies reveal that one-fifth of humanity has undergone what is now classified as a condition known only as—TRAUMATIX. Born through intense psychological and physical trauma, these individuals undergo a transformation… a violent evolution. In the moments between life and death, they awaken—surpassing natural human limits, unlocking abilities born not from hope, but from pain.”

[Visual: Black screen. A faint, echoing heartbeat. The sound of dripping water.]

Narrator (low, somber):

“In the shadows of the Yamada household, buried beneath the surface in a cold, damp basement… sat a boy. Seven years old. Silent. Still.”

[Visual: A single dim light bulb swings slowly above, casting trembling shadows across the cracked concrete. The boy sits in the corner, knees to chest, his face hidden behind overgrown bangs.]

“His name is Jonske Yamada. Born into this world at the cost of his mother’s life. She died giving him breath… and with her final breath, she took his father’s soul with her.”

[Visual: Quick flashes- wedding photo of a happy couple, then burning in flames. A man, once smiling, now screaming. A bottle shatters across the floor.]

“Mr. Yamada, once a kind and joyful man, was swallowed whole by grief. Hatred took root. He blamed the world. He cursed the gods. But most of all… he blamed the child.”

[Visual: A mans shadow looms over the boy. A belt unbuckled. A scream muffled. Silence.]

“For seven long years, Jonske endured—a prisoner of his own home. Nights spent sleeping on bare cement. Meals served as scraps, cold and crusted. His childhood… rotted in darkness.”

[Visual: Jonske sits motionless. A single tear cuts through the grime on his cheek.]

“He stopped crying. Stopped speaking. Stopped feeling. There was no one left to hear him. No one who cared to.”

[Long silence. The light bulb flickers once. Twice. Then darkness.]

[Visual: Jonske, now 12, on his hand and knees. A small sponge in hand. He scrubs the hardwood floor, knuckles raw, face blank.]

Narrator (quiet,ominous tone):

“August 18th, 2050. Another day like the rest. Jonske moved in silence, scrubbing floors until they gleamed, preparing for the monster’s return.”

[Audio: A door SLAMS open.]

[Visual: Mr. Yamada stumbles into frame, the morning daylight burning behind him. He reeks of alcohol. Sweat stains his shirt. His presence sucks the air out of the room.]

“And just like that… the monster came home.”

[Audio: Heavy footsteps. Glass bottles clinking in a paper bag. A man groaning.]

[Visual: Mr. Yamada stumbles forward, slurring as he grips the wall for balance. His eyes, bloodshot and distant, scan the room.]

Mr. Yamada (drunken, low growl):

“Kita… Kitaa… Kitaaaaa…”

[Visual: He knocks into a small table. A lamp crashes to the floor. He does not flinch.]

[Visual: Jonske flinches—but keeps scrubbing, faster now. Head down. Breathing shallow.]

Narrator:

“Jonske knew the rules. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not make eye contact. Do not be seen.”

[Visual: Mr. Yamada locks eyes with the boy. His breathing changes. His hands begin to tremble.]

Mr. Yamada (voice cracking, venom rising):

“You… You did it. You killed her.”

“Damn it… Damn you.”

“Why did you have to take her from me?!”

[Audio: A distant rumble of thunder outside. The house seems to hold its breath.]

[Visual: Jonske slowly stops scrubbing. His hand lingers on the sponge. The edges of his frame of view begin to blur, darken, subtly distort—as if the air around him is reacting.]

[Audio: Rain begins to tap against the windows. Slow. Relentless.]

[Visual: Mr. Yamada leans heavily against the wall, his eyes wide and wet. His voice cracks through clenched teeth.]

Mr. Yamada (growling, broken):

“Why couldn’t it have been you…?”

“It should’ve been… YOU!”

“Why… why… WHYYY?!”

[Visual: He stumbles forward—one hand dragging along the wall, the other shaking at his side. His eyes flicker. For a moment, his gaze softens.]

[Audio: A soft, ghostly hum. A woman’s laugh—faint and distant.]

[Visual: In the haze of his drunken mind, he sees her—Kita. Standing in the hallway. Smiling, beautiful. Radiant in the dim light. She reaches out to him.]

Mr. Yamada (whispering):

“Kita…?”

[Visual: His vision clears. The warmth vanishes. In her place stands Jonske—small, trembling, covered in bruises, eyes wide with fear.]

[Audio: The hum distorts. Becomes sharp. Nails on glass.]

Narrator (cold, cutting):

“For the first time since the day of his son’s birth… he saw it. The resemblance. Her eyes. Her shape. Her blood.”

[Visual: Mr. Yamada’s face twists. Rage, shame, grief—all crash together like a tidal wave.]

Mr. Yamada (screaming, voice ragged):

“IT’S ALL YOUR DAMN FAULT, BOY!!”

[Visual: He lunges. Fast. Wild. Hands outstretched. Jonske doesn’t move—he just stares, frozen. But something in the air begins to shift—barely visible, like heatwaves rising from pavement.]

[Audio: The rain outside intensifies. A low rumble of thunder rolls in the distance.]

[Audio: A loud, animalistic grunt. Then—CRACK.]

[Visual: Mr. Yamada swings his leg with violent force—his boot connects full force with Jonske’s face. The boy, barely skin and bones, is launched across the kitchen like a ragdoll.]

[Audio: SMASH—Jonske crashes into the oven, shattering the glass door. Shard's scatter across the tile floor like ice.]

[Visual: Blood runs from his mouth. His left eye swells instantly. But without hesitation—like its instinct—Jonske reaches forward and begins to collect the broken glass in his hands.]

Narrator (barely a whisper):

“He did not cry. He did not scream. He just… kept picking up the pieces.”

[Audio: SHATTER! A liquor bottle explodes across the back of Jonske’s skull. The sound echoes like a gunshot.]

[Visual: Time slows. His body collapses. Blood pools beneath him, thick and fast. His hands twitch—still clutching shards of glass.]

[Visual: Mr. Yamada stumbles forward, then pounces—landing on top of his son like a wild beast. Fists rain down. Again. And again. And again.]

Mr. Yamada (screaming, sobbing, unhinged):

“THIS IS YOUR FAULT!”

“SHE SHOULD STILL BE HERE!”

“IF IT WEREN’T FOR YOU—”

“I COULD STILL BE HAPPY. I COULD STILL BE IN LOVE.”

“HOW COULD YOU DARE TAKE HER—”

“—SOMEONE SO PURE… SO FULL OF LIGHT… AND LEAVE ME WITH YOU!?”

[Audio: Thunder crashes directly overhead. A blinding flash of lightning casts both of their shadows on the wall—Mr. Yamada, monstrous. Jonske, lifeless.]

[Visual: The overhead light begins to flicker rapidly. Objects on the counter begin to tremble. The air thickens. The camera pushes in close on Jonske’s face—his one visible eye stares forward, unfocused. But deep inside… something stirs.]

Narrator (low, almost inaudible):

*“And in that moment… something broke. Or perhaps… something woke.”

[Audio: Mr. Yamada’s fists still slamming down—slower now, more erratic. Each hit sounds farther away. Muffled. Like it is underwater.]

[Visual: Blood spatters in rhythmic pulses. Jonske’s swollen face does not flinch. He does not scream. He just… stares.]

Narrator (quiet, with hollow gravity):

“Jonske did not cry. Not a single sound passed through his busted lips. He knew better.”

“The pain would pass. The pain always passed… if he could just survive.”

[Visual: His eye stays locked on his father. Unblinking. Lifeless—but not gone.]

[Audio: A deep hum begins to rise in the background. Barely audible. Vibrating low and constant like a distant earthquake.]

Narrator:

“But this time… it did not stop.”

“The rage did not burn out. The monster did not tire.”

[Visual: The scene begins to blur. Mr. Yamada’s face stretches and warps. His fists distort with motion trails. Jonske’s consciousness begins to slip.]

[Audio: heartbeat—slow, loud, thunderous in the silence.]

[Visual: BLACK SCREEN. Jonske’s wide eyes appear in the dark. Glowing faintly. Everything else is gone.]

Narrator:

“And in the dark… came a voice.”

[Audio: Whispers. Inhuman. Low, slithering tones—words cannot be made out. Only intent.]

[Visual: In the dark, a shadowy shape coils behind him. Undefined. Breathing. Watching.]

Jonske (child’s voice, hoarse, distant):

“You came back.”

[No reply. Only the sound of breath. Wind rustling through dead leaves.]

Jonske (softly):

“He won’t stop this time.”

[Whispers intensify—still unintelligible, but rhythmic. Hypnotic. Like a chant.]

Jonske (to the darkness):

“…You said you’d protect me.”

Narrator:

“There was never another voice. Never another body in that dark. Only Jonske. Only his pain. Only… Sin.” *

[Visual: In the black, a single faint silhouette appears behind Jonske- faceless, flickering like a shadow trapped in static. It places a hand gently on his shoulder.]

Sin (a voice at last—layered, a child’s voice underneath something ancient):

“Do you remember what I told you…?”

[Jonske nods—barely.]