Chapter 32
Soft down-filled bedding. Martin Stein's body sank halfway into the plush mattress. His face looked haggard, with thick dark circles under his eyes and deeply furrowed brows. He appeared twenty years older than his actual age.
Ring ring ring…
The phone in the living room rang.
He was a scholar who preferred classical aesthetics. The elegant house carried the scent of sandalwood in the study. Even the somewhat old-fashioned living room had a dark, classical sandalwood style. The telephone itself was a black rotary dial model from the 1930s in America.
His weary face wrinkled. He let out an exhausted groan and rolled his head on the pillow, pressing against the migraine that throbbed in his skull. The ringing felt like embroidery needles stabbing into his brain. His tired body wanted to ignore the sound, but the bell was too loud. Even from the bedroom, the sharp ringing penetrated the walls, piercing straight into his head and making him miserable and irritable.
He tossed and turned several times on the bed, trying to cover his head with the blanket and then with a pillow. The migraine only grew worse. He pressed his hands over his ears. The rising irritation finally overwhelmed the usually good-tempered scholar. Unable to endure it any longer, he gritted his teeth, groaned, cursed "F*** you," and reluctantly got out of bed, still clutching his aching head.
His foot touched one slipper on the cold floor. He didn't have the energy to search for the other one that had been kicked somewhere. Wearing only one slipper, exhausted and haggard, he dragged his body toward the living room while pressing on his throbbing head.
A series of recent events had left his emotions and mental state in poor condition.
First, he kept finding himself in unfamiliar places or environments without any memory of how he had gotten there. It was as if he had developed both amnesia and sleepwalking. He couldn't control his own actions. These disorienting episodes happened more and more frequently, leaving him confused about his own body. When he couldn't find any answers, he concluded that he was simply getting old and entering the final stage of life.
Gradually, he sank into alcohol and began self-destructing.
Then came the endless stream of reporters, representatives from various companies, and even some people connected to the FBI. For some unknown reason, they constantly camped outside his door, desperately wanting to discuss the development of "controlled nuclear fusion" and begging him to participate in its research.
He assumed this was another result of his sleepwalking and amnesia — things he had done while unconscious.
Because when he was awake, he had never researched controlled nuclear fusion, let alone given any speech in Central City about future energy or becoming a great man of the century.
This was all a lie, a bubble that would burst with one poke. Martin Stein didn't dare admit that he had done these things while sleepwalking.
In fact, he had no memory of any of it.
Martin Stein believed he was finished.
"Get lost…"
Martin Stein dragged one bare foot across the cold wooden floor. In his other hand, he held a half-empty bottle of vodka he had grabbed from the fridge while in a drunken haze. Even though he hadn't taken a sip yet, just holding it made him feel one-third drunk already.
He picked up the receiver. There was none of the refined politeness of an elite scholar. He had already become a full-blown alcoholic.
"Dr. Martin Stein, I know your situation."
Martin Stein ignored him. After saying "get lost," he was about to hang up. Even when he heard the voice claim to know his situation, he didn't pause. Who didn't know his situation? He was just a drunkard!
"You frequently lose segments of your memory. I understand that."
Martin Stein's spirit jolted. He snapped out of his drunken stupor. The headache seemed to intensify, becoming more focused and painful. He quickly brought the receiver back to his ear and asked urgently:
"What happened to me?"
He desperately wanted to know what was really going on.
Why did he keep waking up in strange places with no memory of how he got there? This had been tormenting him, making him restless and anxious. After failing to find any answers, he had started to give up and become irritable.
"You fused with another person and became Firestorm."
"Ronnie Raymond was with you at the nuclear facility during the explosion."
"At the moment of the explosion, the two of you merged into one. For the specific details, you can ask him directly. That should give you the answer."
Martin Stein felt as if he had been struck by lightning. His already alcohol-addled brain seemed to spin. His vision blurred. The migraine flared violently, tormenting half of his skull. He pressed hard on his temples and sat down heavily on the sofa with great effort.
He had fused with another person???
Fused???
"This is impossible!"
"Nothing is impossible, Dr. Martin Stein. Go find Ronnie Raymond and try it once. You'll understand."
"Fine. You've convinced me. I'll verify what you said."
Martin Stein frowned helplessly. The migraine was getting worse.
"Also, Dr. Martin Stein, I have already mailed the majority of the 'controlled nuclear fusion' data to your home. It should have arrived by now. For the rest, you can continue refining it with Firestorm."
"Congratulations, Dr. Martin Stein. You will realize controlled nuclear fusion for humanity and become a great man of the century."
"Who are you?!"
"Good question. Who am I? I do need a resounding nickname. You may call me Silver Light! We will meet in the future. No need to thank me, Dr. Martin. Goodbye."
Martin Stein held the receiver, mouth agape, a thousand questions flooding his mind.
Who exactly was Silver Light? Why did he know so much about him? Was he the one who had fabricated the "controlled nuclear fusion" story and caused him so much trouble?
Could he really fuse with another person? And become Firestorm? What was the principle behind it? From a biological rejection standpoint… or purely from an atomic level…
Martin Stein's mind once again became that of a rational scientist, filled with countless unanswered questions.
What on earth was going on?
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