On the soft feather bed, Martin Stein lay half-sunken into the yielding mattress. His face was haggard, deep circles hung beneath his eyes, and his brow was tightly furrowed. He looked twenty years older than he actually was.
'Ring, ring, ring...'
The telephone rang in the hall.
He was a scholar who preferred classical things. His elegant home, the sandalwood-scented study, and even the somewhat old-fashioned hall all carried the somber, dark-wood style of classical sandalwood furnishings. Even the telephone was a black rotary-dial model made in America in the 1930s.
His exhausted face twitched into a frown. He let out a drained groan, turned his head on the bed, and pressed against his migraine-wracked skull. The ringing was like embroidery needles stabbing into his brain. His weary body wanted to ignore it, but the sound was far too loud. Even from the bedroom, the piercing ring cut through the walls, as though it wanted to drill into his head, leaving him in unbearable pain and extreme irritation.
After tossing and turning several times, he tried pulling the blanket over his head and covering his head with a pillow. The migraine only grew worse. He clapped both hands over his ears, and the rising irritation pushed even this normally mild-tempered scholar beyond endurance. Having no other choice, he gritted his teeth, groaned, cursed, "F*** you," then shook his aching head and, with a weary, haggard expression, threw back the covers and got up.
One foot found a slipper on the icy floor. He had no energy to look for wherever he had kicked the other one, so he simply wore one slipper, pressed a hand to his head, and dragged his tired, worn-out body toward the living room like an old man.
A series of recent events had left him in poor emotional and mental condition.
First, for some reason, he kept finding himself in unfamiliar places or environments, unable to remember how he had gotten there. It was as though he had both amnesia and sleepwalking, unable to control his own actions. As this muddled behavior happened more and more often, he became confused about his own body. When he could find no answer, he concluded that he had simply grown old and entered the final stage of his life.
Gradually, he became addicted to alcohol and began to give up on himself, spiraling into self-destruction.
Then there were heaps of reporters, people from various companies, and even personnel connected to the FBI in America. For some reason, they often camped outside his door, desperately trying to discuss the development of "Controlled Nuclear Fusion" with him and begging him to take part in nuclear fusion research.
This was probably something his sleepwalking and amnesia had caused him to do.
Because whenever he was conscious, he had never researched Controlled Nuclear Fusion, much less done anything that would get him nominated for the next Nobel Prize.
Yet Controlled Nuclear Fusion was something he had never worked on. He had never gone to Central City to give speeches about future energy, nor had he ever intended to become some great figure of the century.
It was a lie, a bubble that would burst at the slightest poke. Martin Stein did not even dare admit that he might have done such a thing while sleepwalking.
In truth, he had no memory of it at all.
Martin Stein believed that he was finished.
"Get lost..."
Martin Stein dragged one bare foot across the icy wooden floor, holding half a bottle of vodka he had taken from the refrigerator in the hall amid his drunken haze. Though he had not yet taken a drink, merely holding it made him feel three parts drunk already.
He picked up the receiver without a trace of the polished tone expected of an accomplished man. He had become nothing more than an alcoholic drunk.
"Dr. Martin Stein, I know what is happening to you."
Martin Stein ignored the voice. After saying "Get lost," he was about to hang up. Even upon hearing that the caller knew his situation, he did not pause. Who did not know his situation? He was just an alcoholic drunk!
"I know about the periods of memory you often lose."
Martin Stein jolted awake from his drunken stupor. His headache seemed to sharpen its focus, and pain suddenly clenched around his skull. Many people knew he had become a drunkard, but none knew why. Even he himself did not know the answer.
"What happened to me?" Martin Stein quickly pressed the receiver, which he had held away from himself, back to his ear and hurriedly asked.
He wanted desperately to know what had truly happened to him.
Why did he keep ending up in unfamiliar places for no reason? Why did he have no memory whatsoever? It had left him unable to sleep or eat in peace, constantly anxious. After failing to find an answer again and again, he had begun to give up on himself and grow increasingly irritable.
"You merged with another person and became Firestorm."
"Ronnie Raymond was with you at the scene when your nuclear facility exploded."
"At the instant of the explosion, you fused into one. You can ask him for the details, and that will be enough to reach a conclusion."
Martin Stein suddenly felt as though he had heard some absurd fantasy. His alcohol-soaked head seemed to start spinning, and his vision blurred. The migraine flared violently again, tormenting half his head. He pressed hard against his temple and struggled to sit down on the sofa.
I fused with another person???
Fused???
"That's impossible!"
"Nothing is impossible! Dr. Martin Stein, go find Ronnie Raymond and try it once. Then you'll know the result."
"All right, you've convinced me. I'll verify what you said."
Martin Stein frowned helplessly, feeling his migraine worsen again.
"Also, Dr. Martin Stein, I have mailed most of the information on 'Controlled Nuclear Fusion' to your home. It should have arrived by now. As for the rest, you can continue working it out with Firestorm."
"Congratulations, Dr. Martin Stein. You will achieve Controlled Nuclear Fusion energy for humanity and become a great figure of the century."
"It was you! Who are you?"
"Good question. Who am I? I do need a resounding nickname. Then call me Silver Glow! We will meet again in the future. No need to thank me, Dr. Martin. Goodbye."
Martin Stein held the receiver, staring blankly with his mouth open, countless questions flooding his heart as he tried to understand all of this.
Who exactly was Silver Glow? Why did he know so much about him? Had he been the one who revealed him and announced "Controlled Nuclear Fusion," causing him all this trouble?
Could he really fuse with another person? And become Firestorm after fusing? What principle was this? In terms of biological rejection... or simply at the atomic level...
Martin Stein's mind became that of a rational scientist once more, and a mass of unclear questions surfaced.
What in the world was all this?
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