Essay: The Restoration of Mikhail Abat

  Writing has been something special to me for years. I have gone through various episodes of depression, anxiety, and stress last year. This was due to a coordinated attack upon my psyche, a parasitic justification for someone’s social ladder, so they wouldn’t have to feel spineless about it.

  I am Mikhail Abat. Born in Quezon City and raised in Baguio. I had a rather tough time growing up, having no friends, and having a family that didn’t understand me. I only gained a very few friends in my later years of elementary school or early years of high school, but that is it. I was bullied and spent a long time being ostracized due to a little thing called Autism Spectrum Disorder. I loved DC Comic Book movies, and I loved X-Men, but my whole life, I had been ostracized by Marvel fans. I loved things such as speaking English, since I had no friends, and TV taught me how to speak, and yet I was ostracized for that, yet again, due to the pathetic Filipino social stigma that English-speakers are apparently all snobs. And last year, I went through a tremendous amount of pain, misunderstandings, and social manipulation that was cleverly coordinated. I had spent my entire college life with a group of people that I had painfully realized were not good people, and the reasoning was that I was far too emotional, and they used my emotions against me. I confronted a person I fell for in a text, which was ultimately sad and pathetic, since I should have done this with physical presence. Alas, the person ended our friendship. I merely confronted her and my friends in some sort of class group chat for lying and deceiving without saying any names, but they took it as an attack on their social reputation. Though I do not understand why I am considered a villain for their constant ostracizing of me, but I do understand that I must have broken some sort of social boundary. I thought it was a necessary step to stand up for myself, since I was not added in any private group chat of theirs at all, so the only way to properly contact them, so they would actually see my words is through the class group chat. Alas, there is a variable that I should have known, that there are other people, thus I did not share their names, but then again, they must have figured out who they were in an instant.

  Regardless, the person I loved shared her side of the story, and everyone agreed it was the undeniable truth without asking my side. Why? I don’t know. But it sounded like it made the most sense; it must have. Again, I have no idea, since I wasn’t part of such a conversation. This is Social Assassination, and even people from other classes confronted me about what I had done, and when I stated my side, it made them pity me.

  Their strongest argument, if you count it as one, is that my Autism Spectrum Disorder is an excuse that I use to get around doing whatever, which hurts. Because it isn’t. My autism is a part of who I am, and using it against me was the most disgusting, inhuman, and degrading thing possible. Anyway, one of them was sent to confront me about it. I panicked and cried, and I had a severe attack that lasted minutes and even had an episode, possibly dissociative or even psychotic. But alas, I was blocked thrice on Facebook, I don’t know HOW. But suddenly, my ability to message them was somehow stopped thrice, and my mother witnessed it while I was having the episode. I was so confused. Anyway, my mother and my Tita Mommyta took over the situation, and alas, I realized at the time I was still emotionally immature, and I needed to become stronger if someone who was sent by awful people could do so little and already do so much damage.

  I spent the rest of the year after graduation making. I have a garden now. I accomplished having a garden, and it was nice. I have written a novel of 300,000 words about the situation, or at least navigating and trying to explain what happened to me. I managed to write palaces, though it was honestly nothing compared to what they did, but it’s something. Alas, humans are a fallible species, and they would do anything to protect their social pride and reputation over choosing basic human decency. I believed that, then my grandfather died at the end of the year.

  My beloved grandfather, whom I saw as a father, had died, and I was so grief-stricken that I nearly returned to that dark state of mind, even had an episode in the kitchen. But I remain alive, so that is indeed something. My Lolo had always taught me to put kindness in front of everything else, and basic human decency is something I should enact while also achieving inner strength. Thus, I will continue doing so. Alas, there is no such thing as history except for the story of the victors who wrote it.

  Here's a little secret. Someone I fell in love with gave me a star-shaped pillow for my birthday. But that very person broke my heart and started this whole mess by destroying me due to the fear of losing control over the narrative. Joke's on her... I decided to gift that star to Beatle...

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  LET THE STORY BEGIN!!!

  His blue goggles, similar to eyes peaking out of the eyelids, open with a blue glow forming from the lens. He had what looked like a samurai mask plastered over his mouth. He also had two radio antennae on his head. What was most strange was his costume. A red cape, blue pants whose streak ran across the sides of his white torso, and yes, red gloves. His cowl was silver but tainted with gray spots. There was blue fluid all over him, which dazed and confused him. He ignores this.

  His goggles made a whirring sound each time the little blue pupil-like lenses darted to look around. Breathing. We could now hear him breathing, muffled inside that silly old mask. He stood up, a whopping 16 feet tall, towering over tall pine trees and shrubs.

  He looked around and saw nothing but the colorful neon-colored skies and the flat snowy horizon. The cold breeze could freeze someone’s fingertips. Though he didn’t seem to care. He began walking around in search of their base in Angeles City, wherever that is…

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” cackled a sinister villain in a bar within the outskirts of the city of Angeles. This villain had the mask of a strangely baggy cloth with some glasses over his cowl. He wore a brown trench coat and a hood, looking like a terrifying serial killer of sorts. He sported his leathery brownish boots and smelled rancid. What was terrifying as he stood a whopping 14 feet tall. “LISTEN UP, TWILIGHTS!!!” he yelled. “I represent…” he wheezed. “MORNINGSTAR!!!” his voice boomed across the room all the way to outside. “In the name of Morningstar, I HEREBY CONQUER… THIS LAND!!! ALL HAIL-!!!”

  “Morningstar?” Beatle entered the bar, snow all over his armor. His colorful, glimmering armor radiated in the strange, old, wooden, rustic bar that was clearly built for beings like them. The shine illuminated the bar, especially that curious golden star on his chest.

  “Alright. Um. Hi,” said the man. “I’m Zodiac. You’re kinda fucking obliterating the mood here, my Gee.”

  Beatle’s eyes dart right and back to him. “You talkin’ to me?”

  “Tangina… YES!!! I AM TALKING TO YOU!!!”

  “Right… I dunno how to tell you this but uh… You shouldn’t go around and kill people, Zodiac. It isn’t cool.”

  “What isn’t ‘COOL’ is you gooning ALL OVER MY GYATT, DAWG!!!”

  “What the hell kind of language are you speaking?” asked Beatle. “We’re here to reclaim this territory.”

  Zodiac laughs. “And who are you supposed to be to do that, HUH!?!?” he mocked, pointing his finger and placing it aggressively on his chest each time he emphasized a word from his foolish mouth. “DON’T. YOU. KNOOOOOOW…??? I work for Morningstar!”

  Beatle looks down at him. “Where’s your insignia?”

  The bartender leans forward, smirking, seeing that Beatle might be on to something.

  The people at the bar, rugged and scarred men and women, all turn to Zodiacl.

  Now, the people were in all sorts of sizes and shapes, but one distinct feature was interesting. They were of normal height.

  “What? What the fuck is that, brad?” laughed Zodiac.

  “Your Morningstar Insignia. It’s meant to be a beacon and symbol for your… ‘leader…’”

  Zodiac points his gun at his head.

  Beatle just stares at him, menacingly. “I am not here to harm non-PENTAGRAMS.”

  Zodiac smirks and turns the safety off.

  “Dude…”

  He pulls the trigger.

  BANG.

  The whole bar went silent.

  Birds flew away from the distant horizon.

  Back in the bar, what sounded like a marble could be heard dropping to the wooden floor.

  It was the bullet, flattened like a pancake.

  Zodiac backs away, looking at him. “Fuck…”

  “You’re big… You ain’t one of ‘em… You’re moonlighting basically as a Pentagram… Not only is that offensive, but it’s a disgusting crime,” said Beatle. “In these parts, at least.”

  Zodiac backs away and whistles as two of his allies, who were hiding in the bathroom, took out whirring machine gun blasters and pointed them at Beatle.

  Beatle just stood there as they shot at him, while colorful neon colors of smoke puffed out of their barrels. Beatle was unharmed from the array of beams.

  Beatle sighs. “Guys, come on…”

  Zodiac points a gun at an elderly woman.

  Beatle melts the gun in his hand somehow simply by staring at it.

  The Zodiac backs away, screaming as a gun had just melted in his skin, boiling it.

  Beatle hears a voice in his head, telling him to kill them.

  “KILL THEM. KILL THEM. AVENGE THEIR HONOR!!!”

  Beatle ignored it. “Call the Knight Corps. They’ll handle this.”

  “Those three will keep killing, and killing. I assigned you this role to judge humanity. Prolonging it all to this point is an inadequate malpractice of your power.”

  Beatle whispers, “Shut up, God.”

  “Did you just blaspheme, good man?” asked the bartender.

  Beatle shakes his head. “I’m off. Tied ‘em up for you,”

  Everyone realizes that the three goons have been chained up to the ceiling without anyone realizing it.

  “Who are you?” asked the bartender.

  “Beatle,” and Beatle walked out of the bar, searching for the base.

  Beatle sighs, walking around the snow. “I am NOT gonna kill them. I CAN SENSE they can change.”

  “Oh. Come on, Beatle! I told you BACK in Judgment Day that you were meant to sort them out. You have prolonged everything I planned, kid! This is evil!”

  “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have turned me into this Warrior Judge and instead made me someone like KUYA J.C.!!!”

  “J.C. started SALVATION. YOU ARE MEANT TO SIGN THE PAPERS!!! STAMP!!! STAMP THEM!!! 800 YEARS GO, BEATLE!!!”

  “Hey, I’ve killed REALLY BAD PEOPLE before. Is THAT NOT ENOUGH!?!?”

  “OF COURSE NOT!!! Now the evil have children of their own! This is basically the ark all over again!”

  “Yeah. Except the Ark is a literal Moon. Let me give humanity a chance, please, Father.”

  “I always believed in that. I do. I always do. But you had your chance, and you couldn’t finish it. You couldn’t sort them out because you loved her.”

  Beatle’s lenses quiver. “Maybe I did… I was a coward. I’m willing to fix that. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Why’d you deny my demands?”

  “BECAUSE I SENSED GOOD IN THE FUTURE OF THOSE THREE!!!”

  “There is a very high chance they will kill again.”

  “Maybe this is why J.C. made you Human.”

  “He is… better than all of us. He’s the best of us.”

  “I know. I’m just trying… Lemme try.”

  The being sighs in his head, softly. “Very well. I love you, kid.”

  “Love you, too, Pops.”