‘You’ve been accepted into the Scientific Life Dispute Organisation. An induction will be set to begin next week.’

He read it out aloud, and weirdly enough, Arthur was entranced by his own sayings. It felt surreal. Since he was a boy, he had dreamt of being here. And especially now in these times, he wanted to be a part of them more than ever! 

Man…only if Joe was here to see this.

Without him, I’d never be here. 

Memories flashed by, back to twelve years ago, on the final day of the first drift cycle. 

The moon hung condescendingly high, peering down upon the wrecked building where young Arthur had holed himself. Cries crawled from his mouth, his snivelling nose trying to keep everything in. No one was here, but he didn’t want his snot to just spill out. 

Arthur wanted to stay strong. . .

Isn’t that what the girls at school liked? Men. Not boys. Not flimsy little children that’d cry upon a meaningless touch. 

“. . .Strong? Pathetic. I’m not strong. I don’t even know what I want-”

The ‘Thermac’ family had a history behind it. Long ago, among one of the prestigious civil service clans in the Olympus Continent. The ‘Knights’ produced by this family were of utmost skill and training. Combined with their newfound technological warfare, consisting of the Gravitational Battle Suit, they were a force to be reckoned with. 

So much so that even the blistering fast Striders in the past would dare to confront a skilled, battle-hardened Thermac. 

But that was decades–if not centuries ago. A bygone era that had whittled to dust. 

So now, laid Arthur’s father. A man so proud of his Father, his grandfather, and their other ancestors. 

His relationship with his father wasn’t so black and white. Initially, Arthur liked training with him. But he simply had higher passions. More than anything, he was encaptured by Striders and the energy they possess.

It was just a few minutes ago, since their heated exchange had ‘ended.’

. . .

“You’re absolutely silly, Arthur. You mean to tell me…you’d rather put your passion into learning about so alienistic a power that hails from some random star?”

“But father–”

“I don’t want to hear it! You, much like the rest of this generation, are so blinded! You see something alien, something different, and instantly, stars in yer eyes.”

Arthur remembers it. Anger had been boiling steadily within him. It was only a matter of time. 

“What’s wrong with that, huh?”

“Whenever we Zephyrians mess with things so foreign, distant to us, we bite our own asses. We’re at our best when we continuously hone our own craft. That’s what!”

“Okay, and?” he replies boldly to his parent, continuing.  

“. . . Isn’t that what makes life exciting? Fun? Adventurous.” 

Mister Thermac stayed silent, only cocking his head a bit to the side. A vein involuntarily manifests on his forehead.

“You think this is some silly game?” There was tension in his father's face as he stepped closer, looking down with disgust. Fists clench tightly, grimacing mouth on the edge to scream. 

“Well–no, but-”

“Be quiet!”

“Why should I, fathe-”

SLAP!

It sounds like a gunshot. A zealous force cracks against Arthur’s jaw, the slap sending his body flying back a few feet. If he were a normal boy, he would've been asleep.

Everything felt wobbly. Unstable. 

Even blurry. 

“LIFE IS NOT A GAME! IT’LL NEVER BE. NOW, TOMORROW, DECADES, OR CENTURIES TO COME!” A maddening terror arises before Arthur’s eyes. His infuriated father–storming closer and closer to him. 

“We exist to protect. We exist to fight. We exist to carry out justice, whether it’s against fellow Zephyrians or those Striders! They’re beings that can travel faster than any bullet or missile we have! They have inhumane strength to make me look like a child in comparison!”

. . . 

At this point…I was starting to see his point. But it wasn’t out of mutual understanding. Rather, fear. As a person, Father wasn’t a monster. 

I was more fearful of his words. The context behind it. If he struck me this hard…this viciously, to make a point–then there’s some truth to it, right?

My legs felt like they weighed a ton. I assembled each sinew in my lower body, bolting from the door. 

I could only see a sliver of my mother’s concerned expression as I left the house.

In the abandoned, rusty building, another boy came through the exit, sitting beside Arthur. 

“Hey, wassup. Name’s Joe.”

“. . .”

“I am, uhh, thirteen years old, I think. I don’t go to high school, unfortunately.”

“. . .”

“You get it already right? My family is broke as hell! Even our food is pretty crappy. I’m just managing with a mix of different foods. Ya know, rice with chocolate cream! It’s pretty good.”

“. . .Wait..what the fu-?”

“AAH YOU LITTLE MONSTER! YOU ONLY REPLY WHEN I TALK ABOUT MY FOOD HABITS! IS IT THAT WEIRD?!”

Arthur ponders it. Is it odd? Well, according to every possibility out there, no matter how he interprets Joe's preferences, it'll always be–

“Yes, weird as hell, hahaha!”