— Modern Era: Present Day - Three Weeks to the First Wave —
A middle-aged man sat before Armaros, typing away on a noisy keyboard linked to a computer monitor before him. Armaros crept his head around the monitor, his eyes drifting across the ironed, English-cut suit of the advisor. Not once did the man meet Armaros's gaze. He stared deeper into the screen, a finger on the scroll wheel of the mouse going up and down the page.
Till he came to a sudden halt.
Armaros was very close to falling off his seat. His legs tensed, and his hands gripped the cushion he sat upon. He imagined the man turning to him, saying the words he always wanted to hear the moment he learnt what a "Periodic" was. Those few sweet words to reaffirm his desire.
"Listen, Armaros. Due to circumstances beyond our control, I regret to inform you that we will have to reject you from joining the Periodic program. We can't take you on as a Periodic because of how close the First Wave is right now, and all our resources are spent on preparing those capable of helping beat these Waves."
The man then finally added, "And you just aren't fit to help us in doing so. You'll just be getting yourself killed."
Armaros blinked once before a vacant stare entered his eyes. Everything blurred together, save for the man who uttered those words to him. He must have misheard him. His mind quickly ran back over what was said.
"What—what?! What do you mean by 'beyond your capabilities'?" Armaros asked.
"Armaros, you are an anomaly. No Periodic that has awakened so late. At most, I've seen some come two months after the original period. But never this much. And you don't even have any field training."
Armaros fell back into his chair, stretching his legs till his sneakers struck the table before him. His eeyes couldn't stop shaking, but never once did they leave the man before him.
"You're more of an error in the system, like a hiccup, I suppose. We can't help you. There is just no time; we would do you a disservice by even giving you some false hope."
"So what?! What can I do?! I never heard of a Periodic getting rejected before! Not one time from any of those blasted social media channels did you guys say anything of this being a possibility!"
"Because they normally aren't," the man sighed."Do you really think we're going to have all our rejections upfront? Consider what would happen if a person who is deaf were to gain this power by chance. They would have to be rejected. You happen to be the easiest to reject, Armaros. No fault of your own."
He rolled his eyes towards the boy, finally allowing Armaros to see his hollow irises. The boy had seen this kind of stare before, the type a PR representative gave to every person who came to them with a complaint. This guy…he was supposed to be one of those who took others like him in. It made no sense. He had to be one of them.
"This isn't my choice; you simply aren't worth the time or effort like the others."
"But why? I am a Periodic! It's like you guys don't recognize that I am!" Armaros said. Armaros's hand shot towards his neck. His quivering finger pointed towards a crow-like insignia, emblazoned in a yellow hue.
The man raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"That is besides the point. Do you think you could become ready, gain all the experience the other had for more than 5 months in the span of 3 weeks? It would be better if you just allowed the system to kill you than to be tortured by going into a fight you can't handle."
Armaros's jaw slackened, the red of his lips peeling back to show his less than pearly white teeth. Beneath the weight of the boy, the chair creaked beneath him. His hands wrapped around the armrest, cracking the wooden surface used to construct them.
"What don't you understand? Why does everyone keep thinking I am lying or something?!" Armaros snarled through gritted teeth.
"I never said—"
"That woman at the front, you, hell, I wouldn't be surprised if whoever created this fuck-ass system thinks I am lying too!"
"Armaros, calm down."
Armaros lunged from his chair. Both hands slammed the desk before him, an inch away from the advisor's face. The man's head jerked back, his chair nearly flying across the room. His wide eyes met Armaros's burning tears, as his next breath got stuck in his throat.
"How am I to be calm when the best thing you recommended to me was to let myself die!"
Two officers poured into the room. The man seemed to have summoned them by pressing some button hidden from Armaros's knowledge. The officers manhandled him, grabbing him by the neck and arms. He howled and wailed. Lashed about in all directions to find some way of freedom.
Yet, he was now getting dragged away by two men nearly twice his size. His tantrum did little damage, nothing more than an inconvenience to the effortless power the guards held.
"This isn't right; this can't be fair!" Armaros yelled, slowly and forcibly being dragged out of the room.
The man then fixed his posture in his chair, cleared his throat, and straightened his tie.
"Your sacrifice will not be in vain."
The boy was hauled away out of the man's office, screaming and begging for his dream not to be taken away.
*****
Tyra–Armaros's Girlfriend before her Periodic Awakening–was walking in the reception area of the Wave Hunter's HQ. Many others surrounded her, patted her on the back and touted her abilities to rise up the rankings so fast. They were dubbed as Periodics, and like Tyra, they all had some achievement to their claim of power, each taking turns to justify their staying in the Wave Hunter's ranking.
And after the Raid today, another notch would soon be added.
As Tyra and her seventeen-person party readied themselves to leave, the screams and wails of a boy echoed across the area.
It started from behind the reception desk, mounting in volume as the source moved into view. And soon, the source revealed itself for all to see.
Tyra's body lost all motion. Her ears twitched upon hearing the voice of the person screaming. That tone. That childish wants like a boy stripped of his favourite toy. Knowing who it was a foregone conclusion, but confirming it with her eyes—that's what mattered.
No…that—that can't be him. What is he doing here?!
Armaros flew through the entry gateway at the side of the receptionist desk, crashing to the floor on the other side.
"You can't do this to me! This was my dream, my everything! And the second I get it, everyone just turns their back on me!?" He raved.
A stir picked up amongst Tyra's party.
"Who is that?" One girl scoffed.
"He must be one of the frauds…but at least they had common sense to try during the actual period of awakenings. What a dumbass." One boy responded.
Speechless, a few hiccups jumped into Tyra's throat. She hadn't seen him in ages. The mere sight of him in that state, with his mundane, ragged hoodie and slacks nearly torn to pieces like a homeless person because of how harshly he'd been treated…she just couldn't keep stare at it.
As the others walked away, laughing about the events, paralysis forced her to stay and watch. Tears burned down Armaros' face, and the birthmark on his neck—a faint yellow crow that looked like it was painted on—was present. She too had a similar birthmark, though different in colour. But something on his own looked so wrong.
It repulsed her, unable to keep her eyes on it for too long.
Her lips quivered at the sight of him. His desires, and what he wanted so. She recalled the days he talked about being like her. Never in her wildest dreams would she think to see him before her in this state.
He's gone off the deep end…this isn't him anymore.
Armaros's neck snapped back and forth at anyone who dared look at him for too long. But soon enough, his eyes locked on Tyra. His hand dropped to his side. All the remaining energy with him died.
The two lovers hadn't locked eyes in what felt like eons.
To him, she seemed more beautiful than before. Her body had become even more toned, flawless, and full-figured. Like a goddess clad in pink and white armour, he could do nothing but saunter towards her in the wreckage of his mortal body's mundanity.
She was his only hope of salvation.
The two stood a few paces away. He kept his eyes low. She puckered her lips together, as tight-lipped as possible.
"Tyra…it's been so long," he said with a dry laughter, "And you seem better than ever, I guess."
"Yeah…I wish I could say the same."
Silence encroached on the two.
"Tyra…I know…what I am going to say may sound crazy…hell, maybe I am crazy—"
"No Armaros. You are." She told him, "You don't look well. Go home."
"Haha…and now even you won't hear me out."
"Because you're being delusional. I don't have to listen to what you are going to say because I already know it." She choked.
She dropped her head to the floor. The turmoil, she had part of the blame for him coming to the place and being treated like this. She never wanted this wretched dream. But seeing her take it on. It must have been the nail in the coffin for him.
Yet, her next words wouldn't alleviate it. They only further cemented his growing despair.
"Listen, I don't know what you think you're doing here. But this…this isn't it.."
Tears stained her eyes. She wiped them away, continuing her beratement.
"You're making a fool out of both of us. Hell, why does your birthmark look so—fake?" She grimaced, "I don't have time for this. Go home."
A quick shudder went through his hands. To hear the one he loved—still loved—say such a thing…little did she know the fate that awaited if he didn't show up for the Wave.
"You're not a Periodic. And you'll never be one. Accept it."
Tyra stepped past her boyfriend. No more tears left her eyes. Armaros wasn't going to be a part of her life anymore. And that's fine with her. She didn't need him, not with the places she was heading for now.
Armaros remained an unmoving statue; a forgotten boy in a world that praised timely excellence, and waited on no one.
He had no place in it.
Armaros's hand couldn't stop trembling, closing into a fist. His birthmark colour pulsed with its faint yellow colour. If the world were to forget him, then he would forget them, too. He didn't know a pathway forward, but he would find it by itself. And if he had to, he was ready to die doing so.