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Chapter 5: uncharacteristic

By 1250 hours, Seth and I have already clocked out of our Group Building, walking along the path that'll bring us out. There's nothing to say, nothing to do, just walk. And this is time with my own thoughts as well. I don't say anything about Dayn, maybe because I don't know what to think. We're both confused about our feelings concerning her, coupled together with an unease that builds up over Recoloring. If we talk, we'll just muddle each other even more. At least, that's my reason for keeping silent. Seth doesn't speak either, or try one of his silly ways to pull me out of silence, which is gratefully noted by me.

But of course, I don't say thank you.

We continue in this way for a long time, exiting our Sector, the Guard's jerky nod and irritated hand waving, eager to see us off, as is appropriate for such a Guard to feel. I look at his beady eyes, repulsively fat neck, mousy moustache, and I resist cringing at the image. Yet, there's this nagging feeling that grabs hold of my thoughts. We're going to change Sectors today.

Changing Sectors...we'd already said our solemn, quiet goodbyes to Rade-Kai, Yuno-Kai and Jero-Kai, of which, only the foremost acknowledged with a sigh and a brief wave. In this same way, I have the urge to say something, say a goodbye, thank him, say /anything/ really, before I never see him again.

I've never been a master of my emotions. As I retrieve my KeyCard, I motion for Seth to move off first. He raises his eyebrow. Does he know I'm about to do something...stupid?

That's the thing really. I /know/ it's stupid. It's all these /nothing/ things, all these /nothing/ thinking that keeps me where I am. Not topping classes or Running, but not at the bottom either. Simply submerged in the inescapable hell of mediocrity.. As Dayn would say, in that coolly apathetic, impassive voice, my utter "average-ness", my total concern for /nothing/ things like /feelings/ that will get me killed soon. Already, I've declined her offers of Suppressing Pills. I make those same excuses that it doesn't affect my Academics, it doesn't hinder my Running. Yet, I know, deep in that hard knot of a heart that's slowly coming loose, unraveling fast, it does. It affects everything, and I can't help it.

"Lia-Kreul. Please remove yourself from this place. You are holding up the line." An arm, fingers grasping my shoulder, tries to push me onwards. As it retreats, I give in to impulsivity and grab it. I open my mouth to say something impactful, something that will ingrain itself into his mind, something that he'll remember years later with a smile. Yet, like most things once I become pressured to do them, it comes out pathetic and small.

"Uhh...Thanks."

I snatch my hand away, feeling the hard stares of the few Olympians behind me. I rebuke myself for playing the fool. Pocketing my KeyCard, and keeping my hand in my pocket, for I have nothing to do with it, I walk away, fingers still tingling. His arm, the Guard's arm, was freezing. Even more so than the freakish weather that plagues Olympus that Poseidon failed to forecast. Almost...inhuman. Then I look down at my Green forearm, see that revolving tattoo around my wrist with that little miniature Runner Running laps on it, my personalized identification mark. I feel my Meta-Pill induced racing heart rate. I think of the enhancements that await me after Recoloring, at the Refitting part of the procedure. None of us are human, if we take the definition that was trumped up by the people from Down There.

"Spacing out again? Your 'musings'" punctuated by his green fingers curling and uncurling in imaginary quotation marks. "will get us late." he hesitates at the insult, but decides with a smile and twinkling eyes, to go ahead with it. "Latie."

I grit my teeth. My fist is raised faster than ever, but he's too fast. When it's our arms against our legs, it isn't hard to see which would win. In minutes, he twists away and makes a break for it. I let go the anger but can't seem to resist the challenge he soundlessly puts forth to me.

"Seth-Krono!"

I feel my veins pump faster and the adrenaline kicks in. Unconsciously, I pop a Meta-PIl and gulp some Vit-Drink, which clears my mind till it doesn't have a trace of thought left. I give in to my feet's overwhelming urge to /move already!/ The exhiliration of Running, coupled together with my pulse drumming in my ears to match my feet, makes me smile, as I set off after him.

I'll beat him at his own game.

After ten or so blocks, the effects of the Meta-Pill dies down. We both slow to a Jog, and then a Walk. I flash him a slight grin.

"I'll get you next time." I try my best to look menacing.

"Waiting for it." He quips immediately. I wave away his complacency. That was a short-distance run; a few more blocks and he would have been snuffed of energy for sure.

The gargantuan hulk of the Recoloring Building stands formidably in front of us, grey interspersed with windows and Olympians standing at them.

We glimpse Purples with their white lab coats pushing their way through the crowds of Olympians pushing, jostling. There are Yellows, supervising belligerent Reds and restless Blues. Over at a few windows, Greens stand, looking out wistfully, but not seeing any of the drab scenery. Some tap the windows. Some talk with friends. Or what they call friends. Some wring their hands with the same nervousness that manifests itself in throbbing hearts that beat faster, louder, almost beating out of your chest. The same thing that I'm experiencing now.

"Hey Lia. You're not..." eyes narrow in suspicion. "Nervous are you?"

I give him a glare, pushing away my feelings.

"What's there to be nervous about?" I fake, the lies feel bitter on my tongue. "It's /nothing/, just Recoloring... It's not like...as if..."

I trail off and hang my head. I /am/ nervous, every cell of my body screams it out loud. I concede defeat and mutter, hating myself every second for succumbing.

"Not like you're not."

He laughs, strangely light-hearted in such a time. It makes me feel all the worst. "'Course I'm nervous! But I don't try to hide it. There's no need to be afraid of saying it."

"I wasn't trying to cover up. I was just saying-" My hasty, defensive words are immediately cut off by the swinging doors of the Treatment Centre abruptly opening into our faces. There's a squeak of trainers on the glaringly white floors. I stop, but it's not because that's the first pair of trainers I've heard today. In fact, it's not the trainers themselves.

It's the way they squeak on the ground, that too-clean trainers on a too-clean ground. It's these things that I concern myself with, the tiny things that define a person as much as big things like fingerprints or DNA from locks of hair.

I don't need to listen hard to visualize the shoes. Red ones, the type with the soft soles of treesap rubber, the ones that add a little spring to your step. There are most certainly 3 stripes near the heel, white fabrics, the laces are in bows that are double-knotted so they don't come out even under extreme conditions. The pressure on the ground is happy (steps that are quick and light and many), not angry (when the steps are slow, menacingly heavy and few for added impact). This strikes me as odd, especially after what went down this morning. The shoes stop in front of me. Looking up from my gaze at the ground, I can only confirm my inference based on my observations.

Dayn-Kreul. With her measured steps and slow walk. With her hair straight and pulled back, with not a lock out of place. With her KeyCard stashed next to matching pill bottles of red and blue, with her tattoo on her wrist revolving with her pulse, the interlocking criss-crossing pattern of Jumpers. All this is pretty regular. Except for two things.

She has a smile, to any passing Olympian, a refreshing change from the habitual frown, a grin was such a blessing if it came from one such as her. Yet, I've watched Dayn long enough, with awed and fearful attentiveness, that I can see the corner of her smile turning downwards. Her eyes flash at their cores, almost invisible to anyone not looking, like warning signals, those black irises laced with colour that dances a dance I don't know if I want to see. To anyone else, nothing's the matter. But looking at her, eyes ablaze, mouth forming a deceptive smile-snarl, I'm instantly scared of her.

As she comes up close to me, she reaches out one hand to grasp my faintly shivering one. She turns her haunting grin-grimace to Seth as well, addressing us with a voice that crackles like wind playing with dead leaves, hoarse and broken, yet clear and falsely cheery, as though something that made her Dayn, /the/ Infamous Rebel, had snapped and died away.

"Hello Friends."

We both flinch at the words. They cut as badly as sharp knives and glass bits. We can't find the similarities between the friend (we thought) we knew and this one. Are they even the same person? I shake my head from side to side, slowly.

“What are you scared of Lia? There is nothing that isn't good, good, GOOD around here. Don't you see?”

I start breathing harder. Something's broken in her. She's flipped, I try to tell myself, insane. I need some form of explanation for this...madness. But I cast around and find nothing else to pin it on but her.

A shaky breath is taken as her other hand takes Seth's. Lacking the courage to meet her burning, yet hollow eyes, we glance down only to see...

Yellow pigment. Invading her body, passing through it, the chemicals fusing with the beads under her skin, rapidly changing her Green-coloured skin to its Yellow, prestigious, glorious to some, new look. Looking at this Spectral version of our friend (I stop to think about the word for a moment.), with her clammy hands, spooky voice, ghostly eyes, I have the strangest thought.

Her Recoloring makes it look like she's been overtaken by a fast-acting parasite. Something that's taken her over, that's taking her over. And I can't stop it.

I've never felt so helpless in my life.

“Come friends! You were almost late! I was so worried! What kept you? I hope you didn't mind that I applied for an earlier timeslot. I just couldn't wait!”

The ghostly voice continues as her cold and inexplicably strong arms start to pull us towards doors, that are swinging to an ominous tandem, the doors that lead to the Treatment Centre

If it's not the tone that gets me, it's the words themselves. The tone, already, irks me. Her voice grates and scratched at her throat with metallic claws. Yet it's high-pitched and awfully cheery with tinny laughter and that horrible smile that stretches from cheek to cheek and doesn't fade away.

Even worse than that, what she used to pass of as /nothing/ speak, the lingo of the /other/ Jumper Kreuls, with their redundant giggles and overdone hand gestures that /used/ to make her flick her head, crinkle her nose, close her eyes and walk just that little bit faster to be rid of them, what she used to call "degrading", "irrelevent", "stupid" evem, seemed to be her choice of words today.

As if her powerful language of stares and tiny gestures and sweeping hair and short, cutting remarks I used to work a whole day to hear, seemed to collapse into the mindless vocabulary of just /another/ Kreul. She used to be unique and aloof, now, as if her facade had finally given way from the pressure Olympus exerted on her to /keep her down/, smashed to smithereens, she had fallen into the "commoners" ranks of mediocrity and facelessness.

She had become like me.

The Dayn I had known, the one I respected, would have slipped in at the last minute, or maybe even not showed up today, and instead snuck in after hours, stolen a syringe from the spares cabinet in the Recoloring Station and injected herself. Not to mention crushing it under her heel as she left, so the Whitie Cleaners would have extra trouble cleaning it up.

The Dayn I had known would have clapped, with her mouth a wry, victorious grin, at our tardiness. She wouldn't have cared if we didn't come, she might even applaud us more if we didn't. She would have acknowledged our bravado and our defiance with a curt nod that would mean the world to me.

The Dayn I had known wouldn't have cared if we minded or not. If she wanted to do something, even Jace-Kai or Faern-Kai could stop her. No one in Olympus, save her Coach Sai-Kai, mattered to her, so what were two Green Runners who were hardly of any status or worth much attention.

The Dayn I had known, was painfully different from this one.

I have half the mind to grab her and shake her shoulders forcefully. I could see my hands over her shoulders, almost crushing them with effort, and shaking her violently, her head lolling back and front, and my furious words, the ones that would never come from my mouth to her, would echo in the hallways and in somewhere deep in her heart, where the past-Dayn still resided in. I am sure this won't last. She'd come to her senses, out of this freakish trance soon. I hope.

With her insistent hands pulling us, we make it across the hallway just as Aeon sounded the bell for 1300 hours.

“Right on time!” She exclaims, with cheer and gaiety that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Her arms let go of ours thankfully, but only to push open the swinging doors with a bang of impulsive joy. Yet that “joy” seems fake and dead.

“Go along! I'll wait outside now. We'll have so much to do, now that we're going to be Yellows! Kais! Remember what you said Lia? This is it!” I start, Dayn remembers what I say? I don't know whether to feel flattered or to question her sanity further. “Now get in there and get that /disgusting/ Green out of your system,” For a moment, I shoot a look at her bare forearms. Completely Yellow now. Her Green's all out of her system. “And get changed for the better!”

With a single shove, Seth and I stumble backwards into the Treatment Area overwhelmed by her power. We do not even get the time to share a scared glance before we hear the sound of a throat being cleared, somewhat inexpertly.

We turn and see a scientist, white labcoat making him almost invisible in the white room, with two fluorescent lights casting a blinding light over them. Another, more severe-looking scientist, smiles ethereally at us. Everything's bright and rearing to begin. I feel my mind scream, “This is it!” Yet that nagging little voice wonders if it's all that amazing as I've fantasized it to be. “An anticlimax.” It argues. Any further debate is cut off as the scientists remove a syringe each, from a cupboard that's camouflaged into the wall behind it, the tube filled with gleaming Yellow chemicals and crystal-like agents. Their Purple thumbs squeeze the plunger, allowing a single drop to escape in their eagerness. Their smiles stretch and stretch, more inhuman every second.

“Shall we begin?”

Chapter 4: uncomfortable

I feel the gnawing feeling of deja-vu as we come out from Training Centre 5 via the back door. We immediately duck into the side path outsife of it. We move as fast as we can without making too much noise and without pressurising Seth to agitate his ankle's condition by running. A delicate balance, really.

As able as Seth is, as fast-healing as our bodies are (the small scrapes and bruises are healed within an hour), and as medicinally efficient as Meta-Pills are (a dose quickens the healing process by two times for each pill), it's undeniably obvious, from the way Seth runs, that he's injured himself. He can walk without a problem, but as Runners as expected to, he has to run as often as he breathes. Or at least, as much as possible. As do I.

But as we tried on the (forgivably carpeted) corridor of Training Centre 5, he's cautious not to put too much weight on it, gingerly putting his left foot down and then quickly changing his weight to his other foot immediately and lingering on it for as long as possible. This style of running tilts his gait to his right foot abnormally, not to mention makes him rather laughable. So we resolved to skulk in the safetty of the deserted alleyways before we reach our Group Buildings.

Dayn holds her head high as she walks, as if leading an injured counterpart and a friend whose head is usually in the clouds, not to mention not informing Aphrodite of the injury, is nothing to be ashamed of. I marvel at her bravado.

And Seth and I soundlessly, telepathically agree to conveniently forget that Danzor isn't in our Group Building, or us in hers.

As we walk, sometimes stopping to help Seth across jagged cracks and stinking puddles that spell disuse of the walkway, I feel the bubbling urge to speak of memories we share in this confusing web of sliproads, of how we'd run here to hide, of narrow escapes from Academics, of Seth dragging an unwilling me, with Dayn in the lead as we foraged on to some unknown, normally Forbidden, Area. That word that ruled Dayn's life. Once something contained "Forbidden" in its name, Dayn was sure to include it in her to-do list. The challenge in the word drew her to it like cold hands to a fire.

I hold back breaking the silence. There comes a time when a silence has not been broken for so long, one does not know how and when to do so. In the end, it is simply left alone, like a piece of decoration that you've stuffed away for so long, you don't want to see it anymore.

Anyhow, I can tell that we're all thinking of those days; there are times like these where their thoughts merge with mine. There are moments when our minds overlap, and what's on mine, has a 9 in 10 chance of being what's on theirs. As we've gotten older, I note, these times have gotten lesser.

After we emerge, warm, sweaty and dusty, from the "road never travelled", we're right in front of the first Residential Buildings in Sector 3. So far so good. We're all in the same Sector at least. We scan our KeyCards at the first of many Guard posts, with a slate-faced Security Personnel dipping his head robotically after each KeyCard is approved with a "ding" and a small green light flashing. Dayn leads the way in.

After the preliminary Guard, there is a long path with various turnoffs to smaller ones, which terminate with a flat, one-storey building. To the left, there are the Blue and Red Quarters, their Buildings close to bursting with the ruckus they make. Dayn's nose crinkles and she pointedly looks away from them.

To the right, the silent Group Buildings are more than a contrast to the ones they face. They house silent Yellows and Greens, who want to differentiate themselves from "those immature Reds and Blues". They lie, undecorated, detached. Each Group Building is guarded by a Supervisor under Zeus, one of the elusive Purples who'd rather stand all day outside and socialize with stone-faced Yellows and Greens than push papers inside a stuffy office and socialize with their reflections.

Group members consist of a pair of Yellows and a pair of Greens, each with one Kreul and one Krono. Seth and I live under the watchful gaze of Rade-Kai, a Purple ex-Wrestler and Jero-Kai and Yuno-Kai, two apathetic Yellow Swimmers, skin tanned and limbs muscled with their packed Training Schedules. Dayn resides in the next Building.

In total disregard for that fact, Danzor motions for us both to walk past her Group Building.Even when we feel the eyes of her Purple Supervisor on our retreating backs. Her elusive partner Green, the Runner Silo-Krono, stares out too. I can almost see his strange pale eyes with their probing, intense stares, the eyes that don't hold as much as a trace of green, dominated by the moonstone qualities that make him stand out from most people. I remember his emaciated wrists, with their emerald shade seeming to drain slowly. His explosive running only seems to deprove as he constantly contracts the Aches.

"Seth-Krono. Lia-Kreul." a hesitation, though not because he doesn't recognize her. "Dayn-Kreul."

The hint of amusement, reprimand and superiority fuse into the unmistakable voice of Rade-Kai. He folds his arms over his stocky chest and looks at us through his left eye, his better eye.

"Rade-Kai." Dayn acknowledges, for once without the touch of frost and with the appropriate suffix. "May we enter?" Her courtesy rather unnatural.

"Dayn-Kreul, you aren't allowed in this building." He states, as if it isn't already obvious that Dayn's not here just to see her friends off.

She brushes the sentence away and makes to enter. He moves to block her. His fist clench at his sides, a warning signal, their veins popping up and muscles contorting to form a solid web of power.

"No."

She stares at him, her lips just turning up into a ghost of a smile. She hardly thinks anything anyone says can possibly stop her. Normally, it can't.

He stares back at her. He's aware of her innate insubordination and her rebellious streak. But that doesn't stop him, a born and bred disciplinarian, from trying to control her.

I quickly move to break up the impending confrontation. They draw too much attention, the other Buildings might hear.

"Seth-Krono and I should manage fine on our own. You don't need to worry Dayn-Kreul. We will meet you at Recoloring...when...we meet you. Thank you and good day."

Dayn freezes where she is and mechanically turns her head to me. She takes a step away from the gate, in a stupor. Seth mutely brushes past her, as do I. Rade-Kai smiles slightly, inclining his head as a silent farewell to Dayn. He's almost proud of my quick and effective removal of a "hazard" by the name of Dayn-Kreul. He swipes both our KeyCards, nods approvingly, and closes the gate. Firmly, and right in her face.

As I help Seth through the door to our Group Building, I hear her hand slowly wrapping around one bar of the grilled gate, rattling it once, twice, futilely. The weight of her glare, and the silent questioning look Seth gives me, makes it all the harder to step through the door. I hesitate on closing the door, then in one fell swoop, I slam it close with as much finality as I can imbue into it. I resist looking out of the window too, even though I ache to see if she leaves, and if her eyes still hold that lost look I'd seen for the first time today.

--

Inside, I can still feel that gaze burning into my memory. The shock, the surprise, the indignation, and that something I couldn't quite place. The one that was caused when you...I searched my memory for a time that I felt closest to this. When you were pushed away, when you were excluded, ostracized even. The feeling that was...loneliness, with a double spoonful of disappointment and a large dash of betrayal. She'd shown emotions today, raw and bare. I'd really ought to be rejoicing. The Dayn-Kreul, the cool-headed, taciturn, emotion-hating Dayn-Kreul, had shown the very same feelings she'd told me she hated.

Yet...

The first emotions I'd seen on her face weren't the ones I'd wanted her to feel. They were ones that I caused, negative ones that I'd caused. The whole fiasco made my stomach churn a bit and my thoughts started blending together in a hopeless mess of unknowns.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. The weight, the pressure, the warmth, are all familiar. I shrug it off.

"You...want to talk?"

I cast him a disdainful, sidealong stare. Seth's not the best when it comes to sharing sessions. Then again, no one is really. I swing my legs onto the bed's surrface and face the wall, feet curling under me.

"What's there to say?"

I deadpan, hoping that its dismissive manner is half as good as Dayn's is. I just wish he'd get the hint that I want him out of my sight for the moment. The blended mass of thought is alien, confusing, not the calm, happy thoughts I'm used to. There used to be times where things seemed clearer than others, when I'd finally get what I was thinking. But after a short while, an hour or two, I couldn't remember what it was that I'd gotten. Sometimes it was when I talked with someone, then something just sparked off a bit of understanding. But most of the time, when there was no one that would understand, I tried sorting it out on my own. Like I was trying to do now.

"Dayn's, well, she's not the easiest person to get along with."

His sentence comes out hesitantly, as if he's not sure it's true. I just brush it away. He waits for a few long moments, as though he wants to see if I'll open up to him just because he spouted a vague line trying to summarize our "friend" (I choose to settle for apostrophes in this case. When competition runs deep in your veins, there are no use for such /nothing/ things, as Dayn would put it.). When I don't offer him any form of recognition, the pressure finally /finally/ lifts, and his presence leaves through room with the closing of a door.

As the door clicked shut, so did something in my head. It was at that point that I suddenly realized the amount of truth that lay in the layers underneath that otherwise paltry statement. It was true, Dayn was /not/ the easiest person to get along with. In a relationship with her, you found that you gave a lot more than you would ever know you could receive back, but you gave anyway. You could offer her jokes and riddles and quirks and statements, and you'd never know if she'd give you a smile or a frown, as if what you said insulted her. But there was always this urge inside you to constantly give her things, even when you /knew/ that there was nothing in it for you. It was just the way she could manipulate people, whether she was aware of it or not.

Seth's statement, for once, is hauntingly accurate, reflective of what I had felt.

I quickly turn around to call him back, wanting to tell him that he was right this time, that I'd like his company for a while, but he wasn't there anymore. I made it to the door, before my mind caught up with my body. Suddenly feeling silly, albeit even more muddled, I lie back on my bed, acutely aware of the springs that groan ever so slightly under my weight, the same springs that, after years of tossing myself on it, had melded to fit the contours of my back. I turn around and face the wall, closing my eyes.

Nothing made sense anymore.

--

My InterCom goes off with a shrill ring. I turn around, groaning as it wakes me up from a blissfully blank sleep I had tried so hard to obtain. I grope around on my dresser, then open my eyes to find it not there. Grasping around where I can feel its vibration and where the din it makes seems to originate from, I finally find it near my bedpost. I flip it open and mutter a greeting irritably.

"Lia-Kreul."

The cold metallic voice of Jace, with an edge of dislike and grating of fatigue (she'd have to make a good 500 calls or so like this one.), filled my receiver. It was as good waking me up as a bucket of cold water. My back immediately straightens and my voice rids itself of its tired aftertones.

"Yes, ma'am."

"You are to report to Treatment Centre 3, the building to the South of the Central Area, for your recoloring at 1300 hours. You will be required to arrive there promptly as the Purples on duty there have a large amount of Olympians to Treat before the day is up. Is that noted?"

"Noted," A hesitation, and I'm suddenly inspired by the memory of Roll Call this morning. I hasten to add, "Jace-Kai."

There's an intake of breath at my bravado. Then she clears her throat, and continues as if she didn't hear what I just said.

"Good day Lia-Kreul."

/Click./

I feel a small rush of triumph at my ability to induce discomfort. I fall backwards onto my bed, InterCom thudding near my head.

1300 hours. The numbers imprint themselves in my mind. Recoloring. But not just any other /nothing/ recoloring. This was the last one, the biggest one, the one that had all Greens straining, rearing to get there first, get to the disinfected buildings with their white lab coats and whiter surfaces, face masks and sterilised gloves, pointy needes and empty promises of "no pain".

A knock on my door, and my grin turns into a scowl. Trust Seth to break up my happy daydream.

"Come in." After not hearing any sound other than the thump of my heartbeat and the small voices in my head, the sound my vocal chords produce seems strangely loud in the silence.

Seth's head pokes in. Just as I expected. I move into a sitting position. We both open our mouths.

"What time's your Recoloring?"

"How's the ankle?"

Two questions, at the same time. We stop for a minute and decide to answer.

"1300-"

"Absolutely-"

Then we remember our manners.

"You first.

"You first."

Then we stop again, slightly affronted, and meet each other's eyes. And we break into spasms of unexplainable laughter. Such a nice sound...I almost forgot we could make them.

"Heh...Hah...ahem. Okay, Kreuls first."

"Mine's at 1300 hours."

"Cool. So's mine."

We both manage that much, before finding something or the other in the statement to start laughing again. We subside after several drawn-out breaths for direly-needed oxygen.

"My ankle's fine."

I smile. It feels good to push away the complications and just enjoy the simple joys of laughing at nothing.

"Great."

I move over in silent invitation as he settles down on the bed next to me. The whole bed sinks down uncharacteristically.

"Man, you're heavy!" My exaggerated exclamation, complete with the widened eyes and hand to mouth, causes him to look over and feign dramatic hurt.

"Lia! A jibe at my weight! You wound me!" Then he counters, devilish eyes flashing with suppressed giggles.

"Hey!" I yell, childish indignation wrestles with the overwhelming urge to laugh, again. I punch him in the stomach, uncaring of how feeble it is, enjoying his mouth opening and closing in shock like a fish. He looks down at where I made contact and looks up again, eyes narrowing.

"You /will/ pay!" He shouts determinedly, as we proceed to land blows on each other in a way that would greatly disappoint Rade-Kai with their bad placement and pathetic energy. We, weakened by laughing and sporadic warcries, sit back down onto the bed. I seize the opportunity and pin Seth down by sitting on his back. He groans.

"Give in?" I ask.

"Never." I'm bent on cracking his resolve. I twist his free arm around to his back.

"How about now?"

He sighs in defeat.

"I give in."

I get off, but not without having a hearty chuckle at his expense. He mutters something about "courtesy" and "I didn't try hard enough, 'cos you're a Kreul." but I choose to take them as silly excuses.

"You're the one that gave in."

"Whatever."

We look at each other, trying to fake contempt. Then I have an abrupt feeling that someone's watching us. These feelings just come, I've never found an explanation, save that of intuition.

I take a quick glance at the window and stifle the gasp as I recognize the pair of green eyes that look at us, merry over such /nothing/ things, with something akin to hatred. The intensity causes me to turn away quickly, and pretend to Seth that I haven't seen anything.

I stuff the memory to the back of my head, but it keeps coming back to the foreground. That look of pure, molten dislike. In those eyes that had never seemed to register anything before.

Dayn.

2952 words. I so rule.

But still not enough, damn it!

Shall go and continue...tonight.

Anne

Chapter 3: uncalled for


After Roll Call, we're scheduled, by Aeon, to have a free block, just before Recoloring. They're the ones who spend hours of hard work on our timetables.

I break into a small run, while tapping in 7-2-3-8-5. Seth's tracking code. What we always do to make sure we make it to the edge of the Central Area together. I hear, with a slight satisfaction, a continuous little buzzing noise near me. On my left side, slightly behind. Seth's catching up.

Just like when we were Reds, with our little Red Fingers, we'd compete (the three of us) on who'd touch the cool metal bar first. It was so...Red-like to do such a thing. Now I find myself looking down on it. But, as my body dictates my mind, I still rush through the crowd, ducking past clucking Yellows, whispering Greens, Blues checking their new Rulebooks and Reds doing the same thing I'm doing. I find myself almost smiling.

Dayn's already there, leaning against the rail not unlike the way Faern was, coolly checking her grey shirt for any signs of the slightest wrinkle (there isn't any). She looks up at the sound of sneakers and their slight squeaking.

“You got your shoes washed?”

An unconventional friend, with the strangest conversation starters.

I nod the affirmative. Seth huffs up behind me, pursing his lips after he realizes (for the millionth time) that I beat him. Again. He thinks it's a matter of skill, so he practices a lot. What he doesn't get, is that it's a matter of how you run. If you run and flash grins to everyone you cut in front of, not to mention saying “excuse me” and avoiding Blunders, you get, very quickly, to your destination in hardly anytime at all. Seth, king of Blunders and Discourtesy, has yet to learn these essential steps to moving faster through crowds.

“I left them outside and they got cleaned. Same as always.”

“But you put in that little tab for special cleaning cases. The one that specifies special cleaning of the soles of all things?”

“Hey hey! Nothing's wrong with getting things cleaner!”

“But something so stupid as to clean the soles of the shoes you're going to run on dirty floors with?”

The regular bickering of trivial matters. Seth breaks off, as he does, after a short exchange. He doesn't have the stamina, the same with his running, to keep up with a cool-headed Dayn. Arguing with her, it makes you feel like you're throwing silly cliches and hopeless silly Red-speak that bounce off her cool exterior. She may talk a lot, but she gives the odd impression that she's stoic.

It must be something with the fact that she talks, but appears never to listen. Maybe she really doesn't.

Right now, she realizes one of her two friends is spacing out on her. She says so.

“Lia? You're spacing out on me.”

Straight and to the point. Not a question, for there was no need for one. This was a statement of facts.

In retrospect, I've realized that the two friends I was dumped with, at the start of my Blue Days, wouldn't have been my first choices on any list. Nowhere, nowhere was there a Form, a dotted line that I signed on for an eternal subscription to Death by Mad Friends.

“Yes, Dayn-Kreul?” My face feigns indifference though my traitorous lips upturn. Very, very slightly.

“We are not going to spend our free block just standing around right?” Her voice holds nothing, no distaste, no scorn, but her derisive eyebrow that raises slightly, that little downturn of the lip, shows everything.

The question, like her other ones (“Are you really that stupid?” or “Why are you smiling?” or “Let's go out and make miscellaneous Trangressions just for the fun of it.”), demands no answer. She'll come up with an answer for her own question either way. But for this particular question, there is only one plausible answer. This question, while literally, merely asks whether we would like to waste our time, also asks a subtler question of where else to go to. And to answer that, there's only one other thing we can do, only one place that we can go to together.

She takes our silence as the answer she would have liked to hear.

“We better not be.”

I lift my body from its slouching position on the cool banister. My knees make that creaking, clicking noises I've gotten used to.

“Faern isn't here.”

Dayn's oddly perceptive mind manifests itself in her abrupt sentence, with its hint of amusement. I smile. Faern-Kai hates the sound. My ears can almost hear the soft, yet deadly voice (“Weakness, all weakness. You want to go to Aphrodite? You want to waste your time? You better not.”), with its measured tone, and she quavers, with anger and the effort of keeping herself from shouting.

I notice Dayn doesn't use the customary “honourific” suffix when she refers to Faern-Kai. The only person I've heard her call by that name is Sai-Kai, her rarely-seen Coach, the best Yellow Jumper. Sai-Kai. She will be Relocated by the end of Recoloring. Dayn would never let on it, but she would miss her.

“Is it okay?”

She turns her full attention to Seth, who is currently resting his left heel on the silver rail, seeming to look at his ankle with discomfort and anxiety. Whatever his attention was on, it was immediately diverted as Dayn's innate ability to attract attention, whether intentionally or not, came into play.

She accompanies her words with a careless gesture vaguely in the direction of his leg. She's never one for showing concern (or affection, or hatred, or...any feeling really.) so it's always a little bit awkward. Normally, no one else can see that twinge of upset in her expressions. But if you've watched her for as long as I have, searching it for a hint of recognition of yourself, laughter in the corners of eyes and lips, fatigue yet rugged determination during any combined Physical Training, any slips in her facade that could remind me that she was as human as...I was.

Seth seems surprised, and immediately lifts his foot from its precarious perch and smiles evasively. He has the air of a Red trying to cover up an inevitably uncovered Trangression.

“Oh, just another nothing ache. Aye Okay.”

“You sure you don't want to go t-”

“No!”

The exclamation shocks all three of us, maybe Seth most of all. It reverberates around the Central Area, which has become deserted as quickly as it filled, the silence cracked by that single noise. Seth hastily rectifies his mistake, his hand jumping to his hair to pull it uneasily.

“I mean...umm...I'd rather not?”

The sentence comes out like a question. The two of us Kreuls pick it up immediately. Dayn's eyes narrow. As do mine.

“You said so.”

My voice comes, after it was silenced for the past few minutes, making everyone turn to me again.

“And she speaks!”

Seth says, effectively removing the attention away from himself.

Dayn raises her eyebrows slightly. In that, I translate it into a plea to the Gods what she did to deserve such friends. In fact, that's a question I ask myself every day.

Seth, understandable. We were the two misfits, the two who didn't bother much about the things every other Kreul and Krono jumped at, the two, who whether because of an acute lack of courage, or because of sheer laziness, who didn't concern themselves with who they sat together with in Academics, or who they were with in Training. We were the last two marbles in a bowl that just kept rolling towards each other, clacking a few times, and ultimately stopping at the bottom, irrevocably together in the end. It was hardly by choice, yet all by choice at the same time. The moment we made the choice that we weren't going to care about friends, we signed our one-way ticket to each others' company.

Dayn is more complicated, Never have I tried to fool myself that I understand why she chose our presence to grace. I suppose she was drawn to us for the same reason she is drawn to what she does. She lives for the thrill and the excitement almost as much as she lives for Jumping and her Coach. She probably picked us for a wholly different reason I picked Seth. She picked us, possibly, probably, because we were a challenge. And Dayn-Kreul does not give up a challenge.

Faint calling raises me from the depths of musing. Dayn waves at me irritably. I break into a slight Run as naturally as I breathed out a sigh. Then something catches my eye, From behind, while Seth does not lag behind Dayn's disappearing back, I can see that he's limping.


We head for the only place that we can go to together. As we're from different events, we don't have the same KeyCards. Seth and I can access the Training Centres, as Dayn can too. But we can't get into the Mat Area and Dayn can break into our Training Sessions at the Running Track.

Training Centre 5 sits, like a greyhound on its haunches, ready to spring, on the intersection of many small roads. As it is one of the least-frequented place in Olympus, we are happy to have it mostly to ourselves, on most days. Which gave us a pretty good percentage of days when we were the only people there. Some people said that was where Whities (I shudder at the word) trained after curfew, but no one knows for sure. I don't like to believe it.

As its unfavourable position, the furthest Training Centre from most Training locations, including the Swimming Pools 1 through 5, the Diving Pools 1 and 2, the Gymnasium and the Courts. Which included every single type of Court you needed. Only the Mat Area and the Running Track are remotely close to this Training Centre. Hence our presence being the only one in the Building.

Each Training Centre has the most basic of basic equipment. Specialized equipment can only be found in your respective Training Areas. Treadmills line each East wall, dumbbells and weights on the West wall. Mats, lined two by two, over at the North wall, and windows covering the whole of the South one. The layout was kept strictly the same in every Training Centre. Not that you can move anything anyway. They're bolted to the ground.

Today, the Training Centre is characteristically deserted. Even though there's no one on the centre Treadmills, the ones with a larger variety of distances and speeds, not to mention free Vit-Drink, we head to our usual treadmills, the ones off in the corner near the mats. By sheer force of habit, I take my place at the one tucked furthest into the corner, with Seth and Dayn next to me.

“I'm doing 2. You?”

The dreary, albeit needed, conversation starter, offered by me, is punctuated by my fingers tapping into the monitor the distance and the desired speed.

“Me too. At 16 per hour?”

I shrug. Dayn's fingers dance on the touchpad in front of her.

“Might as well. Seth?”

Seth ignores my question and stares pointedly at his ankle, as if berating it for some unknown reason. His forehead is a mass of lines as if he's tackling one of those terrible problems we get in Academics that has him swearing at Athena, the Gods in general, our teacher Rina-Kai, or anything he can find to pin the blame on.

“Olympus to Seth! Seth-Krono! A response would be appreciated.”

He's shaken effectively from his reverie after my second remark.

“Hmm? Oh yeah. Sure!”

His abrupt response, the two quick flick of the head up, the slight pained expression that's immediately wiped away, makes me cock an eyebrow at him questioningly. He seems to think that I can't see through his "disguise". After being with him for the last 5 years, I'd thought he'd think more of me than that. After all, I can still remember that limp that he had not fifteen minutes ago.

"You sure you're alright? I mean, you can always sit out-"

"I'm fine okay?"

His nostrils flare slightly, as if daring me to question his decision further. His green eyes narrow into a uncharacteristic stare. He looks like an animal, wanting to lick it's own wounds.

I shrug. I decide that I'll leave him be this once. I press the "Start" Button, listening to the whir of the machine as it starts up. The rubbery surface under me mechanically heaves my weight backwards. I lapse into my trance-like state reserved just for running. Two more identical whirs, one after the other, start next to me, as well as the comforting thump-thump-thump from my two friends.

Were they friends? I find myself hesitating on that word more than once today. What else could I call them? Acquaintances? No. That seemed to formal for the casual relationship we had of looks and smiles and the chatter. Compatriots? No, that was better, but still not the correct word. Then almost by mistake, I stumble over the next word.

"Companions."

This fits us to the T. We aren't just passing people who know each others' names and a bit of bio-data. It's safe to say that I've known Seth for as long as I've been in Olympus, at least give or take a few days. Dayn joined us about mid-way through that year, at our first joint-Training with the Jumpers.

"Lia? What companions?"

It takes me a while to realize that I said that out loud. I bend my head slightly, keeping my eyes on my feet, moving slowly, surely.

"Oh. Nothing."

Dayn looks at me with eyes that remind me of Faern's hawk-like gaze.

"Okay..."

Her tone makes me certain that she doesn't believe me, but she's letting it pass. Just like how I let Seth's evasive words go, to prevent the hassle.

The treadmill begins to get ahead of me. My foot almost slips of the edge of the machine. With that little mistake, my heartbeat quickens as I berate myself for losing concentration.

Silence falls over Training Centre 5, save the noise of the treadmills and the beating of feet, each with its own rhythm. I smile at the familiarity of the situation. Just like always.

I've gotten so used to the monotone of Training Centre 5 that, when I hear a softened bump of a back against the unforgiving, hard floor, my head whips around so fast that I give myself a crick in the neck. The noise bounces around the room, echoing despite the fact that it wasn't very loud. the groan that follows it does the same.

"Seth!" Dayn's reflexes and customary good grip on unforeseen situations immediately bring her to our injured friend's (I hastily correct myself), companion's, side, unheeding of her treadmill continuing to move.

Seth lies on the ground, eyes staring up at the ceiling. I see them following the crack on it, up to the North Wall, and down to the South Wall. He can't believe it. He's as surprised as we are, really. I feel the tense situation is in dire need of one of his quips. The trouble is, he can't make a wise-crack in the position he's in (breathing hard, chest rising and falling erratically). I feel the responsibility fall to me.

"For the life of me, I've never seen such a stubborn fool like you." I interject, shaking my head. I'm strangely unconcerned. After all, he's the one to blame, if anyone, for this.

Dayn flicks her head around and glares at me for my indifference. I wisely keep quiet (something Seth would never learn to do). Seth's eyes catch mine, something in them dancing with amusement that's both heartening and somewhat irritating to see. I give him a lopsided smirk and scout around for something to occupy myself with. I have the sudden urge to do something.

My eyes come to a rest on the treadmills, their rubber tarp still revolving. I slap my hand on all three "stop" buttons in one swoop. The room quietens immediately. The silence, unlike the comfortable one before this, is still thick with unease. I need to break it, whether with a helpful statement or not.

"Shall I get Aphrodite to send a medic?"

My hand's already retrieved my InterCom by this time, thumb over the speed dial number of Aphrodite.

Dayn presses her lips together in thought. I can literally see her mind spinning with musing and thinking. A medic would be helpful in a situation like this.-I'm not sure if Aphrodite will be done with him in time for Recoloring!-Dayn-Kreul does not ask for help!-There'll be the hassle of procedure and formalities after this-We'd have to secure a Special Circumstance Form verified by Faern and Jace (the deliberately left-out suffix is glaring).-Which would be tougher than forging their signature-Arguably, yes.

It pleases me to see that my interpretation of her mind was not such a far cry from reality. She turns her head away, making a decision in her next movement. She pulls his outstretched hand, causing him to struggle into a sitting position.

"Can you stand?" She says louder than necessary, her face seeming to crack with the effort not to show emotion.

Seth shot her a forced grin and transferred his weight almost fully onto his right foot, pushing up with his right hand. His left claws for further support and leverage, which I quickly give him. I tighten my grip and haul him up, looping his arm around my shoulders. meanwhile, to keep her hands busy, Dayn takes out an unopened packet of Vit-Drink and 3 Meta-Pills from her pocket. She thrusts them at Seth.

"You sure?"

His first words come out raspy and hoarse, as if he'd screamed
for hours. His query not only questions her decision to give them to him (after all, this would deprive her of precious Meta-Pills from her daily ration), it also asks her if she's certain he should eat them, considering that they're an overdose.

She simply pushes them into his free hand and close his fingers over them.

"You need them more than I do."

She seems to disregard the second, subtler meaning behind Seth's words. He shrugs and downs it all in a single gulp, the slosh of the Vit-Drink and the soft clacking of the Pills in his mouth before they're swallowed, are sounds our ears have been aching to hear, sounds that we pick up even when they're small in volume.

His hand's still in mine as we move slowly to the door, each step steadier, more independent of my support. His pulse begins to race with the added power of the Pills in his bloodstream. Dayn follows quickly after, scanning her KeyCard as we leave the room. The doors close, the lights automatically turning themselves off. We leave silently as we came.

It's almost as if we weren't here at all.

Which is the thing that gets me these days. We Greens are so invisible thanks to our "limbo state" as Seth dubbed it. Reds are lost enough to be noticed, Blues loud enough to be heard and Yellows with enough honour to be recognised. My eyes go skyward for the first time today that wasn't because of some smart-aleck comment made by Seth.

I thank the Gods that we're Recoloring today.

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This Chapter was happily 3305 words long. All hail Write or Die. xDD

Anne (off to work on...chapter 5!)

NEWS FLASH!

I have changed the names of some of my characters and added a few more (small ones) in.

Danzor-Kreul has been changed to Dayn-Kreul.

Sime-Krono (test subject) has been changed to Halyn-Krono.

Rade-Kai is the Group Supervisor (Purple) of Lia and Seth's Group Building.

Jero and Yuno-Kai are the Yellows in Lia and Seth's Group.

I don't care if you don't like my name choice. I ran out of brain juice.

AND THIS IS PROOF OF TOTAL DIARRHEA ATTACK!

	2037
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lab.drwicked.com

A Look From Olympus: Story

Chapter 2: unconventional

Greedy feet seem to eat up the red tarp. There's a stillness that doesn't happen any other time than the morning. There's no breeze, but no sun. I can close my eyes and feel, if I ignore the thumping of feet, that I'm the only person in the world, doing the only thing she can do well.

The routine of Morning Practices may not be so familiar to me as of yet, but in the future, I can see it becoming so. Once I'm a Kai, a Yellow, amongst the benefits of getting a KeyCard to the Hall of Records, I'll have the responsibility of a real Olympian. Right now, I'm merely taking and not giving. I'll be entered into the Olympics. The words, just the words themselves, give me chills of dread and anticipation. Then everything will be perfect. Living in the perfect medium, the perfect place, where I'm recognized for my talent, that nowhere else would ever think about and competing in the thing I'm best at.

Out there, in the Down There, at the bottom of the mountain, the place we go for the Olympics, they don't appreciate us. According to Faern at least. If I haven't heard that talk a hundred times, I've heard it a thousand times. The people down there, they treasure the mind more. What they don't understand, is that the body is the being. Not the mind. They hate us.

A second nod from Faern, with just the slightest aloof look lurking in her yellow-flecked pupils, is the one we were waiting for. We don't allow ourselves to sag in our bodies, or slump to the ground in exhaustion, but the lifting of the tension and stifling lack of noise is relieving.

We wove our way in between the shadowed alleys and shortcuts. As a Red, I'd done this a million times (led by Danzor of course). Coming in late for Roll Call was no big when you were that young. You were simply given a Reprimand, and then asked to get back in line. Little Reds did that all the time, so it was relatively tolerable. As Reds became Blues, the standards of Conducts, as issued by Hera, were raised. I smiled wryly when I thought about those dusty old volumes of Rules, with their stamped spines crumbling, pushed to the back of my cupboard, out of sight and mind.

As Greens, we weren't supposed to commit Trivial Acts anymore. Any of them resulted in a dreaded Stripe. If there was anything we didn't want to get, it was a Stripe. Given, no one had really ever gotten one before, but the rumours (You have to spend a whole hour with Faern! You have to report to Zeus for Corrective Work! You'll need to file the Hall of Records all over again.) were enough to keep us away from it.

“So Lia, any last words?”

I seethed. Your friends really cheer you up at times like these.

“Thank you Seth. I appreciate your sympathy.”

“You're welcome.”

His cheerful tone makes it hard for me to tell if my sarcasm was lost on him or not.

Silence falls over us as we turn another corner past the Recreation Building and Training Centre 5. We were getting closer. The peaceful quiet continues until the sun strikes the clock tower of the Gods' Halls. As if on cue, Aeon chimes the bells.

The periodic 7 chimes wake the whole Olympus out of its slumber. A flood of Reds, Blues, Greens, and Yellows fill the Central Area. Out of each flat-topped gray Residential building comes forth a stream of single-coloured, silent individuals, who take their rightful places in neat rows. I feel my pace quickening, as does Seth's. We're supposed to be there. Now.

We shuffled into the back row about 2 minutes from our names being read out. Having been Roll-Called for 2 years now, ever since we became Greens, we know roughly when Jace, the Speaker, expects our dull tone of “Present” after our names. As if on cue, she spits out our names like they're the most vile things she's ever had the misfortune of pronouncing.

“Lia-Kreul.”

Behind the name, behind the tone, I hear contempt. I hear “She's hopeless.”. I hear “She's the troublemaker's sidekick.”. I hear sarcasm at its best. I hear gritting of teeth and hatred seething. At the corner of her eyes, I see that tiny furious pinprick of irritation and dislike, as her eyes move to meet Faern's.

Coach is leaning against the banister of the enclosed compound. She looks at Jace for a milli-second and then turns back to look at her fingernails. In her stance and her flick of her hair, she just has to show off that two streaks of gold. I mean, enough is enough! Needless to say, I couldn't stand her as much as she couldn't stand me. I'm not her best runner by any stretch of the imagination.

“Present.” I don't skip a beat. The routine's been solidly drilled in already. The monotone, however, gives away nothing of my wandering mind.

There's a stillness in the air that always seems to follow, before she moves on and her lips turn down a second time. After years of looking at the same Roll Call list, you'd think she'd memorized where we were and when we were called.

“Seth-Krono.”

This one's more mellowed, hardly anything but the slightest razor sharpness. The two of us are infamous. His tone betrays just the tiniest bit of mischief.

“Present.”

But the worst, as it is said, was yet to be.

“Danzor-Kreul.”

Everyone's mouth turns up in amusement, and then down in disapproval. The ringleader of the Trio. Hers is the name that's branded into everyone's name. Hers is the stereotype Rebel Olympian.

Her voice rings clear over the heads of the many Olympians standing at attention. They move back into their stoic expressions.

Danzor raises her hand and flicks it dismissively. Her little act of defiance goes a long way. No one does that. Not to Jace.

As much as her skin is “Whitie” shade, no one dares to look down on her. Jace was chosen, out of all the “Whities” to be our Speaker and the Head of Hermes. Her voice...possesses the innate quality to be heard by anyone and everyone. And her memory, compared to anyone else, is unmatched. I bet she can still remember all the names of every single Olympian there ever was. She's almost as veritable as the Hall of Records is.

But as the Head of Hermes, the only “high post” in the Gods that has to be held by a Whitie. Or to put it in the terms we are supposed to say, but never do, White-skinned Olympians. I don't see who we're trying to kid when we say they're Olympians. We've never looked at them as Olympians. They are the people that do the low jobs of mending EMRAs when they are broken, rebuilding dilapidated Residential buildings, or working in Hermes.

In the hierarchy of the Gods, Hermes is the lowest. In other Governments, they're the people who deal in External Affairs. It's the one that deals with Down There. The place at the bottom of the mountain. No one really wants to have contact with the people down there. Down There, people are all Whities. They have nothing skin that they want to make even more nothing with skin products and facials treatments. Don't they know that the colour they have is so blank, so boring?

They're the ones that are killing the world. With their cars, those strangely shaped scraps of metal that just happen to work long enough for them to show off to their friends how fast they can go. How fast they can go depends on their machine. All we have s our bodies. And I'm pretty sure I can run 5 times (at least) faster than any of those fat slobs who depend on those gas-guzzling machines to move 100 metres.

Jace, it's whispered, was someone from Down There, who stumbled through Olympus' hallowed Gates. She was a “lawyer”, one of those nothing jobs that Down There thinks up to put their people into more social classes. They always talk of unity in diversity, but whatever they're doing, it's just making people more segregated.

I smile proudly at my well-thought-through argument. Which isn't really mine. Danzor wrote this for a term paper, the only thing that grades our Academics. She's one of the few people who really put in effort for Academics.

I receive a cuff on the back of my head, the small movement strange in a motionless block of people.

“Stop smiling like that, Lia. You look like a fool.”

Thus comes the voice of Rade-Kai. The Yellow in my Residential Building. The Wrestling Champion and our Building's scold.

“Yeah, Latie.” Seth's voice goads on.

The sound of another cuff and an “Oww...What was that for huh?” float over to me. A ripple of laughter follows to those immediately around us.

Then I feel the hot-cold stare that's so characteristically Danzor. Even without looking, I can see her long, Jumper legs, weight solely on her right foot, that half-smirk curling her lip, her hair messy over her forehead. She knows. I know she knows. She knows that I know that... Well, that Kreul knows everything.

A glare passes over the crowd. Everyone shuffles back into the customary peace and quiet. The glare focuses exactly three people behind me and one to the left. The burn of Jace's eyes travel the long distance between us to scorch my head as it passes by.

Even though Danzor didn't do anything, no. Correction. Even though Danzor didn't do anything more than she usually does, she seems to see through it all. That this was all because of that term paper Danzor got an F and a Transgression label to add to her collection. She seems to document this, like all the other Blunders, Mistakes, or whatever other word they come up for it.

I can hear her cool voice even though there's no one speaking.

“Danzor-Kreul. The troublemaker.”

I can almost hear her answer. The one conveyed not with speech, but by that cool-as-a-cucumber look and those eyes that made you feel so nothing next to her and that eyebrow that goes just a little higher than the other mockingly. The look that I'd be frightened to look at, let alone don.

“Yup, that's me.”

Author's Note: This one was slightly longer. 1776. The Rush is here. The Writing Diarrhea has hit me. Oh no. The viruses...

Chapter 1: unsettling

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There was smoke. A lot of smoke. The kind that encompassed you so completely, your eyes stung, your nose watered, you groped around like a blind man. The kind of smoke that made you feel utterly alone.

Yet, as if my feet knew the way which my mind did not, I put in all my energy into running, pounding the packed dirt, feet drumming into a rhythm I’d grown to know. The rhythm of sneakers on gravel, on race tracks, on tarp, on concrete. The rhythm that was uniquely mine.

Suddenly, I was free from the smoke. Completely free. I had the moment-long blankness that reminded me of all the other times I’d end a race, with no one next to me, Vit-Pill induced energy fading away, the throbbing of my heart rapidly slowing. Then the rush of victory came.

More beating of shoes, like the other competitors, slowing as they reached the end, almost in awe of the victor, the first place person, then the smoke gave way to two familiar forms, Danzor-Kreul and Seth-Krono. They stood for a moment, catching their breath. Seth, unaccustomed to running long distances, sucked in heaving breaths of clear oxygen.

Then, we turn back to the smoke rising in plumes. The faint silhouettes of buildings, tall spiky roofs of the Quarters, flat tops of the Canteen and Learning Areas, stand out from the murky grayness.

And there’s a momentary rush of emotions, and a feeling unlike any other time I’ve ended a race. That this, this was the most sought-for prize, that this was the largest trophy to win, that this, this opportunity, was the greatest one of all.

The most astounding thing was, it didn’t feel like the end. It felt like a beginning.

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I shook awake. It didn’t take long for the shivers to go away. It was probably a nothing dream. Just like all the other nothing things that I do every day (not tuck in my shirt, forget to bring my InterCom, sneak out of Training Sessions when Faern isn’t there). But I know I've started off on the wrong foot already.

The night has been colder than usual, on top of the already-chilling dream. Why hadn't the Gods informed us?

They must be having issues with Aeolus again. I smile at my, however limited, knowledge of the internal affairs of the Gods.

I drag myself out of bed and pick up my bottle of Meta Pills from the table next to it. After downing a double-gulp of Vit-Drink to wash down the 5 daily Pills, I immediately feel the familiar rush of cold iciness tickle my spine. I hardly mind it, in fact it fascinates me.

I turn over and try to get back to sleep; after all, the Wakeup Bell hasn’t been rung, so no Kreul, Krono, or Kai should be out yet.

Then my eyes slam open again, after five minutes of trying to sleep. It’s today. I jump out of bed, and hit my Luminescent Lamp in my enthusiasm. No use trying to sleep now.

Today, finally, finally, I’d be getting my new skin tone. I’d long gotten tired of the blue-tinted forearms and gangly legs that poked out of my shirt and shorts. I’d exhausted all kinds of face paints that matched the colour blue and even those that didn’t. I was ready for a change. After a year of the same colour of skin, I’m sure every Kreul (Kronos normally disregard their image. Power is all they regard highly) is thoroughly dissatisfied with the monotony of it.

I can hardly wait for the time, I can look into the mirror and see a green, fresh and new, staring back at me. With a bit of luck, I can add a Black tattoo. Once I graduate from Kreul-Krono School, once I become a Green, I’ll become a Kai. Once I’m a Kai…everything really starts to happen. All the teeny little running competitions will be nothing, will mean nothing. Now, it’s real pitting of wits, real tussles, real victories. The real Olympics begin.

In three minutes flat, I’ve changed out of my Sleepwear, a pair of standard-issue gray sweatpants (prevents the knee-aches I’m so prone to getting) and baggy shirt, tossing it expertly to the open laundry hatch near my wardrobe. After throwing open the glass doors, retrieving a pair of Workout gray shorts and shirt, and shutting them with a customary bang, I kick the hatch closed with my foot, sending my Soiled Linen to the Laundry Duty Blues at the bottom of Block E.

Already clothed, I plop back onto my bed, shut my eyes and try to will time to move faster.

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An InterCom rings shrill.

My eyes spring open. While trying to stay awake and be the first down to Roll Call, I fell back to sleep! I berate my uncontrollable body as I grope around for that elusive device. Finally locating it, I flip it open and place it to my ear.

“Lia-Kreul.”

“Lia? Where are you?”

“Danzor-Kreul? Where am I supposed to be?” I trust her to know my schedule to the T, though she's never done the same with her own.

“In the Learning Area! You forgot the morning training again right? Coach Faern isn’t pleased, by the look of it.”

“Oh shoot! I’m coming. Give me five. Where are you standing to see Faern?”

Laughter fills my ears.

Click.

The phone was put down abruptly. Characteristic Danzor-Kreul. It isn't even her training session, but she knows when and where and who should be there.

I tug my shirt free from the larger wrinkles and lace up my running shoes, their worn-out insides, taped together with plasters and drenched repeatedly in softener, are comfortable and warm from being heated in the Heating Rack. Optimum temperature for the best performance on track.

I'm out of the room in 2 minutes, closing the door with a snap and tapping into the Electrolyzed Monitor of Restricted Areas, or EMRA as we Kreuls and Kronos call it, the time of my departure. The tiny "whirring" noise and the "ding!" with a little smiling face appearing inform me that I'm late for my training session. So whatever. I knew that already. As if Danzor would let me forget.

My feet break into a run as I warm up with a hearty jog to the Learning Area.

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"Two laps round! Knees up to your chest, Kreul! That's it! Keep it coming! Where's the power?!"

I roll my eyes as I continue my five rounds of Sprinting Knee-ups. Faern (or Scylla as Seth calls her) is cold and aloof, nothing wrong there. Her gold-streaked black hair, which stands out from our sea of black, glints with the early morning sun that has just risen over Olympus. She glares at me for staring, but as I turn back and continue to run, out of the corner of my eye, I can see her toss her hair just that little bit flamboyantly.

Seth comes up behind me.

"Mornin' Latie." He greets perfunctorily. "What kept you today? Stoning? Fazing out? Other nothing things?"

"Come off it, 'Whitie'." I grumble. His wise cracks aren't the best things to hear at the start of a day.

"Hey hey, don't need to start name-calling..." His voice drops to a whisper as we go past Faern. "All energy into Running." is the Golden Rule of her class.

I concentrate on my legs, bringing them up to a 90 degree angle and deriving joy from slamming them onto the red track periodically. The boring "thump thump" of the 16 feet beside me is comforting. I can recognise any of their feet rhythms (th-thump th-thump is May's, the slow and steady 800m Runner, thump-thump-thump-thump is Jace's, the explosive 100m Runner), or know when one of them is gone (Sime isn't here today, Seth fills me in that he's gotten the Aches in his leg, his third this month), and who snuck in through the back gate halfway through the session (me). All of us can.

The thrumming of Vit-Pills in my head, Seth spouting some Ancient facts he somehow believes is relevant to Knee-ups, Faern yelling about our slackening pace, everyone's hastening to push themselves to move faster. All the normalcies stack one on top of the other.

Everyone's fallen into the sullen, customary silence of our trainings. Seth finally got the hint that I really wasn't listening to him at all. Faern's head dips in the tiniest of satisfied nods.

Everyone moves even faster.

-End Chapter-

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Word Count: 1452. Argh. Not at the mark yet!